Despite the oncoming change in seasons, Solterra remained the same perfect, blissful heat. Velorca was enjoying it thoroughly, soaking his silver skin in the sunlight as he was often prone to do, his hair once again loose and silky as it brushed the corners of his clean boned jaw. He was in his chambers - the room vast and covered in extravagance. Silks and furs, jewels, silver, the finest perfumes, the finest of materials - but mostly gold. Lots of it.
All the wealth in his chambers could have funded Solterra for more than a year, could feed it's people and provide much needed support to the dried out Solterran army. He basked in it. Like a dragon curled among it's treasures, he lounged upon the silk sheets of his bed, watching the warm sun ascend ever higher.
It was noon by the time he got out of bed, and even later than that by the time he left his room. There was a pristine decadence to him that made most in Solterra stop in their tracks and watch him pass - to some he appeared a beautiful courtesan, wealthy and controlled - un-affordable. To others, his beauty was a draw they could not resist, their eyes lingering familiarly upon his elegant body, the suppleness of his muscles, the softness of his lips. Some knew him well, others were vying for a taste.
Velorca knew this well as he strode down the blazing hallways, fluid and full of grace, golden eyes sliding around him coolly. He was aiming for the library - dusty and unused as it was here. He was a Sage after all - even if he was the most unforgettable wisdom-keeper Solis had ever produced.
Voltaire needed an escape from his own mind – he needed to move from his wallowing and step into the sun – but here in this place, he’d yet to find his way. The Day Court was harsh and unforgiving, the sort of penance he needed. But now, it seemed that the toil of labor had passed. They had built a garden and a sparring arena, leaving little more for the blue stallion to do than be alone with his thoughts. Turning from the heat of the desert, he made his way again toward the capital seat of the Day Court, hoping to find something interesting to pass his time.
He remembered the girl he’d met when first arriving to this place – with her flower crown and her dreadlock tresses… but hadn’t seen her since that fateful day. The blue stallion had no real purpose in his travels, but instead found himself winding through the sandstone passages of the temple, wondering with a curious heart where they led. He hadn’t had much time to explore this world yet, or to sample that which it had to offer. Instead, he had dedicated himself to quiet worship and tried to appear as innocuous as possible. At some point though, Voltaire knew he needed to step forward from the shadows and make some sort of an effort here.
So lost in his thoughts was the crystal horned stallion, that he almost missed the jingle of gold and the flurry of Velorca as he hurried past. Ears flattening for a moment, the denim stallion turned toward the Sage’s back, wondering where he was headed in such a hurry, and decided to follow him. ”Wait.” He called after the smoke-hued sage. ”Can I join you?” His question surprised even himself as he hurried toward the male, voice rough from disuse as he cleared his throat again, nearing Velorca’s side. It didn’t matter where the male was going, only that he was going somewhere, an improvement on the current state for the denim caretaker.
Velorca paused his elegant step, turning his head ever so slightly so that he could see who had called to him. Voltaire. The man was quieter than most Solterran's - a healer. Something the Solterran's were often in dire need of, and therefore a commodity to the realm, though often they were not treated as such. A cool sigh left Lorca's velvet lips as the other man hurried to catch up, his silver rimmed eyes narrowing slightly at the hold-up. It wasn't that he was particularly in a hurry - Lorca just liked to find things to complain about.
"Voltaire,"
He began, serpentine voice smooth and rich. He wondered, briefly, whether Voltaire knew of him - knew what he did in the Court. Voltaire was one of the rarer souls in their region, a kind one, one that had enough sense not to get involved with the fighting. Healers were one of Velorca's favourite groups in the Court, though he hadn't let the sentiment be known to anyone. They rarely asked questions and, so far as he knew, they did not judge him for his nightly visits.
"No wounds to stitch up?"
He asked casually, resuming his stride with effortless grace. His hair danced in the breeze as they walked, his skin hot and shining underneath Solterra's fierce sun. He lifted his gaze, noting with pleasure that Voltaire, despite his standing as a healer, stood a few feet higher than him. Healer indeed. Voltaire was a handsome man, although it was obvious to Velorca something heavy lay upon his broad shoulders - a weight he was destined to carry, just as Lorca carried his. It made him a little more open, though not by much. He faced forward again, plump lips parting to murmur, almost to himself (though Lorca rarely said anything he did not want others to hear),
The blue stallion quickly caught up to the eccentric male, his brow quirking with surprise as Velorca addressed him by name. It wasn’t strange, he supposed, that word of his arrival had gotten around… but it certainly made things awkward when he wondered if he should ask who he was speaking with (after all, should he not know, if the opposite were true?) Instead of worrying too much about it, he simply fell into step beside his companion, legs rushing to keep up as they continued to journey through the great halls of the Day temple. Without a mind to where they were going, he simply followed the dark boy closely, a small gasp escaping from his lips as they rounded a final turn to find the richly filled library within sight. Exactly where he’d wanted to go.
He laughed at Velorca’s question, a sound that was as much rusty as it was warm – like a smoker’s hacking cough (simply because Voltaire was unused to making much noise, at all). ”Nothing yet, but I would not put it past this lot to start beating up on each other if the action did not find its way to them.” Such was the way of a warrior herd, he knew. Looking at this stranger, it was clear he was far from a fighter… but Voltaire had a certain amount of respect for that as well. Nothing good had come to his life from war and from violence. It is this, which led him toward the path of a healer.
”As luck would have it, I’m busy now… but far from stitching up the bloody, I find myself busy with research.” His statement finds itself at good timing, as they stand in the arched doorway to the elaborate library. Looking from left to right, Voltaire finds himself a bit overwhelmed with where to start. Knowing the culture of this place, he is certain a fair number of these texts speak of Solis – a character he certainly wished to know more about… but today, his quest is for a different purpose. ”You wouldn’t happen to know of any healing texts here, would you? I wish to learn about the plants and herbs of Solterra, if such a thing exists.”
Day Court Caretaker
@Velorca <3 I'm still feeling him out, but have lots of muse, which is a good sign!
