Raglan hadn’t expected to find so many stars in the sky of Solterra, had assumed for some reason that the hate of Solis was strong enough to blot out even the infinite lights of Caligo’s skin. Though as he gazed heavenward, the tips of his curved horns brushing coolly against the bloody bay of his rump, the Crow slowly realized that he was wrong about many things — most things, actually.
He had tasted the feast foods of the Lord of Day, and the Warrior God had not rained terror and blood down upon him. He had drank cool water, laughed among strangers, found a sort of acceptance in the arms of what he had thought to be a nation of enemies and warmongers. The notion had gotten the stallion to thinking, though had not brought him close enough to that bottomless pit of despair that stood just on the other side of reminiscing. Yes, Raglan considered Denocte from a safe distance, as a Terrastellan would, as a foreigner would.
For that was what he was, wasn’t it? He had abandoned Denocte when she had abandoned him; had cast aside the land that had been his Mother and fled the very shores where she laid her head. Her bones, the Crow knew, had shaken that day; the day her borders had burned and her gates and snapped shut and her Trueborn children had fled under the cover of her own shadow. How she must have moaned, his beloved Motherland, wept and cried out for her progeny, to defend and love her as she had protected and nurtured them.
Yet, they had abandoned her, every last one of her most beloved: The Bruised King, the Stormdancer, the Drunken Warden, the Scaled Emissary, the Bloodfaced Regent, and each and every one of her Crows. None of them were innocent, most were likely dead, though Raglan in his heart of hearts could not wish them restful sleep or steady steps, least of all himself. The boy had been just that — a boy, when he fled in terror and in confusion, but the decisions of a boy sowed the regrets of a man.
And the regrets of a man would dog Raglan’s steps until the end of his days.
Blinking pupilless silver eyes, the stallion felt each ache and breath and beat of his battered heart as he fell back into himself. Into this body that was called beautiful, this body that had carried him away from those he loved when they had needed him most. What a betrayal of self, to be called beautiful when one had performed such ugly deeds. Yet, it was all the stallion truly had left in the world, the last surviving gift of his Mother and his true God, and so he would cherish it with what strength he had left.
Raglan stood in a cool and crystal clear pool up to his belly in an oasis in the middle of a desert. He stood still in a Kingdom that felt like a million miles and a million lifetimes away from what he had been and what he had known. He felt unsure, he felt lost, he felt oh, so very afraid.
He hadn’t expected to find so many stars in this sky.
Galileo had decidedly moved from his darkened corner spot of the tent to a more open area. In truth, the strange new drinks he had been offered were steadily going to his head (which was very unlike him, a seasoned drinker), and he longed for some air. Being careful not to bump into any of the sickeningly happy Solterran public, he wandered into the streaming daylight, and blinked as his foggy eyes adjusted. The worst moment was always the morning after, and going from the darkness of the tent to the ferocious sunlight felt like the morning after indeed.
There was another bar outside, less crowded but still providing the sweet, sweet goods, and Galileo, of course, made his way over again. Blackened, charred-looking antlers dipped in simple greeting to the bartender and with a singular grunt of "that one", Galileo was again under the spell of the liquor.
As he stood for a moment, away from the nattering nags who spoke light-heartedly about their darling foals, he allowed himself to feel -- if only for just a second. It wasn't often that he truly asked himself how he felt, but it was strange, to be at a festival, a party, and to not have the pressures of being the infamous general, nor the Kodarki name to weigh him down. In some ways, it was quite freeing, but in others, it reminded him of a past long since forgotten.
What he didn't notice was the sound of another approaching, standing dangerously close to Galileo's comfort zone. The bartender offered her a drink, and without even looking up, he spoke to her sarcastically and coolly.
"Sure a girl like you can hold a strong drink like that?"
y father had once declared, to a room full of stone-faced lords, that hedonism had turned the heads of our kings rotten.
