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+---- Thread: [AW] made of sand (SOVEREIGN AUDITIONS) (/showthread.php?tid=5825)
made of sand (SOVEREIGN AUDITIONS) - Official Day Account - 11-18-2020
Solterran Sovereign Auditions
The desert is singing, on the night that Orestes leaves.
It is a song of sand and sorrow, of a hunger that runs deep beneath the Mors and lies there at the bottom of the world like a great, golden serpent. And there it waits in the dark, alone and so very, very hungry, as the sun rises on a Court whose King is again missing.
Perhaps, at first, they do not believe it. Perhaps they think he is only traveling to see Marisol, and his children, or off on some diplomatic meeting that went unannounced. The optimists of the Court believe he will be back. Bells ring in the castle square on the first day. Whispers spread door to door like wildfire, the streets full of questions and rumors and fear spreading its wings like a dragon over the city of the sun —
But the next day the desert is still crying out.
And as the sun warms the sands there is an edge now to its song that was not there before, as if sorrow’s tears have only washed away the sand keeping its ancient angers buried below the surface. The dunes turn into restless things, tossing themselves like waves against a shore. The sand gathers and swells and falls, ripples like some great monster is diving deep in the depths of it.
Its song rises with the sand. It laps against the walls of the city, floods through its streets like water. Teryrs raise their heads and bellow out the notes to it in the canyons, coyotes set to yipping in the distance. With every passing day the song grows louder, and wilder, and the Mors thrashes more fiercely. With every passing day the lament of Solterra becomes sharper.
A week passes and there are no more whispers of when will our king return to us? It is only ever where has he gone? and see how the desert screams without him?
See how the desert grows wilder each day?
And the vultures are circling in the city, and every morning there are more snakes sunbathing near the fountains, and more jackals waiting beyond the walls, and more cries filling the night. And every day the sand that blows in on the westerly winds looks more and more like writing, like a message, like a command.
Until, one day, it is.
Come to the desert, it reads in glittering gold, all you who think you are worthy.
And we shall see which of you truly are.
~~~
The desert, when they come to it like sheep at the command of their shepherd, is a wild thing. It twists, and bucks, and rages — and it sings. It sings with all the sorrow and fury of a thing borne of violence, of a creature who has seen kings rise and fall and abandon. In the center of all those roiling dunes is a pedestal of sandstone — and upon that pedestal a miniature sun waits, throwing off light that pulses like a beating heart.
The first horse to step out into the sands and declare to all the world, I am the worthy one you seek, was promptly swept off of his hooves and devoured by the sand.
The desert curls itself around the pedestal, dunes rising and falling like golden waves.
And it waits.
It is a song of sand and sorrow, of a hunger that runs deep beneath the Mors and lies there at the bottom of the world like a great, golden serpent. And there it waits in the dark, alone and so very, very hungry, as the sun rises on a Court whose King is again missing.
Perhaps, at first, they do not believe it. Perhaps they think he is only traveling to see Marisol, and his children, or off on some diplomatic meeting that went unannounced. The optimists of the Court believe he will be back. Bells ring in the castle square on the first day. Whispers spread door to door like wildfire, the streets full of questions and rumors and fear spreading its wings like a dragon over the city of the sun —
But the next day the desert is still crying out.
And as the sun warms the sands there is an edge now to its song that was not there before, as if sorrow’s tears have only washed away the sand keeping its ancient angers buried below the surface. The dunes turn into restless things, tossing themselves like waves against a shore. The sand gathers and swells and falls, ripples like some great monster is diving deep in the depths of it.
Its song rises with the sand. It laps against the walls of the city, floods through its streets like water. Teryrs raise their heads and bellow out the notes to it in the canyons, coyotes set to yipping in the distance. With every passing day the song grows louder, and wilder, and the Mors thrashes more fiercely. With every passing day the lament of Solterra becomes sharper.
A week passes and there are no more whispers of when will our king return to us? It is only ever where has he gone? and see how the desert screams without him?
See how the desert grows wilder each day?
And the vultures are circling in the city, and every morning there are more snakes sunbathing near the fountains, and more jackals waiting beyond the walls, and more cries filling the night. And every day the sand that blows in on the westerly winds looks more and more like writing, like a message, like a command.
Until, one day, it is.
Come to the desert, it reads in glittering gold, all you who think you are worthy.
And we shall see which of you truly are.
The desert, when they come to it like sheep at the command of their shepherd, is a wild thing. It twists, and bucks, and rages — and it sings. It sings with all the sorrow and fury of a thing borne of violence, of a creature who has seen kings rise and fall and abandon. In the center of all those roiling dunes is a pedestal of sandstone — and upon that pedestal a miniature sun waits, throwing off light that pulses like a beating heart.
The first horse to step out into the sands and declare to all the world, I am the worthy one you seek, was promptly swept off of his hooves and devoured by the sand.
The desert curls itself around the pedestal, dunes rising and falling like golden waves.
And it waits.
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RE: made of sand (SOVEREIGN AUDITIONS) - Illo - 11-18-2020
The shifting grains do beckon,
Like beacons in the in the sand ,
Calling me like a lighthouse,
Calls a sailing ship to land.
And while they twist and tumble,
And fill the air with dust,
And the blazing sun shines on me,
Like a lover full of lust,
I stand in silent wonder,
Of all there is to see.
In the desert I am not lonely,
For the desert lives in me.
- Illo, Dasoonica Desert, Basillica
The ocean was tumultuous and roiling with anger when it spit the golden cargo upon the land. Gasping for the barest breath without a hint of self awareness, the deepest hues of blue barely peeked from beneath their hooded lids. Lips trembled as precious air was sucked in, churning within her lungs as if the oxygen must attune to a new climate all together. Weakly, her head was lifted from the ground as ears swiveled atop her dome, indignant curiosity building in her mind just as the self awareness finally settled in. All thoughts that had plagued her the night before were not distant memories, confined to the smallest space in her mind and perhaps never to be dredged up again. Where was the need to worry over Basillica? Where was Basillica now? Where was she now? How exactly had the ocean stolen her from the desert? What games did it think to play by plucking the golden mare from the only place she'd ever belonged? There was no room in her heart for the cold and salty wetness of the ocean. Deep within her chest, the faintest stirring of the dragon prickled.
Finding her way back to the desert was the only thought to cross her mind. Whether it was her desert or another, the golden fate could not find it within herself to care. The sand beneath her hooves would bring her comfort and solidify that at the least one worry plaguing her mind could be eased. There was only drive and desire in once again basking beneath the cruel sun, for it was only cruel to those who did not respect the desert. Fools were known to die and wilt within the great barren and beneath her baking sun. Illo had learned from birth to respect the dunes and the sands that ruled them. She had learned that the desert could not be tamed. Civilized, perhaps, but who could call the desert winds to heel? Who could command the sun to set or ease her watch? What fool would ask the sands not to cut them when they raged? Perhaps that was what called Illo to find such comfort in the desert. They were much alike, even if she would not dare pretend herself quite as mighty as the other. Though as civilized as a desert dweller could be, she too was free and untamable, fierce and above the reproach of any who thought to catch her as they might try to catch the errant grains upon the breeze.
Glistening beneath the morning rays, her scales shifting across her spine, attempting to rid themselves of the salty mark of the sea. With one last withering glance to the ocean, as if it were just as living as the creatures within it, she rose from the ground on rapidly strengthening limbs. Onyx strands clung to her golden flank and draped haphazardly along her hocks. It was a sensation she was not quite used to, for she didn't often make a point to wade deep enough into water to soak the strands. Her nostrils flared in distaste as she tore her gaze from the water to terrain that lay ahead. The wind picked up and somehow, seemingly from nowhere, the scent of the desert wafted across her nares. It beckoned her as it always did, toward the deathly heat it promised. It called to her soul as gently as a lover, whispering promised of golden hills and red cliffs. It drew her forward on bated breath, her heart pattering within her chest like a virgin called upon by a charming rogue. It knew just what to say and exactly how to say it.
She moved forward, falling in line with the sand that rifled through the quickening breeze. One might have thought her a besotted fool, rather than a battle hardened warrior who had seen much blood shed in her day. There was no reason to consider that this was a strange land and she might cross strange people. No, the desert called and she went. It was as simple as that. Yet, why the sea would toss her out here of all places, was a question that plagued her mind. She could ponder on that while she found her way home. Home. As it was, Basillica had never been her home. It had only ever been a city. Perhaps grand in its solitary beauty, jutting up proudly in the barren waste of Dasoonica, but still only a city. The desert was what Illo belonged to. It was home. Any desert would satisfy her needs. However, when she reached the point she was being driven to, could she satisfy the needs of this desert? Was there truly a purpose to her falling asleep within one desert home, only to awaken in the sea and be tossed out upon land with the swift calling of an entirely new desert?
