home is behind the world ahead
there are many paths to tread
The desert, like all other things eventually do, had grown boring.
Since his escapade into the night court, the capitol to the north had grown suspiciously quiet. There were rumors, of course - the silver king was said to be plotting another great feat to bring one of the courts to heel. Sometimes the shadows whispered that his rage for denocte knew no bounds; other times, they claimed a new target somewhere in the west. That was only one of the rumors, albeit one that often took different faces.
Toulouse had also heard that the crow had left solterra, that he had slipped out unseen and vanished in the night. A girl in the markets had told him the king was sick, that a server boy she knew had served the king medicine in his bed. The next day he’d heard from a soldier that the king had ready sent out half of his army, hunting for the relic on the island. The day after that, a blind cripple had prophesied that the king’s very own pet monster would consume him in his sleep, three days hence.
That was a fortnight ago.
No matter how many tales the pale man heard, none of them proved true. King Raum of Solterra was, as ever, an enigma: distant and cold, shrouded in secrecy.
But his secrets were no secrets at all, only pretenses at mystery. Solterra was quiet, save for her peoples’ sobbing. Even now, as Toulouse flicked an ear back behind him, he swore he could hear them gnashing their teeth.
Eventually, more exciting talk had reached him. He had hesitated, if only for a second; he had a job to do in Solterra, a duty to serve. But then he had laughed, and the next morning had found him deep in the Mors, trudging towards a new horizon. Toulouse had only ever shown loyalty towards one man, and his desires always lined up with his own.
And thus does he find himself in Terrastella.
He isn’t sure what he’s hunting - only that there’s something to be found here, something more tempting than even the Relic of Tempus, in part because of the history, the notes, the secrecy. He couldn’t have stayed away even if he’d wanted to.
The tall grasses of the Susurro are pale, as pale as his own skin, dancing along his legs as he wades through a sea of gold. Today he has left his scarves at home, the better to feel the sun and wind upon his own skin - only his diamond horseshoes remain, and the green pendant wound about his neck.
There was work to be done and so Sigrun had set out from her home in the heart of the swamp to see it done. Her stores had been growing thin and needed replenishing. They needed doubling, perhaps, if she wanted to be ready for the trials ahead, and not everything she needed could be found close to Tinea. The fields were the first step on her foraging foray and though she was careful in picking her way through the long grasses her mind was more than occupied.
Terrastella--and beyond that the rest of Novus--waited for her and to the Witch Doctor it was difficult not to see it as a ring of wolves ready to begin the hunt the moment her people left the safety of their hidden halls. Her vision had showed her a people restored but the isolation that had once saved them was now the obstacle to their growth.
It was time to meet the wolves.
A flash of gold catches her eye, movement in the tall grasses, and painted woman is pulled from her thoughts to focus her attention a figure moving on a collision course to her own path. “Lone wolf… But is your pack nearby?” barely more than a murmur on her breath, the words carry all the weight of her dark thoughts.
Do I start this now? Do I have a choice? She doesn’t. The impulse to fade back before she can be noticed is curbed. Go forth, Sigrun, the world is waiting. To hide is to die. Resolute in her purpose, Sigrun obeys.
She picks up her step, moving to intercept the stranger at a trot and when he lifts his head she calls out. “Be still, child, and tell me your name.” Her voice is calm, matronly, though the cadence is strange. There are half-beat pauses between each phrase, and she turns her head to glance around looking back at her target only when she quiets.
She slows as she approaches, peering at the figure before her who is as polished as she is dull. Rusty eyes squint appraisingly, giving her a slight nearsighted and takes in all that she can see. ”You don’t belong here.” It’s not a question, not even a judgement, just a flat statement. ”No you don’t belong here, shiny thing. Don’t look at the sky too much while you walk, not around here.”
home is behind the world ahead
there are many paths to tread
The sun was warm on his face, warm on his skin, turning the already-gold hairs of his coat absolutely metallic. Toulouse’s eyes drifted closed, basking in the warmth of the Dusk Court, making himself perfectly at home here in the heart of their land. The wind danced along his coat, a duet between itself and the sun, and he sighed.
Its the soft murmur of a stranger that makes him open them again.
A dun mare with red feathers in her hair. Her markings seem oddly familiar, feral and exotic, and he thinks he should recognize her. He knows Terrastella has its own legends and stories, and it seems she has stepped forth from one of them. Those stories whisper themselves now in the back of his mind, telling him he should be afraid - but her voice is warm, albeit odd. And fear is not a common emotion for the horned man.
”It seems you already know it,” he hums, as he turns his head to look at her. ”’Lone wolf’. Although others call me Toulouse.” And others still have a different name for me. He’s lost track of how many names he has, but he wears them as easily as his own scarves.
Her eyes feel bright on his skin, like twin suns lighting him up in a spotlight. ”If there’s something more interesting than the sky, I’ll be sure to look at that instead,” he tells her, and for a moment his voice echoes her flat tone, even as he fixes his green gaze upon her.
She was certainly more interesting than the sky, but he wasn’t about to tell her so.
”I used to live here,” he tells her, turning his eyes to look out across the fields. It’s not a lie for once; this was the first land of Novus that he had seen, washing up on the beach that a sea-soaked castaway. He had thought about staying here, if only for a little bit - before the wind had swept him up and carried him away like a leaf. ”In a way, I think that means I belong here.” As far as Toulouse was concerned, he belonged to any land he set his hoof upon, for he was as changeable as the seasons.
And wherever there were secrets to be found, there he too, would be found.
He tilts his head back to the mare, his heavy mane dancing upon the wind that swirls around them. "Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?"
Terrastella sleeps through the days of turmoil without a complaint--not a raincloud or the faintest thrum of an earthquake to testify that its dark, holy places are being dug up. The earth is calm and silent. Even as Susurro becomes pockmarked and scarred with more and more caverns, not much has come to show for it: everything the cadets and the strangers have turned up so far seems to be a red herring.
Until just the right stone is turned.
Some hoof knocks over a small grave marker. On the bottom plane, the granite is filthy with eons of dirt and overgrown moss. Underneath the grime it is inscribed with words and a design carved by a strange, careful hand. The art is simple: an empty, stylistic wave, from the froth of which rises a single link of chains with a cuff at the end.
The inscription underneath is somewhat harder to understand.
Just like Juliet it’s morning again. And lovers leap from the ward Which keeps them from each other, Just as it divides sea and city.
A pair of green eyes watch from the edge of the field.
Please PM me (RB) here or on Discord if you’ve got any questions! <3
