The stallion peers into the glassy surface of the lake, the small tide of the water sucking at the feathers around his hooves. If one were to look at him, it would be almost statuesque, his chest barely moving with his breath. It’s hard to tell how long he may have been standing here at the edge of the waters. At some distance his elk companion watches him, a stray summer breeze ruffling the lichen that drips from his bone chalices.
“Gareth…” The bonded companion steps forward, pressing this thoughts gently to the stallion, concern filling his bright green orbs. “I’m sorry. But she is not as you once remember her…” He presses his side to his companion, moss mingling with earthy tones, their reflections rippling in the water.
The stallion does not speak for a long moment, and almost seems to completely disregard the stag at his side. He lets a deep sigh fall from him, as if he has been holding his breath. He closes his amber pools, unable to look at his reflection any longer. He turns from the lakeside and his beloved friend.
“I’m not as she once remembers, either, Noor,” He speaks in a flat affect. He shakes his head, the curled piles of his mane knocking a few thick tresses loose to hang against his neck. He looks back across the lake, a longing in his gaze. “So many things have happened between then and now… and…” He bows his head again, deflating. “And I’m unsure how to continue. I failed her, Noor. I let her leave, and I…”
The stallion grits his teeth and pounds the shoreline with a harsh stomp of his foreleg. He held that spark of anger for only a moment before he let it fizzle out again. Anger was an exhausting emotion. “I don’t know how I can face her now, after all these years.” The words are a broken sound, the lyrics of a man who fears he cannot redeem himself.
It took a considerable amount of time for his chambers within the Citadel to be cleaned and fit to live in once more. Somnus had been tedious about everything, careful and meticulous in only the way a blind man could, hyper focused and in a way, terribly obsessive. A few bold individuals had poked their heads in to inquire if he needed assistance, but with a patient smile and a shake of the head, he denied them every time yet thanked them for their offer. This was his duty alone to undertake.
His bedding had been entirely replaced, his desk organized so that he knew exactly where everything was (quills on the left in a jar, ink pot on the left, stack of parchments and scrolls to the right, those of highest importance in the middle of his workspace), his books placed upon the shelves assorted by alphabetical order, his personal altar to Oriens tidy and magnificent just beneath the open balustrade of his chambers. The hanger that held his cloak was fixed near the door, just within reach so he would never forget it whenever he stepped out…
Which, embarrassingly, was not very often, save for his somewhat frequent trips to the Library.
Quite honestly the Library was his only place of visiting, but mostly because he enjoyed the solitude and the quiet. The halls of leaves and limbs felt like home, and the aspect of ‘home’ was in short supply.
It was there that Somnus found himself that evening, lost in a great stack of tomes. Alba roosted nearby atop of a tall bookshelf, watching as the dunalino flipped through the open book on the worktable page by page, his useless eyes scanning every word as though he could truly see what was written. Perhaps, by Oriens’ grace, he could. The barn owl had never actually asked, but she knew that Oriens had favored Somnus even before his ascension to Dawn King of Delumine.
Pausing in his reading, a thoughtful frown upon his greyed lips, Somnus mulled over what he had read. “... It is an interesting tradition, surely, but I do wonder if the new Sovereign will be willing to incorporate it back into our yearly festival schedule.” Maybe, once the verdict had been made, the tactician could approach them with the offer. Surely Oriens would enjoy having a festival to worship and appreciate his name once more, right?
… Although the patron of Delumine was a humble God, and Somnus could not imagine his good friend wishing to make a big deal about that. His frown deepened, the milky-green of his useless eyes troubled. “... Perhaps I shall ask him the next time we sit for tea. I would loathe to be so bold as to assume he would enjoy such frivolous activities.”
So focused on his own inner contemplations, Somnus was unaware that he and Alba had company. The barn owl, however, slowly rotated her head so that she could better see their sudden visitor; a pale lady she did not know, but there was something about the way she carried herself that caused Alba to not worry.
enough with the lies tell me one
more time my blood your line is this you inside
N
ight had fallen, and the bat unfurls her wings to take to the sky. She roams to the mountains of Denocte due to habit and she does not allow herself to gain hope. He is long gone. He no longer remains here, not when the whole world was at his disposal.
