He didn't really expect his week to go this way , not entirely .
First , running off to nearly destroy the statue of Solis ( which he's certain is going to bite him in the ass now ) , and now .. Sovereign . Over his immortal life over the many many years he's lived , he's pissed off a lot of deities . They've toyed with him and played with him and they've pissed him off too , but he knows certainly that this .. this is something comedic and something horrifying all at once , and it makes him a little paranoid all the same .
Solis is going to either kill him or maim him , one or the other .
Ah well , he has enough scars as it is , doesn't he ? What's a few more , what's the loss of some other chunk of flesh ? He's missing half his vision , his horn is cracked and frayed . He isn't the prettiest Sovereign either .
Leviathan shakes himself from head to hoof , his thoughts going with it before he heaves his heavy frame out the doors , listening to his every step on crunching desert sand and clicking tile . Large ears swivel , catching the whispers of the Court as they speak . Even now , they've been gabbing between one another about it .
" Adonai has vanished , didn't you hear ? Taken , gone ! Then someone challenged ! "
" I heard he was just a merchant --- "
" No no !! He used to be a soldier! "
" NO! That was the Champion of Battle long ago !! "
" Long ago ? Then he's old ? "
" Immortal ! Back for Maxence ! "
" But that was ages --- "
And so it went on . Tongues wagging and gossiping as he walks . Leviathan's head turns as he steps into the middle of the Court and finally clears his throat , shaking himself again and leaning himself back , rising up , and letting out a call that thunders loud . Even as it tapers from his throat , it echoes throughout the Court , and he claps back down on all fours , tilting his head so a glowing blue eye can see the gathering masses of civilians that begin to move in toward him at the call of their new Sovereign . Some are still whispering among one another , but attention is on him .
He gets the gut feeling once more , an ancient and crumbling sensation that he hasn't had since his crown of the past that had broken from his fall from two traitors that had ripped it out from under him . But perhaps it had been for the best , when the power had gone to his head and had driven him damn near mad at that point . He had been in a terrible spot . Here and now .. he feels lazy , tired . But maybe that's because it's been a long time since he's seen so many faces in one place .
"People of Solterra ... it's been a long time since you've seen someone up here , I'm sure ." He snorts , his head lifting a little , feeling nerves stir in his belly . "I am not a beast built for this noble role . I'm not posh , I'm not well-mannered , well-spoken . Politics are something I don't like . I was born a warrior , taught to fight , and have fought my entire life up until recently , when I began making armor and weapons instead . Even then I still sparred and fought . I've done nothing but fight and be a grizzled grumpass all my life . Being a King is not new though . I've been a King , and it isn't as fancy as it seems . I've scraped and scrambled and spilled my blood like the rest of you in these sands , and watched as the Kings before me simply turned tail , or just let our Court die . " For a moment , he tilts his head , gazing upward , and then back down .
" I was dumb enough to go yell at Solis about it , too . Blame him for letting this place become idle . Then I came back , and challenged for it myself , when nothing happened , because something had to happen . I'm tired of the backstabbing . We are a proud people , not a bloodthirsty warmongering beastly people like the rest of Novus wants to think we are ." For a moment , his teeth grit , and he growls , deep down . " I want to change that perception . We are fighters , we are proud , but we are not beasts . "
He moves himself , beginning to pace , energy having nowhere to go as he talks , horn glinting in the light of the sun as he treks to and fro in front of the crowd that watches him back and forth . " I come before you as a servant of my people , as well as a leader . I want to revive Solterra , and I have plans . But I also need help . I need a counsel , a regime . I need those that have the courage to step up beside me . A new era , and new blood . "
all are welcome to this thread and are encouraged .
09-05-2021, 09:17 PM - This post was last modified: 09-05-2021, 09:17 PM by Leviathan
Faction was sleeping when the announcement came, woken quickly by her companion. The equine got to her hooves, following Sors as he led the sleepy necrobotanist through the court and to where the new sovereign had called. The canid was great for weaving through crowds. Most had no idea what in the world he was and some were even afraid of her greatest creation.
She was no one in the court, probably hadnt even met anyone that belonged in it. Shaking her head, she lifted it and gazed at the brute that was now the leader. "I am no one that you would want for a leadership role, but I am willing to listen if you need to bounce ideas." It was one of her more lucid days, a day where the slightly crazy mare seemed normal. She stood tall, her pure thoroughbred blood creating the lean figure that was simple enough to blend into the crowd.
Sors bumped her gently, proud that she had spoken up. It took a lot to get her in a crowd and she was doing well this time. At least so far.