Even as a child I had known he did not truly believe this—this was after the rebellion, you see, and he had merely wished to keep his head—yet my solemn epiphany was quickly drowned by a chorused round of agreement, glass clinking against metal as fifty wineglasses were emptied, all at once, down the bowels of an iron chamberpot. Just like that, frivolity, in a ritual near-traitorously ceremonial, became a thing of the past. Deed done, they were monarchists no more. In one silent line they shuffled back to their seats, where a cold dinner and a cup of flat ale awaited.
(The champagne would not be opened until dessert.)
Festivals had once been as common as sandgrouse in the court of the Sun. It is hard to imagine, no? Hard to imagine even for an Ieshan. Yet in my father’s father’s time, there were celebrations for everything. For the birth of a son; for the triumph of a generalissimo; for the end of summer; for the reaping of the grain; for the joining of two families in marriage. It was Calvhura II who had started the tradition of celebrating the birth of daughters, and in that year, the streets had run red with wine.
Wine, or blood? For Solterra, it is either one or the other.
§
The sun cake, hot from the ovens, melts like butter on my tongue. I bite down, flood my mouth with honey, wince when my teeth strike metal. “You have followed the recipe exactly,” I say, with a laugh.
“Yes,” says the baker, his breath the white of flour. “I was worried at first, putting the coins in—afraid they wouldn’t hold.” He shakes loose a batch of golden cakes from their oil-slicked molds. Tongues of honey drizzle over their crust. I pluck the sun coin out and hold it up to the oven’s leaping fire.
The baker looks over. “I think that is the only one in this batch, your majesty. What luck, eh?” He smiles at me warmly; and because I was born a prince, I know approval (filling up the space left open besides contractual civility) when I see it. I smile back.
“Is it really?” Through the open window wafts in the crisp, hot smell of senita pastries. I toss the coin into the air. “What luck.”
It is the morning before the festival, hours before the first bell of the Noon Feast will be struck. The palace kitchens are hazy with black smoke and white flour and bubbling conversation, riverine and lax.
I offer to carry the platters to the feasting table three times, and three times am waved away by a sigh and a bitten-back smile. “Oh, come now,” I say to the fourth, my eyes crinkling up to slyness. “It is tradition. It would be cruel to let me go out empty-handed.” She hesitates, bites her lip, looks from her tray of flan to me, princely eager besides her. I do not yet know how to be a king. This is the trick; this is the currency I will use until they tire of it.
The platter drops gently into my grasp. Set it between the basket of anemones and the flagon of Deluminian wine, she whispers. The anemones and the flagon, I repeat, before ducking victoriously out into the courtyard.
§
a shard of god
in my mouth
« r » | open to any <3
as a note, Adonai is walking through the courtyard where the feasting table is placed!
chasing all my demons out, take me by the hand / through the doubt
Long ago, on a very different day, Atlas had stumbled off the deck of the Vis Vitalis, bid goodbye to his new friend, Captain Thunderclash, and became a longterm resident of a Terrastellan boarding house. He had crossed the Terminus Sea, through storm and strife, feeling at the end of his long journey. After all, he had traversed and survived the terrible Sadugal desert, survived all the challenges thrown his way, and arrived in a new land, scarred, humbled, and dragging his fair share of skeletons. He had found meager work as a scribe, copying lists, recording inventories, and acting as a stenographer for poets and actors of the spoken word.
For a long time, he’d hunched in his little boarding house, trying to convince himself he was content. But Atlas was a nomad at heart-- a harried wanderer, doomed to forever walk the land, and when he departed Terrastella, he left feeling that, while he certainly had a place to return to, it was not quite home. It was a thread, a theme, that would continue to play out in his journeys across Novus: he had places he felt comfortable revisiting, but nowhere he was truly connected, nowhere that would jump from his lips at the question “So, where are you from?”
He thinks that now as he looks out over the same sea which had brought him to Novus so very long ago. The gulls are loud in the summer night, and the stars are bright in a cloudless sky. He can name them all, now-- little Aladhfar, the golden centre of the Lyre; Amansizaya, the knot in the wooden canoe of the fisher-horse; bright red Diadem, the crown jewel of Vespera’s Tiara. He knows the stars, now, and he knows this sea; these cliffs; this castle. But is this his home?