But still, she dares. She lingers. She breathes in the same air as she did once, long ago. No longer a girl, but not even a woman anymore. A monster. Something foreign, something plaguing the lands of Novus. Not even the sun could stand her, for it burned her at touch. She wanted to feel it again. She wanted to feel some sort of warmth. But this world is cold.
Her hooves clink wordlessly against ground. Her eyes are downcast. So perhaps fate is kind today, and it thinks to throw her a bone. The bat doesn't register it at first. She breathes in the smell, thinking it a memory playing a cruel trick on her. She doesn't want to believe it. But when she looks up through her hooded robe, she sees him.
The thrum of music, of woodwinds and a lute, the steady pounding of a drum moved in time with her very own pulse. Runaveig spun, her shawl billowing out around her as she did so, her body balancing on her back hooves as she danced. She pranced about, sweat on her brow glistening off of the firelight from the nearby bonfires. The horses surrounding her stamped their hooves in time with the music, with her dancing, and she laughed.
Oh, but she felt alive!
These streets were where she truly thrived. She performed because it was in her blood, in her soul, the steady music beating in perfect time with her very own heartbeat, rapid and vibrant. She smiled dashingly to a nearby young stallion, catching his flustered stare with her glittering gold eyes. A wink and she was gone, dancing within her own circle of performances.
Even though she couldn’t see him, Runa knew that Umbra was perched nearby watching out for her. The black dragon was terribly protective, and despite her protests he never went a night without watching over her.
Twirling once, twice, three times, Runaveig stopped with a low bow, one leg folded under with the other stretched outwards as her sides heaved, sweat dotting the dusk colors of her body. There were a number of cheers and applause by way of stamping hooves, and a few Signos were tossed her way as a tip. The young Entertainer gave a soft laugh as she straightened and nodded, grateful for their kindness.
It was unneeded, of course; Runaveig survived just fine off of their generous tips, but she went about collecting the sparse Signos to later on give to the orphan children that littered the streets of Denocte.
Posted by: Meira - 01-08-2021, 10:34 PM - Forum: The Day Court
- No Replies
The way the memory of you causes a heart to ache...
The smell of old wood and sand fill the air of the quiet, nearly forgotten shop nestled in the corner of Solterra. A corner that so few visit, and so many miss out on the hidden treasures. Meira inhales the old wood and the hint of incense that is burning somewhere out of sight. Before her lies an assortment of weapons and scrolls on tactics. She has no intention of making a purchase, instead, she admires the items. The merchant busies themselves by adjusting items around the store upon the shelves. It is easy to see how time has worn on them when they peer at her face. It is weathered, and weary. The merchant takes such pride in her little shop, it is easy to tell. Though most of the items she has for sale are for warriors, it is cozy. Meira thinks it reminds her of her grandmother who had a cozy cottage tucked away in Terrastella. The woman and her mannerisms too elicit a fondness in Meira that she has not felt in a while.
It has been so long since she felt anything but the burn of his touch against her skin. Meira pushes the thoughts down because she does not want to feel the ache. The way it gnaws at her. It tears her apart more than she cares to count. The woman murmurs something to Meira that she cannot make out before she disappears into the back. The earth-bound Roanne decides that this is the best time to take her leave. She moves through the dust cover shop, light glinting off the various weapons and shields as she moves. The Solterran sun, no Solis, always has a way of making an appearance where one least suspects it. Meira feels content for the first time in ages. She wonders if she truly wants to fall in love with Delumine, or if she belongs here. Here she is familiar, comfortable, content. Meira pauses before she sets foot outside the shop, realizing that it is these exact feelings that took her down such a dark path. She knows she cannot blame Solterra for what happened, but she cannot let it happen again.
Meira sighs wistfully as she nearly collides with a stranger who seems to be entering the shop. She pulls herself back abruptly so as not to get in their way. "I didn't see you there." She comments but seems too bewildered to apologize.
