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+---- Thread: [AW] Audaces fortuna iuvat (/showthread.php?tid=1806)
Audaces fortuna iuvat - Eksander - 03-14-2018
DO THE GODS LIGHT THIS FIRE IN OUR HEARTS
OR DOES EACH MAN'S MAD DESIRE BECOME HIS GOD?
Eskander had always been a creature of the mountains. Even as a mad king's daughter, she had been the firstborn of a wild priestess, and that ran in her blood. To be subjected, now, to both the fire of the desert and the unfamiliarity of a foreign city--it put her on edge.
Yes, a desert. Land which sought only to devour, to consume--for the first time, Eksander was faced with a sense of timelessness. Beneath the constant heat of the sun, there was opportunity for change. A territory personified by dunes that shifted and rolled, as untamable as a sea, she expected to feel an essence of natural power and force--instead there was a sort of placidity, as though the whole land whispered, we are keeping a secret here; do not speak too loudly. If one disobeyed, the tranquility suggested violence; the haze of heat above the dunes became a glare, the dryness of the tongue unbearable, the wind a whisper to a howl. She woke each morning to watch the sunrise beyond the horizon, a bloody eye winking in a sky the color of lava, ebbing and flowing, equal parts scathing red and molten gold. The eye swam in a vast sea; she would watch as it crested the curve of the earth, as it became full-fledged, and the color drained to an all-consuming blue.
Eskander, herself, felt consumed. She blinked the brightness from her eyes as she walked through the busy streets of the merchant district of the city. There were many bright, vibrant, unfamiliar items. While others might have looked at the aged walls and faded banners of Solis and thought them bland, Eskander was still taken aback. She came from the wilds--where her people had lived ruggedly, without shelter of walls, for as long as she could remember. Savages, she thought, not without disdain, as a pair of foals loped easily through the crowd. She watched them disappear around a corner, and released a heavy sigh. She felt confined, claustrophobic--in fact, she couldn't even remember what she was looking to buy.
"'Ey, sir, can I help ya?" A buckskin shop-owner asked, gesturing at his wares.
"Excuse me," Eskander replied, continuing on her way. He was taken aback by her feminine voice, she knew, but she had no interest in his assortment of daggers and paintings. An odd combination.
She honestly could not fathom what they used such things for. She began to notice the way the crowd thinned before her--the way they gave her uncertain glances. Eskander was aware of the fact she was new and her appearance was drastically different than the slim, long-legged horses the desert bred. She raised her head high and continued to wander, continuously overwhelmed. Eventually Eskander found herself in narrow alleyways; a scent wafted from an open doorway, and she neared. An aged mare followed her approach through an open window. "How about your fortune?" she questioned, in an ancient and paper-thin voice. "I tell fortunes, you see--you are a troubled one, searching for--"
"It isn't much of a prophecy," Eskander said, unkindly, "If you are only telling me what I am."
She moved quickly on, back into a more open area of the market. By this time, the sun was beginning to set, and she was hopelessly lost. Again.
ooc: all welcome! but I would prefer only one reply. thank you!
RE: Audaces fortuna iuvat - Seraphina - 03-17-2018
A CHOIR OF FURIES IN MY HEAD
The sun is beginning to creep below the horizon when Seraphina finally leaves the palace walls, escaping, at least for a short while, the venom and thinly-veiled violence of Solterran politics. Although much of the populace has seen her in the past, she is nondescript amongst the swell of bodies and faces that swarm the sandstone streets, lost to the crowd. For a moment, she can relish her own namelessness, relinquish the crown that she must sometimes remind herself that she chose - for a moment, her responsibilities can become separate from her body, and she can be little more than another passer-by, a slip of unimportant silver caught against dull, red-orange buildings and far more interesting faces.
She meanders through the marketplace by candlelight, taking careful account of the sea of unfamiliar faces swirling around her; Solterra is a court of snakes, and she’s learned the hard way that each strategic ripple of fabric could hide a knife. She slips through the crowd blissfully unnoticed, at least by anyone who would remark on her presence. Even as she becomes more adjusted to the ebb and flow of court life, Seraphina cannot shake the feeling that she exists as an outsider – she fits awkwardly into the position that is now her own, as though it was never quite made for someone with her particular qualifications. This, however, this is comfortable. This brings back memories of when she was someone else, something else, memories of a time before she had the weight of a people on her back – memories before she became accountable for the sins of an entire nation. She wonders, sometimes, if it wouldn’t have been better for Solterra if she had never become emissary, much less queen, but those insecurities are always put to rest with the reminder that there is no changing what has already been done.
She turns down an alleyway, and her eyes come to rest on a tall, muscular mare; she decides, immediately, that she must be a warrior – exceptionally powerful much of a hint of bulk. She has the physique of one, at least, and a massive set of wings and a brutal set of antlers. As the candlelight dances off her frame, Seraphina catches the hint of metallic hues caught in her dappled coat. She watches her, for a moment, taking account of her movements, and decides that she does not seem to know where she is or where she is going. With that, she approaches, allowing the clatter of her hooves against the sandstone to announce her arrival.
The silver doesn’t smile, but she does offer a polite dip of her head. “You look to be lost.” Her voice is deep and gravelly, and her lilting accent marks her native blood. Seraphina has lived long enough in the winding streets of the capitol to know a newcomer when she sees one – the wondering gazes tended to give it away. (This one, somehow, put her in mind of Eik. She thinks that they both seemed similarly struck by the overwhelming expanse of the capitol, and she wonders if this mare, too, is from a land without such structure.) She’s quick to add, “Perhaps I might be of some assistance.” Now that she is Queen, Seraphina spends considerably less time guiding lost travelers around Solterra, but, although it is no longer technically a part of her duty, she likes to keep an eye on new faces.
