Time had taught Mephisto that peace was a fleeting thing. It is war that drives the unstable sands of time, and the world is constantly in a state of morphing and shifting into something new. And so, in the hour that the dark spy came to Novus, she is unsurprised to learn that the world was plunging into chaos. She may not know the why or the how, but it was clear to see the land had been ravaged by something (or perhaps more accurately, someone). It is not her place to ask, but there is a nagging sense of curiosity that fringes the dark stare of her eyes as Mephisto waits on the border of the clearing, listening.
This wasn’t her party, and she certainly hadn’t been invited... but there is something that draws her still to the growing gathering. Midnight eyes flicker from one beast to the next, observing the personalities which emerge at Asterion’s call. Some bark anger-tinged words of war, others hold a meeker presence, but they support the kingdom all the same. This place was not so unlike her home at the Winter Court. Of course, blood had painted the snow red there too. Things fall apart, the center cannot hold. There was something poetic in the rebirth of a place, she supposed.
As Asterion offered titles and words of encouragement, the blue black Pegasus listened with little more than mild curiosity. Since she is a creature without a beast in the fight, the announcement holds very little consequence to her… but the astute spy begins to assign names to faces as each one steps forward and offers his or her piece. There is an order to the suggestions. The warriors speak out – and it’s easy for Mephisto to pick them from the crowd, with their armor and barbed tongues. Though technically, she could be fit into the soldier box as well, Mephisto fought a much more refined battle of wit. She was in it for the long game, to watch and to plan, to execute only when the timing was perfect. Hers would be an assault to the mind, for the dark mare is far more illusionist than tactician. It took all types though, she knew, to win a war.
Only once each had spoken in turn does the stranger to the Dusk Court step forth from the shadows, sunlight pelting her black and blue pelt in an assault on the senses. She blinks against the golden sheathes of light, scowling some as her blue eyes shield downward to block the too-bright sensation. She does not speak, but simply gathers herself and walks a bit closer. Still apart from the herd, Mephisto waits to see if they would address her – not adding her pledge of fealty… but not shying from it either. Should they ask for her service, the dark mistress would at least consider it, given that she had nothing else to fight for in this strange new world.
02-19-2019, 02:21 PM
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Dingo [PM] Posts: 50 — Threads: 5 Signos: 330
over the moaning bones
of those who quit and chose to remain
His time in Delumine is cut short when a letter arrives, calling him back for a meeting of utmost importance.
Terrastella itself has seen far better years – he had grown up in them, and while the land had begun to repair itself during his short absence, it’s worrisome what the winter season will hold for them. Some may pray to their Gods to fix disaster, but in Terrastella, their patron Goddess was the disaster.
Finding the gathering, it is to Fiona’s side he goes, standing to her right so that she may not look into the rotten impurity of the right side of his face. She, and perhaps only she is worthy of the smallest of smiles, true and sincere in a way reserved only for her. Even Atreus himself couldn’t rightly explain why he was so enamored with his fellow Champion, but seeing her again after the weeks spent in Delumine is a short-lived breath of fresh air, for he must return there once more after today.
His attention is drawn away as Asterion begins to speak. Intently he listens to the starlit man, appointing individuals to fill previously empty roles within the court. To each of them he looks – Theodosia, whom he had yet to hold a real conversation with despite their travel time together, a woman he knew was passionate for her people and her home here, was to be the Champion of Battle. Then there was Euryale, a name foreign to his ears, as the Champion of Wisdom. Atreus followed Asterion’s gaze in order to find her, lingering for a number of moments until focusing back on their Sovereign. He would be sure to seek her out when he had the time.
Next there is talk of war, or rather a mutiny as Israfel so eloquently explains it to be. An entire war over the actions of one, singular man? Atreus barely hides the smile tugging so desperately at the edge of his lips, begging to be known. Israfel goes on to speak briefly of Somnus, not in any amount of detail, but it’s enough to take that wild urge to grin away at once.
“I would not call an entire country against one man a war,” he chimed in next, eyes sweeping across those who had already spoken and most importantly, Asterion. “If Seraphina’s people are as loyal as you state they are, I can’t imagine her usurper will breathe Solterra’s air for much longer.”
over the mountains of the moon down the valley of the shadow-
H
e wishes that his heart might warm, to see them stand before him so - instead it only knocks against his ribs, and clenches like a fist.
When, oh when, might they gather in a time of peace? It ought to be a joyful morning, appointing positions long-empty, but he can read the trepidation on their faces, the tension like a livewire coiling among them all. Not only for the barren reminders of the gods’ wrath (for so Asterion has decided it must be - a punishment, a warning) but for yet another uncertainty on the horizon.
For the most part his words are accepted, but at the sound of @Israfel 's snort he cuts her a sharp look - he will suffer no derision of those he has chosen, not in so public a setting. But now is not the time for reprimands - not when they can all scent the blood on the wind.