For hours she pushed along, never tiring of the deepening heat of the day or the thoughts that picked a prodded her subconscious. It had been a while since she had finally felt the soft touch of the sand beneath her hooves. It quieted the beast within. It satisfied her primal need to be home. Now she moved on to heed the call. Stretching out before her in the distance, a city was forming on the horizon. She knew the signs by the straight lines and rounded tops of the buildings that were growing taller upon her approach. One curiosity to her was the wildlife that she spied as she neared. Usually the desert fox did not willingly roam where many eyes could spy them. It was uncanny to hear the calls of the jackals so close to civilization. Something was not right here. In Basillica, the wildlife had given the city a wide skirt. They preferred not to deal with the inhabitants who were usually less inclined to watch wild animals, as they were to chase them off to keep their children safe and their own minds at ease.
Her golden form shimmered under the heat of the broad day, but not nearly as bright as the blazing light the seemed to shine from somewhere deep within the city. She approached the gates and spied a jackal laying in the archway. Throwing her ears back, she flashed her teeth as if she herself was wolf-like in nature. Snapping at the creature, she dragged a pedal across the now hardened ground. The jackal huffed, sent out a laughing call and dashed away from the entrance to disappear in the desert sand. The sand curled beyond the city and she finally realized the light was not coming from within. She turned from the entrance and faced the west, watching the wind weave with the sands. There she read the words and understanding dawned upon her. The desert required someone. For what role, she did not know. But when had Illo ever refused to work for whatever benefit it required her to work for? When her own desert had required someone to tame the beasts who trod upon it and to clear out those who were not worthy, she had worked tirelessly to manage the feat. Was that what was required here? Has this desert God known that she was the loyal and stalwart creature it needed? How could she not be? She would give her life to the sands. She had been born upon the sands. Perhaps one day she would raise her young upon them. She had shed the blood of many invaders in the sands and lost companions among them.
She moved toward the light cautiously, eyes ever curious of the blazing ball as she moved through the ever changing dunes and closer to what she hoped was fate calling. Stopping before it, she peered up in mute fascination, silently awaiting something she was certain would change the tide of her life, even if it was not in a way she expected. Why else was she here? There was purpose in her to lay waste to those who would deny the power of the desert and the God who crafted it. There was purpose in her to see the desert thrive, where other kingdoms could not. There was desire deep in her bones and in her soul, to bring triumph, life and glory to the lands that most could not find the beauty in. Oh, she would die in the desert. She would kill for it too.
@Llama
Eesh. Old. 30
Illo lead for a short time on another site. I loved it because she was able to be involved in a great number of plots. It's also a major responsibility, as navigating OOC vs IC when it came to appointing positions could be a headache. Some people really desired a certain rank that their characters personalities simply didn't mesh with IC.
Yes
I like that fact that the Kingdoms are not limited to specific character types or powers. As long as there is an explanation or a reasonable way to match your character/power to the Kingdom, they can just about go anywhere. It makes it easier to have more diverse characters inhabiting a Kingdom, which really makes inter-kingdom plots a lot more exciting.
Illo is fierce and loyal. She is not afraid to take on those who think themselves mighty, for in her mind nothing is mightier than the desert God and nothing is more fierce. She thrives in the desert. She is a fanatic when it comes to the terrain itself. She unquestionably believes that to thrive in the violence, heat and great expanse of the desert and the cities within it is the greatest testament to strength. As Solis fought so nobly to brighten the sun against his sisters darkness, Illo would fight to strengthen his Kingdom. She knows her own mind well and is not easily swayed. She is loyal to her ideas and immovable in her position. She would bring guidance and consistency in a time of the unrest and unease left behind from Orestes departure.
I can't say I'm entirely familiar with the political happenings of the court, though I would certainly take the time to familiarize myself with it. I did have the idea of drumming up activity with a few additional rules and a new Kingdom event.
For the event, the idea is to create a reason for those with differing interests to work together to develop relations with those they might not have before. It would be called the Trials of Solterra. In this event, it would be team based. The characters would be required to form teams consisting of 1 person from class: Scholar, Soldier, Medic, Entertainer, Merchant and Citizen. Each task would require the team to choose two champions to represent them. They would be given the duty/task to perform and them must choose which two they think would best complete the task. Points would be given based on how well the two performed the task and how well they worked together to do so. There would be 3 separate tasks, requiring the teams to choose a separate pairing to complete each task. In the end, those who came out with the most points would win prizes as well as special titles they could carry until the next time the Trials were run. These trials could be judged by Solterras Champions as well as the higher ranked of the Kingdom. This would also help strengthen Solterra, as they would learn to work together to do things that perhaps they would usually only have relied on their own class to do. I.e. involving other classes when doing important things for the city, as well as communicating with people they might not have normally associated with. It also forces the classes to think on things differently than they might have.
As for rules, it would be required for the champions to select someone from their rank to mentor. It benefits the kingdom if the best of the up and coming in the ranks are learning from the best above them. This would also entice people to be more proactive about making rank/class related plots and threads and therefore earn more experience for their powers or their skills. (Can be altered to fit a more writer friendly timeline for the requirement, making it not such a big deal to have to choose a mentor or being forced to write more than they otherwise would.)
I'm much better at this kind of stuff IC? lol
RE: made of sand (SOVEREIGN AUDITIONS) - Vendetta - 11-21-2020
So yes, I am out of bed when the desert begins to wail. I can feel it in my bones, the same way I can feel the building pressure of a sandstorm in the distance. I am the desert, it is as much a part of me as me a part of it after all these years. When it cries, I hear it.
When it is still calling out a week after that I can no longer ignore the sound. There are buzzards in the sky like a black cloud. There snakes in the water like poison, and dingos in the streets like a warning. And then the sands blow in, in the way that they do, but something is not right. Come to the desert, the sands say.
As the sun rises into the sky and chases away the nighttime chill, I am busy following its voice. I am busy watching the way it rises and falls like a golden, glittering sea, and going the way its waves tell me to go. I have left Azrail at home, I have left my work at home. Now, it is only my eyes like blood, my horns like blood—all of me like blood—and the Mors anger.
I don’t know what I’m going to find, but I know what the desert wants now; what Solterra wants. Is she as tired of being abandoned as we are? Tired of empty violence followed by empty promises. How many more times will they be disappointed, either by someone who wishes to destroy them or someone who claims to have their best intentions at heart but never follows through? I am sick of it.
Sick of these men who play at war and who play at king. They did not know what it meant to lead, what it meant to rule. It was not a surprise to find the newest had disappeared, especially after beginning relations with the sovereign of another court. Leaving a hole in our regime, and in our defenses. Leaving a hole in the throne.
I remember standing before both Orestes and Raum when they had taken the mantle of Sovereign upon themselves, as they stood on those famed steps above the court and spoke down to us. They had very different approaches, and yet somehow both outcomes were the same. This, I too will remember.
And Solterra?
The desert is not forgiving. She remembers, and consumes, and drives all to madness if given the chance. She is harsh, and vast, and home. We are the ones who have proven time and time again that we can survive no matter what. We are the ones who push through, and continue on, despite everything. The one thing I do wonder, is if the desert regrets. Does she regret her choice?
When I arrive at the place where the pedestal is risen out of the sands and presenting the small sun to all who dare approach it, I know something needs to change this time. Its light is not steady, it pulses, and thrums, and it feels like my heart is there, in that sun, on that plinth.
I am the diamond that has risen from the pressured sands. I am sharp, and gleaming, and oh so brilliant. Solterra has made me into what I have become, and now it is time to do what could not be done by others. In the past, I have stood back and bided my time but now I will take the things that I want and deserve. It is time for someone who knows how to prevail in the face of adversity—who knows how to rise above and make something out of nothing—to take the throne. It is time to get a Queen back in Solterra.
"Speaking."
⚸
RE: made of sand (SOVEREIGN AUDITIONS) - Warbird - 12-04-2020
RE: made of sand (SOVEREIGN AUDITIONS) - Bexley - 12-05-2020
Knock-knock-knock.
Blearily, Bexley opens one eye. One ear swivels forward.
Knock-knock-knock.
Her sleepiness is slowly chased out by interest: a growing sense of ominous expectation that sits, rock-heavy, in the bottom of her stomach..
Knock-knock-knock.
Finally, Bexley sits up in her pile of cushions.
Knock-knock-knock—she leans toward the sound, head rising to look outside. And Bexley realizes, with a sense of terror, that the noise is the rhythmic tapping of a vulture’s nail-hard beak on her window.
It sits perched on the windowsill outside. It is unnaturally huge, as still and terrible as a church gargoyle. Dust sits around its bald head like an anti-halo. Its once-white feathers are now dusty-red with blood; its beady black eyes glitter with unintelligent malice. It looks at her with its head tilted like a wild dog’s.
And then its beak opens. It scrapes its black-hole mouth over the windowpane, and the torturously slow drag of its beak on the glass makes a noise so shrill and apocalyptic that Bexley flinches—ears flattening against her neck, heart jumping suddenly in her chest, so much blood rushing to her head that it turns her vision briefly black.
Then: silence. The world stops. It unfolds around her; it opens up on every side, like the petals of a flower.
There is so much to look at—the walls falling down, the desert roiling outside like a storm, the empty throne with its jewels already picked over. But Bexley cannot look away from the vulture, who sits and stares back at her with its neck curved into a giant question, wearing a sharp, hollow grin like an empty omen.
