 A I S L I N N thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven —
The night sky does not mourn, but bleeds in burning embers that are its stars. Silver tears drip and blink across the sky in a brilliant show of anger amidst the smoke that rises from the mountains far. The beauty of the Night Goddess’ skies is a perfect contradiction to the battlefield that has overtaken their borders, leaching across the courts like an ebony stain. Now, the regime is angry. She is angry. Together, and only together, did they swallow the hard truth of what was to come. And it would be said that on this night, this night everlasting, that Calligo herself struck down with her meteors as her children walled themselves within her kingdom. They will come to know this night as the Seclusion. For too long has the Night — her Night — ran rampant; for too long have the Solar Courts maimed and warred and bled the star’s sons and daughters without consequence. But for no longer. Far, far away, she can swear that the smoke of dragon’s fire still curls in her lungs. She can almost hear the roars of an ancient beast resounding across the towers of stone that was their mountain borders. And now, she stands as the Messenger. ”Denocte!” her voices booms like rolling thunder, reverberating against the stone walls. The growing wind tangles her hair across her face, a halo of wicked silver that only essenuates the glow of her eyes. Let them see her. Let them see their King and Regent and Emissary on this night. Let them. For together she will stand by their sides, for her people and for her goddess. She had sworn an oath the night she had ascended after all. And like hell would she damn herself to break it now. A wicked, lovely thing she is. The stormsinger stands upon the raised dais, orbs of blue piercing every soul that’s gaze lands on her midnight skin. She reaches to capture their stares, igniting their colors with the galaxies of Calligo’s own, as she can only hope to unite them with their decree. Aislinn does not falter before her people. Her storm-wrought soul only searches for Peace — desperately clinging to the Eternal Calm that is of legend alone. And when she looks to their faces as they stare up at her.. she sees blood stained snow. Rips through the Void of this world and the next. Sun drops bleeding across Solterran sands in attacks of fire and ash and dust. How much more could Denocte take until they must atone? She need only hum to summon a crack of thunder to silence their whispers, but yet she does not. ”The Raven Gates at the Arma Pass have been closed.” She sweeps the crowds that gather, marking each face both foreign and familiar. The shadows that grow on this long night cradle her as she continues to speak: ”This is an order of protection. Our solitude is one of Peace. Movement outside of our walls is hereby forbidden to steady the sea of chaos that has begun to rift across the kingdoms.” As if her goddess’ own star-strewn hands held her, each breath steadies the ache that claws in her chest. She is not innocent in this matter; her own undoing only added gasoline to the flames of their disaster. But Aislinn would not stand without a mirror showing her demon’s ugly face. She would be transparent. They had every right to know why the gates of feather, obsidian, and gold have been shut. After only a year of their opening once more. The Regent sucks in a breath of humid air, heady with woodsmoke and heavy with the invisible chains of her words. ”We have come to an agreement that it is the best for our Court to return to isolation. The discord of our actions, and of the actions of others, has caused the fragile calm between our kingdoms to shake.” Her chin raises, as she blinks to both Reichenbach and Isorath; their presence a constant solace at her side. ”I am no stranger to these actions.” The hush of defiance of some begins to rise amongst the crowds that grow to hear their stormsinger speak. But she does not relent as she points heavensward to the Calligo’s brilliance of stars — silver streaking across the sky in shivers of light. ”We will stand as steady as the stars,” she promises, ”as we always have. Our Goddess has never wavered from us, and like Her, we will do what is best for our people.” Her wings stretch beneath the sky, imagining the mountain pass alight with blazing red. One last decree to pass; a promise, a warning, not nearly close to a threat. Not against her own people. Not against her Court, her kingdom, her home. They only wanted to protect them. That was all. Aislinn’s voice softens, but her eyes do not. ”For those who are blessed with flight, you have until the last ember dies to depart our kingdom, or make your temporary goodbyes. For all others, you have moments once the fires of the Pass die out. I can only imagine Aether will not secure safe passage for long.” May the stars be with us all. ☽☉☾ On the night of the mountain’s fires and Calligo’s meteor shower, the Regime