Yet @Euryale herself is unbothered; when she speaks his name he recalls the dapple of moonlight on their skin, the scent of cypress and mangrove, the way she made him feel like both hunter and hind. His gaze holds hers and he nods, ignoring Cirrus’s apprehension of the vivid woman and her wolf. He looks away again when he opens discussion to those gathered, and his attention shifts to his Commander.
The king sees the emotions shift on @Marisol 's face, the downturn of her mouth, the crease of her brow. When she speaks he listens impassively, though he flicks his newly-tattered ear at the word war, bitter as gall in the salted air. For now he does not answer; he had bid his people speak and now he only attends.
It is a stranger who speaks next, and Asterion spares a brief glance for Cirrus - remind me to find him, later, he thinks, and the gull clacks her bright beak. When his gaze goes back to @Rhone his expression is grateful, and he dips his dark muzzle in a nod. “I would be grateful for it,” he says, but there is no time to linger before their newly-appointed Champion of Battle speaks.
His gaze settles on @Theodosia then, with pride and worry - oh, she still seems young to him, when so recently he saw her pale as a fallen petal in a hospital bed. But she is an different figure entirely in her armor and her paint with her fierce and flashing eyes, and she says nothing he can disagree with.
The discussion continues and still the king only listens, following the conversation with quiet intent, though each time war was mentioned his heart felt like the tolling of a bell. Only when @Israfel looks to him does he speak once more. “A usurper is not a war, and neither is a mutiny.” His voice is quiet, but sturdy as the stone of the cliffside. When the twins speak - familiar faces, though not ones he has spoken with - he nods in their direction, silent thanks. @Ard @Erd
And then he feels another gaze on him, burning like a brand. When he looks to its source he feels shaken, as though he has been half-asleep all this time - a unicorn, a stranger, with purpose in her eyes and a crooked horn on her brow. She is pieces like memories of others he knows, but he does not know her; why, then, does his blood moan like wind at the challenge in her gaze? @Thana
He is torn between gratefulness and regret when @Mephisto steps forward, drawing his gaze away from the creature so like and so unlike Calliope. He says nothing yet to the pegasus, but he marks her with a nod, a silent invitation.
It is to @Atreus his attention goes next, save for a moment where he looks on the silent, supportive @Fiona with mingled gratitude and concern. Of all of them, he worries for her the most - for though they have all lost much in the past year, he worries she has been bruised like a flower crushed by an uncaring heel. Yet still she stands, steady, and he wonders at the glance that passes between her and Atreus…ah, but now was not the time for such speculation.
“I think Atreus is right,” he says then, and regards the stallion once more. “And neither is it our part to bring this criminal to justice. We will, of course, support those who do-” and now his gaze moves back to Marisol, touching briefly on the twins and Theo. “The Halycon will have more work to do. But as you say, we do not have the numbers to march to the desert, or meet in full battle.” His voice is softer, then, and almost sorry; there was never enough rest, not for those of the air unit, not for any of them. And then his gaze sweeps across them all again, and when he speaks his voice is stronger, steadier, as if in rebuke to the warning drum-beat of his heart. “And the rest of us must be on our guard. Be wary, my friends, and wise. For those that can help heal our lands before winter comes again, you are welcome to all the resources of the court. We must be ready if any conflict reaches our borders - but we must lay the ground for peace to return, too.”
omg longest post ever! I tried to tag everyone, if I missed you pm me and I will revise. <3 you all for your responses!
He listens quietly to each of the others as they take their turns to speak. They are all strangers to him, with the only exception being Erd and Ard. He offers both a soft smile, a gentle nod to tell them he remembers them and he is happy that they have met again. But as the talk of war comes again, he sighs.
Rhone had come to Novus to escape war and pain. But here he was, learning of a great disgrace that seemed to plague one of the courts (he admittedly is not sure where the issues are coming from). Surely whatever has happened has done this place a great disservice. Clearly it has gotten a lot of people hyped up about the comings of war. He knows that feeling all too well, after all, he once was a warrior.
He is happy when his offer to help rebuild the earth is accepted and welcomed. He’s not sure what he can do with his limitations, but he will start right away. "I will get started right away." Already, he had decided that he would start at the center of court life and work his way around. It would takes weeks, he was sure, but that would not stop him.
But as the king speaks again, worrying about the safety of the borders, Rhone understands him. He’s been in the same position before. He’s fought hard to protect his people and he’s lost so much trying to do so. It feels like he’s lying, by not offering his services as a warrior should the time arise. While he did not want to return to that lifestyle, he also understood that it might come to a point where he would have to step back into those shoes or risk the place he wanted to live out his days in. "If conflict reaches our boarders, I have experience in war." His eyes are soft, solemn, showing just how much he detested what war could do to a place. And yet, war was a fact of life and he understood that more than anything.
