IN THE CLEARING STANDS A BOXER, AND A FIGHTER BY HIS TRADE
AND HE CARRIES THE REMINDER OF EVERY GLOVE THAT LAID HIM DOWN
AND CUT HIM TIL' HE CRIED OUT
Wolves howled lower than the wind that whistled into the commanders ears and from his place upon the frigid mountaintop there was little to be seen among the falling sleet and whispering white clouds that covering most of his horizon, save for the drenched mountain forest below. In the Arma's the king of Day stood surveying a land of Night; a rival land, his motives for such a plunge still questionable. What had driven him into the clutches of the enemy? Was is sympathy for the emotional king of Denocte, or was it an emerging gentleman's agreement?
Maxence was always one to command all he surveyed, but alas, not in the country where Calligo reigned. It was here amongst the pine needles, pete and mountain sleet that he felt more a stranger than any; even the eagles watching him from eye level appeared right at home, and while the lion was not one to quake as the sight of crows he would certainly keep his sights upon them.
The coast appeared clear, so with was with a flick of his wings that the commander spilled from the mountaintop and swooped down it's side toward the forest below, soon to land in a sheltered glade; there'd be ltitle to no chance of spotting him under the cover of the trees, where as if he was caught flying into the night court he would he could likely be shot down like a duck.
Gathering his wings against his sides and finding his baring with a turn of his nose across his back and then ahead in the direction of the court, maxence began on his way.
She had been on a patrol of her homeland's outer borders when she found him.
The crisp mountain air was thin and lovely and delicious in her lungs, as she tasted the autumn chill with frivolity. She was a wraith cocooned in her Goddess' hands as she melted from shadow to shadow, embracing the bleakness and cover underneath trees burnished in gold. Droplets of rain dripped from the grey skies above, landing on her skin like soft fingers of ice and sending shivers through every chord of muscle. Her silver and ink mane was plaited into several careful braids that met and converged to run the length of her strong neck, the constellations tattooed on her neck wondrously exposed. Several hairs escaped, sticking to her skin where water had soaked her. The stormsinger fae's sight was a wielded sword; orbs bright and blue despite the mist surrounding the woods.
Under the mountain, she traveled deeper into Calligo's clutches with her eyes all-seeing, missing nothing. Each step against the damp, slumbering earth was cool, calculated. Her nostrils flared with even inhales, even exhales. The strong, wet scent of rain masked all else, save for the cinnamon perfume of dying leaves beneath her hooves. Her wings had been tucked close to her body for too long while she had been guarding the outskirts of her home. She unfurled them, each plume relishing with the slow stretch, her hoofbeats becoming quicker and quicker, until she was galloping down the beaten path. A spear of smoke and moonlight, her muscles clenching as she leaped into the air, soaring through a break in the trees.
Her wings flirted with the downpour of rain, beating against the sleet as her eyes narrowed through the fog that had gathered in the shadows of the mountain pass. She had half an inkling to land higher atop the towering stone peaks, to find solace in a dry cave, when her blue gaze landed on a muddled shadow dancing in the air. A stranger that braved autumn's tears and flew through the gray skies. Her wings beat madly to catch up with him, her breath a mist of cool air through her nostrils. From an angled view, she realized that no shred of familiarity struck her. For he was a painted wonder of feathers and splashes of ivory on sun-kissed skin; very much a lion that had strayed too far from his pride. His scent of scorched sands and endless deserts lost and unknown to her amidst the showers of rain.
Aislinn moved as gracefully as she could, mustering speed and tucking her wings to corral him towards the ground. She eyed a clearing, a glade that had opened up like a mouth through the blanket of gold and crimson forest. But before she could, she hovered, orbs piercing through the mist like spheres of blue fire towards the stranger. "I do not know your face," she called, "Please, land with me so I may speak with you."
She did not know of whom had wandered into her borders, save only that he was a stranger — a man, a Sun King, that she had never once laid eyes on before.
IN THE CLEARING STANDS A BOXER, AND A FIGHTER BY HIS TRADE
AND HE CARRIES THE REMINDER OF EVERY GLOVE THAT LAID HIM DOWN
AND CUT HIM TIL' HE CRIED OUT
The rip and whistle of a battled wind was what alerted Maxence to the presence of another feathered being to his back, and upon turning his skull to meet with the oceanic gaze of the stormsinger Maxence found his own eyes of the sea narrowed and cautious. Her request to land was one she had not needed to make given his sights were already set upon the crowded glade.
Sweeping each wing down in long, calculated strokes, Maxence landed with precision upon the pete and dirt, not a single word falling from his cold and slightly irritated lips; he had been found, and this woman was no fae. Her muscles were toned and honed; the look of none but this own kind - the kind that spilled blood for a livelihood.
