When night breaks solemn over the mountainside, and the lake is a sheet of glass, a mirror full of the millions of stars which flit and glitter so – silence too, comes with it. But it is not the pleasant silence of a summer night, with the distant ebb of the cricket hymns and the breeze shuddering the pines. It is an unsettled quiet, a tense quiet, one which waits as one holds their breath and waits, and sweats, and bleeds, folded beneath the shadow of a sword. It is a beautiful sight despite this enlightening sensation – the stars, each a light amongst lights burning brighter than recalled, fill the lake until it can hold no more. It brims with them, weighs down with them, a heavy thing to beholden; it is still because it must be, because exhaustion may find it were it to move, to break, to force off those things that have swelled it to its capacity. Galaxies are stead in its grasp, whorling and impenetrable by the practicality of the mind, a cluster of sisters gaze into their reflection from their heavenly throne. Somewhere beyond them, a deadened galaxy waits as a black hole, a gaping eye observant and patient. A chaise, a grand niche, a seating fit for a god, or something much more terrible.
He arrives when Vitreus is at its quietest, or the quiet arrives with him – bade, as though knelt to the very sound of his approach, under foot and under world. A vagrant thing, a wraith shrouded in the webbing tangles of glistening aether from the contours of his image; each golden vein reflects within them, or absorbs the brilliance of, the countless myriad stars. Beneath them shadows dance and the crescent moon bows, nurturing and gentle, or sharp and curious as a hungry scythe, to cast a wan light along the reticulated length of his spine. His symmetry waxes and wanes – wolfish, prowling, the roughened angles and the curve of muscle that rove, moonlight tender across the broad stretch of his shoulders and the tone of his core; laid bare beneath the watch of night and its steady roam. Uninvited, a godless wretch, he sacrileges the stillness of the Vitreus Lake when he enters, ripples unraveled from the coursing blade of his likeness – peeled, as though by the undoing of a wound, and poisoned by the stretch of shadow which consume the reflection of the amorous Pleiades and embracing starlight which fades beneath his silhouette.
There he bathes in the waters of Vitreus, consumed by starlight and unwinding shadows that glint and shimmer, a celestial undertow, centered by a black hole. There, he closes his eyes and dreams of things gentler creatures dare not – his mane unwound in the soft, slow ripples, his shoulders eased to the coolness of the lake and the quiet of the night.
Posted by: Pan - 12-06-2020, 08:36 AM - Forum: Archives
- Replies (2)
Summer rain was the best kind of rain. Humidity curled in his mane and Pan danced as he splashed in puddles, mud streaking up his legs as a boyish smile tugged at his lips. Water ran down his lithe frame, but it does not bring a chill. Instead, it is a welcome respite from the heat, and he shivers more from excitement than cold as he races along the seashore. There was much to see here – and Pan was always the first in line for festivals and celebrations. It wasn’t the first such event that Denocte had hosted, and Pan had always found a certain pleasure to visiting the night court. They always had the best stories, the most lively parties.
Case and point, even though it rained, the people were out en masse. They combed the beach with him, picking up bits of seashells and debris which the sea had washed ashore. Even Oliver was getting into the spirit, collecting as many baubles as his tiny furry hands could carry, before racing over to dump them into Pan’s satchel and resuming the hunt once more. Slowly, the clouds began to part and sunlight washed over the world, drying his coat and bringing heat back into the day once more. He stood for a moment, blinking up at the sky and letting the warmth wash over him like a hug, light flickering from his scales and throwing prismatic patterns onto the sand.
All around him, there were children running and playing. Some were familiar, others not… but there was one face he hadn’t seen yet. The girl. He didn’t know her name, but the girl with the moon on her shoulder and the lemur on her back. Pan had seen her before, whispering with her friends and painting in the shadows, murmuring to someone (though he couldn’t tell who, and certainly wouldn’t have guessed that the ‘who’ was actually a ghost). She needed to see the festival, he decided, and turning reluctantly from the party, he made his way to find her.
