On my body, the grace of shadows and in my heart: all Hells
He is escorted through the castle, a fellow Disciple either side of him. Their shadow magic is reduced here, they keep it tight. The shadows form to their skin, black armour that swallows light. Only the faintest tendrils billow about them, but there is no mistaking they are of the Night Order. Their sigils blaze atop their brows and form a triad of half moons as they move together in an arrow point.
The throne room glimmers as the doors are thrown open. Light pours upon them and again Tenebrae dampens down his magic, holds the ravages of his hunger and not a ray of light is swallowed here. The shadows about his torso are a yawning chasm so deep and dark they are.
He has not met the newly ascended queen, yet he recognises her instantly. The Disciples genuflect before her. Tenebrae’s brow lowering, his eyes closing. Duty had brought the monks here, loyalty to their goddess and every sovereign who rules Denocte.
Tenebrae rises from his bow and respect sings through every muscle in his torso. Slowly his white-gold eyes lift to hers, they gleam as moonlight in the lights of the throne room. “Your majesty,” he says, voice low and smooth as whiskey. “We have come to congratulate you on your ascension. For years the Night Order have pledged our allegiance to the Night Court Sovereign in honour of our vow to Caligo. We come today to uphold that and pledge the Night Order to your service.”
His voice echoes, caught in the corners of the lavish room. When the last word trails off only then does Tenebrae speak again, his eyes upon the sapphire of Queen Antiope’s. The red drops beneath her eyes gleam like rubies in the glow of his gaze. This queen is exotic, she is dangerous with the shaded tiger prints across her body. “My name is Tenebrae, your Majesty.”
In the end we cannot hide there are other worlds than these
The throne room is not a wholly unfamiliar place to Antiope. She has stood here many times before, at the behest of Isra, to help aid her in welcoming guests or hearing out a citizen if they needed assistance. But to be the one standing here, front and center, alone, strange and desolate.
She glances up at the high vaulted ceilings, with skylights the color of a dusky summer evening—illuminate mauve. The domed glass is divided into sections by iron, in a faux stained glass look. High collunades support the ceiling, running the length of the room on either side. The architecture of the castle consists of dark stone with gothic influences, pops of gold and deeper shades of night.
The doors to the room yawn open like the mouth of a great beast, and out of the darkness comes a small party of three equines. Antiope had been told she would be expecting guests, and her sharp sapphire eyes take them in their entire walk to the base of the throne.
The shadows cling to their skin as easily as the light lies inside her veins, but upon their foreheads glow the shapes of a crescent moon. They walk like soldiers, that is familiar enough a trait she can see it in anyone no matter the measure. But everything else about them is strange and unknown.
Antiope watches them bow before her and is struck at once by the novelty of it. She’s still not used to the formalities. Being queen of a jungle kingdom did not align the same with her sovereignship of Denocte, in any way. But she listens as the front one rises and begins to speak.
A vow, he says. To Caligo and to the sovereigns of the court. She had vowed something to the gods, once. Not these gods, the ones of Novus, but the ones of a land far away and long thrown into disarray. That vow had done nothing to protect the things Antiope had cared about.
“Tenebrae,” his name releases from her tongue like something heavy and viscous, like honey or molasses. “Thank you, for your felicitations,” she is looking at his eyes like the moon and his shadows like armor when she speaks again, “Tell me what it is that the Night Order do?”
“What is this vow that you speak of?” As if she cannot believe there is truly someone standing here before her who has vowed themselves to the demi-god of night. They would be one of the first she has spoken to who faithfully follows Caligo. It is not a subject she willingly chooses.
On my body, the grace of shadows and in my heart: all Hells
She had been looking up when he entered with his brothers. Her sights had been upon the dome of illuminated glass that sat nestled into the stone ceiling of the throne room. Outside the sun is setting, shadows lengthening and yet the dome, held high within the heart of the castle, catches the final rays of sunlight. It’s light pours down upon the floor below. It is liquid colour, utterly vivid and yet, untouchable.
He stops within its pooled light and feels the way the awakening stars peer down through the glass. They look upon his spine - do they see the criss cross of scars there? The whipmarks of a sinner, some more fresh than others. He continues to sin, being a monk, he is rapidly learning, makes him no more righteous than any other mortal. He was young and foolish to ever think otherwise. On the floor about him is the reflected colours of the glass, a myriad of colours, artfully painted, each one seen in the setting of the sun.
Tenebrae wonders what the new queen had seen there, what the glass had witnessed over many years. Its secrets must be plentiful. This throne room is a place of secrets and truths, of harsh rulings and yet compassionate decisions too.
From every corner Caligo whispers to him, the shadows of his magic reach out and blend with others shadows. The crimson ribbons of the queen catch in an small draft and sway as she slowly lowers her gaze to focus upon Tenebrae and his Disciple brothers. His eyes lower from hers in servitude.
Tell me what it is that the Night Order do? She asks of him. His magic swells in answer, it drifts bold, bolder than it should, up towards where she stands. All shadows breath with the Disciples, in and out, in and out. It is melodic.