calls to all of Denocte. The Raven Gates have been closed. (You can read it in this thread.) Entrance and exit from Denocte is hereby forbidden. For the safety of Calligo’s sons and daughters, the Night Court has reverted back to an isolationist state until further notice. This meeting is not mandatory. Denoctians currently outside the kingdom’s walls will be able to return to Night through the Raven Gates, but once they do, your character will not be permitted to leave. The same goes to other courtiers who are not native to Denocte. Once your character is in Denocte, they must stay. If your character has wings, an air patrol will be initiated to monitor the skies. The air patrol will rise with the sun’s first rays. If your character is blessed with wings.. you have until then to depart or say your temporary goodbyes. All other characters have the chance to leave, but not for long! Your character is open to ask and inquire as many questions to the Regime during this thread. This is an order of protection by decree of the Night Court Regime. @reichenbach @isorath |
All Welcome - thy kingdom come. [meeting]
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 R He stood beside Aislinn, a cold tempest in the wake of Aislinn's thunder storm. Where he'd been warm, he is now cold, colder than winter's breath, colder than death's frigid caress. A blizzard barely contained in equine form, the Moon's lance ready to pierce at a moment's notice. Gone is the kindness had lined his regal features, the careful brush stroke is now an angry smear of what had been. There is no kindness swimming in the depths of those lilac eyes, there is only barely contained contempt. Loosely leashed anger that coiled and slithered, serpents in a pit of oil over his skin and across his senses as his chin tipped in an apathetic light. The moonlight bathed him in her illuminating glow, the iridescense of his pale hide shimmered. The braids in his hair remained, outfitted with gilded coins similar to the coins his beloved wore. He smelt of dragonfire and ash, he smells of war and the battlefield. It is a comfort, in this time, to slip back into those old smells and drink them deep. Inaction is no longer the plan laid upon the field, and Isorath shed his skin like the serpent would, and adopted one that was more familiar. They come as Aislinn called, like wraiths from smoke. They dance into focus in the way they only know how to, they move to a beat that no one else can hear. The dance of something intangible and fierce, and he committed each and every one to his memory once more. There is a flicker of pride in his features, but draconian claws enclosed around it and snuffed it out, replaced it once more in a casual flick of his gaze toward the burning night. In the distance, the pass burned and it's demise is sung into being by the music of dragons. Aislinn spoke, and Isorath listened. It suited her, this title, the diadem she now wore fit her like a glove. So sure is she, he might've mistaken her for royal blood truly. The blood carefully crafted over an era of careful marriages, the right lovers falling into certain beds, destinies pre-selected and carefully cultivated. Wild yet contained, she is fierce as she is kind. Ruthless when called. In her Isorath found a semblance of a kindred spirit. Slitted pupils glanced at her leisurely, calculated and measured as she becomes more and more animated beside him. They wanted to protect them, and the price of that was often the villains shroud. It is the sword pointed toward the crowd and sins laid bare, it is a show of force. Denocte has ran too rampant for long, and now they will learn. Their games are over, and they will come to heel. One way or another. Only when Aislinn softened, did Isorath come to life beside her. Life breathed into his icy bones and his moved with the sharpness of a life spent being trained for action. It is the movement's of a warrior, a commander, a dragon. He sized each face upon, as he towered on pillars of snow and ice. His bones sang and his chest vibrated with a hum — melodic but fringed with teeth. "You may leave, but my dragon offers no assurances of safe passage once time is up." Isorath agreed softly, a purr not unlike aether's before he unleashed a torrent of flame. He smiled then, before it disappeared and masked itself with an apathetic indifference. "We have allowed ourselves to be swept up into chaos, allowed games and petty squabbles to escalate. It's time that we seized control of our destinies once more, and that starts with Denocte herself." @Reichenbach @Aislinn ![[Image: Rhosheader.png]](https://image.ibb.co/f4HhMx/Rhosheader.png) Rhoswen ►