She lived in Terrestella, in a little cottage by the sea. Don’t ask him how he knew, for Pan would awkwardly tell you it was because he’d followed her one day. Not in a creepy way, mind you… he simply wanted to know more about the girl, curiosity getting the best of him. Her home is not unlike the place where he’d just come from, with sea brine on the air and bright sunlight filling the blue sky. But unlike the shore, Terrestella was fringed with impressive sea cliffs. You couldn’t walk into the ocean, but you could stare out at the sea for hours, a past time he’d taken part in several times. You couldn’t beat the view here, and as a vagabond, Pan was known to wander. He’d spent his fair share of time here, welcomed by his best friend Florentine, when she had been queen. He’d been to the hospital here too, delivering herbs and learning from the swamp healers, many of whom had moved on to different places and new adventures.
Such was the curse of an immortal child – for though he did not grow older, the world around him continued to change. Florentine was grown now, with children of her own… just as her mother Karou had been before that. His friends from the past were gone, replaced by new faces and stories… but it didn’t worry him much. For Pan was too jovial to be held down by sadness for long, even if nostalgia kept him awake from time to time. He’d led a good life, a full life… and it was about to get fuller, he decided, searching for the girl who would be his next-new-friend.
He approached her home, noting the way the setting sun cast a glow against its windows. The sky turned darker now, bringing night time and stardust in its wake. And as he stood below the window, Pan mustered his courage, picking up a few small pebbles which lay below it, and pinging them off of the glass with a quiet sound that beckoned her to greet him.
Posted by: Nightwish - 12-06-2020, 07:30 AM - Forum: Archives
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S
ummer had come to Novus, and with it, the days grew longer with light stretching far into what would usually be night. The air was warm and rich with fragrant scents of sweet fruits and sweeter wine. All around, there is noise and energy. Along the shoreline, beach combers gathered treasures which had washed ashore throughout the day, each wave bringing new surprises to their waiting hands. Children laughed and ran playfully through the surf, chasing away scuttling crabs and seagulls who perched upon rocky surfaces, vying for a treat of their own.
As he walked along the shore, Nightwish passed extravagant sand sculptures. Some had chosen to build traditional castles, but others forged scenes at whim. He passed a pirate ship, being overtaken by an impressively large sea kraken. A bit further down, an artisan put the finishing touches on a great eagle, wings spread against a brilliant sun, each feather detailed in fine craftsmanship. Further still, he found a brilliant bouquet of sand flowers, adorned with seashells and bits of sea glass to bring color to their blooms.
The stallion had always appreciated the art, humming a jaunty sea shanty as he found a small outcropping near the activity, settling to write in his journal as he watched. The longer he sat, the more he saw. His storyteller shorthand was brief on the page, but his memory was sharp enough to add in the details later. Brow furrowed in concentration, he lost himself in the words, as dozens passed by and the sun turned westward to begin its journey toward the sea. Only once shadows began to fall over his pages did he finally blink at the sun and realize the hour.
He stands once more, shaking off the tingling in his limbs, grown stiff from sitting in one position too long. Stretching thoroughly, he began to leave this place, but something holds him back. Turning to see what had set off his intuition, the painted stallion’s purple gaze falls on a stranger, holding back from joining in the din but obviously paying attention in the same way as he. Curiosity piqued, he makes his way forward, nodding to the stallion and taking in the peculiar sheen of his eyes – cloudy and sightless (he presumed).
"Quiet a show, eh?” He keeps his voice light and jovial, allowing Tenebrae a moment to adjust to his presence. "Certainly seems a change of pace from the usual scenery here…” Not that he knew it well, for Nightwish hadn’t been here long, but the laughter and play of the strangers here was far more activity than he’d seen in a while.
The summer sun was bright, too bright. It stung at Mephisto’s eyes as she quickly rushed through the open flower fields, appreciating the beauty but seeking somewhere to escape the heat. Away, away she pressed onward, taking to the sky in a flurry of black, soaring over the Sunsurro Fields and toward the swamp once more. It wasn’t that the dark warg disliked the sunshine… only that this particular day was far too warm for her liking. Humidity hung in the air too, curling the ends of her mane and bringing a sheen of sweat to her opaque frame.
As she makes her way into the tree laden swamplands, there is an immediate sense of relief that washes over the Pegasus. The air turns cooler, pungent earthy smells rising from the gurgling water, silence enveloping the area. It is a place which brings her peace, much like the oceanside cliffs at sunset. As she lands and begins to walk along the edges of the murky water, Mephisto allows herself time to take in her surroundings.
