[AW] A city of innocent monsters

[Illo]

The red haze of the setting sun crossed over the stone walls like an ominous strange shadow, deepening in hue until it faded just as swiftly as lightening across a stormy sky. Lifeless was the word that came to mind when elicit eyes spanned the pathways that had been carved between the ancient walls. This was no city. Perhaps some time ago it may have been, long before the golden prima had stepped a polished pedal within these lands. There was no amusement welling within her mind. There was no smile or frown to be placed upon her sun-kissed lips. She was effectively a statuesque figure of gold moving emotionlessly through and empty city, blue eyes consumed with the sites that many might have fondly remembered for parties or gatherings. This was no city. No, Basillica had never been this lifeless. This Orestes had left his kingdom in turmoil and it seemed as though not a soul knew how to nor wanted to lift the veil of depression that had swallowed up Day Court with his untimely disappearance. The growing desire to know this prior king was like a plague upon her mind. Had there been some Godly mission that had dragged him away? Or had he simply not been cut from the cloth of a true king, inept in his role and finally finding it within himself to abandon a throne he could not serve justly?

Onyx hair dragged along the dusty road behind her, curving out a path as if to tell the world that someone was here. Illo had no need or desire to be noticed. The attention of others was not something the female really ever desired. She could be left to her own designs for months on end and she would not feel the encroaching loneliness that others bemoaned. Her scales no longer glistened in the setting of the sun, for darkness had taken root and the city was dim but for occasional lights that lined the path before her. Her distaste for the current state of this city was evident in the slightest flicker of deep blues as they crawled across the unused streets before her. She could only imagine the life that had once clung to Day Court. Had it been much like Basillica? Parties, fairs, challenges in the Colosseum? Or had it been one of those cities where life had simply bustled on, without the desire for any festivities to attract more than the usual comings and goings?

She didn't quite know why she had been called to these lands. Frankly, she didn't quite care. In her mind there was an eventual purpose to everything. Fate was never something that people wandered into. Whether she was to play some great role here or not, Illo would leave her mark on this world just as she had planned to on the last. The mischievous glint in her eyes told of the many designs she had scuttling through her contemptuous mind. She was no innocent dame who had been dropped within a scary new world. No, she would more like a monster in most fairy tales. She had no desire to wreak havoc or destruction on an unsuspecting people. But the lengths she was willing to go to, to have the world she desired to live in? Illo would neither be the beast or the savior. She would simply be the unfortunate path that fate needed to stroll down for a time in history, to allow great things to occur down the road. If she needed to play the villain, she would. If she could manage it like a hero of old, so be it. But she was not one who played at good or evil. She played the game of 'must be done'. The person who did not mind choosing the darker option for the greater good. The person who did not need to shine like the gold she was in others eyes, for she cared not how the world viewed her.

The dragon stirred deep within, perhaps called by the sudden surge of determination that culminated within. Lately the dragon had not been so present. Since she'd washed ashore in the lands, little more than a stirring of her magic had been the only way she'd known it even still existed. It was becoming a comfort to get the faintest shift of the dragon beyond the veil. She could do anything so long as the dragon thrived within. She settled into the sensation, reaching out her minds eye to feel for the dragon more deeply. For a moment she could see her own eyes staring back her, inset within the dragons very sockets. Just as quickly as she spied it, however, it was gone. Her mood darkened and she drew to a stop in the center of the path. Golden brows drew together and anger boiled beneath the surface. Curse these lands for muting her powers. Before she could do anything, she would need to regain the strength of her powers so she could once again call for the golden behemoth. Standing still, as always, she was a statue as she searched within for the faintest remnants of the magic of her dragon side.

[Pravda]

Things are sweeter when they're lost. I know--because once I wanted something and got it. It was the only thing I ever wanted badly, and when I got it it turned to dust in my hand.

P

ravda arrives as a historian, as a scholar. He has taken no particular interest in Solterra aside from the obvious: that the land has been war-torn for the majority of its existence. He had been born in this land too young to have experienced any of it firsthand; but bitterness is a deep well. 

As he walks through the streets, he notices they are quiet. The last Sovereign had arrived with a flurry of activity; with tournaments and festivities. But, perhaps that is only because Pravda arrives early in the morning. It is not as if Orestes were Raum; his absence does not leave the same quality of power vacuum, at least from Pravda’s limited understanding. 