And she knows she has to follow it.
Out here, the world is as stunningly gold as anyone could ever paint it: gold sand, gold sun, gold sky. Golden girl gone traipsing through the desert.
Solterra was made for summer. The oasis glimmers on the horizon, a jewel-bright spot of blue carved into the never-ending desert. In some spots, the sun is so strong it makes the sand ripple in a mirage, promising treasures it cannot possibly give. The light of the sun bleaches Bexley’s vision a hazy white. Sun sparkles in the curl of her eyelashes; she cannot see anything but the pedestal that rises against the horizon, a monolith in the blurry distance while the rest of the world fades away.
But she doesn’t need to. If Bexley is anything, she is stubborn. And if the vulture overhead is flying to that pedestal (it is—she can see it wheeling lazy circles in the cloudless sky), well, then—she will follow it.
A few other Solterrans pass her on the way there. They blow past in tides of sand, making no attempt to save their strength. Their bodies are sleek and scarless; they are the bodies of children, almost—bodies that have never known any damage. (Solis will not like that.) She doesn’t recognize any of them past a fleeting recollection of crossing paths in this church or that market, but from the arrogant flounce in their step and the swan-like arch of their necks, Bexley knows they are native.
She knows, too, that they will not survive. Their vast overconfidence will be their downfall; they will trip over their own egos and drown in the sand that fills their throats. She knows this because she was them, once. Years ago she spat at the feet of a god who might have killed her, but did much worse: took her magic. Killed her husband. Crowned her daughter with devil horns made of pure white light.
For all her faults, Bexley has never been one to make the same mistake twice.
The sky is still a sweet, clear blue. The air is filled with the sound of rushing wind; Bexley hears the beating of wings as the vulture soars down to sit behind her, still watching with those beady dark eyes.
Solterra’s golden girl comes sliding to a stop in the sun-warmed sand. The pedestal rises sharply in front of her; at its base the desert swirls and churns like Charybdis, throwing up huge waves of golden sand. Flecks of fire dance over the stone. More than once, she catches the bleach-white glint of a bone soaring through the air.
But the area itself is empty. There are no other bodies here, dead or alive.
Solis does not have to love her. Neither does the desert (Diana might be the only one the desert ever really loves). But they respect her—this she knows for a fact. And in Solterra, that is the highest given praise.
Crackling with pure white light, Bexley Briar steps into the sun.
« r »
RE: made of sand (SOVEREIGN AUDITIONS) - Adonai - 12-05-2020
awoke, and my body was my body.
I have struggled over how best to describe this. About how a body could be attached to you, bend to your will, hurt at your will, bleed bright and unstoppered when you punished it again and again for sins it had not committed, and how, despite this, you would never allow it to call itself your body.
It was an imitation; worse. A defective, tarnished product stitched of broken boy dreams and the nightmares in between.
Yet when I awoke, and my limbs bent to my will, and my blood poured bright and unstoppered when I pressed a sharp rock experimentally to a thin butterfly vein, I let out a breath of pure white cloud and whooped my joy to the world. Immediately, I knew that this one was different. This one was mine.
I reached up for that bright, glorious sky, shot through with a million rejoicing stars, and my wings unfurled behind me like peacock plumage. I turned to stare at them, at every golden feather. How perfect they were. I longed for a mirror and suddenly one was in front of me, a shard of glass broken off the surface of a frozen hydrogen lake. I peered into it.
What peered back at me was not my face, but that of a god's.
"Do you like it, little prince?" I dropped the mirror.
The laughing god plucked the mirror out of the air and smiled at himself within it, before throwing it back into the clouds above us. I did not see his face again for already I was on my knees, my head pressed piously to the waves of summer-warmed sand.
"Solis."
I had awoken, yet of course, it was inside of a dream. I bit my tongue, quelling my desire to laugh like a madman disappointed.
"Rise," the sun god said, and swiftly did I perform as commanded, as even in dreams I could not disobey my god. "I asked you a question, yet you did not answer me." Frowning, I suppressed a shiver. Still I did not look at him, my eyes trained to the sands.
"I gave you your body back, as it is your deepest desire. And yet not a word of thanks you utter? Is it not to your liking, Adonai?" His voice was silvery, the type of voice I had always admired (like lyre song, like spring). When he spoke my name I shivered in full; it did not matter that this was a dream of my own creation. I felt his breath on my cheek as if he were really there before me, felt the cruelty of his grip when he jerked my chin up to meet his eyes. I could not bear to stare into them for more than a moment, as they were two miniature suns. I would be blinded, and he knew this.
Instead, I whispered coldly, "I have long since learned to distrust the gifts of our gods."
"Spoken like a true Ieshan," he laughed; it sounded like bells in deep summer. "Nor are you alone in that sentiment. I am quite unpopular with my people, as I am sure you know." I nodded, and took some pleasure in it. "And I am also sure — that you believe me a mere figment of your madness-riddled mind. A shame. I had thought you sharper than that." I said nothing in reply, as he was exactly correct. The House of Ieshan is a holy house, and because of this, we know better than anyone that the scriptures we learn in place of nursery rhymes ring up to an unsparing ear.
Is it surprising, that the most religious of men are often only superstitious, and the furthest thing from pious?
Yet Solis — my Solis-pretender — could hear my thoughts. "Madness and dreams. I ask you, prince: is that not what gods truly are? Figures dreamed up by miserable mortals. They do not wish to take responsibility for their own actions, and so they call upon us, beg us, offer their undying love for us. In return, we must grant them perfect happiness. A utopia without the impossibility." I did not care for the philosophical swell of his voice. "'Why have you betrayed us, Solis, when we love you so?'"
His grip on my chin tightened. I could hear the fury ruining his beautiful voice. "'Why do you not relieve us, Solis, from our wars, our famines, our deaths, our pain?'"
Sighing, I shook away from his searing grasp. Already I was exhausted. Already I wished to leave this dream, and to awake to my familiar mess of a not-body. I sank down to the sands.
"Do you know what I have always wondered?" I cared very little if the god was listening. I stared at the golden sand instead, with trancelike focus, tracing patterns into it like calligraphy. "I have always wondered: why, ever since I was a child, was I only ever told to be strong? That to be weak, is to be dead. That to be weak, is to be a burden to the strong. That it is un-Solterran —" and here is where I break off into a high, cruel laugh, "— to enter into a dalliance with your weakness. To wish to lean against another, to wish to disappear into your faith, for only a moment. For just a little reprieve. This is, somehow, moralistically wrong. Instead, we are dragged out of ourselves like a baptismal. Spears are thrust against our chests, prayers are sewn into our hearts, and we are sent off to war, generation, after generation, after generation." My voice was as soft as clouds. Speaking this was like a confessional; it poured out of me, and I could not stop.
"And you wonder why we call upon you to relieve our sufferings? Because we are weak, Solis, and because if it were not for our weakness, you would not exist!"
I could not tell if the god was listening or incensed. I lifted my head to look at him, until I remembered that his eyes were miniature suns. How inconvenient it was, both meeting and being a divinity.
"We worship you, because we made you strong. Because, as you said, Solterra is a kingdom of the strong. Because we are mortal, and stupid, and in our shortsightedness created a world we cannot live within."
I flinched when a warm presence settled at my back. For a moment there was silence, until: "And do you wish to change this world, little prince?"
I tilted my head back to whisper into his golden ear. "No. I only wish to survive, like the rest of them. Perhaps that, itself, can mean something. I do not know. Can you blame me, Solis, for not wanting to be a saint? I have heard it is a miserable existence."
The sun god frowned, and it was an expression as beautiful as his voice. "I would not know. I am merely a god." Solemn now, he placed a kiss upon my brow. "Sleep, Adonai. I cannot save you, and you cannot save me."
I pressed my head to the sand, one final repentance. "I know."
* * *
I greet the marble pedestal and its writhing sands with the reverence of a dead man walking. The elixir (what I have taken to calling it, half-jokingly) weighs down my pocket. For a moment, however, I forget its existence. I had slipped it there before I left, intending to find a quiet place to drink it, and instead found anything but.
Would anyone believe me if I told them that I had ended up here without meaning to? I doubt it; I wouldn't believe him, myself. Yet nothing had called out to me. I arrive exhausted, panting, my black cloak turned grey by filth. I arrive with the knowledge of the previous monarch's disappearance, yet what was it to me? Our throne had ceased being a Solterran one the day Maxence had sat upon it, and died by it. I had served in Seraphina's court, slept through Raum's famine, limped hurt and half-maddened through Orestes's golden hours.
I arrive like a stone rolling down a hill. Like repentance. Like life.
I have never met any of our sovereigns except Seraphina, and I met her as a ghost, as a shadow, as a girl broken — or had she broken it? — by the weight of a crown.
So perhaps I step onto that pedestal because of a stupid, desperate need to see if I am worthy. (Give me a reason, Vercingtorix.)
Or maybe I step onto that pedestal because I know how our crown longs to break its wearer, and if, with an arrogance bordering on the mad, the foolish, the hopeful — if it chose me, I think I could bear it.