Summer had touched this place too, bringing blooms to the lilypads and new-life to roost. Fish skittered where her feet touched the water, and a particularly playful river otter rooted through leaves along the banks in her wake. She heard the quiet honking of a mother mallard to her ducklings in the distance , and when the darkness settled in the right places, tiny fireflies blinked with golden light. With a smile, the dark Pegasus marched onward, deeper into the swamp than she’d ever ventured before, curiously discovering all that the dark kingdom had to share.
It is here, deep within the brambles and brush, that a curious sort of structure lays hidden in the glade. The Hospital was not a place the warg had known of previously, spending most of her time either with the Halcyon barracks or gliding over Novus’ coastline. As she walks through this place, something pulls at her, leaving an itching sort of sensation along the back of her neck which suggests that she is somewhere which is not what it seems. And yet, the mare does not immediately find the hidden entrances, even as she follows the lily plants winding paths.
A purr sounds nearby, and the dark mare’s head tilts slowly toward it, astute blue eyes searching for the source. In her peripheral vision, there is a flash of movement, which draws a quicker turn, as she struggles to make out the form of a lemur-like healing helper. Shivering with unsettled confusion, Mephisto finally speaks to the seemingly empty glade, not knowing that there were truly eyes everywhere – even watching her now.
"What is this place?” she murmured, settling among the blossoms to wait for what came next.
Posted by: Novus Team - 12-03-2020, 08:49 PM - Forum: Updates
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User Group and Rank Changes
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Rivane's people may once have been gods, and they may have walked among the nobility, but she is a creature of trade and she follows the ringing call of gold coins. It is how she finds herself at the Night Market just in time for a festival, like a bird finding its way across an ocean it has never seen to reach winter nesting grounds. Business is reasonable, and she knows how to be convincing, but as evening drifts softly down upon them, she finds herself becoming distracted. Scarlet eyes skim the road away from the beach where the cobbled road is still thick with bodies, but she is only interested in one of them, a small one, scuttling between the hooves of shopper and merchant alike. Beech is on the prowl for bread and baubles.
he's going to get himself crushed.
She nods quietly, but there has never been any stopping Beech. A rush of victory courses through her veins, and she grins, wide and bright, a crescent moon that cuts through the shadows of her face. It's the wrong sort of smile, though: the red-winged mare who has been perusing her table (and, frankly, taking entirely too long deciding on whether or not she wants to purchase the little mirror,) looks up at her suspiciously. The tabby cat that has made a nest in the hollow of the mare's back hisses its Lady's displeasure through bristling whiskers and in reply, the leather bag at Rivane's hip begins to shudder, the unlatched brass lock vibrating against itself, tik-a-tik-a-tik-a. A brown nose peeks out from underneath, twitching, tasting the air.
rivane. Barley's voice noses into her mind like an insistent child. rivane i don't think breadnut likes the cat. its probably a perfectly nice cat so im sure he's being unfair, but maybe you could make it go away?
"Lovely evening, Ma'am."
Her grin softens, voice all charm and innocence. The stranger's crimson wings ruffle softly, unconvinced, but at last she hmphs and moves on, and just in time: Beech is running back, triumphant. Something gleams like sunlight in his mouth and Rivane casts a wary eye back to the retreating form of the pegasus to be sure she has gone
i found treasure. Beech's nimble hands are stuffing the gold ring into her pack. Someone is sure to be missing it, the violet mare thinks, definitely time to go, then. His spoils safely tucked away, the blue-masked pirate climbs up her neck to sit in the crow's nest of her ears while Rivane packs up what remains of her trinkets for sale and heads for the drifting scent of bonfires.
i wish i was taller
"You would be a worse thief for it, Beech." no. better. i could carry bigger things.
