Willoughby found interesting and fascinating things in the forest. Any forest, be it in Novus or in some other realm... she found something to bring back with her. The saying was to leave footsteps and take nothing, but nobody would miss a few mushrooms or flowers, right? She hoped not.
Selling them had made her able to buy more food at the Night Market. She was loathe to take too much, so she left her own footstep. I am sorry she wanted to say to the flowers, and so she did. She was apologetic when she took mushrooms too. She whispered to them, making sure their pulled brethren would be useful to others who needed them.
Until she found a satchel, or bought one, she took a few trips to deposit them where she could come back and find them. Transporting took a long time but she was happy for the busy work. This fine noon hour was when she happened upon someone she didn't know. He seemed to be passing by, unaware or just avoiding her, but Willoughby... well, she always liked to acknowledge others.
“Greetings” she would call softly to him through the trees.
if you don't want to see me dancing with somebody new
e stepped in rhythm to the swaying of the elder trees. For so long he had known this forest. He was familiar with its dance. Perhaps, given another century or so, Lovis would know it well enough for the trees to invite him to dance with them too.
Or perhaps they never would embrace him. Surely they would not if they were made aware of his inability to keep his own garden lively. If asked the man would not even be able to recount the last time that he had culled his plot of weeds. For even they were loath to grow for him.
He pulled his scarf tighter to him. The depths of the forest only knew meager light. Viride's giants clutched at all that the sun gave. What fell to the forest floor was merely what had slipped from their grasp.
Was it remorse for their hungry greed that led them to painting all below? Pale light sent by the sun was, by them, made vibrant. It was filtered by deep greens and became a warm dappled gold.
Looking up from the painted shadows was to meet the many bright eyes of the night. It was to see the stars finding a way to be wakeful in the presence of Solis. Pinpoints of daylight that sought out the gaps that the canopy failed to fill.
Dusk had cloaked the library by the time that Lovis came to its door. His time in the library was something akin to time spent in worship. Sometimes it was something more sacred and dearly held. So many years he had lived yet never did the library allow him to leave without having learned something new. It was with reverence that he came into its halls.
Were Lovis to ever offer his being to monkhood it would be to this library that he would humbly give himself.
Were he ever to be reincarnated he would hope to be born again as one of the library foxes.
He strode down the halls with the confidence of one who walks a path taken many times over by their previous selves. He knew every dip and rise of the floor.
What Lovis did not know was that his favorite place to read in the library was taken. He favored it for it being tucked away in an unassuming corner. An afterthought of the architect. Easily forgotten or overlooked by other patrons.
The pillows were timeworn. Their stuffing was tired and left them to slump. The pattern on the rug was a memory of its former radiance. It lacked the refinement of the rest of the reading beds but it was worn comfortably. It was a homely spot he had imagined to have melded itself to his own form.
Seeing another in his spot put a hitch in his step. He faltered but settled into a spot nearby."Might I ask," he shifted and fluffed the pillows until they were to his liking, "how long it is that you plan to stay?"
Denocte had, in her humble opinion, a good piece of land. From mountains to this prairie, Willoughby felt it was as diverse as its citizens. She longed to meet all of them as well as explore every part of this realm. Her stop today made the maiden feel content. A large expanse stretched before her, welcoming and beckoning her forth.
She liked wide open places as well as cities. But there was only so much she could do in both before getting bored. As a vagabond currently, Willoughby had the world. She held in lovingly to her chest. Nothing tied her down, nothing demanded her attention... It was sad and wonderful. She wanted more, but she also knew she'd miss what she had.
Merely taking the time this afternoon to walk the prairie, the maiden hummed softly. She was working on a tune to play at the Night Market; something lighthearted and full of the season's blessing. Summer was an excellent time to work on music, for she found the muse came to her easier. Slowing to a halt, she realized she wasn't alone.
Another being ahead of her, perhaps unaware of her existence... She walked slowly from behind, her neck low as she hoped to catch a glimpse of their face.
“speech”
if you don't want to see me dancing with somebody new
Fight Type: Battle Prize: No prize, this is just for experience! Contact Made: Yes
Character #1: @Maerys Bonded: Yes - a fantasy bonded, fire-breathing dragon Magic: Yes - emotional transferance (emotion stealing) Armor: No Weapons: Yes - an ax Current Health: 11 Current Attack: 9 Current Experience: 22
Character #2: @Nicnevin Bonded: No Magic: No Armor: No Weapons: No Current Health: 8 Current Attack: 12 Current Experience: 10
there are nights when the wolves are silent and only the horses howl
Maerys was searching for a fight, but it wasn't in the barbaric and savage way the bloodthirsty and war-starved did. She'd come to Bellum Steppe, the land that had been known as the heart of conflict and challenge for many years now, to further her training as a warrior; there was no revenge to be sought, no anger to be unleashed. In her two years as a Deluminian soldier, she had yet to prove her worth in an actual fight, and though she spent hours learning maneuvers from other warriors and reading combat books from the library, that alone could not prepare her for war.
