there are nights when the wolves are silent and only the horses howl
The years took no pity on the Viride Forest; the elements battered the hickory bark season after season, peeling outer layers off but like chalcedony statues, they remain resolute in their beauty.
Maerys tilted her head upwards, her silver tresses displaced from the movement, slipping off the bridge of her skull and exposing more of her substantial porcelain blaze. The deciduous trees were a height that seemed essentially enchanting, their tangled offshoots stretching up to the heavens in search of the sun's golden light.
A smile embroidered itself upon her countenance, velvet-rose lips illuminated by the dappling of light filtered through the swaying leaves far above her spine. When she began to walk forwards once more, it was with the tender footfalls of a child afraid to damage the harmony of the world she had found herself in.
The Viride Forest was a place of ancient souls, of giants that hugged the earth with thick roots and creatures that dwelled in the sweet serenade of birdsong and crickets. Maerys was an infant in comparison to these testaments of life and longevity, a creature only the age of four.
I have fond memories of summer, days spent under the sun, picking flowers from under the willow trees, and weaving them into delicate chains. I used to fill a basket with them, and take them to all the children who were out and about that day. If I couldn't rule my birthright, than I could at least try to make it's people happy. I think I did most days, even if I let them down in the end.
I have memories of Elysium in the summer too, my boys running around like fools in the shallow oasis waters, lounging with Cavalier on it's shore. Or quiet summers under the shelter of the woods, watching the Artax graze, so unimaginably huge.
I have darker memories of summer too. Fires blooming into a bright sky, the ashes growing so thick it became dark as we ran through the grove. My parents bodies, bloodstained and lifeless on the forest floor. summer days in the desert, so sweltering hot that my body nearly gave in on so many of them.
But here I will make new ones. I don't visit the prairie often. It's too open for my liking, I've always lived under the cover of trees and mangroves, and I feel a sort of unease when all I can see overhead is the sky. I'd intended to go back to the mountains today, but I spoke to the acolyte in the foothills to tell him to come back tomorrow. I was exhausted, and worried that I wouldn't be able to make it all the way up, even with his help. So I'd come to the prairies instead, despite Picoro's protests that I should go to shelter by the lake. I.. don't know what it was, or why but something was just telling me to come here instead.
Yara walked calmly beside me through the barren field, while Mithra waltzed ahead. Recently Picoro had taken to being on her back instead of mine, and though sometimes it saddened me to feel him so far, I knew it was only because he could get a better grip on her fur, and lessen the burden on my back. It was while we ambled a long, our shambled quartet, that I caught it on the air. Just a touch, of that familiar spark, one I hadn't fell in so long. One I thought had died out long ago. And I thought, that I must have been growing feverish, and it was time to lay down. It was just like when I had been in Dusk, and I kept thinking I could smell LIatris in the air. I hoped now that it was just the fever talking, and not my past following me to Denocte as well.
I found a spot, a place where the grass was long enough to hide me completely as I laid on the earth. "Mithra!" I called, raising my voice higher than I would usually, trying to ensure she heard me over the winds that whistled uninterrupted over the prairie. She romped over at her own pace. Yara laid on one side of me, and Mithra joined me on the other, while Picoro crawled from her back to mine. "What's wrong?" his voice is always soothing, even though it's almost always used to growl some sort of warning at me "Nothing" "Luvena we are one in the same mind... I know when you are troubled and when you are not" "I..."I hesitate even with Picoro still, to tell him what I am thinking "I know it's just the fever talking but... I thought for a moment I felt it, that spark of familiarity, like before. Like Elysium and the waste, and all of it all at once" "You don't have one Luvena" "hm?" "You aren't feverish. Not yet at least"
I lifted my head, brows furrowing. So I had let it follow me to Denocte then. I let out a soft sigh, but before I could say anything further I could hear rustling through the grass far ahead, nearly hidden by the wind. The girls pressed in tighter. I stood up slowly, not feverish apparently, but still tired. It took me a moment to see ahead, blinking into the sunset ahead. I still found myself blinking rapidly as they did clear.
A million emotions tore through me at once. Surely I was hallucinating? I could see a million images racing through my head, comparing to the figure ahead. The antlers and striped coat, one I had only ever seen against a stark red backdrop. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, pounding so loud I could hardly hear the wind anymore. "Kodarki?" the words came out as a strangled as my heart felt. I was still unsure if what I was seeing was real, or all in my head, and so I stayed put, my feet planted unsteadily underneath me. I hadn't asked the girls to steady, yet both of them leaned up against me, not letting me sway either way.
