Imagines swam before her closed eyes. Damp corridors lined with menacing shadows. Prison cells stained with blood, stinking of death and pain. Bodies in pools of red. An old, wooden table with leather straps and chains. Rusted knives stained scarlet. A face, twisted in a cruel sneer. A sharp implement. Closer. Closer. Closer.
A muffled scream left her lips as Castalla jolted awake. She reached for one of her daggers, only to find it was not there. She wasn’t in Alanaris anymore. Sweat coated her body, fronds of pale hair stuck to her neck and brow. The images still haunted her vision, that face leering in every shadow of the forest. Bile rose in her throat, the phantom pain still clawing viciously at her insides. Hastily she staggered to the nearest bush, violently emptying the contents of her stomach.
It was a while before she finished retching, the images finally disappearing from her mind’s eye and the events leading up to her unintentional nap in the forest graced her recollection. Waking up in a particularly poor mood that morning, the Wolf had found herself wandering the forest surrounding the vitreus lake. With no one to spar against and no targets to pursue, there remained little more to do than practice her magic. And, for the first time since arriving in Novus, Castalla had successfully shifted into a wolf form. Only it had been so taxing that upon returning to her equine form she’d promptly passed out. In the middle of the forest. On her own. Not that she would want to do it surrounded by anyone of course.
“I need a drink.” She growled to the silence around her. This was perhaps one of the few times in her life where such a thing was appropriate.
----
The shadow were drawing in as night approached and the homely tavern was packed with uproarious guests. No one noticed the mare as she slipped through the doors, head lowered slightly, a grim glower upon her otherwise captivating features. At the bar she asks for a bottle whiskey and heads for the darkest corner of the inn, where the shadows might obscure her from view. Anonymity was a blessing in Novus. It was very difficult for a Princess to find such an escape in the towns around Nightfall Keep- not when all the patrons knew their future queen by scent.
ACCORDING TO BRUEGHEL, WHEN ICARUS FELL, IT WAS SPRING. A FARMER WAS PLOWING HIS FIELD, THE WHOLE PAGEANTRY OF THE YEAR WAS AWAKE TINGLING NEAR THE EDGE OF THE SEA, CONCERNED WITH ITSELF. SWEATING IN THE SUN THAT MELTED THE WING'S WAX. UNSIGNIFICANTLY OFF THE COAST THERE WAS A SPLASH QUITE UNNOTICED. THIS WAS ICARUS DROWNING.
Believe it or not, Lyr is present in Denocte for a singular basis:
There is a black market dealer that sells Damascian Hounds. The foreign breed is adept at tracking, over twice the size of a normal shepherd, and bonds to only one person in their lifetime. Although the puppies are acquired by less than savoury means—they come from the Damasca tribe, which is slowly being eliminated by foreign settlers—Lyr has done his research, and knows they are exactly what he needs. For the better part of the day, he finds himself haggling over the price of the puppies, only to come up the looser. Today is not the day.
He was informed, however, there will be another shipment of them soon. Until then, Lyr supposes he will bide his time. The aggressive social interaction has left him somewhat weary, and before travelling back to Terrastella he stops at the nearest tavern, hoping the earlier hour of the evening will mean the tavern is less crowded than usual.
The moment he enters, Lyr realises he is entirely wrong in his assumption. The building is bustling with more equines than he can count; he feels immediately uncomfortable, and cuts his eyes toward the ground. There is a long moment where he considers leaving; but the embarrassment of doing so would be too much. Lyr steels himself with a deep breath and begins to move forward. He manages to edge around the other patrons. In a blur, he finds himself ordering at the bar, receiving a drink, and moving to the most secluded corner he can find.
Unfortunately, it is not secluded enough. It takes Lyr several long moments to realise he is not alone. He is staring firmly at his drink, watching the liquid swirl. It smells strong. When he happens to glance nervously up for the first time, he is shocked to discover an alabaster mare across from him. “I-I-I didn’t mean to d-disturb you.” Lyr stammers anxiously. He glances around, struggling to meet her eyes. He clears his throat, embarrassed by his stuttering and his anxiousness all at once. Lyr flushes and because of his skin's lightness, the blush shows through. “I was just trying to find a quieter place to sit. I can leave if you'd like to be alone.”
Rhiaan @ deviant art.com
01-07-2020, 09:51 AM
Played by
Darkrise [PM] Posts: 46 — Threads: 14 Signos: 0
Castalla could count on one hand the times she had been drunk, truly drunk, in her rather long life. The first had been her aunt’s fault- she was learning to test for poisons and her aunt decided to hold a whiskey party and have Castalla taste both her (numerous) drinks and her husband’s. The events that ensued were perhaps the most embarrassing moments of the princess’ life and everyone involved lived in fear of finding something rather unpleasant in their beds should whispers of it ever get out. The following two times had been in order to perfect her ability to fight even whilst inebriated, as well as improve her tolerance for alcohol. And given that her line of work involved spying and assassinating it would be no end of use to be able to hold her liquor far better than anyone else. The final time had been after the shock of her husband’s death had subsided. After she’d screamed her throat raw and cried her eyes out of tears. Then she’d drowned it all in the first bottle of vodka she could find, wallowing in misery in the shadows of her room where no one could see her. Now she rarely drank- only where appearances required she have a drink in her hand. That and if a contact needed their tongue loosening a little- without inflicting pain.
But tonight was a different matter. Not that she was drunk. The Wolf had a very high tolerance for alcohol thanks to certain, contentious, training. In fact she was very far from drunk. Too far from drunk. Right now she wanted nothing more than to douse the images in her mind with something, anything, to make them go away. Since she couldn’t pour alcohol directly on her brain, this was the next best thing. But it was a bad idea to allow herself such weakness in public- it would be tempting fate, practically begging someone from Alanaris to find her. That and she’d rather not face being judged. A princess should always act carefully, even around those who do not know her- her father had always said.
Castalla was utterly consumed by her own thoughts, watching the amber liquid twirl in the bottle as a single tendril of her telekinesis stirred it absentmindedly. Until a pale form emerged from the bustling crowds, quiet at odds from the rambunctious merry-makers and loud-mouthed patrons. He seemed not to notice the Wolf at first- his mistake. Not that he was in any danger from her. But she watched him lazily from between thick lashes as he seated himself among the shadows.
“It is fine,” she sighs, her voice uncharacteristically dull as she turns back to the bottle and takes a sip. “I suppose drinking in the corner with a stranger is better than drinking in the corner alone.” Oh how she must look, a whole bottle of whiskey to herself, sulking in the shadows while the rest of the tavern was filled with uproarious celebration.
DARK
@Lyr <3 (i noticed the absolutely awful spelling mistake right at the very beginning of my first post and I am ashamed lmao this is because i hate reading my own work through xD)
01-19-2020, 05:40 PM - This post was last modified: 01-19-2020, 05:40 PM by Castalla