I unstopper the elixir's silver bottle. Its liquid life burns down my throat.
There is nothing left to do, but to step inside.
« r »
Character Requirements:
- You can audition both existing characters and brand new characters, however both are required to make an IC post responding to this post! This thread has been temporarily opened so that both OOC, pending, and accepted IC accounts may make their replies for the audition.
- Anyone from any Court can apply.
- Your character must be at least three years old.
- You do not have to create a character account unless you are chosen. In the event that you are chosen as Sovereign, you will have 2 weeks to create your character's profile (it should be easy, since all of the information is already required to fill out the audition form).
- You can try out with as many characters as you'd like! However, each needs a fully separate post and application in this thread.
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.
Regarding this audition:
- All auditions are due by 11:59PM EST on 12/05/20. Novus-standard time is listed in the sidebar.
- You must make an IC post replying to this post AND post the OOC audition form! Both must be included in the same post, with the IC post first and the OOC audition form underneath it.
- Please, only reply to this thread if you are auditioning for Sovereign.
- The IC post can have your own personal coding and art - but that will not affect the outcome.
- All responses to this thread will be considered complete, whether they are actually finished or not. Please do not post Work in Progress auditions!
- Please do not alter the OOC audition form itself. Although we love to see special coding and pretty pictures, we want to be as impartial as possible - and as much as we'd like to say we're fairly objective, special coding and pretty pictures can impress us! We want these to be bare-bones.
- As you're filling out the audition form, pretend you're filling out an actual profile. Make sure you adhere to all Character Rules set out here.
- We'll be judging on writing quality and how well your character fits into Solterran ideals.
If you have read through the rules, understand the requirements, and still want to audition for Sovereign, please make an IC reply to this post and put your completed OOC audition form (below) underneath it!
Code:
<button class="acc_ctrl"><h2>Click here to see this character's OOC audition form!</h2></button><div class="acc_panel">
<div class="tcat"><font style="font-size:20px; font-weight:bold;">About the RPer</font></div><blockquote><blockquote>
<span class="sidebarheaders" style="font-size:12px;">Thanks for auditioning! Let's start with your name.</span>
What is your OOC name?
<span class="sidebarheaders" style="font-size:12px;">Great! How old are you?</span>
How old are you?
<span class="sidebarheaders" style="font-size:12px;">Have you ever held a Position of Power before?</span>
Have you ever had any characters in a leading position, on or off-site? What did you like about it? What did you not like about it?
<span class="sidebarheaders" style="font-size:12px;">Have you read the Sovereign Rules?</span>
Yes/No - if No, please read the rules above and follow the links to the rules regarding Sovereigns and Courts
<span class="sidebarheaders" style="font-size:12px;">What aspect of Novus are you most excited about?</span>
Tell us something that stood out to you when you read the Guidebook, or something about the site in general.
</blockquote></blockquote>
<div class="tcat"><font style="font-size:20px; font-weight:bold;">Sovereign Questions</font></div><blockquote><blockquote>
<span class="sidebarheaders" style="font-size:12px;">Why would your character be a good candidate to lead Solterra?</span>
Tell us why your character would be a good choice to be Sovereign of this Court. Match up their ideals and values with Solterra and Solis.
<span class="sidebarheaders" style="font-size:12px;">What would be their goals as Sovereign? What would they do with their new power?</span>
What are your plans for the Court? Do you have a vision for Solterra? What rules would your character set? Would they hold any events to garnish activity? If so, what?
<span class="sidebarheaders" style="font-size:12px;">You've got us convinced. Is there anything else you'd like to add?</span>
Here's your chance to add anything else at all!
</blockquote></blockquote></div>RE: made of sand (SOVEREIGN AUDITIONS) - Illo - 11-18-2020
The shifting grains do beckon,
Like beacons in the in the sand ,
Calling me like a lighthouse,
Calls a sailing ship to land.
And while they twist and tumble,
And fill the air with dust,
And the blazing sun shines on me,
Like a lover full of lust,
I stand in silent wonder,
Of all there is to see.
In the desert I am not lonely,
For the desert lives in me.
- Illo, Dasoonica Desert, Basillica
The ocean was tumultuous and roiling with anger when it spit the golden cargo upon the land. Gasping for the barest breath without a hint of self awareness, the deepest hues of blue barely peeked from beneath their hooded lids. Lips trembled as precious air was sucked in, churning within her lungs as if the oxygen must attune to a new climate all together. Weakly, her head was lifted from the ground as ears swiveled atop her dome, indignant curiosity building in her mind just as the self awareness finally settled in. All thoughts that had plagued her the night before were not distant memories, confined to the smallest space in her mind and perhaps never to be dredged up again. Where was the need to worry over Basillica? Where was Basillica now? Where was she now? How exactly had the ocean stolen her from the desert? What games did it think to play by plucking the golden mare from the only place she'd ever belonged? There was no room in her heart for the cold and salty wetness of the ocean. Deep within her chest, the faintest stirring of the dragon prickled.Finding her way back to the desert was the only thought to cross her mind. Whether it was her desert or another, the golden fate could not find it within herself to care. The sand beneath her hooves would bring her comfort and solidify that at the least one worry plaguing her mind could be eased. There was only drive and desire in once again basking beneath the cruel sun, for it was only cruel to those who did not respect the desert. Fools were known to die and wilt within the great barren and beneath her baking sun. Illo had learned from birth to respect the dunes and the sands that ruled them. She had learned that the desert could not be tamed. Civilized, perhaps, but who could call the desert winds to heel? Who could command the sun to set or ease her watch? What fool would ask the sands not to cut them when they raged? Perhaps that was what called Illo to find such comfort in the desert. They were much alike, even if she would not dare pretend herself quite as mighty as the other. Though as civilized as a desert dweller could be, she too was free and untamable, fierce and above the reproach of any who thought to catch her as they might try to catch the errant grains upon the breeze.
Glistening beneath the morning rays, her scales shifting across her spine, attempting to rid themselves of the salty mark of the sea. With one last withering glance to the ocean, as if it were just as living as the creatures within it, she rose from the ground on rapidly strengthening limbs. Onyx strands clung to her golden flank and draped haphazardly along her hocks. It was a sensation she was not quite used to, for she didn't often make a point to wade deep enough into water to soak the strands. Her nostrils flared in distaste as she tore her gaze from the water to terrain that lay ahead. The wind picked up and somehow, seemingly from nowhere, the scent of the desert wafted across her nares. It beckoned her as it always did, toward the deathly heat it promised. It called to her soul as gently as a lover, whispering promised of golden hills and red cliffs. It drew her forward on bated breath, her heart pattering within her chest like a virgin called upon by a charming rogue. It knew just what to say and exactly how to say it.
She moved forward, falling in line with the sand that rifled through the quickening breeze. One might have thought her a besotted fool, rather than a battle hardened warrior who had seen much blood shed in her day. There was no reason to consider that this was a strange land and she might cross strange people. No, the desert called and she went. It was as simple as that. Yet, why the sea would toss her out here of all places, was a question that plagued her mind. She could ponder on that while she found her way home. Home. As it was, Basillica had never been her home. It had only ever been a city. Perhaps grand in its solitary beauty, jutting up proudly in the barren waste of Dasoonica, but still only a city. The desert was what Illo belonged to. It was home. Any desert would satisfy her needs. However, when she reached the point she was being driven to, could she satisfy the needs of this desert? Was there truly a purpose to her falling asleep within one desert home, only to awaken in the sea and be tossed out upon land with the swift calling of an entirely new desert?
For hours she pushed along, never tiring of the deepening heat of the day or the thoughts that picked a prodded her subconscious. It had been a while since she had finally felt the soft touch of the sand beneath her hooves. It quieted the beast within. It satisfied her primal need to be home. Now she moved on to heed the call. Stretching out before her in the distance, a city was forming on the horizon. She knew the signs by the straight lines and rounded tops of the buildings that were growing taller upon her approach. One curiosity to her was the wildlife that she spied as she neared. Usually the desert fox did not willingly roam where many eyes could spy them. It was uncanny to hear the calls of the jackals so close to civilization. Something was not right here. In Basillica, the wildlife had given the city a wide skirt. They preferred not to deal with the inhabitants who were usually less inclined to watch wild animals, as they were to chase them off to keep their children safe and their own minds at ease.
Her golden form shimmered under the heat of the broad day, but not nearly as bright as the blazing light the seemed to shine from somewhere deep within the city. She approached the gates and spied a jackal laying in the archway. Throwing her ears back, she flashed her teeth as if she herself was wolf-like in nature. Snapping at the creature, she dragged a pedal across the now hardened ground. The jackal huffed, sent out a laughing call and dashed away from the entrance to disappear in the desert sand. The sand curled beyond the city and she finally realized the light was not coming from within. She turned from the entrance and faced the west, watching the wind weave with the sands. There she read the words and understanding dawned upon her. The desert required someone. For what role, she did not know. But when had Illo ever refused to work for whatever benefit it required her to work for? When her own desert had required someone to tame the beasts who trod upon it and to clear out those who were not worthy, she had worked tirelessly to manage the feat. Was that what was required here? Has this desert God known that she was the loyal and stalwart creature it needed? How could she not be? She would give her life to the sands. She had been born upon the sands. Perhaps one day she would raise her young upon them. She had shed the blood of many invaders in the sands and lost companions among them.
