or maybe (another) fire

The snow shows no sign of slowing anytime soon. All day and all night it rages, the flurries falling hard and fast. Visibility is severely limited, and going out into the desert where it is the roughest might seem a death wish. The snow drifts are now deep enough to swallow even Torstein alive. And they move much like the sands of the desert, their dunes constantly rolling and shifting and piling up against the walls of the capitol.

The temperatures, too, continue to plummet. Solterra, once the warmest part of Novus, is now known as the coldest. Finding warmth is difficult, and the already scarce desert food has now become even harder to find. This winter wonderland is quickly beginning to wear on the residents of the Day Court, finding themselves unprepared for such an extreme storm.

Outside the capitol, the snow has lessened slightly (though the blizzard continues on in the More.) A few horses have gathered outside to play in it, but inside there are only frowns and mocking laughter. Fires are roaring, and you only pray that these ones will remain contained and won’t burn down your only shelter from the cold.

Your stomach growls, and you ignore it. There’s no food to be found here; not for free, that is. It seems only the rich were worthy enough for a meal anymore.

From one corner, an argument has started up over the food stores, and two gruff looking stallions look close to beginning a fight in earnest. The cold and the hunger are wearing thin on everyone’s nerves it would seem.

A barrel of ale is rolled out, as if to appease the hungry citizens… but not everyone appears so easily distracted. There’s whispers now, and from the bits and pieces you’ve heard, it would seem some are planning a raid. There has to be food somewhere.

And you’re left with a choice… join in, in the hopes of stealing a morsel; report them, in the hopes of gaining the authority’s favor; or maybe you’ll do nothing at all.

Outside, the snow continues to fall.

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RE: we're gonna start a fight - Jahin - 08-27-2018

J A H I N - - -

He is unnoticed in the corner, cloaked in the flickering shadow cast by wane firelight. The fires lit do not cure the cold he feels in his bones. He has never seen snow, has never felt its lingering icy caress. It does not take Jahin long to decide that he doesn’t like snow. Nor does he like what the cold and snow brings with it—hunger. A deep, aching, gnawing hunger. But it doesn’t bother him as much as others. He was trained for hardship like this—endured drought and famine in the desert with the Davke. It is but a new trial for him to face and conquer. He worries, however, for the others. They are weaker and untrained in the ways of survival.

He paces outside for a moment, gazing upon the capitol and the brazier fires that remain lit on the walls. Wherever Seraphina is, he hopes she is safe and surrounded by her Regime. He has not seen her since before the storm. Has heard no news of her welfare. He is comforted by the light on the walls—as long as they are lit he feels as though she is probably safe.

Frost crackles on his whiskers as he breathes in and out. The cold stings and the wind bites. He returns indoors only to find two stallions engaged in a fight. He sighs, shaking his head. Surrounded by idiots. “Stand down,” Jahin snaps, shouldering between them. “Or take it outside where the cold can you finish you both off.”

They eye him up and down, wondering if they ought to turn on him but seem to think better of it when they see his Davke brand and scars. They shuffle off, muttering angrily. He returns to his corner. He sips his ale in solitude and doesn’t engage in conversation. He watches and waits. He can feel the malevolent shift in the room, the dark glances cast among small crowds of citizens. The whispers are sharp and hushed. Raids. His ears pin, his blood growing hot under his skin.

“If anyone so much as breathes a word about a raid—I’ll throw you out myself and you’ll be dinner for whatever creatures this blizzard brought with it.”

these scars long have yearned for your tender caress
to bind our fortunes, damn what the stars own ---

RE: we're gonna start a fight - Teiran - 09-04-2018

i'm meaner than my demons, i'm bigger than these bones
Teiran had walked the snow covered streets as long as she could once things got bad, making sure nobody was wandering around frozen and alone. Then even she had made her way inside, for her mechanical disconnect from the world in times of strife could only carry her so far in the bitter cold. She'd found herself in a room filled with the discontent masses, murmurs reaching her ears as she stood inconspicuously among the crowd. Her sage green eyes saw everything, though they were cold as the air had become outside.

When the argument started, Teiran's eyes looked over, militaristic and not interested at all in the reason for their squabble. She lifted her head and oh, she was so much smaller than them but there was no fear in her. Before she could react however, another shoved his way between them, his threats snapping at their throats. She might have laughed if there was any understanding of irony in her bones. As it was, she knew that Solterrans, perhaps more than anyone, did not like being told what to do. He is lucky that the two men go their separate ways. She does not know this man's face and all Teiran can think is that a stranger is either very unlucky to be stuck here in this storm, or they are unlucky to be stuck with him. She decided to keep an eye on him.

It was not long before he spoke up again, his words filling the space around them. This time, the rose hued warrior said her own piece among the din of uprising talk. "I could put a knife through your neck before you even make it out of the door," and it is not a threat but a promise. The hardened steel glinting of her eyes is like a knife, a warning to those who seemed to be the most vocal with their plans. She would not let savages breed in her presence, spreading their damning, dissenting ideas like a plague. They would yield, or she would make them.

