your heart is a wild thing
made of stardust and thunder and hurricanes
The day had dragged, long and slow and lazy, before Solis allowed the Night Goddess to step into the sky with all of her grace and shadows. A rare night indeed; for a certain stormsinger was uncommonly bound inside the walls of the court's castle, instead of dancing beneath Calligo's sea of stars. Tonight was not meant for revelry and decanters of summer wine; no, this night was all business. A discussion, a plan. As a born and trained warrior, she had a need to guarantee the safety of those near and dear to her. Which not only included her tribe, but now the whole of Denocte's people.. her people. And now, as the chosen Champion of Battle, her need had become a duty. One, for the matter, she did not plan at faltering at.
So she had drafted the letters to every sworn warrior of Night's glorious darkness; every protector that would stand against the tidal waves of war, should the occasion arise. Most, she realized, she did not yet know.. and very few had she become to begin to know. After tonight, she hoped, that that very fact would change — that Calligo's warriors would unite and become comrades, defenders of the court of smoke and stars.
Should you wish,
I ask of you to join me in the war room tomorrow,
after the sun has finally drifted off to sleep.
She recalled each letter she had wrote, and the shortly-shorn locks of her ombré mane that accompanied each bundle of paper and wax. Leaving the invitation without a signature, without a name, but only her tell-tale hair to show true faith of whom was asking for their presence. With a borrowed Rahilah barn owl, she had tied each letter with ribbon around the bird's bell-adorned legs, before sending it off and starting on another. Aislinn recalled the bubble of emotions that had surfaced with each one; in particular, she had faltered at writing the name of her king. She had hesitated, fury and regret and ache eating at her from the inside out before she hastily finished it.. wanting nothing more than to be done with the thing. Her heart was still raw and bleeding, and although she half-hoped Reichenbach would not come, she prepared for the oncoming rip of heartache anyway.
Now she waited, more or less impatiently, circling the round table in the center of the room with all of her restless energy. Orbs of icy flames bore into the maps that littered the table top, her starlight-and-ink colored mane out of her face and carefully plaited into multiple intricate braids. The candelabras surrounding the circular room were lit and casting an orange glow, reflecting off her eyes as her gaze flickered from the maps to the heavy oak doors. Waiting, hoping, until whomever answered her call opened up the doors to join her.
@nora @noah @erum @lumaris @polunin @judal + any NC warriors I've missed.
@reichenbach @camdis @lothaire should you wish as the Regime <3
@rostislav - this is a formal invitation, however I know you're being stolen currently x3
This is not a mandatory meeting, however, if you would like your character to be "in the know" about NC defenses, your presence is encouraged! <3 "Aislinn speech."
The letter had laid unopened beneath Lothaire's door in his absence; it was the first thing he noticed upon pushing into his cool shadowy chambers, and he had picked it up slowly - studying it with a gaze coloured by detached interest. Setting himself upon silk bedsheets, Lothaire emptied a sigh into the growing dark - watching as the cimmerian light clung to the particles of dust swirling around candles flickering so tenderly in the dusk. Seven candles - one for each time he had caught himself from falling too deep into the night.
After many slow moments had passed, the emissary - returning from a long journey north - opened the letter, his vast and rugged hands gliding over the parchment. An invitation, a meeting, Aislinn's hair falling easily into wide palms. It crossed his mind that perhaps instead he would prefer to lay down his weary head; to allow the stars to fill his head and his hair - but he knew better. Such an occasion would be important, and valuable, so silently he slipped forth into the dimming air.
She was pacing when he arrived, her plaited silver-kissed locks shifting tepidly with every turn and sway. Lothaire stood in the doorway, spectral and mute, shadows bonding to his pale and malachite skin. Slowly he drifted into the room, curling himself into a particularly dusty corner - not once removing his gaze from Aislinn's form. He might have mentioned the anxious energy rolling from the woman, might have offered respite, but tonight there came from his lips only a simple greeting. Lo was learning. "Evening, Aislinn."