Would you crumble if I whispered to you like the wind
Heat. Sand. Sun. A relentless sun creeping higher and higher in the sky. Meira inhales the familiar smell of the desert she knows so well. It is nothing like the sands of the beach. The air here steals moisture, hoarding it away for some unknown purpose. She is careful, so careful to go unnoticed. Solterra was once here home. Her heart still aches to know that she cannot return here. Not yet. Not while he still exists. Meira wanders the familiar streets of the desert metropolis. Familiar, sunbleached stone walls creep into the sky. Aging wood finds roots in some of the stoneworks, advertising the wares of the shopkeepers. A sigh escapes her lips as she wanders the streets. For now, she can pretend that she is home, and she does. Oh, how she does. When the sea cannot provide relief to her, she turns to the memories of home. The ones that do not creep into her mind at the darkest hour of the night. Dusty streets and the relentless sun are some of her fondest memories.
Meira soon finds herself near the main gate of Solterra. She stands and watches as men and women filter in and out of the open gates. Merchants. The ones she does not think of as real. It isn't that she does not recognize them as real or having depth, but that she has never seen it. They are empty, and for once she thinks she can relate. She is empty. Meira nestles herself against one of the sunbleached, white stone walls. The heat from the stone radiates across her frame as she stands beside it. Meira doesn't shy from the familiar heat beating down upon her frame. It is a welcome friend. She is not sure how much longer she will remain for her visit, but she intends to enjoy every moment of it.
Breathe… I have to concentrate on the thought, letting it fill my very being and become nothing but the breath in my lungs. I close my eyes, dazzled by the setting sun, the hues of pink struck through with tendrils of lilac as it dips below the gentle slope of the horizon. I focus on the breath as the heat of the day is gently blown away by the evening breeze, cooling my pelt. It fills my bodice near to bursting and I hold it there, counting to myself slowly before I deliberately let go just as slowly. I’ve been caught in a whirlwind of thoughts lately and the allure of a warm twilight has always had a pleasant effect on me. I breathe again with the same deliberateness, the afterglow of the sun slowly fading from behind my lids to be replaced with a welcoming darkness. I branch out my thoughts beyond the breath, stretching out to my limbs and into the earth, feeling the heat of the long grass against my pistons and how they sway with each subtle breath of the wind. I listen intently to the sounds of the night creatures slowly waking from their daytime slumber, stretching the sleep from their weary limbs and going about their night business.
I open my eyes and lift them to the darkening sky, the lavish blue colour not so unlike the colour of my own deep pools. Stars begin to twinkle, first a few here, then a few there, slowly cutting a path across the clear evening like a congregation of fireflies. They blink and giggle and whisper their secrets to each other. A smile finds its way to my lips and contentedness wraps itself around me like a well loved cloak. This land may be still yet new to me, and its denizens may be as varied and colourful as those who made their living outside of the temple walls, but there was still this constant thing. The rising and falling of the sun and his loving partner and opposite in the moon. The changes of the days and season were, thankfully, something I could rely on to be as simple and natural as they were in every other way of my former life.
Former… The thought brings with it a deep ache, the realization that I would never return to those that I love. That I may never hear the voice of my Goddess as I once knew her- or worse, that she has abandoned me completely. It has been these creeping feelings that have plagued me the last several months. I had finally come to terms with the reality of Novus. The scar on my neck had proven that to me firmly, as did the encounter with the sea mare that had put it there. Still, I could not be troubled to hold anger against her, or the incident. It had woken me to the truth of the situation. Before I had been lost, still wondering when I would return to my study halls. When I might see my masters and my students. When I might tell of the strangeness that had occurred to me, of the in-between place I had traveled in for so long. But after her words to me, spoken in an earnestness that I could not see as false, I had come to understand that none of those things would occur, no matter how much I may have wanted them.
I was comfortable for a time, delighted with the idea of creating a life in a new place, but there was still an ache in me that longed for home. For the loves and friendships and connections I had made there.
