To make himself part of this world Entia was learning. He’d been here once. A while ago. Yet not much had stuck in his brain. Not that that notion was something new to him. In fact, it was not. There was so much that his eyes had seen that was forgotten. There was even more that he wished he could remove forever.

A flash. Blood spraying. Cyrus burning. The demon rising, snarling at him. He washed himself of the thought.

And another took the place.

The shoreline. Waves rising, falling. Singing to him a gentle tune. Calming the frayed nerves. The war was over, they had won. His son had died. He was bleeding, broken. Letting saltwater flood the wounds. Feeling the sting, to remind him he was alive. A gentle touch broke his reverie. Inwe was there. Then she was gone.

So many others. His beloved children. Naveen. The one who had stolen his heart when he thought it had been lost forever. Namtar, woman of fire and sand. Lucian, his brother forever.

All of them inside him forever.

Not as much fun when there was no physical presence, he thinks. There was his trademark smirk, the grin that appeared as he walked. Seze would roll her eyes at him for it.

At least walking along the edge of a lake was, well, not a place he was likely to slip and fall to his death. Not how he thought. He’d never know though. It might not be likely… but there was an audience here, one closer than others. His mismatched gaze turned to the stranger before him. And he thought to himself, better not be too much of an ass. A bit late to avoid looking like one though.

He grinned.

salome de la rosa

hen the dark fell, the Night Court came alive. That is how it had always been. A celebration of both life and night was appealing in its way. Salome hadn't exactly been to the inner court in some time. Not since she had lived among her tribe had she a reason to come back. Why tonight? Perhaps... she was feeling nostalgic. Perhaps -

she needed to feed.

No, said the part of her brain housing her humanity. No, tonight she would set up a little shop. She would read her cards, ply her trade to those who wanted to pay for it. Perhaps she would hear some good rumors spreading that she could later take advantage of. Locations for rare herbs, for instance. She would drop them off at Gareth's proverbial doorstep. She would help - in her small way. So she set up.

The tarot cards spread across the simple wooden box she had found lingering the markets. Pulling it to a corner, she sat down behind it. There was little wind in the summer night, so the cards did not sprawl across or fly away. She was thankful for that. The hooded figure that was the bat sat with her head bowed, not really wishing to interact with mortals but having no coin to do anything else for now. She needed coin to live.

A stone circle to serve as a grand courtyard to the looming figure that is House Vogelstein is tucked beneath the swaying shadows. The scents of bonfires mixed with patchouli and vanilla drift through the air of the dimly lit terrace. Shadows creep across the ashen son's face as he prowls across the blue-washed stone. The moonlight is beaming down, spilling her cerulean hues. A smile gently pulls at the corners of his lips. Upward, toward the moon. He is restless. So restless now that she is gone. The house they once shared sits empty, torn to pieces from their last row. Sebastien sighs, relishing in the sensation of his warm breath splashing against his face before the cold air swims down his throat. Sebastien exits the Vogelstein estate and sets out down the familiar alleys of Denocte. The scents of vanilla and patchouli fade the further he gets away from the grand, looming estate.

Down. Down the hill and into the streets he moves. Beneath the dim light of the moon, and the twinkling stars the Night Markets were alive with nightlife. Humming and chattering were the bodies that moved through the streets so loved by citizens of Denocte. Sebastien moves through the busy summer streets. He continues on, past the entertainers, past the taverns, past the lovers whispering in the shadows. His movements are determined. Each one is like the stroke of an artist's brush upon a canvas. Decisive, and at times, soft. Until he stops. He stops and peers up at the house with tattered curtains hanging from the windows. It looks forgotten. It is forgotten. Only for now. From the street, he can see a fine layer of particulate upon the sills of the shelves.

Sebastien sighs almost wistfully as he remembers her. Remembers until he presses on. Back up into the Night Market. He pauses at a booth offering exotic dishes expertly designed by the chef. He gives a charming smile and nod to them before placing the currency atop the counter. Sebastien waits then for the man to turn back to prepare his meal.

@Ira

The final rays of the sun stretch across the horizon. Greedily illuminating every object it can while it burns into dusk. The familiar shape of the Oasis carves itself into the sand. Sebastien moves, each step is effortless. The desert speaks to him as it does any Solterran. A place of fondness, where many come to rest their weary bodies from the heat of the day. Sebastien crests one of the many dunes between the Oasis and the city gates. Below him are the shapes of bodies, some splashing, some lounging in the shallows. It is a quiet scene, idyllic he thinks. Yes, the desert whispers to him. Once a roar now a dull hum. The traitor hums back. Back, back into the sweeping cloak of night. As the temperature begins to fall, the equines begin to move away from the Oasis. It isn't wise to remain in the pool long after the sun has set. A desert is still a desert, and temperatures may drop below freezing on some of the worst nights.

Soft, faded stars begin to flicker into existence as an explosion of colours consumes the sky. Pinks against a navy fading background. One by one, more stars begin to light up the night sky. Sebastien does not move as he peers into the heavens painted by their gods. Vapor escapes his lips, and he smiles. Tonight will be a cold night. It will nip and gnaw at the exposed flesh of travelers and natives alike. His bare nape is the first part of him to grow cold atop the dune. Ash and stardust. That is what he is made of, he thinks. Sebastien sinks. Sinks into the sands as he descends from the peak of the dune. Toward the Oasis that is now mostly empty. There are a few stragglers that linger. Mostly lovers whispering sweet nothings to one another. A lie. There is no such thing as love, only possession. 