SEE? ALL THESE YEARS / MY BRANCHES SANG WITH BIRDS and my leaves drank sunlight - I haven't missed much.❃
It’s summer, Septimus thinks, but summer with a bit of a draft – summer with a storm rolling in, and all the wind that accompanies it, which has left the coastline pleasantly cool but humid, so thick with moisture and salt that it is nearly hard to breathe. He stands with his hooves halfway buried in a fine layer of dirty grey sand, watching a seagull circle over the white foam crest of a distant wave; here and there, it dives, much to the irritation of the pelicans who are bobbing in the dark froth below. He doesn’t know how much time he spends watching them in silence – only, he thinks, that his glasses have fogged up by the time that the seagull is gone and he has pulled himself away.
He hasn’t been able to put his finger on what he’s been feeling lately. It’s not melancholy, exactly, though he tends to dismiss that as too mortal an emotion for him anyways. He doesn’t know what it is instead.
All he knows is that he woke up this morning to the furious, buzzing songs of cicadas and the distinct sense that the world was changing in ways that he’s not sure that he’s comfortable with, because he’s very well used to the world changing, but he’s never grown accustomed to having to be a part of it as it does. He’d strode out into the pale blush of dawn and looked at the dew on the grass, and he’d been struck with the somewhat awful realization that the morning wouldn’t last forever, or very long at all, and it hadn’t mattered, once, but now it did. So he’d gone to the sea. So he was at the sea. And so nothing had really come of it – he wasn’t sure that he’d learned anything that approached an understanding from the incident, which, he supposed, was how mortals felt all the time. It was awful. Normally he could think about it until he understood it, turn it over and over and around in his head until all of the pieces fit together into a perfect image, but now-
Now he stretches out his wings, feels the harsh fingers of the wind thread through his feathers, tucks his glasses neatly into his satchel, and jumps into the air without a second thought.
He’s not unaccustomed to flying in a storm, and it’s not quite storming yet besides; the wind is harsh and tastes like rain, and he can see the dark clouds gathered on the edge of the horizon, nearly indistinguishable from the black waves. He’s not sure that it will come to the coast, but he can see lightning, sharp bright arcs cut through the clouds; he can’t hear the thunder.
He flies near the surface of the sea, close enough for his pinions to hit the surface; they send up a spray of salt water that catches on his skin, even as he dips low enough to drag one hoof across the water. There is the occasional silver gleam of a fish or dark, lashing tail of a ray, the curved spine of a dolphin or the sharp hook-fin of a shark; as he flies out farther and farther, he thinks that he sees the fin of a whale break the surface, some kind of baleen one, but he snaps out his wings and turns back towards the coast before he can get a good look at it, because he’s gone far enough and the winds are growing stronger, and he has no magic to protect him here.
(But – when his magic was at its strongest and wildest, he didn’t know what a sea was. There are bargains. Always bargains.)
Septimus circles back towards a dark outcropping of cliffs, flying up the face of them almost too close to the ragged surface of the stone; it is only when he is suspended well above them that he catches sight of the woman on the cliffs, with her fantastic, star-strewn flanks and pale face. He blinks, hovering a moment, and then quickly descends down towards the stretch of cliff where she stands.
His hooves clatter down against the seaswept stone with a rhythmic, half-stumbled clatter and the musical clink of the ornaments strewn about his antlers. “Kassandra?” He comes to a flighty pause in front of her, his wings outstretched to their fullest length and feathers displaced by the wind, like a bird just come in from a thunderstorm, and smooths them – and his forelock, which threatens to fall into his eyes – back into place.
@Kassandra || it's been too long! <3 || billy collins, "days" Speech
The days turned to nights. The nights came back to day. Evening and afternoon remained a constant as well. Willoughby yearned for more - she just did not know what she wanted yet. Life was full of potential and so many experiences to be had. She didn't pin point what she needed, only that she wanted something.
Life had a funny way of throwing one curveballs.
The people she had met so far in Novus were kind, understanding and civil. She could not ask for more. It would be almost selfish. Yet it was like she had accepted long ago; these meetings were fleeting. She would, perhaps, never speak to them again. Their names would remain in her memory until they faded with time. It was a sad thought.