She moved toward the light cautiously, eyes ever curious of the blazing ball as she moved through the ever changing dunes and closer to what she hoped was fate calling. Stopping before it, she peered up in mute fascination, silently awaiting something she was certain would change the tide of her life, even if it was not in a way she expected. Why else was she here? There was purpose in her to lay waste to those who would deny the power of the desert and the God who crafted it. There was purpose in her to see the desert thrive, where other kingdoms could not. There was desire deep in her bones and in her soul, to bring triumph, life and glory to the lands that most could not find the beauty in. Oh, she would die in the desert. She would kill for it too.
About the RPer
@
Eesh. Old. 30
Illo lead for a short time on another site. I loved it because she was able to be involved in a great number of plots. It's also a major responsibility, as navigating OOC vs IC when it came to appointing positions could be a headache. Some people really desired a certain rank that their characters personalities simply didn't mesh with IC.
Yes
I like that fact that the Kingdoms are not limited to specific character types or powers. As long as there is an explanation or a reasonable way to match your character/power to the Kingdom, they can just about go anywhere. It makes it easier to have more diverse characters inhabiting a Kingdom, which really makes inter-kingdom plots a lot more exciting.
Sovereign Questions
Illo is fierce and loyal. She is not afraid to take on those who think themselves mighty, for in her mind nothing is mightier than the desert God and nothing is more fierce. She thrives in the desert. She is a fanatic when it comes to the terrain itself. She unquestionably believes that to thrive in the violence, heat and great expanse of the desert and the cities within it is the greatest testament to strength. As Solis fought so nobly to brighten the sun against his sisters darkness, Illo would fight to strengthen his Kingdom. She knows her own mind well and is not easily swayed. She is loyal to her ideas and immovable in her position. She would bring guidance and consistency in a time of the unrest and unease left behind from Orestes departure.
I can't say I'm entirely familiar with the political happenings of the court, though I would certainly take the time to familiarize myself with it. I did have the idea of drumming up activity with a few additional rules and a new Kingdom event.
For the event, the idea is to create a reason for those with differing interests to work together to develop relations with those they might not have before. It would be called the Trials of Solterra. In this event, it would be team based. The characters would be required to form teams consisting of 1 person from class: Scholar, Soldier, Medic, Entertainer, Merchant and Citizen. Each task would require the team to choose two champions to represent them. They would be given the duty/task to perform and them must choose which two they think would best complete the task. Points would be given based on how well the two performed the task and how well they worked together to do so. There would be 3 separate tasks, requiring the teams to choose a separate pairing to complete each task. In the end, those who came out with the most points would win prizes as well as special titles they could carry until the next time the Trials were run. These trials could be judged by Solterras Champions as well as the higher ranked of the Kingdom. This would also help strengthen Solterra, as they would learn to work together to do things that perhaps they would usually only have relied on their own class to do. I.e. involving other classes when doing important things for the city, as well as communicating with people they might not have normally associated with. It also forces the classes to think on things differently than they might have.
As for rules, it would be required for the champions to select someone from their rank to mentor. It benefits the kingdom if the best of the up and coming in the ranks are learning from the best above them. This would also entice people to be more proactive about making rank/class related plots and threads and therefore earn more experience for their powers or their skills. (Can be altered to fit a more writer friendly timeline for the requirement, making it not such a big deal to have to choose a mentor or being forced to write more than they otherwise would.)
I'm much better at this kind of stuff IC? lol
RE: made of sand (SOVEREIGN AUDITIONS) - Vendetta - 11-21-2020
You sit and stay, I don't obey
Where do we land in the Black Sea
I am not in my bed, nor my office or even my home, on the night that Orestes leaves, though I cannot know it is that night. I walk the sand covered streets of Solterra that I know like I know the stitching of my red chiffon skirt. Shadows move over me like a breeze or a caress. I am black and white and red on gold, muted and silvered by the night and the moon. I am silent, and hard-edged, and every step I make is a step of purpose. There are deals to be closed, even when we are being abandoned. Even when our dear King is absent.Where do we land in the Black Sea
So yes, I am out of bed when the desert begins to wail. I can feel it in my bones, the same way I can feel the building pressure of a sandstorm in the distance. I am the desert, it is as much a part of me as me a part of it after all these years. When it cries, I hear it.
When it is still calling out a week after that I can no longer ignore the sound. There are buzzards in the sky like a black cloud. There snakes in the water like poison, and dingos in the streets like a warning. And then the sands blow in, in the way that they do, but something is not right. Come to the desert, the sands say.
As the sun rises into the sky and chases away the nighttime chill, I am busy following its voice. I am busy watching the way it rises and falls like a golden, glittering sea, and going the way its waves tell me to go. I have left Azrail at home, I have left my work at home. Now, it is only my eyes like blood, my horns like blood—all of me like blood—and the Mors anger.
I don’t know what I’m going to find, but I know what the desert wants now; what Solterra wants. Is she as tired of being abandoned as we are? Tired of empty violence followed by empty promises. How many more times will they be disappointed, either by someone who wishes to destroy them or someone who claims to have their best intentions at heart but never follows through? I am sick of it.
Sick of these men who play at war and who play at king. They did not know what it meant to lead, what it meant to rule. It was not a surprise to find the newest had disappeared, especially after beginning relations with the sovereign of another court. Leaving a hole in our regime, and in our defenses. Leaving a hole in the throne.
I remember standing before both Orestes and Raum when they had taken the mantle of Sovereign upon themselves, as they stood on those famed steps above the court and spoke down to us. They had very different approaches, and yet somehow both outcomes were the same. This, I too will remember.
And Solterra?
The desert is not forgiving. She remembers, and consumes, and drives all to madness if given the chance. She is harsh, and vast, and home. We are the ones who have proven time and time again that we can survive no matter what. We are the ones who push through, and continue on, despite everything. The one thing I do wonder, is if the desert regrets. Does she regret her choice?
When I arrive at the place where the pedestal is risen out of the sands and presenting the small sun to all who dare approach it, I know something needs to change this time. Its light is not steady, it pulses, and thrums, and it feels like my heart is there, in that sun, on that plinth.
I am the diamond that has risen from the pressured sands. I am sharp, and gleaming, and oh so brilliant. Solterra has made me into what I have become, and now it is time to do what could not be done by others. In the past, I have stood back and bided my time but now I will take the things that I want and deserve. It is time for someone who knows how to prevail in the face of adversity—who knows how to rise above and make something out of nothing—to take the throne. It is time to get a Queen back in Solterra.
About the RPer
Katherine
26
Yes, you would be aware of this but I did just leave a Sovereign position, and am looking forward to this opportunity. What I enjoy most about these positions is the ability to bring something new and creative to the position, and to have a real effect on the direction a group can go in. This can also be part of the struggle, because as being responsible for the major decisions that can affect everyone it can be hard to please everyone, and that is often a real desire of someone in a position of power. There is a balance to be had, for sure.
Yes
As someone who isn't new to the site I can never rave enough about the community that Novus has created. It's a second home to me, and even when I feel down or like I should take a break it's almost impossible for me to stay away. If I'm not around I genuinely miss everyone (and miss out on everything), and just want to be here, 24/7. I think that says a lot about the kind of site that Novus is.
Sovereign Questions
Vendetta came from nothing and quite literally fought her way to where she is in current Solterran society. She is fierce and unforgiving like the desert sands but very loyal to those who are important to her. Although she seems as remorseless as one of Solterra's creatures, she has real principles and incredible savvy, and would be able to maneuver the difficult terrain of the court's relationship with the rest of Novus just like how she maneuvers the desert and business. She is willing to go for what she wants, and do what is necessary for what she believes in.
I laid out the ground work for several events that I plan to hopefully cater to each of the different populace ranks, in the hopes that we would see some increase in the less popular ranks that Solterra has. I would definitely like to incentivize those ranks, as Vendetta would love to move Solterra out of the old age of a warrior-only state. That being said, I would love to do bi-seasonal Colosseum sign-ups for our soldiers who would like to get help planning battles for exp. I'd also like to do more with Vendetta's Scorpions if she were to become Sovereign. Re-establish that they are available and there are adopts, get more going with inter-court intelligence. Nothing wrong with a little espionage, right? Plus some other plot devices and potential adopts.
Thank you for this opportunity! I feel like my motivation has been reinvigorated recently and I look forward to seeing the outcome of these auditions. It's nice to possibly have a purpose for a character I was afraid I might never play again, and even if this doesn't work out I might bring her back anyway.