The sun's king stood tall and without fear, his legs strong and chest full of an indomitable spirit. He may have flown from a poorer land, a land where the inhabitants were few and far between, but his pride for the work of the Solterrans would show in any encounter with another from places of wealth.
"Speak—" The unknown would press, wishing to know what would become of him from this encounter with the shieldmaiden. Did she recognise him? Would she clap him in irons and bring him to the capitol, or make do of him here and now? It was unlikely that Maxence would ever go down without a fight, though with such brittle circumstances the king would not wish to anger Caligo's chosen anymore than he already had. "—quickly and to the point." he then continued of the woman, nose turning over his shoudler to preen a wind-beaten place upon his wind, twisting his feathers back into their rightful position.
The stormsinger did not know of whom flew freely across Calligo's borders — her king's borders — and maybe that fact alone would be her undoing. Her eyes did not meet his, as instead she watched his painted wings pump against the sleet in calculated strokes. She mimicked him, sweeping her own feathered plumes, like a breathing second shadow as she tailed him. Her legs pranced against the soaking earth as she landed in the glade, stopping to a halt with mud sucking at her ankles. As she turned to him, she noted the refined muscles of his splotched ivory frame; the strong wings that carried him through the screaming wind and storm. She breathed in the air, searching to find his scent, to put a name to a place of where this strange man could have hailed from.. but she was met with only the stench of mud and dying autumnal leaves.
Speak — quickly and to the point.
"You do not command me." Fiery blue orbs narrowed on him, gaze unfaltering as she searched his ocean eyes. There was an undeniable, untamed spirit that beheld the painted man; and one that she did balk at. If anything, she raised her defiant chin, her eyes daggers and her muscles burning for spilled blood.. should things turn to that. That was her duty after all, as the chosen Champion that worked hand in hand with their Warden. A leader of their warrior clan, defenders of the Night and their king. But before that she was a gypsy. A warrior-hearted woman born and bred for the battlefield. A protector, a knight, a destroyer. She would go down until her last dying breath should it mean the livelihood of her beloved kingdom..
..and she had just let the Sun King walk through their door.
She watched as he preened his wing, and as he did so, Aislinn tilted her crown. Small braids falling through the rain-soaked threads of her mane, she folded her wings to her sides. He was not of this Court.. not a Child of the Night, not a son of the beautiful and wicked Calligo. Suspicion burned in the back of her throat as her body tightened, searching his face. Unaware of whom stood before her, or of the potential damage he could cause. If only she had known.
Her voice did not falter or break as she stated: "State your business or see yourself out of our lands."
IN THE CLEARING STANDS A BOXER, AND A FIGHTER BY HIS TRADE
AND HE CARRIES THE REMINDER OF EVERY GLOVE THAT LAID HIM DOWN
AND CUT HIM TIL' HE CRIED OUT
A tear of feathers and bone demanding the wind to servitude was what took a hold of Maxence's ears now. With two pegasi of flared wings and challenging stance upon the highland there was little for the wind to do but howl and fight, pushing the feathers at the soveregns back at such force that it caused him to stagger forwards and fold both sails.
With his wings at his sides and pillar-like legs dug deep within the pete, Maxence's eyes narrowed on the one who defiantly refused a simple request of urgency. The commandant had hardly expected to be treated as such in a foreign court where he was not recognised, but perhaps if he were to play it nice he would escape without shackles. "I seek medicines" He feigned quite convincingly. "My daughter is sick, she wont last the night without remedies from the south. Solterrans are not equipped for healing... or anything other than blasted fighting for that matter!"
Immediately the charade had begun, a convincing act of a snivelling father in a rush to save his child's life. "Please, I must get to the capitol at once."
By now his wings had flared, his hooves readied for take off. Had she bought it? Or would she not relent?
Her wariness grew with each drop of cold rain that dripped onto her ebony body; each autumn tear sending another bolt of caution through her muscles and deep into her bones. She rose her chin, as she down her delicate nose at the painted man. He could not be more than a few inches taller than she; his body toned and muscular. A warrior, perhaps, a defender. A man who's blood thirsted for bruises and torn knuckles just as her own craved the heat of battle. She searched and searched, her nostrils flaring even still, to find a source of a scent to know of whence he came. But she was left with nothing, her hands poor and empty. The musk of rain too heavy and the rot of dying leaves flooding her lungs and coating them in ash instead.
I seek medicine. My daughter is sick, she wont last the night without remedies from the south. Solterrans are not equipped for healing... or anything other than blasted fighting for that matter!