Perhaps the maiden was tired of this. She wanted to form lasting connections. She wanted friends, loves... perhaps even a few to butt heads with. But she didn't know how to get around to obtaining this want. For now, all she hoped to do was stick close to the Courts and see what opportunity presented itself.
Willoughby was rocked from her afternoon with these thoughts in mind, shaken only by the approach of another. She'd turn her head to see them; whether they approached her with intent or just passing by. She thought it was quite rude to ignore them, so she called out a soft greeting. It was up to them now.
“speech”
if you don't want to see me dancing with somebody new
There was something about the peace the night brings. Something about the stars twinkling brightly in the sky above, about the way the water from the lake laps at the sand on the shore. There was just something about the peacefulness of this moment that brought Katniss a sense of peace and comfort. For so long, Katniss had struggled with her inner demons, her conscious seemingly pulled in so many different directions. But here, as she stands beneath the twilight, she feels unusually calm.
A fire flickers in front of her, the crackling logs adding to the music of the insects and the birds. Eyes look into the glowing of coals, and despite the calmness and stillness of the night, Katniss feels nothing. She does not feel love, nor sorrow, nor anger, nor uncertainty. In this moment, she feels empty and alone, as if she is just existing in a land that she had sworn to protect. She feels lost but there is no one here who could possibly lead her in the right direction.
This moment of self-reflection is broken by the sound of footsteps approaching in the stillness of the night. She looks up to see who might be approaching, but she does not stand from her reclining position in the sand. It is a rare sight to see the warrior off her feet. The wound she carries are new and old and the firelight reflects them for all to see. She is defined by her markings, and yet she tries not to be. She wants to be more but she is unsure how to do that.
Normally she would ask her friends, but she has no one. Her son is too young to burden with his mother’s insecurities. Metaphor is dead. Isra is gone. Katniss does not make friends easily and it seemed like all her friends have left her alone in this world. Was that what her life was meant to be? A pointless meandering that meant nothing? She is lost and confused but you would not see that when she look at her. From the outside, she looks as though she has seen better days. Her eyes carry bags from lack of sleep, her skin covered with the scars of battles won and lost. And yet, here she is. This is Katniss. This is the one that Denocte has chosen.
@Moira – sorry it’s not great – starters are not my fortay <3
It had been some time since Ciaran had found herself in the embrace of kingdom life - she had last been in the wintery world she’d been born in, but it had been so changed. She’d been unable to find her place there and so had left, making her way from here to there. She was never alone, with Karsi at her side and Avitus with her in spirit, in some way.
So she believed.
The lass was walking quietly, having spent some time upon the island of space and time, lost in the nebula. She felt like she’d have stayed there and whittled away into nothing, for there had been nothing else but the twisting light and exploding stars, as their light shone upon the gathering clouds of gas and elements all around. A comet had been racing by, and she’d lay there and watched.
It had made her feel like she was home and young, as she had when she’d been a child dancing atop the mountain where the lights touched the earth. It had felt similar and made her feel comforted. With that warming feeling, she’d felt the presence of Karsi and had realised she couldn’t stay here.
She’d detached herself, and so made her way from here and into reality again. Was it real though? She found herself questioning everything but Karsi comforted and grounded her, and she found her way. Through the Night Court, she’d come, into the world of Denocte. The snowcapped mountains warmed her heart and she smiled.
As she beheld the Keep, she slowed and faltered, ceasing her walk. Karsi stopped at her flank, his dark gaze cast upon her. Ciaran was looking over the rock and stone, feeling a heavy feeling inside her chest. She wanted to go in and see, but she wasn’t sure. This was so different from the worlds she knew, to the Keep she’d been born in and knew every crevice, every secret - but it was new.
With a burst of confidence, Ciaran stepped forward.
She wouldn’t let her worry stop her. She knew the way… and she’d find what waited for her here. She was suddenly excited by it, apprehension went and Ciaran picks up her speed a little.
After all, Denocte awaited and everything before her was unraveling - but in a way that excited her, right down into her core.
Arkhandirr ""rich kid, asshole, paint me like a villain""
He hated this, hated not being able to figure out what exactly he had been feeling since the news had been brought to them. While Arkhandirr did not exactly have the best of conversations with their now-- absent Sovereign, he still had a deep rooted respect for her. So far she had been the only one to make him cut the bullshit, to remind him exactly who he was – even when he never told her that. Even though they had never talked much, he still remembered when he first came to court and managed to immediately stumble on the then Regent—
Arkhandirr shook his head, gritting his teeth as he trotted away from the tree he had been resting against. He could not be thinking about this, he didn’t want to. Thinking about what happened made him only more frustrated when he couldn’t figure out what was going on in his head. Maybe you need someone to talk to?- his head supplied him and he barely held back barking a ‘no’ out loud. He didn’t need anyone to figure this out, he could do it on his own.