Deep at the center of it all there is a question, and it is one of fear. Why is he so hesitant to settle? What terrifies him so about putting down roots, about returning home? On the surface, he argues it is because there is so much to discover. But in reality, the crux of the issue (there are nine stars in Crux, it rises in winter, and intersects the Tiara on an angle) is he is scared that, one day, like all his other days, there will be no home to return to; the people he knows and loves will be dead, or look at him as though he is a stranger; and though it is unlikely that Terrastella will suddenly crumble to the ground, surely Zukai also still stands, it’s halls full of ghosts?
He had a wife, once, and though he could not love her in that way, she was a friend; he’d a son (nephew), and brothers, and people whose company he enjoyed. He’d had Nashira. And when she’d cut the golden hair from his neck and bid him flee with his life everything had been severed by that one, single, swing of the blade. It was that easy.
He is on the ramparts, staring out at the sky through an embrasure in the castle wall, as the Terminus continues its quest to swallow the castle from below. The air is heavy with heat and salt. Terrastella’s singular tower looms behind him, a tall, black shadow, as poignant and stoic as the questions now raging within his mind.
Having once been here, the stallion eventually sequestered himself in isolation, not wanting to face the harsh truth for himself. Knowing that he'd failed not only himself, but his boyfriend and the other equines that followed him caused the stallion to withdraw in on himself, pine for the days in which he led fearlessly, without question, without doubt. Now, though, he didn't really see a reason as to why he had isolated himself. Despite having only led for a short time, his herd and the land over which he ruled had become vastly better, had come out of hiding from their previous rulers, and had started to blossom again. It was only bad luck that he'd gotten wind of a sister — that he wasn't even aware he'd had — had encountered some problems and needed his help. Being the dutiful equine he was, the copper-burnished stallion departed his beloved land, his herd, his beloved boyfriend. It was in the pre-dawn early hours that he'd bid farewell to Bucky, had said all they needed to say, and had left to find his sister in Agnosia.
When he'd gotten back to his homeworld of Agnosia, he saw the towns he had loved, the secret hideaways where he and Bucky had spent as foals, where he and his mother spent her final days together. Everything was so bittersweet, but his old friends welcomed him with open hearts and warm wishes when he finally graced them with his presence. It was bittersweet, Liam had decided, being back in Agnosia, back in the towns where he and Bucky had spent their youth, had been separated more than once, where he thought Bucky had died after a fall off a train. The stallion was, of course, not dead, and they had managed to meet and finally start dating after years of dancing around their feelings for each other. It broke Liam's heart to leave Bucky behind again to lead their herd in Caeleste, but Liam needed to go help his family.
Now that he was pulling himself out of his self-isolation, Liam decided it was time to try and get to know those individuals in his Court. He hadn't seen many others, and when he did, he managed to slip away, hide from prying eyes. Of course, during this time, he was able to keep himself looking good, looking fit even. He was still the same strong, muscular, intelligent stallion that he always had been. Liam was just ashamed at how he'd handled himself, presented himself here in Novus. Usually, he wasn't like this, and he'd have already made several friends. But leaving Novus, going to Caeleste, leaving Caeleste, going to Agnosia, and then coming back to Novus had done a number on his mental health. Working on making it better was a lot, but Liam was ready to do it. He was ready to get better.
Standing in Susurro Fields, with the sun beating down on his coppery pelt, his gaze staring out at the horizon and at the sparkling water, Liam wondered what his purpose was here, what he was meant to do. Was he meant to be like everyone else? Was he meant for something great? Truth be told, he wasn't really sure what he was destined for anymore. There were no wars to be fought, no great invasions to be staved off, and no gods to fight back against. Was this retirement? Is that what this is?
"Liam Speaks."
Notes;; If you look at the map, he's standing on the left side of the Fields, near the water, so he can hear the waves crashing against the beach? Or is it cliffs? It's not clear lol, sorry!
