Night creeps slowly, slowly across the sky. It is an all-consuming, inevitable fact of each new day. As sure as death, the night will come. Remnants of sand from the desert spill from his fine ashen coat. Reminders of his visit to Solterra. His once-home. Sebastien is nothing if not nostalgic. It is where he met here until she crept away from him. An inch somehow stretched into a mile. Sebastien is not worried, he knows she belongs to him. Belongs to him just like all beings eventually will. Until he joins the Ancestors. Through the streets of swirling smoke and incense, he glides. An ashen ghost drifting through the streets with an array of sights and smells. There is a steady hum of life in the Night Markets, they are no different than the markets in Solterra. Solterra. Their markets do not have the promise of Solis' touch the way that the Night Markets boast about Calligo.

Each city. Each one is alive. Abuzz with new life each day. Novus is a very interesting place in recent times. Sovereigns from three courts are now absent. Their throne sits empty while suitors throw their hats into the ring. As though their hat is little more than a cheap date and idle promises. The head of House Vogelstein has forbidden him from tossing his own hat into the ring. He is not ready. Not yet. Sebastien doesn't agree. He thinks this as he plucks a ripe plum from the vendor waving it into the street. Coins fall atop their booth as he continues on, biting into the soft flesh of the fruit. It drips and spills into the stone. Some of it splashes on his limbs, as it does the same for the strangers shifting in the night. Sebastien musters an apologetic look to the oncomers, who seem to shrug their shoulders at him with a smile.

Sebastien continues on until he spots him. He is unsure of why his fixation is drawn to the simple-looking stallion ahead of him. Perhaps it is because he reminds the charmer of Meira. Waves of his magic swirl, mingling with the scents of patchouli that are drifting out into the street. He moves. Moves towards the man with a suave smile on his lips. "Hello." He greets the stranger with warmth. It is inviting. It feels like home. "I wonder if you might be able to help me?" Sebastien asks the stranger again. He makes sure to give pause so that the man can respond. All the while he remains attentive, focused. Yes, he will come to possess this man. Someday. Someday when Meira's touch fades. He needs to fill the void.

@Tristan

TRISTAN

e had made it nearly his entire trip without being interrupted. The leather bag which hung at his side was mostly full of the necessary supplies he had come into town for; spices, fruits (both dried and fresh), meats for Merlin, thread, lantern oil, and various other necessities he had long gone without simply because he had no desire to leave the solitude of his mountain cabin.

Leaving his home always filled him with dread and discomfort, but with the everlasting trepidation came a hint of blasted excitement, a kick to his old heart that made his pulse race just a little faster. Throughout his entire visit into the Denoctian Markets that evening, Tristan’s brilliant turquoise eyes scanned the throngs of shifting bodies for one face in particular. Disappointment was a familiar feeling as the hours dragged on, however, as Ira seemed determined to remain out of his watchful eye… But perhaps that was for the best. He truly could not afford to be any more distracted than he already was, and Ira was terribly distracting.

Having just tucked away a jar of honey and a parcel of coffee beans into his satchel, Tristan deposited a number of Signos upon the stall counter and offered the vendor a curt nod before turning on his heel. The full satchel bounced against his shoulder as he walked, the slate-blue of his cloak hanging heavy and familiar around him, the fabric brushing against his legs with every step. The hood was down, permitting him with perfect vantage, and the Genesis blade remained within its scabbard at his hip.

He truly was nothing like the denizens of Denocte, but their cheery disposition and welcoming ambience had not yet driven him away. Perhaps it was because he stood out amidst their ilk that he was finally waylaid, and just when he was about to go home…

A larger man approached with a casual swagger, all saccharine grins and considerable bulk of smokey black. He stood a great deal taller than Tristan himself, but the knight was undaunted; he had felled far larger beasts in his time. There was a look in those amaranthine eyes that Tristan didn’t appreciate, a hunger... But perhaps it was simply the tricks of an old man’s warped mind.

A simple ‘hello’ was his greeting and Tristan arched a brow. The smokey black fellow went on casually, acting quite chummy despite their lack of intimacy. ‘I wonder if you might be able to help me?’ Turquoise eyes glanced left, then right, and then focused back on the large fellow. All of these smiling, amicable faces and this man came to him for assistance? The cloaked buckskin let out a long sigh before rasping out his answer, shifting casually from hoof to hoof, none the wiser to the swelling waves of magic around them with the protection of his mantle.

“What do you need? I’m in a hurry.”

Glancing to the right, Tristan mentally called for Merlin to come back from wherever the Wyvern had gotten off to. More than likely he was out chasing the Pygmy Dragons again…