As a child, she would have readily sparred with others, but the Deluminians had told her she must wait until she was mature enough to handle the weight of another full-grown horse pressing against her with gnashing teeth and heavy kicks. As the years progressed, she had finally become powerful enough to accept a challenger.
Flying in serene, expert arcs above Maerys was Vradara, who impatiently waited for an opponent to make themselves known. Though the reptilian beast was typically far from hostile, the anticipation and thrill she felt through her bond with Maerys had riled her up.
Summer had come to Bellum Steppe with passion on this day, an unstoppable ripple of warmness. The heaven burned cerulean, adorned only by the seldom puffy cloud. The sun, unobstructed and blazing, was a celebration of golden glory. The terrain around her was extensive and spacious, beautified with perennials - a scattered spectrum of colors among the sepia of dry grass.
Then, Maerys noticed the pegasus - her opponent.
The stranger's build insinuated a draft influence meanwhile her lankiness denoted a more adolescent age. What the mare had in body, she presumably lacked in experience - and Maerys would readily use that as an advantage should this be her opponent on this day. With the thick ram horns and sizeable wings of a hybrid versus the naked body of an equine, it would be an intriguing match, but it was one Maerys felt wholeheartedly qualified for.
Maerys seized her double-sided ax and began marching towards the mare, only laying the weapon back on the ground beside her when she was close enough to the stranger. "Hello," she commenced. "Is thee a soldier?" The question would've seemed entirely random had they not been in Bellum Steppe on this warm summer day. "I am Maerys, wouldst thee entertain sparring with me?"
just a warning, haven't sparred in over 4 years of RPing....
Summary: It's a warm summer day. Maerys is on the Steppe with Vradara and her ax when she sees Nicnevin and walks up to her. After asking if she is a soldier, Maerys introduces herself and requests that they spar together for practice! (Side note: Jeanne gave me permission to say that Nicnevin was already here in the opener so everything would flow smoothly in the next few posts!)
nature's first green is gold,
her hardest hue to hold
Somnus returned to the Dawn Court without grand heralding.
Timing had more to do with it than anything else. It was just before dawn when he arrived, his hooves striking their familiar staccato against the cobblestone and the patchwork cloak he wore billowing out behind him with every step. To anyone watching him that early morning, one would simply think him to be a wayward monk on their way to an early morning prayer.
They wouldn’t be wrong.
It had been so, so long since he had walked these streets, and yet he knew them so intimately as though he had never left. Eyes closed, the former Dawn King did not need vision to navigate the familiar twists and turns needed to reach the citadel. The stone structure loomed like an unseen beacon in the distance, the epicenter of their beloved Court, the heart of Delumine… And it was there he went, gently pulling the hood of his cloak down so that it rested comfortably against his shoulders the closer that he got.
The guards stationed at the doors watched him approach. One shifted nervously, not recognizing the dunalino given his recent acceptance into the ranks, but their compatriot did. Even if his eyes were open Somnus would not be able to see the way that the soldier’s mouth parted in surprise, recognition shining in his eyes, nor the way that the guard dipped his head in respectful silence. They did not try to stop him as he stepped into the citadel, passing beneath the threshold of the large stone towers that had once served as his very home.
His children had run up and down these hallways. Regis, with his gangly thin frame but ecstatic smile. Anemone, with her boisterous energy and dazzling personality. Eulalie’s voice calling worriedly after them, apologizing to the staff that they inadvertently knocked into during their play... Even in the wake of despair, having lost them all, Somnus breathed in slowly and smiled.
’Even when you despair,’ Oriens had told him, benevolent and patient, ’Think of me, and know that I am here.’
The halls of the citadel were deathly silent that morning. Nary a soul was in sight, not even the staff that tended to the seat of power. Every step was made with unnatural grace, as the dunalino moved by memory alone. He was quiet throughout his journey, lost in memories, recalling so many years spent in this very place…
Eventually he came to a set of wooden double doors that were shut. It was only then that Somnus allowed his eyes to open, his unseeing, milky-green orbs staring at the elaborate carvings depicting the lore of Delumine as though he could read the depictions himself. He couldn’t, of course; he was blind, but while his vision had gone, his memory had not. Inhaling slowly, keeping his thoughts measured and emotions in order, the former Dawn King pushed his way into his old chambers.