Tag;; @Israfel
Voice claim;; Chris Evans
Words;; 575
she walked in moondust and stars were sprinkled in her hair
✧
T
hough exploration by one’s self was perhaps a dangerous undertaking, especially in an unfamiliar land, it was preferable (as Aislinn found it) to wandering in awkward silence with a hired sword. She’d spent much of her life wandering alone after the death of her mother- firstly in search of a father she knew nothing about, and then in search of a purpose. The unending silence of solitude was a welcome travel companion, a familiar embrace of peace. That wasn’t to say she didn’t enjoy company, in fact Aislinn spent many a day watching wistfully the young equines her age laughing and joking with friends. It was simply that she was rather painfully, inconveniently shy.
Nevertheless, as the rolling dunes of sand unfurled across the horizon, unending and unchanging, she began to regret her decision to go exploring alone. The golden sea stretched as far as the eye could see, surrounding her on all sides until she couldn’t tell which direction she’d come from and in which she was heading. The velvet lining of her cloak was beginning to feel claustrophobic beneath the late afternoon sun, a too-close heat that made her skin crawl and her hair clung uncomfortably to her neck beneath the star-flecked material. Though the unbearable heat of Solvitas in Alanaris was no joke, the sun-cracked ear of the Northern Kingdom was a canyon wasteland bordered by the resplendent Jade Jungle - an undulating environment where one did not feel like they were drowning in sand. This desert however felt as though it would never end and never change. With a frustrated sigh, no small amount of alarm filtering through her veins, Aislinn pulled her hood down feeling the ceaseless stare of the summer sun upon her star-flecked skin. Turning in what she hoped was the direction she’d been heading, the star-singer pushed on.
When at last a sandstone city arose from the haze of heat upon the horizon the sun was nearing the end of its journey across the sky and Aislinn nerves (and body) were fried. Weary though her legs were, her pace picked up at the promise of civilisation and safety, relief and welcome wave after the nagging fear that dogged her explorations. A wall encircled the pale buildings, doomed roofs peeking out from the heights of the parapets where Ash swore she could see the eyes of watchful soldiers tracking her movements. As she passed beneath the shadow of the fortification any trepidation she felt was overpowered by the sense of liberation as she was finally free of the endless ocean of sand. Hot, tired and dehydrated her eyes combed the dusty streets for an inn or café.
There are tents set up in the fibonacci spiral of her Court far below her. She is a black shadow overtop the party-goers, a distant thought, a cloud over the sun in a sunless sky. Warbird is no stranger to celebration. She is, after all, a creature of assured victory. But parties make people dense-- they dull the senses, distract the mind, overwhelm with lights and sounds and smells. If Solterra’s enemies were not all undergoing just the same thing, now would be an excellent time to strike.
In all the courts, there was observance of joy and change. A monumentous and simultaneous upheaval, from all edges of the globe. She’d been to Terrastella and witnessed, briefly, the transition of power there; so to it was in Denocte, and Delumine. There was mourning and confusion, rejoicing and worship; the whole world was buzzing.
A droplet of something wet seeps onto her ear and she flicks it away with a grunt of irritation. Stykkislange has lifted the front third of her body up in the air; her viper-like face is flattened in anticipation. Slaver is running down her exposed fangs.
Her snake is drooling.
“You disgust me,” Warbird noted, with half a mind to suddenly barrel roll and send the serpent writhing down to her death.
why are we not at the party? Styikki whined, squeezing tighter around Bird as though she could read the Valkyr’s thoughts. i can ssssssmell the food from up here!
“You do not eat those types of foods,” Warbird assured her, wings billowing slightly as they caught a thermal. Her body rocked steady, gentle, from side to side.
you want to meet the prinsssssseeeee, Stykki wheedled, undulating in an S-shape against the bright, blue sky. you want to bow to the king. sseellll your sssoooooul. She was teasing her master, mocking. After a beat, a tongue lash, she added: again.