"Speaking."

@Jahin She's a bundle of joy

RE: we're gonna start a fight - Makeda - 09-04-2018

Fire and smoke had been her last memory of Solterra's great capitol, and now here it sat in the throes of ice and snow. Two extremes in so little time, it truly was a terrible stroke of misfortune- misfortune that Makeda had, of course, acknowledged, but did not seem to sympathize with in the slightest. She did, however, find herself growing increasingly agitated by the freezing temperatures that spread across the nation as a whole. She was cold, she was hungry, and she had no means of remedying either issue... that was until she reached the sprawl of civilization, at least. Here she could sate both needs and that was very much her intention.

The young Davke girl walked the snow-dusted streets without as much of a flicker of care in her eyes. She was not so easily recognized as her sister when it came to flagging a so-called savage, perhaps one of the few perks of living in the shadow of another. Not a single soul suspected her as one of the horde who set these roads ablaze, to them she was simply another pretty (frozen) face in the crowd. Makeda lavished in the thought as she stopped at the closed door of what she could only assume was something of a pub. Her thoughts had been interrupted by a ruckus coming from inside, enough to bait the mare into slithering inside to bury her nose where it did not belong.

She was greeted by immediate warmth, nearly causing her skin itself to sigh with relief while it began to unthaw from the cold. Yet it was not the heat of the fire that succeeded in catching her interest, but rather the threatening voices of not one, but two supposed peacekeepers. Makeda sashayed through the crowd, her own voice spilling pleasantly from her lips. "My, my aren't you both just the life of the party." She knew not of the mare's identity, though the collar that so snugly hugged her neck spoke to her past; one of Viceroy's child soldiers, if she remembered correctly. It always seemed peculiar to her that so many of them continued to adorn the metal pieces, but she bore no interest in inquiring. The other one, though... she knew him.

Jahin.

Makeda glided easily to him, a snake-like smile gleaming upon her face. "Colour me disappointed," she murmured into his ear, "have you no taste for fun?" She spun away from Jahin, making sure to brush him with her tail as she swept back into the crowd. "I for one would love to see some knives thrown, anyone else?" The scorpion sang to them, nearly laughing at the thought of such a thrill.

Now where was the food? Surely someone in here was desperate enough.

- - - - - - - -

@jahin @teiran

image © lunarblues

RE: we're gonna start a fight - Jahin - 09-22-2018

J A H I N - - -

He did not notice the girl with silver at her throat until now. Her voice had the resolve of someone who made good on her promises. The whispers stopped, an uneasy, apprehensive hush enveloping the room. The were wise not to smirk at her small stature and pretty eyes, but instead offered her the respect she demanded, knives glittering coldly in the firelight.

What was her motive? Who was she?

He did not recognize her as Seraphina's personal Ifrisol, but then again, those identities were often guarded and secretive, even amongst their own ranks and Jahin was not familiar with the new initiates as of late.

The collar hugging her throat spoke of a darker story, a story he knew Seraphina shared but did not care to discuss. He wondered at it; had she shared similar imprisonment such as he had in those dark days? But of course, he was not one to pry or make new acquaintances easily. Though it would seem they were on the same side (for now), Jahin did not lay his suspicions to rest. He offers her a glance of respect. She has fire in her; Davke fire.

He is almost content to leave the scene and return to the shadows when he hears a haunting voice, alluring and deadly as a siren.

Makeda.

He could not breathe, could not think. Surely his eyes were decieving him. She was dead, gone...as were the Davke, a relic of a bygone age. He had finally put her memories away, into the shadows of his mind where he could not longer dwell and pine for her.

But the smell of her skin was as he remembered it; the unmistakable mischievous, cunning glitter of her violet eyes, the venom dripping from her tongue. She is a flame, a snake, a siren, she is Makeda and she knows how to break him. She always has. He is a plaything to her, and she discards him over and over again; only to decide she is not yet done torturing his heart.

Her breath is hot in his ear, demure and teasing. He pulls away, not knowing whether he was angry at her cold, casual appearance, her lack of warmth, or relieved to find her alive and well. Could he feel both? He was never any good at deciphering his emotions, or knowing how to deal with them. He loved and hated her. He thought he had let her go, but could he ever?

She stirs the intensity of the room as only Makeda can. She is the electricity crackling in the air, a storm on the horizon and she has chosen to wreak havoc here, of all places. The whispers start again, in earnest this time. She is the tipping of the scales. Someone throws a glass (he is not sure whether it was aimed at his head or Teiran's) and all hell breaks loose. Fights and shouting and gathering the the pitchforks to storm the castle.

He cannot hold back the tide Makeda has unleashed. He pulls her aside in the chaos, forgetting the threat of riot or raiding. He has only eyes for her; the smell of her skin is divine and maddening. "Why," he says, desperately angry, nearly trembling. "Why have you come back, Makeda?"

She has never loved him, and never will, so why do you torment me so?

these scars long have yearned for your tender caress
to bind our fortunes, damn what the stars own ---

@Makeda @Teiran