Walking down the streets of Solterra, it feels increasingly as if he is a voyager to an alien realm. Nothing is familiar to him. The stucco buildings or the heat of the day. He has visited the Court in the past, of course, but it will never retain a sense of… friendliness. He does not intend to remain long, wishing only to stop at the small library and perhaps observe the city square—

But there is a striking woman stopped in his path. Pravda clears his throat. She had been walking ahead of him all this time, but her halting seems abrupt. “Excuse me, ma’am—are you alright?” He might not have said anything at all, if not for the fact he understands some things he cannot learn from books, and she might be a valuable primary source. 

@Illo

[Jahin]

eyes that fire and sword have seen
and horror in the halls of stone

The city has been quiet as of late. He recalls the day Orestes disappeared vibrantly, vividly. Jahin had risen with the first rays of a grey dawn, as per his usual routine. He remembers the day vividly because the morning had been unusually cool and he had felt the chill deep in his bones. He had felt cold, stiff, and old upon rising from his straw matt. He’d stepped onto his balcony, sipping the black Day Court coffee he had discovered in the market some time ago and watched the sun crest the dark horizon with Sahar curled on his back. Mist had lingered throughout the city and the air had smelled of rain, but the sand remained dry and parched as ever. He waited on Orestes’ instructions, usually delivered by the same mouthy, bratty page with tangled hair, but the boy never arrived. Jahin, ever a creature of habit, had felt deeply perturbed by this unexpected interruption in routine.

He had wandered the halls next, hoping to capture a glimpse of that lion’s tail disappearing around a corner, but he never came across the golden pair. He wandered the city next, for Orestes was a man of the people and could often be found interacting and speaking with his adoring citizens.

But it was as if Orestes had simply vanished.

That had been some time ago. The city was quiet these days even though they were on the cusp of a beautiful spring after a long, drawn out winter. Not that winter really changed anything much in Solterrra, but the spring always brought renewal and rejoicing, celebrations and busier marketplaces. Now the city held its breath, waiting for another to take Orestes’ place, although Jahin really didn’t figure anyone would be able to replace Orestes.

He had been a good king, a fair king. The city was feeling the lack of Orestes' reign heavily. Some vendors had closed down, fearing looting and anarchy in the absence of a sovereign and others feared the ghost of Raum. Orestes had kept the shadows of Raum’s old followers quelled and suppressed, but with Orestes absent, some feared the return of a dark and terrible power.

Jahin patrolled more and more, spurred on by the uncertainty and unsrest brewing in the Day Court. Not many folk knew him or recognized him as Regent, but scheduling patrols in the busier hubs of the city and making a regular presence with soldiers did seem to ease the anxiety of local citizens. There had been no looting, only harmless acts of criminal mischief...graffiti on the palace walls, Where is our king? Who will rise? Instead of breaking into anarchy, the city remained as if under a sleeping curse. Living, breathing, but waiting for someone to break the spell. Waiting for a king.

Jahin’s concern right now is not the crown, but rather ensuring Solterra’s borders. Without Orestes, they are weak and vulnerable and Jahin is not one to trust outsiders or other kingdoms to take advantage of Solterra’s vulnerabilities. Today, Jahin is on his regular patrol plan, Davke spear at his side and Sahar curled on his back hissing softly, working his way through the winding streets of Solterra. He’s surprised when he hears the gates opening as it’s too early for the border patrol to be returning.

Shouldering his spear, he approaches the two individuals warily. She is certainly a striking creature, with scales of glittering gold and jeweled blue eyes that are as flinty and sharp as a winter ice storm. He does not miss the intensity in her gaze, nor the rigid way she holds her body. A warrior, he thinks. What is her purpose here? She does not smell of Solterra...but rather as if she has come from the sea. There is a hint of cool ocean salt in the air, stark in contrast to the sand and sweat on Jahin’s own skin. 

The other individual is tall and handsome, lithe and easy in his movements, speaking of a grace that can only be mastered by training and experience. Perhaps also a warrior. His voice is soft and inquisitive, inquiring on the welfare of the scaled woman with fierce eyes. His eyes too are blue, but they are like the swelling of the sea on a calm day, deep and vast and tranquil. His skin is soft and unmarked, reminding Jahin of the old marble statues littered around the city, remnants of a beautiful, regal civilization long gone. Jahin comes to a stop, shifting his spear closer at hand. He is not particularly concerned by their presence, but it never hurts to be prepared. “State your business, strangers.”


J A H I N
look at last on meadows green
and trees and hills they long have known

@Illo @Pravda