“I will meet with Adonai in due time, when I have a better grasp of the situation, and not before,” Warbird said, resolute. “I know my place in this life and what I have to offer it. This is not a weakness.”
ssssso you ssssay, Stykki mumbled, not sounding convinced. She contracted herself again, perched on Warbird’s back like an ugly, scaled hawk. Quietly, she hissed: i want to try the ssssnacksssss.
Warbird rolled her eyes, feeling like a beleaguered mother to this surly, seven-foot demon. “You will eat the offered food-- and only the offered food-- or I will break your teeth. Again.”
promissssssse. i’ll be good girl.
The noise of disgust from Bird’s throat was swallowed by the rush of air in her ears as she couched her wings and lifted up and over into a fierce drop, hair lashing out behind her like banners raised to war. Her stomach left her, lost in the swell and the feel of the fall, and it was only at the very last second did she spread wide her powerful wings and feel the catch of air in them. Sun gleamed from her angel-white coverts, feathers plucked from the wings of her Valkyr mothers, as she came down to land, back feet then front. She tucked her wings up close to her body, shielding Stykki from the light of the day, as she pushed her large body into the crowd.
As they neared the feast table, Stykki relinquished her hold on her master, and slid all seven feet of her to the ground. Her scales made a dragging noise on the cobblestones as she zipped, serpentine, in and out of the feet of party goers, frightening and scattering those who noticed; she lifted herself up at the table’s edge, all the world like a princess for whom the spread was made, and flattened her head in a horrendous grin.
i sssshalll try thissss one firsssst, she decreed; jaw unhinged, she went to swallow a whole platter of sun cakes, until Warbird knocked her gracelessly aside with her wing.
“I shall not have you ruining the party for others, you filthy heathen,” the Valkyr scolded, delicately selecting one cake for herself, and one for her snake. “We can come back for more once we finish these,” she added, as Stykki draped, languid, over her back once more.
"Speech."stykki speech | @ anyone | come punch the snake
She thought this place couldn’t get more gaudy, with their golden banners and sundials and homage to Solis on every corner. Couldn’t go two steps without knocking into some visage of him, somewhere. They liked their monuments and idols, Solterrans. They liked their walls, too, but judging by how every five feet there was a gap with a stone bust of some old king or mass murderer (apparently they were frequently one and the same in Solterra) and the only way to tell the difference was to see which ones had been defaced.
It was too soon for Adonai to have anything of the sort, of course. Not a week into being crowned and he was already throwing a big, lavish party for the entire Court. Delivered by some big, fancy firebird. Sabrina hadn’t read the actual notice-- she wasn’t super familiar with the local language yet-- but gleaned, by word of mouth and whisper, what was going down. The whole Court buzzed like atoms in an autoclave, or a pot of water just before a boil; like things might just be looking up but everyone was scared that if they breathed, or got their hopes too high, it wouldn’t happen. All of Solterra balanced on that sandglass edge--
--then the first bell tolled, and all hell broke loose. And of course the preparations had been going on the entire time, but everyone looked away, tried to ignore it; it was all to good to be true. Like those old fairy tails, the gong of the midnight bell (or the midday bell, in this case) filled the air with magic and made everything real. And, for once, all of Solterra seemed alive. Children ran in all directions, screaming and laughing; women in silken trappings danced with anyone available. The air was hot and thick with spices, conversation, summer heat, and a general buzz of merriment.
Up the elaborate palatial steps, where prince Adonai and his ilk celebrated, servers in proper decorum carried shining trays of crystalline chalices; down here, with the commonfolk, it was glorious chaos. Hungry feasters closed in on the elaborately decorated table, snatching food and finding seats. There was, of course, no rule that those below could not go above-- but Sabrina got the vibe they were scared. Scarred. These people had been burnt before-- this entire kingdom was obsessed with the sun, after all-- but, deep down, she really wondered how many had partaken in the burning.