"Faction's Words" - "Sors' words"
@Leviathan Notes: short crappy post is crappy XD
you are a vast forest
full of beautiful and vibrant stories
T
here are whispers that a new king has taken the throne. So many whispers and stories. Rumors of a strange man who wields his blades as proudly as he wields his scar. Somewhere in all of this is the hum about Solis and his actions or inactions. All of this is just noise to Cordelia. She has never truly cared about power, and so these rumors hold no weight for her. All that she cares about is introducing herself to a fellow warrior. Someone who loves blades as much as she does. Someone, she may be able to reminisce about the old days with. It is not long before the small woman spots a crowd of people, and hears a booming voice calling out into the crowd. They are promises, and she can nearly taste the iron in his words.
The way he speaks about Solterra, and the world he comes from is familiar to her. Cordelia finds herself smiling slightly up towards him. He is proud and passionate and all the things a King should be. Or so she thinks. The tiny woman spots the semi-familiar duo she met at the portals long ago. Her golden limbs carry her up toward the newly crowned King. The cloak draped around her shoulders floats gently in the desert breeze. "Are we to call you just king, Deary? Surely the king of Solterra ought to have a name?" She teases the man as though they are old friends. To Cordelia, they are. This is the way she treats everyone. Her nose wrinkles as she giggles gently. Cordelia wears a crown too, but hers is an aesthetic choice. She has no power, and offers only love and baked goods to all who visit her tea shop.
"I'm Cordelia, an old adventurer who runs a tea shop here. Please stop by some time and maybe we can share our stories and reminisce together? Congratulations, Deary." She winks to the King before settling her small bodice down in the front of the crowd so that she might hear and see everything she can.
If you must die, sweetheart
die knowing your life was my life’s best part
”You are a fool.”
The words are spat before you even realize they have even left your lips, full of burning vitriol, indignant rage, and spiteful condemnation. Your body quakes, visibly, from where you stand within the gathered crowd, dual-toned eyes narrowed in a glare so cold, so vicious, you are certain you will freeze where you stand.
”You claim to be ‘king’ twice over,” you continue bitingly, teeth bared and lips flecked with spittle in your fury, shocked into a stupor at your own words and the fact that they continue to pour like a dam breaking, unrelenting and impossible to cease now that the current has stolen your tongue and voice, “And yet you have little to show for it. Solterra has been my home for years. I know you. I know of you, and how you disappeared from Solterra. You preach your fealty to a kingdom you abandoned, just like the others.”
Rage burns anew within your veins, and oh, but this is a feeling so intimately familiar to you, like breathing. Like breaking. Your body heaves, the blues of your sides frothed with sweat from strain, the muscles in your legs and body twitching, shifting, in your sickness.
You have been sick for a long time, since returning from your imprisonment. And here you are, still ill, still dying, and looking into the face of the man who overthrew your absent beloved.
No. He has never, ever been yours. He had used you, just like everyone else, spouting kind words and batting pale lashes over eyes of endless starscapes to manipulate, to break, to dominate. Adonai has never been yours, and yet you are still not strong enough to hate him for it. When you had curled dying in a wretched heap, bloodied and ragged, his name had been salvation on your lips… And now he is just another thing that has left you behind, broken and forgotten, a toy in the hands of a creature far too old for such games.
Rot in hell, you want to scream at this so-called King, this usurper who will fail just like all of the others before him, but the dam has closed, abandoning you now, perhaps when you needed it the most. Burn on the pyre. Drown in the ocean. Sink beneath the sands. Choke on your hypocrisies.
You heave, body quaking, feverish and weak, and wish desperately that you were not alone here. Solitude was your prison, a shackle you could not break from, and you are scared… But you spit vitriol and hate, condemning others, a wild and uncontrollable thing, because you are even more afraid of letting others close. So, you fear, and hate, and plead, and search frantically for anyone who will listen, all while damning others and yourself into oblivion.
One, you breathe to yourself, counting, repetition, remembering the only thing that calmed you in a cold, stone prison cell to the south, Two, three, four, five…
You count. And breathe. And it calms your racing heart, slows the heave of your chest, as you come apart in a very occupied, public space, for everyone to see your failings and hate you for them.
One, two, three, four, five…
The grin that pulls up your dark lips is a terrified, wretched thing. It seems out of place amidst the madness. Or, perhaps, right at home? You are no longer sure. Long gone was the sweet boy who played harp and sang songs and wrote poems beside the form of his scholarly father and the pale, sickly frame of his prince. That boy is dead and gone, rotting in a cell to the south, wretched and forgotten.