Sebastien is thankful for the minor reprieve the valley provides from the winds that sweep across the desert. Wisps of sand sail into the sky as if they too are eager to become stars. They are no stars, they are too plain. Too heavy. Sand is not beautiful the way that stars are. They do not burn. He exhales more vapor as he stops beside the Oasis to peer at his reflection. He is aware of how empty his side is now that Meira is gone. Gone like the sands swept into the winds.

@Zakariah

salome de la rosa

ight had fallen, and she had come here. Delumine was far from the Night Court, but she wouldn't have it any other way right now. True, she had come back to be counted among the ranks of Denocte... But she was avoiding the place right now. Salome wandered further and further away, spending the daylight hours in seclusion. She rested alone, waiting for night to come.

No Sovereign sat on their throne. Not yet anyway. She did not feel the need to bow and keep close if that was the case. The last one had been slain or abandoned their post - she did not know which and did not care enough for politics. The bat only kept true to her position of medic. Finding herbs and flowers outside of Denocte was a chore at times, but she would do it. Eventually she found this meadow and set to work finding bee balm.

It was perhaps the only place to find it in Novus. Under the summer's night, Salome wandered. She barely registered the other's approach, finding she did not care about their presence enough. Her rose-colored eyes only lifted when they acknowledged her.

ooc; looking for bee balm for EXP. all welcome

Night creeps slowly, slowly across the sky. It is an all-consuming, inevitable fact of each new day. As sure as death, the night will come. Remnants of sand from the desert spill from his fine ashen coat. Reminders of his visit to Solterra. His once-home. Sebastien is nothing if not nostalgic. It is where he met here until she crept away from him. An inch somehow stretched into a mile. Sebastien is not worried, he knows she belongs to him. Belongs to him just like all beings eventually will. Until he joins the Ancestors. Through the streets of swirling smoke and incense, he glides. An ashen ghost drifting through the streets with an array of sights and smells. There is a steady hum of life in the Night Markets, they are no different than the markets in Solterra. Solterra. Their markets do not have the promise of Solis' touch the way that the Night Markets boast about Calligo.

Each city. Each one is alive. Abuzz with new life each day. Novus is a very interesting place in recent times. Sovereigns from three courts are now absent. Their throne sits empty while suitors throw their hats into the ring. As though their hat is little more than a cheap date and idle promises. The head of House Vogelstein has forbidden him from tossing his own hat into the ring. He is not ready. Not yet. Sebastien doesn't agree. He thinks this as he plucks a ripe plum from the vendor waving it into the street. Coins fall atop their booth as he continues on, biting into the soft flesh of the fruit. It drips and spills into the stone. Some of it splashes on his limbs, as it does the same for the strangers shifting in the night. Sebastien musters an apologetic look to the oncomers, who seem to shrug their shoulders at him with a smile.

Sebastien continues on until he spots him. He is unsure of why his fixation is drawn to the simple-looking stallion ahead of him. Perhaps it is because he reminds the charmer of Meira. Waves of his magic swirl, mingling with the scents of patchouli that are drifting out into the street. He moves. Moves towards the man with a suave smile on his lips. "Hello." He greets the stranger with warmth. It is inviting. It feels like home. "I wonder if you might be able to help me?" Sebastien asks the stranger again. He makes sure to give pause so that the man can respond. All the while he remains attentive, focused. Yes, he will come to possess this man. Someday. Someday when Meira's touch fades. He needs to fill the void.

@Tristan

Familiar dusty streets stretch into the horizon. Some until they bend, and some are eaten up by the numerous shops of the proud desert city. It smells like home. That's because it is home. It was home he reminds himself. The way the pale arches stretched into the heavens, down to even the way the streets were covered in a fine layer of particulate. Particulate that was often dredged up by the many hooves of the guards, the workmen, and the merchants each day. The city was alive, an entity all its own. An entity that did not love traitors like him. Sebastien knows he was cursed at birth as a traitor. He knew from a very young age that someday he would abandon pearl in the desert for the flames of night. Each one was rich in their respective cultures. Sebastien has loved Denocte for as long as he has drawn breaths. His departure from Solterra was always inevitable. Inevitable just as he was with her. Meira.

The fawn who thinks she can outrun the night if she rises only with the dawn. Night, darkness though is inevitable. Sebastien laughs to himself as he starts down the familiar streets from his youth. The thought that Meira can escape the eclipse that he is, that thought is far too great. She belongs to him, and he knows. He knows. The wolf remains hungry until she comes to her senses. As he moves, before him, is the shape of an equine moving in his direction. Familiar. They are familiar, down to the way they draw breaths. The way their roman nose drips with ivory, down to the way the intricate lines swirl across their canvas. Sebastien pauses as he considers approaching her. It has to be her. Jane, he thinks her name is. He can't be sure because he has not seen her since he was much younger. 

Back when he still spent much time at the Main House and attending their lavish parties. Sebastien begins to move, move through the sea of strangers towards her. "Jane?" He calls out, charm dripping like ink onto a fresh canvas. It stains the world around it. A stain that he cannot scrub off.


@Jane