Delph would have been the first person at the food table and probably also the last. She and Puck were famous for really shoveling it in; their take-out bill was legendary, and all the buffets around town locked their doors when they saw the two of them coming. The memory, for once, brought a smile to her face, and not a frown, and she thought maybe this whole party thing-- whether she was really a Solterran or not-- may not be so bad.
Still, she wasn’t too big on the touchy touchy, and was being jostled enough as it was, some distance away from the edible accoutremants; she’d let the wave thin out before she bellied up to the bar.
Around her, the world spun like a carnival. There were fire-spinners and sword-eaters, magicians, live demonstrations on glass-blowing, music, laughing, and dancing.
Yeah, maybe this whole thing wasn’t so bad after all.
Night had not quite fallen when the boat made shore at a rather unremarkable dock. Blood red painted the placid ocean in the hues of war as the sun began its dying descent before the oncoming wall of night.
Anxiety and a small amount of excitement thrummed through Aislinn’s veins as it always did when she travelled to a new land. From the woodland bordering the small wooden dock and the stone buildings rising above the treeline in the distance, there was little the star-singer could ascertain of this unfamiliar world. The harbour was quiet, as peaceful as the birds warbling lazily in their roosts, with only the odd sailor milling about. Without the warmth of the sun a brisk chill gripped the air and Aislinn pulled her cloak tighter, glad of its velvet lining as she stepped carefully from the boat. After days at sea the ground felt wobbly beneath her hooves, as though she were bobbing upon imaginary waves. A grimace passed her star-flecked features for just a moment but the feeling would pass in time. Though not overly fond of sea travel the Coruscant was familiar with it when the distance was too far for her wings alone to take her. Keeping her head down, lest they try to engage her in conversation, Ash slipped past the harbour master and sailors, leaving the ever darkening ocean behind her.
For a moment Aislinn paused, regarding her surroundings from star-spun eyes. The fresh evening air filled her lungs as she breathed in deeply, enjoying the peace and solitude before the inevitable hustle and bustle of the looming city.
The shadows lengthened as the day finally died, the stars blinking into existence across the velveteen sky. It took very little time to traverse the winding path, watching the city rise ever higher from the treetops. The glow of lantern light was a proverbial second sun upon the horizon, painting the skyline in a halo of gold.
When at last Aislinn breached the walls of it, passing beneath an old stone arch, she cast her silver gaze about at the picturesque little city. Many an equine milled about the streets, and though Ash’s heart was filled with no small amount of trepidation at the crowds, she was too awestruck to care. Shops, open and bustling, lined the cobbled streets, the lantern flames dancing within their glass cages. Though the Coruscant did not have any previous experience in the city with which to compare it to, it was almost as though the town came alive at night. Eyes sparkling, a faint smile on her lips, she wandered the streets, avoiding eye contact by searching every shop and stall, window and street.
Posted by: Sol Bestiam - 01-25-2021, 03:38 PM - Forum: Archives
- No Replies
This flaming guardian could be your worst nightmare...
Sol found himself with a single thought, pacing through the court and enjoying the peace that came from him being alone. Flipping his head as he moved, he sent his ebony and gold mane askew. He had decided to walk, to take his time on the journey to the library. Golden eyes traced familiar landmarks and trails through the grasses and plants. The feeling of home infused his entire frame as he walked, his flames on his hooves dancing along the soil. The stallion was careful to keep his steps to the paths that were kept free from the flora that could be affected by his flames.
He had yet to set hoof in the library, but the memory of words from one that he had once thought to become friends with echoed through his ears. His eyes took in the way that the library seemed to grow from the forest, turning from the peaceful wilds to a place where books could be kept safe. Flaring his wings, he stretched the muscles before snapping his feathered limbs back and arranging them neatly.
Striding forward with an almost warrior like grace, the stallion began to browse through the tomes that were kept safe here. The massive stallion took in titles, as well as the others around the library. Finding a place where he would be out of the way, he began to look at the spines of the books before him. He had yet to find a book that called to him, and he was clearly open to speaking to others if anyone wanted.