The air was stagnant and stale, and it was easy to pick up the scent of dust. Clearly it had been some time since his old chambers had been cleaned… But they were empty and cold, the hearth long burnt out. His former chambers lacked any semblance of warmth, and while daunting, while heartbreaking, the homefires could burn once again. It was there, in his chambers, that Somnus remained throughout the rest of the morning; tending to his disorderly desk, putting everything back into order, taking the linen from his bed to be replaced, dusting away the soot and grime, removing the cold coals from the hearth…
As the rest of Delumine began to awaken, servants and monks and soldiers and citizens alike crawling from their beds to begin their day, word spread quickly that ‘a graying-gold man with a black horn and mottled wings’ had made himself at home in the former King Somnus’ chambers. He heard them, of course, skulking about to peek in on what it was that he was doing… But he paid them no mind. There was work to be done.
Somnus had returned home to Delumine, and he had no intentions on going anywhere else.
Don’t ask him for reasonings, he has none. Does anyone ever? No, he just has a feeling. That type of feeling that gnaws on the skull, fangs scraping against bone, loudest when it’s quiet - like here, in this endless sand. He first felt it in his youth, when he was but a boy. The memory is vivid when it comes:
He’s a gangly child again, legs too long and knees scraped raw from play, and he’s alone. His mother wasn’t neglectful by any means, but she certainly afforded her son more freedom than most parents ( more than most would ever think appropriate - but why worry? Her son was godtouched, what in the sand would dare show him anything but mercy?
Zakariah could never say they were close, in no short part because of this. She loved him as a mother should, but also in that same way a houndkeeper loves their prized dog. Her pride was hardly Zakariah’s to claim at all, not for his actions, but simply for the manner of his magic. He was something to behold, something to boast, something to display like a medal.
But she did love him. )
Anyway, he’d wander off like children do, except his mother would only watch him disappear from sight, confident he’d return at some point. The horizon has swallowed his herd before he’s realized, and he’s mostly alone now.
Mostly, because the ground shifts before him. He likens the way the sand falls off the serpent’s body to water, in waves. The viper is more frightened than he is, and Zakariah is foolish enough to lean closer to the low hiss it emits. It does not strike him. It makes no move to, either. It simply holds his gaze - eyes a green so brilliant you’d think them gemstones. In some way, its benevolence is more unsettling than aggression.
It doesn’t need to kill him.
It knows, one day, these sands will take him instead.
He’s always had a feeling, since that day. He thought of it ( dreamed of it ) often in the catacombs - some days so lucidly that the moments following him waking were feverish and panicked.
Zakariah wondered if this was what justice felt like.
It’s only when he exits the catacombs and revisits his home that he realizes justice is a myth, that karma was too fond of him. He’d have wasted away in that hell of his own making if either of those things existed, truly. He’d have died in the dark.
So he’s not really worried about actions, and their consequences. Not yet, anyway. He doesn’t think death will visit him anytime soon. But when it does, it will be in the sand.
And death must leave a soul hungry.
Because when he looks at the sun bleached bones before him, belonging to some long dead dog, they remind him of teeth. Bared, desperate, dangerous. A ghost, stubbornly huddled into its own corpse, snarling for another chance at life. He wants to help it. To tell it…
The gods are deaf, if they’re there at all. And you are best where you are, partly gone beneath the dunes, forgotten.
Zakariah regards the bones a moment longer, then hums a pensive note.
Will he, too, refuse his death? So violently, so silently?
... No. No, he was rightly full of life, wasn't he?
She stands beneath the surf, the waves crashing overhead. Despite the surf, there is a stillness about being here beneath the waves. There’s a quietness that seems to settle over her and for a moment, Katniss feels more at peace than she ever has. Her life had been chaotic recently. It was almost as if she was on a merry-go-round without the ability to stop it. Her life was spinning out of control and she could do nothing to slow it down. Her mind was so restless lately, her thoughts betraying everything she thought she was. And yet, she had to get away before it would be her ultimate undoing.
And so, she stood here amongst the fishes, letting the sounds of the waves lull her mind into some sort of functioning entity. Her magic created a set of gills that breathed for her, the sound of water rushing over the gills was soothing. And yet, even in the stillness of this moment, Katniss knew she could not stay here forever. She had a son who needed her, a court who depended on her, and a life she had to keep on living, no matter how painful it might be.
And with a sigh, Katniss began to walk towards the beach, her body slowly slipping from the waves as elegantly as Ariel seemed to appear out of the sea in her blue shimmering dress in The Little Mermaid. Water seemed to roll off her muscles, pooling only along the hundreds of scars that her skin sported. As her lungs began to work again, her gills seemed to disappear and once more, Katniss was like any other being. No longer did she embrace her kelpie heritage. No longer did she hold onto her past.
