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+---- Thread: [AW] we'll be nothing but dust (/showthread.php?tid=363)
we'll be nothing but dust - Seraphina - 07-05-2017
I'M READY FOR THE FIGHT & FATE--
The low hum of the wind brushing through the thick, desaturated strands of dry grass that blanketed the Eluetheria Plain in brilliant gold during the day was the only sound that occupied the hazy silence of midnight; on occasion, she heard the beat of quick little wings as a bird or a bat passed overhead, a tiny speck of black that looped and twirled against a starlit sky, or the rustle of some small, unseen creature passing alongside her in the grasses, brushing against the brittle, choppy grasses on their way back to their burrows, or out to hunt for other nightfarers. The air was hot and muggy and wet, oversaturated and ready to break. Seraphina expected that the Plain would experience a rather lengthy shower come tomorrow afternoon, perhaps a bit of creeping mist on the small streams and ponds that dotted the flat, featureless landscape – scarcely disturbed by a substantial tree or stone. It was a different sort of heat and a different sort of solitude and a different sort of heat from what she was accustomed to, though. Solterra was dry and empty. Eluetheria was full – overflowing with life, a dam about to burst – and wet. The heat was sticky here, though not unpleasant; nor was it unpleasant to be surrounded by living things, rather than endless sand and skeletons. For all her love (was it that?) for her desert homelands, Seraphina was so preoccupied with her work that she never felt very relaxed whilst wandering the sands. Though she’d been trained to find potential threats wherever she went, she found it much easier to relax and breathe on those relatively rare occasions she fled the sands. This was one such occasion. Her mane, otherwise kept perpetually in a half-braid, hung loosely at the side of her neck, lengthy forelock tumbling down her muzzle. The combat she wore like a second skin was, for the time being, peeled away.
Glittering golden lights danced alongside her, stretched out in midair as far as the eye could see. Fireflies. Occasionally one would light on her silver coat, a small dollop of sunlight that clung to her skin before, with the tiniest twitch, it was gone again. For her part, Seraphina was looking up. Her mismatched eyes scrawled along the star-filled sky, seeking out the familiar shapes of constellations and celestial bodies – in the desert, they were the best and simplest form of navigation, and she’d been subject to rigorous lessons on their particular designs throughout the year as a foal. She traced Solis – strange that the God of Day would find his likeness in the night sky, wasn’t it? – and Caligo, Vespera and Oriens, Tempus - and then Fiens, the greatest of the sandwyrms, and Malora, the huntress who slayed him, the beautiful and deadly Princess Isrif, the great sage Koriell and his bird of a thousand colors, Nicte…they felt like old friends, even in foreign lands. Almost unconsciously, she found herself stirred to break the silence, and, with a sharp inhale, broke into soft song. Seraphina did not know the words to most of the songs that she sung, in truth; if she were asked, she would not be able to tell you what they meant or how they were written. Music was another hand-me-down from Viceroy, but her tongue and lips closed around his foreign words with all the familiarity one might expect of a native. The particular tune that escaped her lips was a quiet, lilting one, soothing in its gentle inflections. She could vaguely remember him singing it to her some nights when she was very young, ushering her into a troubled sleep. (His singing always felt like an apology.) She fell into tune with the gentle breeze and kept her eyes to the stars, content to serve as a perch for fireflies or a feature of the landscape and grateful from the reprieve from the thoughts and duties of the day.
AW <3
RE: we'll be nothing but dust - Isorath - 08-02-2017
i s o r a t h
a king in his own right,
a king without a kingdom.
There was something about the night that brought with it a sense of tranquility few would be hard pressed to find when the sun reigned supreme. Even when it blanketed such a place as Eluetheria, with it's golden grasses and sun kissed plains, the moon light cast it in a serene hue which lessened the hand of summer and it's almost oppressive heat, but not enough to banish it completely. A perfect balance for a creature such as himself, as he glided a hairs breath from the ground, wings occasionally rising and falling to keep him effortlessly in the air. Silver hair left long and loose to stream in the night breeze, the occasional twist and curl dragging along the ground.