But gypsies wander never stay, always must move on.
And so his tribe did go away, my Gypsy's also gone.
Should you wish,
I ask of you to join me in the war room tomorrow,
after the sun has finally drifted off to sleep.
Reichenbach read the letter with a pang of guilt, silver eyes staring unseeingly at the lock of silver hair until the owl that had accompanied it gave a low hoot. Reich flicked his eyes to the owl, a certain familiarity bonding him with it instantly, the scent of the gypsies still ripe upon it's soft feathers. The scent would not remind him of anything but Aislinn now.
He breathed in lightly, trying and failing to avoid the soft lavender and smoke scent of her, clinging tightly to the lock of hair he now held. He placed the hair upon his windowsill, gazing over Denocte from the heights of the Court. He loved their country - fiercely, and with a loyalty that was surpassed only by his Crows and his blood. He knew of only one other who was as unfailingly, passionately loyal as he, and she had sent this letter.
He had broken her wild heart.
He hated it. Hated thinking of her beautiful eyes faltering, the light in them stuttering and blinking out as he confessed his love for another. For Reichenbach, empathy was a curse, a brutal reminder that his actions had consequences, that for some... his freedom, his wild, un-tameable side could be harmful. Yet he couldn't fully feel sorry for telling his Champion the truth - she had had a right to know that his heart was looking westward, eyes set upon honeyed skin and violet eyes.
Still.
Heartbreak and hurt would not stop him from arriving at the War Room today. He did so silently, shadows twining about him as he stepped into the room, his presence vibrant and alive. His ebony curls shifted slightly as he looked about the vast room, sending a waft of night jasmine and woodsmoke to prowl the space before him. It was impressive. He had rarely had reason to enter the room before - now... he looked to Aislinn.
She was as beautiful as ever - all fierce passion and untouched fury. Gods above, she was as wild as he, as much a part of Denocte as the granite of the mountains or the clear waters of the lake. She was stars and smoke and shadow, his Lady Knight.
Lothaire stood by the entrance, immovable and intelligent, those depthless eyes catching every detail, every slip of information. Reichenbach smiled a warm smile, genuine pleasure rolling from his hot skin as he grinned;
"Lothaire! How was your time away?"
He could not rid himself of the need to look at her, to ensure that she was alright. So he did, turning to her with eyes of molten silver.
"Aislinn... A good call, to arrange such a meeting. I fear we have enemies building to the North."
His voice was the rumble of thunder on a warm night, sweeping through the chamber like music.
"Lothaire... I don't suppose you learned anything upon your travels to the other Courts? Dusk and Dawn have proven to be quite amiable upon my own visits... Day, I am not so certain about... though they have always been.... abrasive."
your heart is a wild thing
made of stardust and thunder and hurricanes
Her restlessness was an animal; a beast that tore through every chain she tried to ensnare it with, only for her nervousness to burst forth and break through regardless. She moved with sharp movements and strained grace; her hooves clipping against the stone as she waited. Her impatience was mailable, and thinning; like a lake that had not completely frozen over, and she was desperately trying to balance herself over the icy surface. For a moment, she had half a thought to leave the room entirely, until the heavy oak doors groaned as someone finally entered.
With a shudder of blinks against the darkness growing where the candles did not reach, the stormsinger watched as the newcomer entered the room. He, of most peculiar markings and wings that struck chords of curiosity deep in her bones. But he had never once struck fear in her, not even when she first noticed the lack of ears that were so befitting to their kin. His quietness was something she knew well in herself; the need for aloneness that also ran through her blood and bones a comfort where the buzz of crowds could never achieve, not fully. The nervous energy running rampant in her blood had her buzzing as she halted, only momentarily, as her gaze adjusted to allow her new company in the circular war room. "Evening, my Lord," she replied, her voice even, with a respectful dip of her crown, before she rose and her gaze met Lothaire's.