RE: made of sand (SOVEREIGN AUDITIONS) - Warbird - 12-04-2020
warbird,
bless my soul, I'm feeling so unholy
Release this hold, I'm feeling so uneasy
She was born of the devotion of two mothers— two Valkyries, bonded by love. Her existence itself is a victory, flaunting itself in the face of the normal and recognized. With the help of the vodar, the Valkyran flesh witch, they pieced her together from the meat and bones of the worthy fallen. And so she was avodara, not from the flesh but OF the flesh. Creational magic and sacred descendence aside, she was not a Valkyrie, but mortal. And her mothers, called to battlefields in worlds beyond, could never stay for long, dooming her thusly to this world of corporealness and finality. Such was her curse, to have the call to glory, but be trapped, here, in this mortal existence. But in this world of flesh lips and tongues, her truest name would turn a speaker to ash, or render them a babbling, maddened mess. So she has taken a grammatically adjacent title for herself: if the valkyries are Angels of War, she will be a Bird of War.
Though she does not share a consecrated title with her mothers, Warbird is still driven by duty, and purpose, the greatest of which is the intent to conquer challenges. She was, after all, crafted of the sinew and matter of the noble dead. This form, barrel-chested and staunch of the neck, was not her first and it would not be her last. No matter where she went, following the bone-trails of her mothers, she would overcome what hardships she could find, seeking out suffering, learning from it— mastering it, proving herself worthy of one day joining the ranks of her mother's people. Each new mortal kingdom she came to was another opportunity to attest to her ability and merit.
Once she had worn armor, black as night and strong as the mountain, and carried a sword sharp enough to cleave skulls, but it was wrenched away from her when she came to this world of four-legged beasts and those which surrounded them. She still had her wings, though— great powerful things, deep black plumage crowned in feathers of white, which struck through the hot air like the hammer strikes the anvil.
Something drew her to this place, a land of bedlam and oppressive statures. It sang to her like the Siren song of the monsters of her homeland-- a coursing dirge to match the heat-hymn singing in her blood. The desert whipped and lunged like an untamed beast, but she had slain fiercer serpents before, and so she did not shy from it. She beat it back as her strong legs pierced its layers, her mighty breath creating swirling monsters of her own accord in the silt. All around her the desert whirled and thrashed itself in a liturgy of suffering which would sunder and suffocate the unworthy and ill-prepared-- but Warbird had crossed seas both deeper and more malicious than this golden one-- and fouler looking, too-- and with one fierce rake of her wings, she sent the grit cascading behind her in a golden fountain. And that would be all of that.
A visitor in this strange realm of stars and magic, Warbird had been more an observer of late than ever previous in her life. From one kingdom to the next she had traveled, watching, waiting, taking measure-- and all of them, their gods and devotion, she had found wanting. The children of Dusk hid behind mystery to conceal their weakness, while the patrons of the Night goddess thought themselves special for being called outcasts, and not on the merit of their measure. They thought it was unique to feel wronged when in reality it was just another state of living. The Dawn Court seemed... intangible, a concept of a place and a people held together by an idea, and nothing that one could truly put stock into.
But here, under the ever-present blazing sun, one could neither hide from nor thrive in weakness. Here, there had to be a strength, a solid-state of nature, for here the sand was unforgiving and there were no cool shadows to conceal or soothe. Here in the desert, there was no good night to go into, just bone-chilling darkness and the cold mockery of the stars above. The Sun-god seemed both slave-master and gem in the core of His own crown. Well, Warbird had served darker masters than He, and still, this wanting, this empty core at the center of her flesh had desired, and craved, for purpose, for the pursuit and the fight and the endeavor. Maybe it was worth giving Solis a chance, for had He not fought the very night? And had He not struck out from the comfort and opulence of His godly life for the sake of spurning His weaker siblings?
He seemed a harsh master, for sure, if evident by the lodgings He seemed to prefer. Bones long swallowed by the desert seemed to sing as Warbird approached the pedestal, the source of the melody. There was no rest for the wicked-- no, not here, in the Desert under the light of Solis' watchful eye. Instead, the wicked were put to work. How could one hide from the very sun? The dawn would smite any brief respite gained from trickery or cowardice. This was a land of might.
Warbird held her head high, red eyes flaming in the desert swell, as she approaches the pedestal. The light casts powerful shadows on the writhing sand as she lifts her broad wings above her, preparing to take this mantle, to rise to her next-- and hopefully, her last-- great challenge.
Though she does not share a consecrated title with her mothers, Warbird is still driven by duty, and purpose, the greatest of which is the intent to conquer challenges. She was, after all, crafted of the sinew and matter of the noble dead. This form, barrel-chested and staunch of the neck, was not her first and it would not be her last. No matter where she went, following the bone-trails of her mothers, she would overcome what hardships she could find, seeking out suffering, learning from it— mastering it, proving herself worthy of one day joining the ranks of her mother's people. Each new mortal kingdom she came to was another opportunity to attest to her ability and merit.
Once she had worn armor, black as night and strong as the mountain, and carried a sword sharp enough to cleave skulls, but it was wrenched away from her when she came to this world of four-legged beasts and those which surrounded them. She still had her wings, though— great powerful things, deep black plumage crowned in feathers of white, which struck through the hot air like the hammer strikes the anvil.
Something drew her to this place, a land of bedlam and oppressive statures. It sang to her like the Siren song of the monsters of her homeland-- a coursing dirge to match the heat-hymn singing in her blood. The desert whipped and lunged like an untamed beast, but she had slain fiercer serpents before, and so she did not shy from it. She beat it back as her strong legs pierced its layers, her mighty breath creating swirling monsters of her own accord in the silt. All around her the desert whirled and thrashed itself in a liturgy of suffering which would sunder and suffocate the unworthy and ill-prepared-- but Warbird had crossed seas both deeper and more malicious than this golden one-- and fouler looking, too-- and with one fierce rake of her wings, she sent the grit cascading behind her in a golden fountain. And that would be all of that.
A visitor in this strange realm of stars and magic, Warbird had been more an observer of late than ever previous in her life. From one kingdom to the next she had traveled, watching, waiting, taking measure-- and all of them, their gods and devotion, she had found wanting. The children of Dusk hid behind mystery to conceal their weakness, while the patrons of the Night goddess thought themselves special for being called outcasts, and not on the merit of their measure. They thought it was unique to feel wronged when in reality it was just another state of living. The Dawn Court seemed... intangible, a concept of a place and a people held together by an idea, and nothing that one could truly put stock into.
But here, under the ever-present blazing sun, one could neither hide from nor thrive in weakness. Here, there had to be a strength, a solid-state of nature, for here the sand was unforgiving and there were no cool shadows to conceal or soothe. Here in the desert, there was no good night to go into, just bone-chilling darkness and the cold mockery of the stars above. The Sun-god seemed both slave-master and gem in the core of His own crown. Well, Warbird had served darker masters than He, and still, this wanting, this empty core at the center of her flesh had desired, and craved, for purpose, for the pursuit and the fight and the endeavor. Maybe it was worth giving Solis a chance, for had He not fought the very night? And had He not struck out from the comfort and opulence of His godly life for the sake of spurning His weaker siblings?
He seemed a harsh master, for sure, if evident by the lodgings He seemed to prefer. Bones long swallowed by the desert seemed to sing as Warbird approached the pedestal, the source of the melody. There was no rest for the wicked-- no, not here, in the Desert under the light of Solis' watchful eye. Instead, the wicked were put to work. How could one hide from the very sun? The dawn would smite any brief respite gained from trickery or cowardice. This was a land of might.
Warbird held her head high, red eyes flaming in the desert swell, as she approaches the pedestal. The light casts powerful shadows on the writhing sand as she lifts her broad wings above her, preparing to take this mantle, to rise to her next-- and hopefully, her last-- great challenge.
About the RPer
@Sunsides
Twenty-four.
I was, however briefly, an emissary of the Night Court, but then life swallowed me up. I was also sort of a… a ‘special race’ on another site that had a certain number allowed at a time etc. It was great! I love POWER muahahaha. But in all honesty, I love being included! I love being involved in plots! I have so many ideas! Let me spread the love.
Yes
This site is just so fun and crazy and has just enough structure while giving everyone a blank canvas with magic. And the people are so nice and welcoming!! I love all of Novus.
Sovereign Questions
Well, she is, at her very core, a soldier. She is as resolute as the mid-day sun and as tireless as the great orb which moves endlessly in the sky and dictates the lives of those below it. She belives in cultivating the strong and believes everyone must prove their worth. She sees the desert as just another challenge she must conquer. She is proud of herself but believes in fighting for your pride, earning your pride. She has conquered all the challenges thrown at her so far and will succesfully triumph over this one, as well.
She is loyal, and, perhaps where she differs from other Solterrans, is she is steady. She is not prone to outbursts of anger or temper, but she achieves her goals with brute strength and an indomitable will. She struggles with empathy but has an innate natural compass to do the right thing. She has been the tool of warlords and cruel kings, and has led rebellions and spilled blood in the name of freedom. She would want to create a land where one’s place is earned by merit, but where one also has the chance to hone and craft their skills— where everyone is given a chance to rise and meet expectations, or fail and be crushed under the weight of them. That is her Solterra— it is the best, and nothing can stand in its way.