“When your throne crumbles, and your crown becomes too heavy, let me be the first to say ‘I told you so.’”
They come trickling in after most citizens . Not many , at first , but it hasn't been that long . One has an odd bonded with her , but she speaks at least to offer help , and he appreciates it . His speech is long winded , and he knows it . Stuffy , he thinks . Leviathan doesn't like it , himself , but isn't that something that most tend to do in his position ? Speak and throw around their fancy words and posturing ? Even if he's pacing to and fro like a lashed Sandwyrm at the moment , hooves unable to keep him still . He's got too much energy pent up , too worried that this could go sour too quickly . His first crown will always haunt him , his second will always remind him of how fleeting things had been before it had all shattered when the world had gone up in ruin .
" Thank you for your offer . I will take it up some time . "
Novus had remained , even if he had not at first . But he had come back .
A golden woman comes up , clearly carrying on in age , but so is he . He remains frozen in time , always on and off in the years , but this time he seems to be firmly stuck in it . Locked into place and drifting through at long last , held in position . Years and years , and no change on his hide save for the many scars that decorate it .
The glowing blue blinks and he tilts his head so he can look down at her , phantom brow narrowing and muzzle scrunching a moment in thought . " Ah ... I didn't give my name , did I ? I did mention I wasn't good at this . " He snorts a little hard . "Leviathan , at your service . " He offers it , large head dipping slightly , before lifting upward . " Tea and stories ... it isn't my sort of thing , but perhaps a visit would be ... nice . " Maybe .
The words are no sooner out of his mouth than a ball of fury explodes onto the scene . All wrath and spitting fire , and it reminds him of his far younger years . Ripped wings and screaming at the world , tearing up the ground and making people suffer for it . The misplaced explosion that had been meant for someone else .
He blinks once , twice .
" Did I say twice ? I meant thrice . " It's deadpan . " And I have been here . But shockingly , while I did disappear for a small amount of time , I've been back for just as long . Surprise . But it goes to show how much attention has been paid , hm ? Where have you been ? Or any of the others ? Even Adonai has left . Someone had to do something , now didn't they ? If you're so angry , why didn't you step up to the throne ? "
There's nothing but a stare for the heaving beast before him , the rage that quakes him , and Leviathan's head tilts curiously at him , before he snorts just oh so softly at the smile , the words . It's amusement , and his head barely shakes , his own smile peeling upward and revealing golden canines that emerge from his gums , a flash in the Solterran sun .
Amusement he tells himself . " I've felt broken crowns and watched my kingdoms turn to ash before me . I've seen kingdoms fall and I've watched Solterra crawl to a halt , but I came back to her a long time ago , before my predecessor was even crowned . I had hope it would rise then . It's time someone actually brought this once proud people back to life , don't you think ? Now stop making a fool of yourself . We're here for Solterra , not to be petty . "
Low , a snort , before he turns away and faces back toward the crowd , idly standing to watch for others , to wait .
you better get up out the way
tomorrow we'll rise, so let's fight today
you know i don't give a fuck what you think or say
'cause we're gonna rock up this place anyway.
The obscure mare had heard whispers in this kingdom as she made it past, but they hardly cared, hardly listened. Their issues, they hardly mattered to them. In fact, Pangaea could care less completely. But it didn't stop them from pausing at the gathering. The shawl was gathered around them, hanging down their sides, obscuring their wings, hiding the back limbs of a predator, pulled up over a heavier head to shade that lovely face, and pitch their almost glowing, slitted yellow eyes into animosity, the way they had intended. An obscure being, dressed for the sands of this desert location. Who would notice them, right? A slight smirk, a flash of a fang filled mouth that tapered into the normal molars of a horse deeper into the jaw.
Pangaea wove their way through, the clip-clop of hooves obscuring the softer click, click of talons against the ground as they moved through the crowd without a second glance. Ears pitched this way, and that way as they sought to take in the world around them. Some wore speaking kindly, others with acid and poison, slung from their lips like the venom on a Troodon. Their gaze danced with amusement at the fire, the tension slowly growing through the crowd at the words. Her gaze then turned towards the brute, the stallion that must plan to rule this land. He was a tall fellow, a scarred body that told of history, but neither bothered the saurian-equus under the cloth.
Their own body was marred after all. Healed slashes on their hip from a Spinosaurus who had taken their brother from them. The rip through the scales of their throat - a lasting gift from their father. Other marks from other predators of their home world. Nips from Compys, picked at flesh from a pteranodon who tried to eat them while the slept. A deeply scared bite at her shoulder from where another raptor had tried to rip their flesh away. That fight, Pangaea had won. And even if it weren't for the fact they had faced scarier, far more terrifying beasts in their home realm, this tall beast wasn't even a full hand taller. No, if anything . . . Pangaea found him amusing.