"You would look ridiculous, like a cat that swallowed an alligator"
The bag at her hip shudders again, but Beech laughs, delighted with the image. Ahead, faces in the firelight remind her of her caravan, of nights spent around the flickering flames, but this is not her family, and when she is not selling her odds and ends in the Market's, her charm falls away, her easy smile falls away, and she is as obscure as their beloved Night. Beech's anticipation of the fire-lit party and the things they might discover there pours out from each of his seventy whiskers and she can feel his eagerness sing to her blood, to the memories of her childhood, and the smell of roasted marshmallows pulls Barley out of the satchel, the sound of his sniffing almost as loud as the revelry below them, but she feels Breadnut's anxiety, too, and turns her head to look home again. There's comfort in solitude, in the old, familiar demons. Her breath comes in sharp, irritated exhalations and she dances like a moth, coming closer, then wheeling back again. There are strange folks here, some so odd that having four ears... Well, it probably isn't even a rarity, but the old seeds of prejudice have rooted in her heart and in her belly and at last Rivane pulls aside, her leonine tail lashing the air, testing the comforting weight of the blades concealed there.
"I'm going to need a drink."
She heads to the bar instead, and only Barley is pleased.
Disappointed, he turns away from the jewelry booth piled high with necklaces and bracelets, baubles and wind chines and other hanging decorations crowded onto pegs that jut from its wooden frame. The craftsman has sea shells and sand dollars, sharks teeth and little bits of seafloor with spiral fossils imprinted in them. They have sea glass, worn smooth and given a frosted finish by the ceaseless waves, but warmly colored sea glass, they say - the reds and oranges and pinks that Willfur most adores, the colors of sunrise and warmth and new beginnings - are apparently exceedingly rare.
He might have settled for a deep, emerald green instead - another color he quite admires, the color of life, of nature - but those too are in short supply, most often dulled to seafoam and teal and lime, the salinity of the water bleaching the dyes and stains to a mere suggestion of what they once were. "Ah, well." He shrugs, moving on. It was nice to have a look at least.
All along the beachfront there are visitors playing, shopping, building sandcastles, and clustered around campfires in pairs and small groups. Willfur would have thought, given the sheer number of horses gathered in one place, that he would feel crowded and overwhelmed by noise pollution, but it's surprisingly peaceful. Between groups there are pockets of quiet, where the shhh-shh of the ocean can assert its dominance over the festivities and the light of the fires gives way to moon and stars.
Alone in one of these pockets, he cocks a leg and watches the night sky overhead. There aren't any constellations he recognizes - Novus must be very far from anywhere he's been before - so he admires the splashes and pinpricks of light without trying to give them names or meaning, just enjoying the splendor of something so much larger than himself.
it's a new world, it's a new start ;
it's alive with the beating of young hearts
T
he beach has gotten a lot quieter since the sun has set. I can see the last brush strokes of color on the horizon as I look out at the sea. It had been a really pretty sunset and I think I need to watch them more often from here. I found myself spending more time in the woods or by the lake if I'm not in the castle, but not so much by the sea. It scares me a little just with how big and deep it is, but being among everyone here for the party makes me a little more comfortable. I just probably won't go swimming like some of the others.
Of course, I could probably do without the bonfires spread out along the beach. I know it's just something about our Court, but it doesn't help me not think about my powers. They even showed up again the other day and I wasn't even in any sort of danger. I'm worried I won't have any control over it at all and it'll just show up whenever it wants. What if it gets stronger? I don't know what I'd do.
I easily spiral out with my thoughts so I take a deep breath. Rory gently pulls at my mane as if to tell me it's okay and I smile at him. If it's not Bram, it's Rory and I appreciate bondeds even more. I don't know what I'd do without them.
Now that the moon is fully visible in the sky, it seems everyone is lively in a different way. There is some laughter and chatter, but it's not as loud as it had been through the day. I think more are starting to appreciate the moment a little more. I know I am. Rory and I settle down in a spot in the sand and I just take it all in. I close my eyes and taste the salt from the sea on my tongue as the ocean spray comes back to me a little. The smoke from the fires travels in the air too, almost bringing a warning along with it.
When I open my eyes, I start to not look at the moon as I usually do. Instead, I find myself making shapes with the stars and wondering how they all got up there. I've heard the stories that they're our ancestors, but are they? Could there be something more to it? How long of a journey is it to get up into the sky? I don't have wings, so I imagine it'd be really difficult for me.
Then, I see a streak of light race across the sky and my jaw drops. For a moment, I thought I imagined it but I definitely see another, fainter one go by. I gasp. "Wow! Rory did you see that? I wonder what those were?" The hawk nods, looking just as interested as I am. I'm hoping it's not an ancestor falling back down, although it does make me wonder more about falling stars.