“We dedicate ourselves to Caligo. In times like this, in times of peace, our work is focussed upon Denocte, helping where we can, wherever you will ask us to be. We worship Caligo and aim to discern her bidding for us.” Tenebrae trails off, the deep of his voice fading into the golden light of the room. It is as rich as whiskey and is deeper yet when he continues, “If peace should ever fail we vow to align ourselves with you, Sovereign of the Night Court.”
If the queen sounds surprised by his devotion to Caligo, Tenebrae does not show that he has noticed. There are many who are turning from the gods, many who have found them fickle, shallow and distasteful. WHat have the gods ever done for Novus? For Tenebrae, his mere existence is because of Caligo’s creation. “Caligo made the first of us and the Order are the descendents of them. We vow to her because we love her and because she is, ultimately, our creator.”
And Tenebrae does not blink, not even when the words feel more brittle on his tongue than they ever have before. Oh he loves his goddess, he has vowed himself to her more tightly than his very existence, but he can feel where that bond is fraying, where living and wanting have worried at those threads. Tenebrae is coming apart even as he ties himself together piety, tighter, tighter, tighter.
In the end we cannot hide there are other worlds than these
He will not look her in the eyes and Antiope finds it unnerves her in ways it should not. She does not want her citizens to look away from her out of submission, out of perceived obedience. It reminds her of what they had been expected to be, an isolationist kingdom cut off from the rest of Novus, the rest of the world. Is this what Caligo has made these men? Lesser? Unable to stand on equal ground with her?
At least her gods had given her the strength and pride to look another in the eyes.
The strange magic, the living shadows, reach out to her as a lover might—longing, wanting. Her magic can feel the energy in it, in them. The lioness in her bones stretches and stands and begins to pace. Antiope ignores it, despite wonder what it would be like for someone like her, someone made with god-light, to consume the energy of a shadow-thing. Oh, the killer in her has never really gone away.
Instead, she focuses on what Tenebrae is saying. His explanation of the Order, at least as he has put it, sounds like the job description of any of Denocte’s soldiers, but with the added ardor and devotion for the demi-goddess.
What Antiope wants to say is Gods made us, too. What she wants to say is Just because someone is your creator does not mean they know what is best for you, or have your best intentions at heart. She does not say any of those things, both out of respect for their own beliefs and her own inability to speak allowed about what she has done in her past.
“Your services are appreciated. Even when Novus is at peace, there are always situations that need handling within our own walls,” the Queen comments, “You are disciplined in the way of the military?” A confirmation, just to be official.
Denocte is well known for holding large and expansive events, and having extra bodies to help keep an eye on things is always welcome. And, of late, Antiope has been hearing whispers of seedier characters making a home on her streets. If it’s true, she imagines they will be causing problems sooner rather than later. It might be nice, to have eyes in places these types may not expect.
“I wonder, Tenebrae, if we might speak alone? You do seem to be doing all the talking, after all.” Antiope’s eyes are sapphire sharp and deeper than the sea as she considers him, “I can arrange for your brothers to have food, and drink, if they were to wait in the Great Room.” After a momentary pause, the Queen adds, “If they would like it.”
"Speaking."
@Tenebrae ahaha.. her inner monologue got a little oof there
On my body, the grace of shadows and in my heart: all Hells
Tenebrae does not know the doubts that drift into his queen’s mind as he genuflects before her with head lowered. He looks to the floor in respect, yet even if he had looked up at her, he may not have known how such a gesture did not sit so well within Antiope.
But what if he did know of her thoughts? What if he knew how she thought him submissive? Antiope does not wish for her citizens to bow out of submission or perceived obedience… Maybe the monk would smile at his queen’s concerns for it is not mindless obedience nor meek submission that sees the monk bending the knee before his monarch. No. Tenebrae does not bow just to Antiope, but to the very thing that she represents: Denocte. It is love that bends his knee, it is joy and desire that has him pledging himself to her command.
The monk is just a soldier, set apart from any other Denoctian soldier only by his devotion to his goddess. It is Caligo he serves above all and maybe the truth of it is this: Would the Night Order go to war with Denocte herself if ever there was dispute between Caligo and her Court? Yes, of course. But it would not be without pain and distress in their hearts.
Yet Tenebrae knows none of the thoughts that pass behind Queen Antiope’s sky blue eyes. They pass like birds upon the wing, fleeting as the shadows that dance along the crimson ribbon hanging from her slender neck.
“I am well versed in the ways of the military. All Disciples are trained for many years before Caligo grants us worthy of seeing any active service.” He remembers the awakening of the sigils upon his brow, his shoulders. They glow brighter in remembrance. Their burning is a phantom recollection across his skin.
Antiope suggests they speak alone and Tenebrae nods, shadows stirring like smoke with the movement. A smile turns up the corners of his lips, warm and grateful. “They would appreciate that, Your Majesty. It would be a pleasure to speak with you alone.” The Disciple does not move as the sharp of her gaze draws across his skin. Behind him his brother’s retreat, darkness trailing in their wake. Tenebrae feels the cleaving of his own magic, its weakening as his brothers depart.