Particularly when he responded to the venom that little morsel, er, mortal had spoke up with. This newly crowned king was no King of Lizards. He didn't shake the ground with each step he made, didn't dominate with that mighty ferocity. But he seemed to have a personality all his own, his tone deadpaning, speaking of having been back for a while, not that Pangaea cared about that. They didn't know the history of this land, they didn't care. In fact, they didn't even want to learn about it. This was just a passing break to the Oasis that might be a bit more like home. A moment to catch a show, if you will.
The king was staring though, that the heaving beast that fired off the words, and they wait to see what this king would do. And then . . . the king smiles, and with it came the flash of golden fangs that turned the predator's attention to them curiously. Did he flay flesh with those, or where they merely a fashion statement. Did he savor the taste of meat, the sweet warmth as you took that power for your own? They didn't know, they couldn't know after all - they knew none in this land, not truly part of this Court, merely a stranger watching with amusement, with delight. How better to learn the world around you than to see the power plays, the actionless attacks.
Then this King speaks, oh what did he introduce himself as? They don't remember, they don't care. He's another of the little herbivores that try to make friendly with them, like they were just like these weak, little plant-munchers. Pangaea's own muzzle splits, fangs sharp, ready, waiting flashing from with in an equine muzzle with a touch of reptilian ferocity. A predator walking in half the skin of a friend. They listen to this king's words. He's amused, they note, hearing it when he speaks of broken crowns, kingdoms turning to ash, fall. Solterra hmm, this land then, perhaps? They keep their cloak drawn close as he continues to speak, silent still, merely watching. Time to bring the proud people back to life? Here for Solterra? Well, they weren't, they just wanted to see what was going, so even when he turns towards the crowd again, watching the others, waiting, Pangaea slunk back into the masses, their height making them feel a little more noticeable, a little more out in the open than they had intended. So they keep that cloak closed, keeps themselves enshrouded, and Pangaea too waits.
For surely there would be more for them to learn here . . . and so far this meeting was certainly more than amusing enough to keep them around. For the time being, before that pebbled hide would itch to move, and they'd continue on through this . . . Solterra.
ug perhaps, a bit ironically, was more like the king than the crowd of peasants, of courtiers, that gathered before him.
The King wasn't particularly ugly - in fact, he caught Tug's eye though the stallion could have snorted, a King! - but he was brawny and big, standing shorter than himself but only by little, not even a hoof's length if Tug were a betting man. And though he knows him not by much, knows only the King's words, he likes him immediately. A soldier, a man who has spilled his blood for his kingdom. Not some fancy, inbred royal bred for the position who would snap if they so much as sneezed wrong, a man who knew what it was like for the lowly citizens like himself.
Two people called their support to their new sovereign before some woman challenged him - quickly shut down by their new king, and Tug liked him even more. And so it was that his voice rang out, clear and deep as a hoof stamping against hard-packed earth, "I shall stand by you, my King."
Leave a note for your next of kin
Tell 'em where you been
Pray that Hell or Heaven lets you in
Visions of your pretty face send me into hyper space
Caught up in a palentary world
There was a stirring in the land.
Veil felt it. She knew something was changing, something was coming. In more than just the way that could be seen in the streets. Her own magic was telling her that, a sense of what was coming in the way that the air seemed to charge. Planets them selves told the story, Jupiter was alit, flickering brightly after having waned for so longer. That was what Veil needed to know, that told her more than her inability to understand much of the language of these people. There was a change of power.
So of course she followed the crowd.
She stood calmly, the galactic dust wafting from her body, swirling around her limbs, off her tail and mane. Her galaxy eyes watching the others. The noises the king made, powerful, echoing. The other noises from different citizens. The words themselves had no context, but Veil's magic could practically let her taste the emotions in the air. She'd felt the anger when the stallion spat at the other. She had felt the amusement in the king.
It gave her some contextual knowledge.
It was better than nothing at least, and that was good enough for her. So she stayed part of the crowd, picking up on the emotions, the feelings, the emotions in an attempt, a desperate plea to get an understanding of just what change was coming, and perhaps what it would mean for her, and her best friend.
FROM THE MOUTH INSIDE THE MIND
@Leviathan Notes:: She's just a figure in the crowd, but since she's basically part of Solterra in terms of living in the land, well xP She needed to show up haha
Breathin' in you give me air, I'm living on your solar flare
Could you be my super nova girl?