In the distance, I can hear a few others whispering about it too, but more of them are gathered in front of a story guy to listen to whatever he has to say. It doesn't seem as interesting as the sky tonight, so I wait for more falling stars with wide eyes.
It's a new world, it's a new start
It's alive with the beating of young hearts
Things have been very different lately and I'm not sure how I feel about it. At first, it was me getting my powers (not only that but it was while I was nearly eaten by a monster), then Momma became Sovereign and then Auntie Antiope left. It's a lot for me to process and I'm still really confused.
I don't think things will change too much. Momma is a lot busier now, but she still makes time for our cuddles and storytime by the fire. Bram seems to spend more time with me lately and I know it's because Momma's worried for me. She can tell I've seemed down, but how can I tell her? She would either get overly protective or overly obsessed with the idea that I inherited her magic. I know she'd want to train me and I'm not sure if I want her to. Maybe it would help me figure things out, but she can be too rough sometimes. I don't blame her really, she comes from a soldier background, but I'm no soldier. I'm just… Maeve. I don't really know what I am, but I know at the least I don't want to be someone who can control fire.
I remember my talk with Uncle Tenny (Shadow Man) and it helped a little. Honestly though, I still want to find some way to take the magic back or give it to someone else. I've never really talked to Caligo before, but I know Shadow Man talks to her all the time. I guess I could try and see what happens?
At least for today, I want to try not thinking about it. The Court is hosting a beach party and there's a lot of fun things going on. There's horses playing some kind of game where they hit each other with beach balls, others are collecting shells or making sand castles on the beach. I don't really care much about the game, so I trot over to the beach.
As I watch some make sand castles, it reminds me of me and Aspara's snow animals (or blobs would be more accurate). I frown a little since I'm not sure where my friend is now, but maybe I'll find her later and see if she wants to try again. I think sand might be a little easier to mold together than snow.
I pick up one of the baskets placed in rows on the beach and start looking around for anything that catches my eye. Rory flies above me, but low enough that he's closer to me. He looks with me and already points out the prettiest piece of purple sea glass. I'm thankful for his bird vision here. I'm hoping I can find enough materials to make a pretty necklace for Momma.
As I place it in my basket, I also notice a couple sea shells. One has a spiral pattern to it and the other is an oval, but more flat. I decide to put them both in my basket just for fun. "I wonder why sea shells come in different shapes and sizes," I say to Rory, although I'm mostly thinking out loud. I know they have to come from the ocean, but where exactly? Were they once creatures or belonged to creatures and now they belong here on the shore? I find myself having many questions.
« r ; art » | @Ambrose I was really original with this title lmao
The laughter of the water is calm and soothing. A gentle to and fro wash among the expanse of the beach. Cicatrix steps along, cloven hooves sinking down in the sands and tilting their head downward to watch as the gilded hooves are enveloped by at least an inch or two of watery grains. It's been a long time since they've been to a beach, especially in the bright light of a sunlit day. But Novus is warm, welcoming, much like the arms of summer that are enveloping them right now. They sink a little more upon taking another step, the gold of the dewclaws even touching the grains, before there's a swish of their long tail and sudden giddiness envelops them.
Laughter bubbles up and out, warm and soft as their head tosses and they frolic down the beach for a few meters, kicking up sands around them with their delighted motions until there's a swing of their wings and they hold them open. The sun beats down on them, warming the membranes of skin webbed between delicate bones, and for a moment, they tilt their head back as if closing their eyes and sighing. Warmth is all that matters at the moment, and they remain like that before finally dropping their wings.
Tilting their head down, they catch a gleam in the sand with their gaze, moving over and reaching down with a wing to gently swipe away wet grains of sand. Below them, the blue ooze drops from between their teeth, sinking into the sand, swallowed up, but Cica doesn't much mind. As of late, the dripping blue hasn't been as bad, only a delicate stream here and there from between their teeth and from their eyes.
Delighted, Cica uncovers a small shell, using the very weak telekinesis to pick it up and look it over. Spiraled, grooved. A conch shell, they know, but of a beautiful pink and white with tinges of gold on the edge. This is something they might keep for themselves, like a crow with any sort of shiny material. So they carefully carry it with them, moving on to see if they can find more of these underwater treasures.
ooc|| open for anyone wanting to hunt some shells with this bean !