“I have had the honour of meeting your Emissary. Moira Tonnerre spent time with my brothers at our monastery a short while back.” Tenebrae says in passing as he waits for the Queen to direct him to a room where they might further their conversation.
In the end we cannot hide there are other worlds than these
While Antiope cannot claim to say whether or not Caligo has truly handpicked, gifted and trained these men she has seen no evidence of the gods doing such things in this world as the ones who made the Sovereign had done in her own. They were much more involved, it seems, in the lives of their subjects.
But truly, who is she, god-made, to say that what he believes is not true.
The woman descends the small number of stairs from the raised throne to where Tenebrae stands, as his brothers are led out of the room. She trusts the staff will treat them well, with the care and respect she has come to know of those who work within the walls of the castle. “Right this way,” she says, as she turns toward a door on the left wall of the hall.
He mentions Moira, and Antiope makes a small sound of confirmation. Denocte’s Emissary had disappeared for quite a while on them, leaving her duties to be piled upon other’s shoulders. She had not known that it was to these gentlemen that she had run off to. She had run from a man, into the arms of more. But if Antiope knows anything of Moira besides her sweet tooth, it is that the woman is horribly, hopelessly romantic, and always searching, aching, hurting for love.
The Emissary has slowly gotten back to her duties recently, and hopefully that bodes well for her personal life and state of mind. If her stay at their monastery was of help to her, then at least for that Antiope can be grateful.
She pushes open the door, which leads to a small but open anteroom, with a desk and a wall of bookshelves. It resembles an unofficial office, or study. There is one high arched window, which lets in diffused evening light. “So,” the Sovereign begins, her voice punctuated by the heavy sound of the closing door.
“As I’ve said, there is relative peace across the nations right now. I do not think that your brothers will be required to use their skills in war at this time.” She glances at the man, eyes bright but deep, deep, deep. “Tell me, what it is that you think you can do for me?”
On my body, the grace of shadows and in my heart: all Hells
Tenebrae follows his queen across the throne room. His brothers leave, the sound of their footfalls hushed as they sweep out the main doors. Instantly the room is brighter without their shadows there to blot out light.
The monk’s own shadows are restrained, they wrap about his torso like armour, falling from his shoulders akin to a cape. Yet they do not reach out into the room, he does not allow their hunger to grow, though it longs to. His magic yearns to reach out into the light of the room and pluck each ray out of existence.
Antiope leads them into a smaller room. It is more casual, quieter, the closer walls muting echoes in a way the throne room did not. In the darkness, the crimson of her ribbons reminds him so much of Maeve. Yet where the child’s ribbons were that of fire, Antiope’s seem to suggest something more tribal.
His Sovereign speaks of war and Tenebrae dips his head in agreement, a small grin slipping across his lips. Darkness plays in the corner of such a smile. There is no part of him that the darkness does not press upon. Shadow magic is in his bones, it is knit into his ever tissue. “And that is a blessing, my Queen. Long may that continue to be the case. Though we train for it, we hope to never have to see it.” The Night Order always seeks peace. It is foolish of any Court to not be ready for war, as the veil of civilisation is thin, it can rupture so devastatingly fast. Tenebrae and his brothers longed to never see beyond that paper-thin veil.
“Though war is absent, I can offer protection and maintain order for your citizens. Often too, residents of both Denocte and the other Courts have come to us seeking counsel. The monks are known for being studious, careful and wise with our advice. We can offer such to your warriors and citizens alike. I suppose, my Queen, the question is what I can do for you. What roles are vacant in Denocte that you would like me to help fill? It would be an honour to serve you and my Court in any way I can.”
In the end we cannot hide there are other worlds than these
Antiope wonders what the life of a soldier is, who trains for war but never sees it. She wonders where else they find purpose, how else they perceive themselves achieving glory. She wonders how her life would have been different, if she hadn’t been born with battle in her bones. If, instead of being made for war she had been made to only expect war. Instead of killing, only taught to kill and never given the weapons or the means.
Perhaps she would not be here, finding her purpose in a castle as a Queen.
When Tenebrae asks what he can do for her, she finds herself considering him once again, for a long moment. The way his shadows float and seek, and crawl about his skin. A half-smile curls up the corner of her lips as she turns half away from him.
“Make yourself comfortable, please,” she pours hot water into two cups of tea from a kettle that had been brought into the room before Tenebrae and his brothers had arrived. “Have a drink, and let me tell you about my vision for Denocte,” her voice is low, and soft, as though she is about to tell a story, and her eyes far away. She shares her hopes—until her tea cools, and the light filtering through the window is no longer deep and purple but soft and silver. She shares her dreams.
The throne room is not a wholly unfamiliar place to Antiope. She has stood here many times before, at the behest of Isra, to help aid her in welcoming guests or hearing out a citizen if they needed assistance. But to be the one standing here, front and center, alone, strange and desolate.![[Image: 13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png]](https://file.toyhou.se/images/13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png)