Her goal as Sovereign would be to generate growth in Solterran strength, whether that be as a unified army of grand warriors, or master artisans, or the greatest scholars in all the land— whatever any Solterran wanted to be, she would want them to be the BEST. She would want contests that pit strength against strength, wit against wit. She would want open borders and the chance to prove to everyone that the desert dwellers are the dominant population on Novus. She would want to join her people in adventures, exploration, and discovery. Aaand she may even stoke the fires for some fights in the future….
Me? Coming back with this audition? More likely than u think
RE: made of sand (SOVEREIGN AUDITIONS) - Bexley - 12-05-2020
"give grief to me. i'm a woman, i know her. as she is.
draped in cornflower. blue & warm & bitter. she is a lovely girl.
missing you feels like doing something impossible. swimming in my sleep.
gone body, ghost river. that's us."
draped in cornflower. blue & warm & bitter. she is a lovely girl.
missing you feels like doing something impossible. swimming in my sleep.
gone body, ghost river. that's us."
Knock-knock-knock.
Blearily, Bexley opens one eye. One ear swivels forward.
Knock-knock-knock.
Her sleepiness is slowly chased out by interest: a growing sense of ominous expectation that sits, rock-heavy, in the bottom of her stomach..
Knock-knock-knock.
Finally, Bexley sits up in her pile of cushions.
Knock-knock-knock—she leans toward the sound, head rising to look outside. And Bexley realizes, with a sense of terror, that the noise is the rhythmic tapping of a vulture’s nail-hard beak on her window.
It sits perched on the windowsill outside. It is unnaturally huge, as still and terrible as a church gargoyle. Dust sits around its bald head like an anti-halo. Its once-white feathers are now dusty-red with blood; its beady black eyes glitter with unintelligent malice. It looks at her with its head tilted like a wild dog’s.
And then its beak opens. It scrapes its black-hole mouth over the windowpane, and the torturously slow drag of its beak on the glass makes a noise so shrill and apocalyptic that Bexley flinches—ears flattening against her neck, heart jumping suddenly in her chest, so much blood rushing to her head that it turns her vision briefly black.
Then: silence. The world stops. It unfolds around her; it opens up on every side, like the petals of a flower.
There is so much to look at—the walls falling down, the desert roiling outside like a storm, the empty throne with its jewels already picked over. But Bexley cannot look away from the vulture, who sits and stares back at her with its neck curved into a giant question, wearing a sharp, hollow grin like an empty omen.
And she knows she has to follow it.
Out here, the world is as stunningly gold as anyone could ever paint it: gold sand, gold sun, gold sky. Golden girl gone traipsing through the desert.
Solterra was made for summer. The oasis glimmers on the horizon, a jewel-bright spot of blue carved into the never-ending desert. In some spots, the sun is so strong it makes the sand ripple in a mirage, promising treasures it cannot possibly give. The light of the sun bleaches Bexley’s vision a hazy white. Sun sparkles in the curl of her eyelashes; she cannot see anything but the pedestal that rises against the horizon, a monolith in the blurry distance while the rest of the world fades away.
But she doesn’t need to. If Bexley is anything, she is stubborn. And if the vulture overhead is flying to that pedestal (it is—she can see it wheeling lazy circles in the cloudless sky), well, then—she will follow it.
A few other Solterrans pass her on the way there. They blow past in tides of sand, making no attempt to save their strength. Their bodies are sleek and scarless; they are the bodies of children, almost—bodies that have never known any damage. (Solis will not like that.) She doesn’t recognize any of them past a fleeting recollection of crossing paths in this church or that market, but from the arrogant flounce in their step and the swan-like arch of their necks, Bexley knows they are native.
She knows, too, that they will not survive. Their vast overconfidence will be their downfall; they will trip over their own egos and drown in the sand that fills their throats. She knows this because she was them, once. Years ago she spat at the feet of a god who might have killed her, but did much worse: took her magic. Killed her husband. Crowned her daughter with devil horns made of pure white light.
For all her faults, Bexley has never been one to make the same mistake twice.
The sky is still a sweet, clear blue. The air is filled with the sound of rushing wind; Bexley hears the beating of wings as the vulture soars down to sit behind her, still watching with those beady dark eyes.
Solterra’s golden girl comes sliding to a stop in the sun-warmed sand. The pedestal rises sharply in front of her; at its base the desert swirls and churns like Charybdis, throwing up huge waves of golden sand. Flecks of fire dance over the stone. More than once, she catches the bleach-white glint of a bone soaring through the air.
But the area itself is empty. There are no other bodies here, dead or alive.
Solis does not have to love her. Neither does the desert (Diana might be the only one the desert ever really loves). But they respect her—this she knows for a fact. And in Solterra, that is the highest given praise.
Crackling with pure white light, Bexley Briar steps into the sun.
About the RPer
RB!
19 :)
Indeed! I’ve had Mari as Sovereign of Dusk for the past RL year ~ish, and a few years of experience on another site as a herd leader. It’s a big responsibility to keep things interesting for all members of the court with varied events and incentives, and it can be hard to come to decisions about filling certain positions; but overall, holding a PoP has always been enjoyable and inspiring for me. I really adore organizing new events & lore and getting the opportunity to work alongside other members (rather than “on top of”) to develop our court.
Yes!
As someone who’s been here since (almost) the beginning, it has been an absolute pleasure to see Novus’ culture, lore, and adopts grow so much further than just what’s in the guidebook. Of course the lore surrounding the gods themselves & Novus’ creation is wonderful, but I am always so proud of & impressed by the amount of love and creativity our members have poured into expanding this world, and I think it’s a testament to how much we adore the site.
Sovereign Questions
Bex’s loyalty to Solterra is extraordinary and unwavering. Even after seeing the Court change hands a number of times, and personally passing in and out of Solterran positions of power, she is still fiercely defensive of and passionate about her court. Since arriving in Novus she’s gone through many changes, yet her most innate traits remain fundamentally Solterran: prideful, extroverted, unflinchingly honest, and unafraid of a challenge.
Bexley’s experience navigating the politics of Novus and her connections in each court would make her an incredibly effective leader. Solterra may be known as the nation of hot-headed soldiers, but our population also contains nobles (hi Ieshans!), ex-Davkes, a dream-walker, a sociopathic doctor, and a number of other incredibly unique and well-written characters that deserve the spotlight. I think increasing the weight that diplomacy holds in Solterran life would allow everyone more equal representation & opportunities. While Bexley would never try to sanitize Solterra’s violent tendencies, I think the focus that she would bring to political dialogue, both inter- and intra-court, would be a fun change and provide more scope for potential lore, events, and adopts.
If she were to rule, I think Bex would strike the perfect balance between acknowledging Solterra’s cutthroat roots and improving its reputation in the eyes of the other courts. Her political experience, alongside her genuine love for Solterra and its citizens, make her a perfect candidate for leadership.
I would love to decide this alongside other court members to choose something that inspires everyone, but I think Solterra could really benefit from seasonal/annual gatherings hosted by the noble houses or other subgroup leaders. Our incredible turnout for the Winter party shows that these would be a great way to encourage Court members who might not otherwise interact organically to thread with each other, as well bring in guests from other kingdoms! I also would love to get some more religious lore & adopts going, since I think that’s something Solterra in particular lacks. Bex would also want to organize regular spars, which would strengthen Solterra’s military power IC and provide a great opportunity to gain exp OOCly; and incentivize ranks that are currently sparse (e.g. medics) through a combination of IC glory and signos or item rewards. Overall, Bexley’s goal as Sovereign is to make everyone see Solterra like she does: a vibrant, culturally diverse community that just so happens to be the life of the party.
Here's your chance to add anything else at all!
RE: made of sand (SOVEREIGN AUDITIONS) - Adonai - 12-05-2020
everything wrong and nowhere to go.
his hands over his eyes.
his hands over his eyes.
I
awoke, and my body was my body.
I have struggled over how best to describe this. About how a body could be attached to you, bend to your will, hurt at your will, bleed bright and unstoppered when you punished it again and again for sins it had not committed, and how, despite this, you would never allow it to call itself your body.
It was an imitation; worse. A defective, tarnished product stitched of broken boy dreams and the nightmares in between.
Yet when I awoke, and my limbs bent to my will, and my blood poured bright and unstoppered when I pressed a sharp rock experimentally to a thin butterfly vein, I let out a breath of pure white cloud and whooped my joy to the world. Immediately, I knew that this one was different. This one was mine.
I reached up for that bright, glorious sky, shot through with a million rejoicing stars, and my wings unfurled behind me like peacock plumage. I turned to stare at them, at every golden feather. How perfect they were. I longed for a mirror and suddenly one was in front of me, a shard of glass broken off the surface of a frozen hydrogen lake. I peered into it.
What peered back at me was not my face, but that of a god's.
"Do you like it, little prince?" I dropped the mirror.
The laughing god plucked the mirror out of the air and smiled at himself within it, before throwing it back into the clouds above us. I did not see his face again for already I was on my knees, my head pressed piously to the waves of summer-warmed sand.
"Solis."