His pleas were heard on distrustful ears. If she had been a weaker-willed woman, Aislinn might have relented then and there. Her breath came in sharp inhales and exhales as she contemplated the words that played at her lips. Tilting her crown, the stormsinger cracked her neck, her gaze of fiery blue flames honing. Narrowing on the stranger who pledged his intentions. If she let him go freely through her homeland, and his pleas rang true, she would have inadvertently aided in saving his child's life. But if he had lied.. her undoing would be lending a foreign man free reign to roam into her home, and the kingdom she was sworn to protect with an iron fist. With careful hands she weighed his words, and the ocean of his orbs for glimmers of truth, of honesty.
The Children of the Night were not known for their trustful nature. Oh no.. they were passion and revelry and violence cocooned in their goddess' shadows and stars.
Please, I must get to the capitol at once.
She nearly breathed the words that toyed at the edge of her soft lips, when her gaze broadened, suffocated by the overo stallion. The Champion noted how he had unfurled his wings, his hooves poised to lift off. Flighty, isn't he? Aislinn pursed her lips, meeting his stare with orbs of blue daggers. Sharp and unrelenting, missing nothing. "Night is known for many things, but our healers are not one of them," she started, her voice unwavering, "so forgive me if I don't quite believe your claims."
With a steady hoof, she stepped forward, her wings tucked close to her side as her muscles tightened underneath her skin. There was something mildly off-putting about the man; his gaze, his stature, the lack of scent to where he called home. A shiver ran down the length of her spine, but she dismissed it, instead narrowing her stare as she looked at him through thick lashes. "Why come to Denocte if you seek medicine and potentially the continent's best healers? Surely Dusk could have served you better."
@maxence -screams internally- please don't mind this post as I'm on night shift & sleep deprived D:
IN THE CLEARING STANDS A BOXER, AND A FIGHTER BY HIS TRADE
AND HE CARRIES THE REMINDER OF EVERY GLOVE THAT LAID HIM DOWN
AND CUT HIM TIL' HE CRIED OUT
Like the hound upon a fox's scent, the shieldmaiden of Denocte was tracking his own identity through webs and dense lies. While Maxence firmly believed the only way she could truly catch him was if she recognised him, there was nothing stopping her from discounting his acting (which he assumed was damn good for one untrained in the art).
"Please," the 'father' sobbed, reaching to step around the starborn warrior, wings still flared and ready for ascent to the cloud cover. "Each second I spend quarrelling with you is one more my Lyssa spends in agony" his voice cracked, strained as he bleated his humble plea, but as he was questioned once again he gave a soft grunt of frustration.
"Denocte is only a few hours flight, Terrastella is almost a day!" was his disgruntled response, a hoof stomping out of impatience "I might as well continue on to the dawn court— they wont turn me away!"
And with that the patriarch strode past the storm-coloured mare and launched off of his haunches, turning his head to give one last chortle as he stormed off. "Solterrans always remembers who helps them and who does not"
Whether his story was true or not, Maxence was sure to remember this woman and her actions. Shaking his uncrowned head as he flew from the scene toward the shroud of cloud, muttering and grumbling under his breath - To refuse to help those less fortunate was somethign that did not sit well with the commander.
Her suspicion only grew; multiplying like a virus in her veins, tightening the muscles underneath her ebony skin and branding her with a stare as cold as the rain that dripped down her spine. She was cautious, and wary, as his pleas of a darling, sickly daughter fell on her ears. There was something about the painted man that had her heart thundering in her ears, her chest pinching together beneath the weight of the scales in her mind. To help him, to grant him passage, despite the warning bells.. or to potentially let a madman roam free through her beloved kingdom.
The stormsinger was lost, unable to figure out what she wanted to do. What was right, and what was wrong.. the golden scales on her shoulders weighed her options, but before she knew it, the man was poised to flee. To fly away.
Solterrans always remembers who helps them and who does not.
His words were like cold steel twisting in the cavity of her chest, punching into her gut, as she watched him launch himself into the stormy heavens. At a loss for words, Aislinn battled with following him, but.. decided against such things. In the end, he could have been a father, and damn her if she let a little girl die because she did not have access to proper medication. Her soul would not heal if she knew she had let a youngling pass at her own hand.. not when she could do something about it.
Despite this, a darkness crafted of sandstorms and scorched deserts gnawed at her as she turned to leave, continuing on with her patrol. If it had been any other day, when the rain had ceased and the land was not soaked with damp earth and mud and soil, Aislinn would have known. She would have scented the sunlight drenched into his skin, and then, she would have prevented the Sun King from ever stepping a hoof into her kingdom. But she was clueless, unaware..
..and she had just let him walk right through their open door.