By the time she exited the water almost completely, Katniss was tired, her body exhausted from the inner turmoil. And yet, she looked confident and strong, holding her head high with her muscles stiff. She looked regal, every bit the warrior she was. And yet, no one knew of the war she was fighting within, the war that she was undoubtedly losing.
Who the fuck thought that a desert environment was appropriate for people to live in? It was hot and dry and it made her skin crack. If someone looked close enough, it looked like she had fucking dandruff. DANDRUFF. Sloane much preferred the humid atmosphere of her island, even if it also had its drawbacks. But at least she didn’t look like she had leprosy.
Not only was her skin flaking up like a shedding lizard, but she was sweaty. You’d think the sheer amount of sweat might work as some sort of moisturizer, but no, it didn’t. All it did was make her mane stick firmly to her neck and appear stringy and yet clumpy all at once. It was definitely not a look Sloane cared for, but she supposed it would just have to do when she willingly walked into a fricken desert.
Not only was it hot, dry, and made her look like she didn’t care the least bit about looking good, but it was covered in sand. Sand that got into every nook and cranny. How did people live like this? She had sand in her twat, up her nose, and between her cheeks, you know…the ass cheeks. Sloane could feel the way the sand grinded against her skin. It was exfoliating her already dead and dry skin, making her dandruff look worse. Someone really needed to rethink this desert climate nonsense.
But alas, she had chosen to venture into Solterra just to be a little bit nosey. She had never been here before, never cared to. But considering she had been pretty much everywhere but here, she supposed she needed to at least check this arid no man’s land off her list of “places no one ever wants to visit”. At least she knew why she had never been here before, it wasn’t at all impressive.
Ears lay flat against her skull, her annoyance clearly painted all across her face. Slit pupils blinked back the brightness of the sun and for a brief second, she wondered if she had made a mistake. But Sloane doesn’t make mistakes, so she just continued onward in sheer annoyance, hoping that she might come across something that remotely interested her.
I was still riding on the high of disbelief, and hope. If Kodarki was alive, and well, than that meant that there was a chance others were too. It meant that Liatris could be... well it meant that maybe he was here, that maybe I hadn't just been anchored in by the past. I don't know if it's the doing of the firstborns, or if the gods of novus have finally heard my plea. Perhaps, it's time to start putting some faith in the. Maybe I'll visit the peak... and for once have a word with Caligo.
I've been to the Eleutheria plains only once, a journey to clear my head. I come now with a purpose. It may be summer now, a season with the gift of little sickness, and bountiful herbs. But summer doesn't last forever, and as soon as the seasons change, so too does out luck. So I'm stocking up while i can, gathering every herb from around Novus I can think of. Another healer in the temple told me I could find purple coneflower in the plains. Good for respiratory infections, which I'm sure will be in high supply come the fall.
So far though I'm having rotten luck. I've found plenty of yarrow, that I don't need, but not a single purple petal. I wander around, unfamiliar with the land, and unsure of where I should be looking. Suddenly I spot it. a small bloom of the purple flowers, and I am promptly dissapointed to see that someone has beaten me to the punch.
Anyone could see that Galileo had been suffering of late, but the fact he had let nobody close since he had entered these lands meant that nobody cared. He had taken to hiding himself away in what he had heard be called the Elatus Canyons on the whispers of the wind, and they had offered a private refuge for the horse who longed to be devoid of all attentions. A hermit of sorts, the stallion withered away in his palace of rock.
It had given him time (perhaps too much of it) to think, and for once he had allowed his mind's own musings. A warrior on the battlefield did not think, he felt, and he acted accordingly. He'd always left the intelligence to his younger sister, keeping occupied with honing his skills instead of flexing his brain. War waited for no one, and ran at its own pace.
Under the spell of the cliffs he had made homely, he trekked through them at his usual drifting pace. He was truly too large for some of the narrow passageways, and so struck out on the wider ones with hopes that he would not get stuck. It brought his mind to peace if he walked, and didn't stop. And so he moved onwards, round and round the canyons, finding different paths as and when he could.
Approaching a narrow passage, Galileo slowed, as he always did, and went to place his feet carefully forward. There was no daintiness about him; he was never delicate in his movements. One hoof, two hooves, and then suddenly, his body dropped forward as he missed his footing.
Leg plunging down into the rocks underneath him, he cursed as he tried to steady himself, stopping so as not to fall any lower. A sharp pain shot up his leg, and he quickly realised it was stuck, planted between the boulders. Angry at himself for being so incredibly idiotic, he attempted to pull upwards, but the pain made him wince and he gritted his teeth. Well and truly stuck, he instantly looked around for help, only to be greeted with nothing but the beauty of the canyons -- and that was not what he needed in that moment.