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tags | @eksander
notes | <3
RE: Audaces fortuna iuvat - Eksander - 03-18-2018
DO THE GODS LIGHT THIS FIRE IN OUR HEARTS
OR DOES EACH MAN'S MAD DESIRE BECOME HIS GOD?
It did not take long for the realization to dawn upon Eskander that she was no longer alone. The echo of hooves on sandstone caused her to flick an ear backward and then, as they continued, the mare turned her head in the direction of the sound. Her wings twitched irritably, wanting to expand, but stuck in the confines of the alleyway. Eskander proceeded to turn halfway, facing the silver mare more fully. Years of treacherous travel had made Eskander wary of others--the perpetual uncertainty, the paranoia--it all became useful now.
For example, her crimson eyes assessed Seraphina in one sweep. Eskander saw the fellow mare first as a delicate creature, but with more consideration, found her akin to a blade. Athletic and sharp. Silky silver, and dangerous. The movements were purposeful; the polite gesture neither overly friendly nor unkind. Eskander, however, did not respond. Her expression remained unwavering and while the candlelight glint across her metallic dapples, it did little to lighten her face. It merely caught, gleaming, in her red eyes. You look to be lost. Eskander wanted to be argumentative and proud--her immediate reaction was to scorn the comment with something sarcastic. However, an instinct compelled her to bite her tongue.
It was her surroundings. The too-narrow alleyways, the press of other horses in the marketplace earlier, the hush that began to settle with nightfall and the glimmer of candlelight. It all subdued her in a way atypical for the traveller. She had been in the city long enough to recognize the inhabitants should not be her enemies; simultaneously, she did not sleep soundly without the wide skin and open space of the countryside. Eskander had never been uncertain of the dark--but the city streets whispered to her in the way that darkness whispers to young children, in a sinister voice. The archaic within her, the primal and feral beast that lay in all their hearts, wanted Eskander to be afraid of the unfamiliarity.
So, what was familiar: her own kind. The voice of the other mare was not unwelcoming and rather than respond abrasively, she finally nodded her head in a polite greeting, albeit late. Eskander cleared her throat. "I am. I'm new here." And cities aren't my strength. Eskander would not admit that, however, as she was stubbornly committed to overcoming the discomfort.
"I'm Eskander," she offered, rather wearily. The mare had not spoken in the same accent that many of Solterra spoke with, and Eskander took note of that. She made certain not to allow it to affect her judgement, however; she spoke in an accent that was also misplaced. The other mare held an aura of importance that Eskander could not quite place; nothing abrasively arrogant, traits she typically associated with stallions... Rather, she possessed a calm authority. "I was just trying to familiarize myself with the area, and marketplace. But the alleyways twist. I'm from lands where there are no cities, or buildings. The concept is foreign to me; the structure unnatural." Eskander explained, matter-of-factly, and then realized she had likely said too much. It was nice to talk--she couldn't quite remember the last conversation she had had and, despite herself, she was full of foal-like curiosity.
RE: Audaces fortuna iuvat - Seraphina - 04-08-2018
A CHOIR OF FURIES IN MY HEAD
She watches wariness dance down the mare’s spine somewhat appreciatively; certainly a warrior, this one, and Seraphina could understand her cool caution, her unwavering stare. It is something familiar, the sort of hypertension that occupied someone who had likely seen violence in the past. (Or, perhaps, merely the nerves of someone in an unknown location, but, given the mare’s build, she suspects it is at least a combination thereof.) As the strange mare looks her over, dissecting her just as Seraphina did to her moments ago, she straightens, locking eyes with her. The silver isn’t particularly offended by her nonreaction, nor her obvious suspicion. Gods know that she’s hardly known for her welcoming, open attitude. She waits, impassive and unreadable, for what seems to her like quite a while, but is likely only the space of moments – she has the impression that she is calculating her reaction to her.
Finally, a nod. Her name: Eksander. New to this land. As anticipated.
She waits for a pause in her speech before introducing herself in turn. “My name is Seraphina,” She offers simply, her gaze resting coolly on the warlike mare as she assesses her reaction – would she recognize the silver by name, or was she still so ignorant to Solterran politics as not to recognize the name of its queen? If she did not know, all the better; less trouble, and less explanation, at least for the time being. Either way, she would not be quick to offer her title (a title she so often wondered if she truly desired) to strangers in a land that was all too often out for her blood. If love for a leader were ever a possibility in a land torn open by war and classist strife, she is far from earning it yet. Carelessness led so often to trouble.
Charcoal ears twitch forward to catch her words as she continues to speak, a look of faint interest flitting across dark features. Although Seraphina has spent a good deal of time travelling Novus (Solterra, Ruris, and Denocte, at least), she has never left the continent, and travelers are always something of a curiosity to her. “I see. I have met travelers from similar lands, in the past. I am native to Solterra – I could show you the capitol, if you wish?” A statement phrased with the rising intonation of a question. The Capitol could be very dangerous, particularly at night, and, while she doubted that the mare in front of her needed any protection, in an unknown place, it was easy enough to find yourself in over your head. Besides, Seraphina does, to some extent, enjoy showing others around the capitol; in spite of her warlike stature, she possesses something of a scholarly streak, and any excuse to discuss the history and folklore of her people is something that she will take in stride. (She is teaching herself to be proud of them again, but not just because she has no choice this time.) She waits with subdued patience for an answer.
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tags | @eksander
notes | <3