It wasn't the smoke that woke her, nor the scent of blistered earth -- it was, instead, the sound of her daughter's voice chiming like a church bell through the night: "Mother." The world materialised before her dark iron eyes, and it was nothing like the one she had left upon losing herself to sleep. Sabine stood beside her bed -- a spectral figure against the hum of florid scarlet light that bled into the darkness of their room through the yawning window, and with three breaths, Rhoswen's mind swam. There was an urgency in her daughter's eyes that crushed the air around them - air that was already suffocating beneath embers, and smoke, and the promise of revolution. Sabi, again, pressed her nose against her mother's shoulder to urge her from her sheets; as if she needed any encouragement. Rhos swung afoot, her heart a war drum hammering at the bearskin of her chest: what was happening? There was only heat, at first; a great swallowing torridity that encased them from every angle, and Rhos knew, in an instant that took her breath away, that it was the mountain. The plumes of smoke were too thin here, the heat too tolerable, and the ominous light that poured in from outside only testified to the fact. Quickly, Rhoswen swept into the corridor, glancing once at the unmade bed she left behind: Raum was absent, of course he was. With a muted Sabine at her side, the red woman seared down the hall - watching the feverish glow through each passing window until the call came: Aislinn's call. Denocte -- that was her now, Calligo had branded her with a feathered Corvine hand to reel her sunkissed soul back into the dark, and oh, there was no escaping the shadow in the valley of Night. Rhoswen emerged into the moonlit courtyard slowly, her auburn skin illuminated thematically by the backdrop of a dragon-forged sunset; in the distance, the sky melted beneath an inferno that raged to break them all and Rhoswen burned at the very sight of it. She was a fusion of conflicting emotions: the mountain had been her salvation and her captor - a guide to a new world, and a wall to keep her from it - who, then, had dared to scald it so. Aislinn; Aislinn, and Isorath. Eyes that broiled with an expression that was both nameless and familiar turned from the Arma to rake over the silhouettes that waited patiently for their people. Their people? Rhoswen's lip threatened to curl, a snarl promising to crack, no: Reichenbach's people. It was with a gaze that was as pyretic as the blaze to their north that she demanded an explanation. Rhoswen could not have expected what was to follow. ”The Raven Gates at the Arma Pass have been closed.” No. The ground beneath her feet dropped, and deep within her stomach a new violence churned, though outwardly there was only a mask of fire and slow, calescent anger. More words passed from the Regent's lips but they were just further testament to the rage that bubbled in gunpowder in her blood. How could this be? The Raven Gates had been open for a year, no longer! How could the regime have failed so miserably as to retreat within such a pitifully short amount of time; this could not be happening. Trapped. Here, in this pithy cold lair where the sun did not glitter and the light was purged of gold -- here, where the desert sea was only a dream and her nightmares were brought to life. Where the fuck was Raum? Her head swung from left to right, scouring the growing crowd for a flash of silver - but his absence was deafening, and her ire was stoked again. This time, Isorath stepped forth, and Rhoswen might have hissed like a sandsnake if it weren't for the shock that was still pumping through her veins. When Reichenbach had elucidated the events of months past, concluding with the announcement of his new love, Rhos had been wary; what was a sibling if not protective? And this burning austerity had only grown with the time she had spent watching Isorath, and hearing of his deeds. This was a man she would never trust. The kirin's voice boomed over the congregation, but Rhoswen was only biding her time, waiting until at last their address was at its end. She moved from the throng like an amazonian arrow carved and sharpened by their words, their actions. Rhoswen is, at last, a forest set alight. Her cardinal hair whirled in the whipping of an easterly wind, her eyes glimmering with fury, but her voice - her voice was but a low, raw murmur, "where is Reich?" Her glance flitted between regent and emissary, razing them with a question that gleamed like a knife. There was only time to continue, "There is no we - no our - You have danced with chaos, your actions have threatened this nation, and now you are making your precious people suffer for it. How long did we roost like little birds behind those gates, how many centuries of silence? The future is one of freedom, and you are no better than fools." And just as quickly as she had come, Rhoswen was gone. Turning back into the night with a haste that was feverish, they had to find Raum whilst there was still time, and she lingered only for Sabine to cast a final curious glance at the regime, before they both disappeared into the black. @isorath @Aislinn @reichenbach welp, there she is. I assumed Reich wasn't there / hadn't turned up yet? 