The souls I had so far met had all done a great deal for my growth, but none had done anything to comfort me. And I realized, staring into the starry sky that comfort is what I needed more than anything. But how to find it?
It isn't a new concept to them, but it strikes rather differently when one of their friends has left the court. It had been such a sudden decision, giving them the position of Champion of Wisdom before departing, and yet ... they've never felt less wise. Perhaps they were not best friends, but Cicatrix had thought of Azrael as a close companion, enough to be a friend as they had watched the stars together and learned of what could be in the stars above.
Yet here Cicatrix is once more, trudging through the lands alone. They're far from Denocte now, somewhat, landing in the grasses of the plain as the sunset crinkles over the horizon. It casts a heavenly glow over the lands, only accenting them with their already golden halo, and their head lifts a moment, watching the far view as the sun sinks down.
Wings twitch and then shift, tucking against their thin sides as their hooves dig down just a little into the soft summer ground. With the sun setting, it's cooler than it was earlier, leaving a soft breeze around them as they shift their gaze from the sun to the far end of the horizon where the night is beginning to roll over the lands. The stars beginning to peek out and play, unaware of the goings on down on Earth, carefree and shimmering with their somewhat eternal feeling lives.
Lonely.
Immortality feels like a curse at times like these. When was the last time they truly mourned being alone? Cursed their immortality to the heavens and back? It's been a long while, they know, but now they shift their weight and sink downward. Lay themselves among the grasses and spread their wings just a little, leaning to brush a bare skull against the flowers around them, puffing a breath against them.
This day, it seems the blue dripping ooze is fitting to their melancholy mood.
As she looked to the stars this evening, she could not help but think back on her life.
It was a short life compared to most in Novus. She hadn't exactly found equines younger than her yet. Perhaps she was feeling unnaturally old for her age? Like she had lived more than one life, but in reality she only had one life to give. It should make her cautious, especially around those less kind. But she tried to treat all equally.
She tried to treat them kindly.
But ah, back to it. Laying under the starry blanket, she plucked out what she knew to be constellations. There were many that had their own tales to tell. Too many to count tonight as she lay there, wings tucked to her sides and her eyes drooping. As much as she pondered her experiences, Willoughby was growing weary. She longed for the dreams to take her.
But fate had other plans. Hoofsteps made her neck twist, seeing nobody in the vicinity. Yet her eyes were not adjusted to the night yet anyway. She tried to smile to the unknown, trying to make herself welcoming to whoever lurked in the shadows.
“speech”
if you don't want to see me dancing with somebody new
Posted by: Galileo - 01-08-2021, 05:07 PM - Forum: Vitae Oasis
- No Replies
A syrup coloured sky oozed across the horizon, dipping her rosy fingers in every crevasse of the rocks that lined the lapping liquid of the oasis. Gin slings and daydreams, that's what the colours reminded him of. Those were two things he hadn't had the pleasure of experiencing in a while, missing the sweet kisses of both.
There was a longing in him, to return home -- if that's what the place could be called now. His youth had been spent there, creeping in and out of the taverns when he had likely been too young to taste the liquors, they provided. He'd also haunted the brothels as soon as he'd come of age, much to his mother's distaste. Their home, a respectable size mansion gifted to his father for his victories, was surrounded by thick woodland, and embraced the town that were the vassals of the lord below it.
Now, it was marred with visions of blood red palace walls and the screams of the innocent. Though he was unsure if war still ran rife through his homeland, he knew there would still be tension -- even if one side had been proclaimed as the winner. All of it felt so pointless now, all the pain and heartache, all that he had been through. And what had been to blame? Of course, religion and the so-called gods, something he had become disillusioned with recently.
Making his way down towards the oasis, he pauses to listen for anyone approaching. Hearing nothing, he continues forwards, until his hooves are clipping the edge of the water. Bending his head in one graceful sweeping motion, he sipped the fresh liquid easily, velveteen lips causing ripples across the surface; characteristically, he was aware of everything around him. This stallion could never truly be blissfully ignorant and let his guard down.