His homeland had been as varied as Novus, in it's climates and biomes, the rolling plains to be found to the east had been a blend of sandy crags and grasslands. The Sage hadn't visited thoe places as often as he'd liked, duties to his family had seen him tied to the capital and often the white halls of his palatial home. But he had seen Flora and Fauna both overflowing and sparse depending what little he had visited, and it's citizens as hardy and rugged as the lands they proudly called their home. If he closed his eyes, he could see them here, camped out beneath the sky on beds made of sun parched grasses, their rugged song lifted high as the fires cackled long into the night.
Novus was ever more becoming a balm which soothed the home sickness he kept buried deep down.
His amethyst gaze had also been cast toward the blanket of ink and starlight above, the moon's light reflecting off the soft hues trapped within his iris. Isorath had always been a patron of the sun, but as of late he found himself drawn toward the twilight and the night, the last tendrils of sunlight scattered in a dazzling hue of pastel pinks, purples, blues and oranges and then the effortlessly smooth expanse of dark which swallowed them up. The Kirin almost missed the carpet of fire flies until they began to drift past him like embers on the wind, one at first and then more. Carried by the breeze and their own whims, their warm glow reflecting dimly off of his gilded scales and shimmering pelt. Reluctantly, he had pulled his gaze and his mind from the stars and the moons aluring visage to pay attention to the carpet of light beneath his hooves.
Isorath had never seen anything like it, the slow waltz of the fireflies and the song which now reached his ears. A delicate ear tilted toward the source of the lilted words which joined the occasional chatter of the night realm, and he made the conscious decision to land. One cloven hoof after the other, his wings stretched to catch him in their taloned grip. It wasn't hard to spot the source of the song, though he hesitated in stepping any closer. Instead he settled into a comfortable silence, tail coiled neatly around his hocks and hair flowing gently in the soft breeze. The words were foreign to his ears, the more he listened, a song from this land perhaps? The logical part of his mind, the one that was tied to his duty, urged him to speak up. Perhaps the mare would be comfortable with teaching him it, or reciting it so he may record it for others to learn and sing.
"That song you sing," he piped up, loud enough to be heard but not placing much bite into the words, his antlered head tilted a fraction to the left "is it from here, or another land?" Isorath hummed, hesitating before taking one small step forward and stilling once more in place. "I've not heard anything quite like it."
"Isorath talks."
This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.
a king in his own right,
a king without a kingdom.
There was something about the night that brought with it a sense of tranquility few would be hard pressed to find when the sun reigned supreme. Even when it blanketed such a place as Eluetheria, with it's golden grasses and sun kissed plains, the moon light cast it in a serene hue which lessened the hand of summer and it's almost oppressive heat, but not enough to banish it completely. A perfect balance for a creature such as himself, as he glided a hairs breath from the ground, wings occasionally rising and falling to keep him effortlessly in the air. Silver hair left long and loose to stream in the night breeze, the occasional twist and curl dragging along the ground.
His homeland had been as varied as Novus, in it's climates and biomes, the rolling plains to be found to the east had been a blend of sandy crags and grasslands. The Sage hadn't visited thoe places as often as he'd liked, duties to his family had seen him tied to the capital and often the white halls of his palatial home. But he had seen Flora and Fauna both overflowing and sparse depending what little he had visited, and it's citizens as hardy and rugged as the lands they proudly called their home. If he closed his eyes, he could see them here, camped out beneath the sky on beds made of sun parched grasses, their rugged song lifted high as the fires cackled long into the night.
Novus was ever more becoming a balm which soothed the home sickness he kept buried deep down.
His amethyst gaze had also been cast toward the blanket of ink and starlight above, the moon's light reflecting off the soft hues trapped within his iris. Isorath had always been a patron of the sun, but as of late he found himself drawn toward the twilight and the night, the last tendrils of sunlight scattered in a dazzling hue of pastel pinks, purples, blues and oranges and then the effortlessly smooth expanse of dark which swallowed them up. The Kirin almost missed the carpet of fire flies until they began to drift past him like embers on the wind, one at first and then more. Carried by the breeze and their own whims, their warm glow reflecting dimly off of his gilded scales and shimmering pelt. Reluctantly, he had pulled his gaze and his mind from the stars and the moons aluring visage to pay attention to the carpet of light beneath his hooves.