R where is Reich? "He will be here." Came Isorath's lilted reply, lilac eyes coming to rest upon the red woman who spoke out in the crowd. She is foreign to him, not among the pictures and names carefully inked within his memory tome to pick from and his head tilted with mild interest. A newcomer perhaps? Or someone visiting from one of the lands now denied access to the City of Night and Stars? It does not cross his mind that she would be the sister of his beloved, and so he does not linger upon her long, though he waited patiently for her to speak. Her outburst isn't a surprise, it is a flash of red against a vermillion sky, the whip of sandy winds upon the dunes. But it is just that, hot air striking against mountains and ancient towers. The Emissary would of questioned how much she knew, in the grand scheme of things, did she know the beginning, middle and end? Had she spoken to those afflicted and affected. Did she know the price of carrying a nation? He doubted it. But she did not give him the pleasure to respond, and so he doesn't. Not to her at least, and instead turned his attention to the next who spoke. A look of pleasant curiousity washed up upon the shores of his sharp features. The Champion of Community, doing her duty no less. A smile finally broke on his pale maw at her words, proud even. She showed promise, she did not say her piece and scurry away. "You may, of course, send Ravens to those who are dear to you." He replied smoothly, the lilted tongue of a diplomat in his element is apparent. "We do not wish to restrict that pleasure from you, and those who cherish you deeply. Our isolation is one of a physical presence, so that those who wish to wreak havoc, cannot." His gaze then flicked across the crowd, searching and observing, before they returned to Lyra. "The fire in the pass is to ensure that others stay away, a message if you will. You may not agree with it, and that is your right." Isorath paused and then he sighed. "I do not ask for you to agree with it, it would be foolish to have you follow blindly and place your trust in someone who you do not know. Or perhaps someone, who you have heard things whispered in the shadows about." It is then he offered a thin lipped smile, he's sure that there are half-truths and deliberately omitted details. "It would of been easy, too easy, to keep the Gates open and allow the cycle to continue." "For freedom, so you say. For the people, for the better of us. But there is no freedom in the reputation Denocte has gained. Only chains of distrust and wariness, rumors and whispers that will dog you where ever you go. Denocte has done wrong, just as Novus has done wrong to us in turn." Once more he paused, this time deliberately, slitted pupils narrowed further to slits. Swallowed by the cold lilac they swam in. "Those of you who have done nothing wrong, have nothing to fear from this." NOTES;
Though we are a fair distance from the Arma Mountains, the smell of fire - burning wood, soil, flesh - permeates the air, and my nostrils are filled with its pungent odor. The smoke rose against the horizon, curling up to blend in with the clouds above. As the denizens of the Night Court gather in the courtyard, stone walls penning us in for the pending speech, my gaze remains fixed on that horizon. My heart aches, and I could swear that through some link with my newly rediscovered magic, the aura of grief spreads out to envelope those around me. I can only imagine the lives that were taken as Isorath's dragon, Aether, spread his frostfire. Not just the potential victims that were part of our herd, but the innocent creatures of the forest. The rabbits, deer, birds -- the forest that itself acted as both habit and natural border. Sure the mountains themselves were still there, but it would take decades upon decades for the area to recover and become what it was only hours ago. Damaris weaves through the crowd, scaring unwitting commoners as she brushed past them. Those that did not know her were bound to be set on edge, especially with destructive dragons flying around. She sits down by my forelegs, and both of us change our focus to Aislinn as she begins to speak. The gates are closing. This is your chance to leave. If you miss your chance, you must stay. This is to protect Denocte and her citizens. Praise Calligo. I feel it starting within me. First it is just a tingle, somewhere in my spine. It spreads toward my head and toward my tail, tingling, growing warmer... hot. An anger.. no.. a rage. It grows as each horse steps forward to speak their mind. Isorath. Rhoswen. Lyra. Isorath again. And Acton. I'm shocked to find that, apart from Isorath and Aislinn, the feelings conveyed mirror my own. 'Shock that they agree with you? Or that you agree with them?' It's a fine point I don't care to argue. The cobblestone around my hooves begins to crack, and small tremors cause fine splits in the stone, emanating outward with the persistence of a ripple. I glance around, looking for Reichenbach. I want him to hear what I have to say -- but it cannot wait. Damaris steps forward, baring her teeth and growling. Those standing in front of us jump out of the way, eyeing the slime that drips from her jowls with appropriate wariness. "The discord of our actions! Games and petty squabbles!" Greater cracks appear, and what I feel is not pissiness spurned on by inebriation; it's fully-sober righteous fury. "They're right!" I gesture toward Acton, for he is the representative for his and Rhoswen's barked replies. "It is our Regime that is at fault - not the rest of the Court! Specifically, the two lovers that rule together." I shoot a fiery glare at Isorath. In the back of my mind, a stray thought of concern scurries through: that Aislinn should realize that my anger is not directed at her. But it is, isn't it? She is the one here announcing this new "order of protection." She's complicit. "It is because of Reichenbach, Isorath, and the Crows that are playing the games orchestrated by the Regime that this chaos exists! It should not be the choice of the guilty whether we free citizens are given the mutually exclusive 'choice' of staying or leaving. How, pray tell, do you find yourselves to be fit to govern us?!" The cobblestones around me have begun to crumble completely, and the radius continues to expand as each second ticks by. And now all will see the indignant rage of Rostislav and Damaris. Rosti thoughts | "Rosti speech" | Damaris mindspeak Rostislav
more than a drunken fool
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