He could not do it on his own.
With a sigh, he eventually came to a halt in front of the trees near Vitrus Lake and pushed his head against it. His gold-tipped black mane roughing up just a bit. “Damnit..” he whispered to the tree, as if it could hear him. Usually he would not allow himself to show this much weakness but right now? He couldn’t care less, he was on his own anyway.
Congratulations to @Adonai, the new Solterran Sovereign!
CLOSED - Voting for Solterran Sovereign
even castles made of sand one day fall into the sea
A decision was made, but it was not a decision that those of Solterra were expecting.
One by one they arrived like sheep guided by the patient hand of the shepherd… Or like lambs obliviously on their way to the slaughter. The first? Oh, the first was a fool; arrogant and unworthy, they were swept away by the hungry sands which gave the Mors its name before they could so much as utter their case.
Like a golden spectre in a whirlwind of dust did Solis appear before them, tall, imposing, and stalwart. His stare, ruby red to some, soulless black to others, seemed to pierce them where they stood, holding them frozen in place. The patron Deity of Solterra stationed himself at the base of the sandstone dias, the very air around him growing still, the pulse of the blinding sun stone thrumming with his very own heartbeat. Was Solterra not the beat of his own heart? Was the sand beneath their hooves not the blood that ran within his veins?
Three were chosen. Three in total, each offering their own strengths and weaknesses, failures and successes, but only one could be crowned Sovereign of Solterra. Only one would be the ultimate servant to his people, but which of them was ready to uphold such a task?
The decision had to be made, but it was not his to make.
To each of them Solis focused upon, staring intently, piercing the very souls within their chests and the minds within their heads. Did they truly have what it took to lead?
“@Bexley. @Adonai. @Warbird. Come forward. A decision has been made… But it is not my favor you must obtain, but the favor of the Solterrans you wish to serve.”
Written by the lovely @Sparrow ♥
Please be advised out of the five characters who originally auditioned... Katherine had requested Vendetta not be in the running and Llama/Illo
has not logged into the site in over a week, so the final three left were Warbird, Adonai, and Bexley.
Rules to Vote
Voting closes at 11:59P EST on 01/13/21
Before voting or if you are part of this nomination, please read all the below. If you have any questions/concerns, don't hesitate to ask!
Out of the five characters who auditioned, Katherine had requested Vendetta not be in the running and Llama/Illo has not logged into the site in over a week, so the final three left were Warbird, Adonai, and Bexley.
Keep in mind when voting, that we are looking for a character who embodies Solterran ideals, will have substantial enough activity to help drive the court in a positive direction, and solid ideas to bring to the court in terms of events, planning, etc.
You must use your Day Court character account to cast your vote - ONLY characters from Day Court can vote here!
One vote per member, even if you have multiple Day Court characters.
Those nominated may not vote for themselves. They are allowed to vote for a different character, if they wish.
You can post in this thread if you'd like to interact with Solis or the nominees!
Character Requirements for those Nominated:
If you win the member vote and have another character in a Regime position (Sovereign, Regent, Emissary), that character must step down before your winning character can step up. This must be completed within 2 weeks.
General rules and requirements regarding Sovereigns:
Regarding Sovereign vulnerability: Sovereigns will be deemed Vulnerable if you make 10 IC posts or less per month (this means that it will be extremely easy for anyone to win a Challenge against you), and posted absences only make you immune for 2 weeks.
Sovereign activity requirements: To promote activity within their respective Courts, the Sovereign must setup 1 IC event every other season.
Once you are selected and your profile approved, your first duty will be to create a Court Rules thread in your respective Court forum. Read this thread for things you can do as Sovereign.
It was not the first time that Jane had seen the sea. Indeed, when she was younger, too young to remember, the herd had spent a bit of time near an inlet. The older horses in the herd had talked of it sometimes in the voice that comes with childhood memories and nostalgia, and Jane had naught but a hazy image of blue with which to label the sea.