Isorath had never seen anything like it, the slow waltz of the fireflies and the song which now reached his ears. A delicate ear tilted toward the source of the lilted words which joined the occasional chatter of the night realm, and he made the conscious decision to land. One cloven hoof after the other, his wings stretched to catch him in their taloned grip. It wasn't hard to spot the source of the song, though he hesitated in stepping any closer. Instead he settled into a comfortable silence, tail coiled neatly around his hocks and hair flowing gently in the soft breeze. The words were foreign to his ears, the more he listened, a song from this land perhaps? The logical part of his mind, the one that was tied to his duty, urged him to speak up. Perhaps the mare would be comfortable with teaching him it, or reciting it so he may record it for others to learn and sing.
"That song you sing," he piped up, loud enough to be heard but not placing much bite into the words, his antlered head tilted a fraction to the left "is it from here, or another land?" Isorath hummed, hesitating before taking one small step forward and stilling once more in place. "I've not heard anything quite like it."
"Isorath talks."
This styling is also nice for some non-obtrusive OOC credits, wordcount or banter. Don't forget that divider up there.
@
RE: we'll be nothing but dust - Seraphina - 11-15-2017
I'M READY FOR THE FIGHT & FATE--
Autumn wind trailed against her sides, running its fingers through her silver coat; it was cold comfort, the recession of sands and choking heat that rubbed her mouth dry, leaving her hollowed out under the abrasion of sand and sky. In the starlight, she was a ghost, a flickering apparition outlined by the metallic glow of starlight, something temporal and faint, save for her voice. She continued to sing, ebbing and flowing with the rise and fall of the melody, her lips tracing the outlines of meaningless phrases. (Maybe they meant something somewhere, but, certainly, little more than nothing to her.) Seraphina allowed herself to exist in the allure of the moment, in the flicker of the fireflies against her skin and the low murmur of the wind, the soft grass against her legs and the sensation of starlight, so foreign and uncertain to the woman of stark, cold daylight that she wasn’t sure that it was much of a comfort at all. She lingered, nevertheless, uncertain. The Emissary had duties, and, as a woman who had never had anything but duty, she valued them more than anything - but there were moments when she was sure that they choked her simply because she didn’t know how to live any other way. (That was too much sentiment for her. She shoved it aside, buried it deep. Without Viceroy, she told herself, she was already beginning to forget what really mattered.) The song rose and fell, and she wasn’t sure that she felt anything as it did, even though she felt like she should.
The sound of wings from behind her caused the mare to whirl, breaking out of melody; her eyes fell on a snow-white stallion, save for patches of golden scales – a pair of antlers sprouted from his skull, his tail was draconian, and wings, like those of a bat, spanned from his shoulderblades. An elegant creature, certainly, and a relative oddity even among the oft-fantastical equines of Novus. (He reminded her of Viceroy, in a way; she wasn’t sure if they were quite the same sort of creature, but he was closer to her enigmatic teacher than anyone she’d ever seen.) Her ears flicked forward to catch his words, and she seemed to consider them for a moment. “Another land,” She said, and there was her voice, not the one she put on while singing – deep and dusky with the low, drawled lull of the Day Court thick as honey on her lips, “though not one that I know much of. It was taught to me by my mentor.” If Viceroy had told her of his home, she recalled what he had said in little more than fragments, though she imagined that he hadn’t said much of anything at all. He loathed the land that supposedly loathed him, a hatred that consumed everything he ever seemed to say or do – Viceroy was a pitiful creature, in a way. For all he spoke to her of learning to feel nothing, she was sure from his viciousness that he felt far too much.
Her odd eyes found the pale lilac of the scaled horse’s, and she added a soft, “And who might you be?” A scholarly type, from his line of inquiry…his vocalizations were foreign to her, however, and she couldn’t quite place his scent. She kept her watchful gaze trained on his every move, just in case there was any hostility to him – she’d sensed nothing from his demeanor or tone, but Seraphina was hyperaware at best, honed and raised in the trappings of warfare and violence. (Solterra was hardly known for breeding trust.)
@Isorath - ft. a bit of a time skip for relevance, as per request <3