Not more than a few moments had passed before the doors groaned again. Her mending heart thundered in her chest, loud and expectant and threatening for everyone to hear. In a rush of shadows and smoke, and warmth like burning embers, a most familiar figure entered not long after the Night Court's Emissary. She did not have to lift her gaze to see the darkness of his features, or tilt her ears to hear the tinkling of golden trinkets in his hair, or the coins banded around one, muscular leg. Pain shattered through her like a crackle of lightning, but with a sharp intake of breath, Aislinn buried it, and buried it deep. The ache that had once rioted through her, tearing her to pieces and into something she did not recognize, was now chained. Contained. Controlled. Her emotions a roil of storm clouds, she did her best to remain ever neutral. Her heart once broken by he, but still, she did not hate him. Never.. for how could she blame him for what his heart had decided on its own accord, when her own was beginning to do the same?
"My King," she sighed, softly, but strongly. Her eyes momentarily shut as she bowed her head in greeting, before her orbs fell back on the scattered maps. His wildness was now molded into fierce passion, and yes, even love; for they were gathered here to discuss the protection of a country that was all near and dear to every heart and soul in the room. She was about to breathe life to answer to his words, when the great doors opened and a group of unknown warriors flooded in, all hushed voices and averted gazes. The oxygen in her throat caught as she realized she did not find familiarity in a single face, nor a name. A problem that needed fixing, but not now. Her nervousness now morphing into impatience, and slight annoyance. "Hurry in and bolt the door behind you," she ordered through gritted teeth, "you do not come in late after your King, do you understand?" The Champion's gaze of blue flames could have reflected lightning in the darkness, but instead they bore into the younger protectors with a sternness that her mother, Freya, could have easily matched. Quick nods answered her as she rose her chin, the nervousness in her veins slowly churning into confidence. "Good. Now, let's begin."
With more even breaths, she strode around the room, her orbs roving over the maps and clay figurines positioned on the table. The firelight caught every strand of her carefully plaited hair, every plume of her great wings as she tucked them close to her body for warmth. Shadows cast across the round table, as her vocal chords tightened and rumbled. "Our Court is strong, but not as strong as it has the potential to be," she started, huffing hot air through her nostrils. Her gaze flickered upwards, meeting Reichenbach's of molten silver, and Lothaire's of unending obsidian. "I fear you may be right, my King. There is tension facing us directly from our northern borders. The Pass is an advantage, yes, but we need something more if -- Calligo forbid -- the tension turns to war."
She stepped closer to the edge of the table, then, and with the delicate tendrils of her mind, Aislinn plucked several clay pieces from the table and placed them into new spots to denote her plans. More defenses to the north, along the mountain pass, and the possibility of enemies lying hidden in the sands of a desert not far from their own borders. "Our warriors need more training. A daily regime to strengthen them, hone them. More patrols, of the city and it's outer borders.. Rostislav should be able to help with this. He is beyond capable. Plus, do we have any knowledge on what Maxence's intentions are? Rostislav might, maybe know but.." she spoke, her voice more even; prepared, as she detailed her plans, before her voice tapered. Her gaze was bright with blue flames as she met each face in the room, her orbs steady and unmoving until she looked to both Reichenbach and Lothaire. Suddenly, with a sharp intake of breath, she broke her gaze to look once more around the room. Too quiet, too small.. a most welcome and warm presence now obviously missing from their gathered ranks. "Wait," she shuddered, before her orbs widened in worry and shock, "where is Rostislav?"
@lothaire @reichenbach speed thread omg
the rest of the warriors are all npc! "Aislinn speech."
![[Image: lothaire_chibi2_by_outofthefurnace-dbkx9cu.png]](https://orig09.deviantart.net/50c2/f/2017/234/4/0/lothaire_chibi2_by_outofthefurnace-dbkx9cu.png)