To remember that it had once been considered exciting to see the sea seems like a dream. Three months, now, had she passed along paths bridging the ocean. The first glimpse had filled her with awe; crashing waves that seemed inches away from slamming her into the rocks, and now she felt like it would never leave her. Her dreams were blue-toned, her nostrils calloused by salty air. She had never been more isolated, and although that was the point it rankled inside her and made her bitter.
She didn’t deserve this. Why couldn’t she have stayed home? Jane had said those same words to her mother, promised that she would never talk to handsome young colts ever again. She would focus on her studies, be a good filly. But her family’s patience was evidently shorter than she expected, and her pleas were met with stony disappointment from her mother. Every complaint, insult and compliment received the exact same reaction: a crinkling at the corner of the eyes, a furthering of distaste.
The day that Jane had met Hardison, the mare who would escort her, she came this close to running away before realising she had literally no defences for living as a lone horse in the wild. The day after, she had stood exhausted while Queen Marla and her parents discussed her future. It was decided that she should go by the coast, where it was less likely to come across any predators or antagonistic horses. At first it had sounded like a blessing to avoid the steep mountains that provided another route, but now she would do anything to avoid it.
Hardison was no easy companion, either. She was a draft mare, greying around the eyes, with a sharp tongue that any sensible horse would fear. Most of the time she watched the surroundings sternly, with a keenness for danger that had not yet saved Jane’s life. Indeed, it had been an incredibly eventless journey.
“How long now?” Jane asked as they stepped down a ledge into the sand. Her hooves sank into the wet sand, still damp from the retreating tide. Her ear twitched back in the direction of the surf, half nervous and half apathetic.
Hardison gave a long suffering snort and drove her hooved harder into the sand, splattering a bit of wet muck onto Jane’s fetlock. “As long as it takes,” she finally said, her voice low and rasping.
“Are you even sure you know where we’re going? We may well just circle the whole continent and end up in the same place. Why not just go home, Hardy?”
Jane felt a smug little pang as Hardison’s ears pinned. “Don’t- I know these parts better than you know your own name, princess.”
“Then why don’t you know how far away we are!”
Hardison pulled up and turned her head. Her ears were flat against her head. “Because we passed the border long ago. Now it’s about getting you into safe hands.” A thrill went through Jane’s body. I am in a different place. I am somewhere new. Jane shut up after that.
A few nights passed by this beach, Hardison deciding that they would take a bit of time to recuperate. They were up on the slopes, where hardy shoots managed to split through the earth only to be eaten by the few starving creatures desperate enough to stay there. Jane joined, although a bit away from the imposing figure of her protector.
“Hardy?” The mare’s ears twitch and Jane finally sighs, “Fine, Hardison, can I go down on the shore to look at the seashells? The tide is going to be out for hours, and I imagine you’re getting tired of me.”
Hardison lifted her head. “You are a vain little thing, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely. Now, please?”
Hardison appeared to stew over it in her head. She lifted her nose into the air, taking a scent for danger. Then her muscles loosened as she said, “Fine. But don’t even touch the water. Keep in the dry.”
Jane shot a thankful smile and descended the slope to the white-grey sand. It was certainly uncomfortable to return to the strong scent of brine and salt, but there was no way Hardison would let her go further inland. “Rotten old bitch,” Jane muttered, and lowered her head to the shells that lined the strand. Most of them small and white as teeth, others the sweet pink of a blood vessel in the eye.
The sea whispered and roared at the same time, temptingly near. Blue carried from one side of her vision to the other, dark grey against the roan blue of the sky. The wind whipped around her head, threw her mane and tail behind her. The darkness of her coat against the white split up the beach around her, save for the threads of gold that were hardly gold in the fading light of dusk.
As a rule, Willoughby did not fly near mountains. Her wings, though vast in span, chittered too easily in the frost. They took in ice faster than she was experienced using them. This was why she did not, and the only sensible thing she'd be mindful of not doing. It did, however, not stop her from flapping them like a giant rooster.
Walking about the base of the mountain, she stretched her multi-colored wings. Beating against the cool air, she did a little prance just the once before moving on. Unaware if another spied on her, she kept her eyes shut and a tune on her lips. It was akin to a hop and a skip, fluttering and boasting indirectly. She was proud of her looks, yes, but she never said such a thing.
Never to another person. That would be rude. Denocte was fairly unknown to her, so she sought to roam around the mountains and map them mentally. Maybe if she found something shiny, she could exchange the location to a treasure hunter. Then she'd get some signos for her trouble. Then she'd be one step closer to her new instrument. But -