I had awoken, yet of course, it was inside of a dream. I bit my tongue, quelling my desire to laugh like a madman disappointed.
"Rise," the sun god said, and swiftly did I perform as commanded, as even in dreams I could not disobey my god. "I asked you a question, yet you did not answer me." Frowning, I suppressed a shiver. Still I did not look at him, my eyes trained to the sands.
"I gave you your body back, as it is your deepest desire. And yet not a word of thanks you utter? Is it not to your liking, Adonai?" His voice was silvery, the type of voice I had always admired (like lyre song, like spring). When he spoke my name I shivered in full; it did not matter that this was a dream of my own creation. I felt his breath on my cheek as if he were really there before me, felt the cruelty of his grip when he jerked my chin up to meet his eyes. I could not bear to stare into them for more than a moment, as they were two miniature suns. I would be blinded, and he knew this.
Instead, I whispered coldly, "I have long since learned to distrust the gifts of our gods."
"Spoken like a true Ieshan," he laughed; it sounded like bells in deep summer. "Nor are you alone in that sentiment. I am quite unpopular with my people, as I am sure you know." I nodded, and took some pleasure in it. "And I am also sure — that you believe me a mere figment of your madness-riddled mind. A shame. I had thought you sharper than that." I said nothing in reply, as he was exactly correct. The House of Ieshan is a holy house, and because of this, we know better than anyone that the scriptures we learn in place of nursery rhymes ring up to an unsparing ear.
Is it surprising, that the most religious of men are often only superstitious, and the furthest thing from pious?
Yet Solis — my Solis-pretender — could hear my thoughts. "Madness and dreams. I ask you, prince: is that not what gods truly are? Figures dreamed up by miserable mortals. They do not wish to take responsibility for their own actions, and so they call upon us, beg us, offer their undying love for us. In return, we must grant them perfect happiness. A utopia without the impossibility." I did not care for the philosophical swell of his voice. "'Why have you betrayed us, Solis, when we love you so?'"
His grip on my chin tightened. I could hear the fury ruining his beautiful voice. "'Why do you not relieve us, Solis, from our wars, our famines, our deaths, our pain?'"
Sighing, I shook away from his searing grasp. Already I was exhausted. Already I wished to leave this dream, and to awake to my familiar mess of a not-body. I sank down to the sands.
"Do you know what I have always wondered?" I cared very little if the god was listening. I stared at the golden sand instead, with trancelike focus, tracing patterns into it like calligraphy. "I have always wondered: why, ever since I was a child, was I only ever told to be strong? That to be weak, is to be dead. That to be weak, is to be a burden to the strong. That it is un-Solterran —" and here is where I break off into a high, cruel laugh, "— to enter into a dalliance with your weakness. To wish to lean against another, to wish to disappear into your faith, for only a moment. For just a little reprieve. This is, somehow, moralistically wrong. Instead, we are dragged out of ourselves like a baptismal. Spears are thrust against our chests, prayers are sewn into our hearts, and we are sent off to war, generation, after generation, after generation." My voice was as soft as clouds. Speaking this was like a confessional; it poured out of me, and I could not stop.
"And you wonder why we call upon you to relieve our sufferings? Because we are weak, Solis, and because if it were not for our weakness, you would not exist!"
I could not tell if the god was listening or incensed. I lifted my head to look at him, until I remembered that his eyes were miniature suns. How inconvenient it was, both meeting and being a divinity.
"We worship you, because we made you strong. Because, as you said, Solterra is a kingdom of the strong. Because we are mortal, and stupid, and in our shortsightedness created a world we cannot live within."
I flinched when a warm presence settled at my back. For a moment there was silence, until: "And do you wish to change this world, little prince?"
I tilted my head back to whisper into his golden ear. "No. I only wish to survive, like the rest of them. Perhaps that, itself, can mean something. I do not know. Can you blame me, Solis, for not wanting to be a saint? I have heard it is a miserable existence."
The sun god frowned, and it was an expression as beautiful as his voice. "I would not know. I am merely a god." Solemn now, he placed a kiss upon my brow. "Sleep, Adonai. I cannot save you, and you cannot save me."
I pressed my head to the sand, one final repentance. "I know."
I greet the marble pedestal and its writhing sands with the reverence of a dead man walking. The elixir (what I have taken to calling it, half-jokingly) weighs down my pocket. For a moment, however, I forget its existence. I had slipped it there before I left, intending to find a quiet place to drink it, and instead found anything but.
Would anyone believe me if I told them that I had ended up here without meaning to? I doubt it; I wouldn't believe him, myself. Yet nothing had called out to me. I arrive exhausted, panting, my black cloak turned grey by filth. I arrive with the knowledge of the previous monarch's disappearance, yet what was it to me? Our throne had ceased being a Solterran one the day Maxence had sat upon it, and died by it. I had served in Seraphina's court, slept through Raum's famine, limped hurt and half-maddened through Orestes's golden hours.
I arrive like a stone rolling down a hill. Like repentance. Like life.
I have never met any of our sovereigns except Seraphina, and I met her as a ghost, as a shadow, as a girl broken — or had she broken it? — by the weight of a crown.
So perhaps I step onto that pedestal because of a stupid, desperate need to see if I am worthy. (Give me a reason, Vercingtorix.)
Or maybe I step onto that pedestal because I know how our crown longs to break its wearer, and if, with an arrogance bordering on the mad, the foolish, the hopeful — if it chose me, I think I could bear it.
I unstopper the elixir's silver bottle. Its liquid life burns down my throat.
There is nothing left to do, but to step inside.
About the RPer
rallidae
21
Strictly as a sovereign or any leading figure, that I never have! Though two of my characters have held the positions of emissary or champion.
Yes!
What can I say except — everything? I started RPing on Novus, and you can even say that I started writing creatively on Novus. In that way, Novus has, and I am not exaggerating in the least, truly been a pivotal part of my life. Because from the start I wrote with some of the most talented, passionate, and kind people (and never once felt like a 'newbie' or excluded because I didn't know anything c': ), I feel that I've grown in my writing and thinking in ways I point blank couldn't have done without this community. Since I have no experience on other forums I can only base this off of what others have said, but the fact that Novus has such a diverse group of writers, such a flexible system open to original lore and basically everything you can think of, as well as the best, hardworking staff team, this is what makes Novus work, and what makes it home.
Sovereign Questions
I think Adonai is a rather unconventional character to lead Solterra, mainly because his weakness of body is so fundamentally at odds with the warrior values of the court. He was born as head of a Solterran noble house (bless RB and her wonderful Ieshan lore), and then trained from birth to aspire for the crown as well as to carry out his religious duties. I don't think, though, that he's ever wanted to do either of those things at all, and only tried to excel at them out of a desperate need to be recognized. That's why as an untested youth, I doubt Adonai would have made for a good monarch at all. Yet because of his illness, and essentially the loss of his entire way of life, Adonai has been forced to reckon with what it means to be 'weak' instead of strong — and mainly, how he's never considered himself strong at all, and then coming to terms with that.
As part of writing Adonai I must say that I am in no way trying to glorify illness, or to use it as a plot device to push character development. (This balance can be really hard to maintain, though, at times...) Instead, I try my hardest to write his physical weakness as simply another part of him that he must figure out how to live with, and the reality is that in the process I do think Adonai attains a degree of wisdom that benefits him as a potential monarch. Or at the very least, brings a very interesting dynamic to what it means to be Solterran, and how to move forwards with a court that has been through the craziest IC drama. (I say that with all the love!!) He is intensely religious too, and I also think this a really fun angle to work into the court! Since Novus is a land of gods. So to conclude, one of Adonai's core tenets he would bring with him as Solterran monarch would be his own process of healing alongside his court, of his internal (very Solterran, I believe) struggle between weakness and strength, and frankly of his soul-driving desire to save something other than himself.
I think Solterra's collection of player-created lore is simply amazing, and one of my main goals if Adonai becomes sovereign would be to build upon that! As an example, I'm a very visual writer and really love specific lore/IC things to work off of, and because of this I've really wanted to create a collection of "settings" for character exploration within Solterra (like a specific booth selling shady wares in the markets, or a popular meeting place besides a town fountain, or a rumored-to-be-haunted tavern, etc etc). I've also loved previous events that worked like a choose-your-own-adventure, with characters making decisions down a branching decision tree, and would love to run some of those (maybe provide some "mini quests" too? that a character can go on whenever?) in my time.
I'm keen as well to create adopts that would be involved in the Solterran political & religious system, or at least be involved in the court and its daily drama. (: As for Adonai himself, he would naturally reach out to other courts as a sovereign should, (and he likes to think he's politically savvy...), but he'd concentrate the majority of his efforts on Solterra. Probably bringing quite a religious texture to it? Like a philosopher king, but perhaps minus that whole 'moral perfection' image, to keep things spicy. c;
Writing this audition post was the best experience, and everyone else's posts are all stunning. It's truly a pleasure to be able to write with everyone!! As a little sidenote, next semester I'm (finally) taking a reduced coarse load, and therefore I'll try my hardest to boost my activity and dedicate time and love to Adonai's position and the court!