It raced forward. It stopped for no monolith raised in its honor nor any creature that was subjected to its cruel ways. Even the gods were subject to time, though they did not wither in the same ways the mortals did. Their servants without direction. Silasthein was familiar with time, and he could feel it catching up to him. Gone were his days as an archmage in Muramir, now he was but an individual without the flow of arcana in his veins. Silas had rotted months in Terrastella under the care of the healers who boasted their mastery across all of Novus. He had learned about the world he now found himself in, little by little. It fascinated him. Silas had dived deep into his thoughts as he traveled slowly across vast plains and wind-swept dunes. It had taken him two weeks to travel from Terrastella to Solterra. It was the place he had decided to visit next, as he had pulled from memory the companion who had quite literally saved his life. Locke resided in Solterra. Silas owed him, and he wasn't about to let a debt go unpaid. Especially not when it had such a steep price.
The mauve ex-mage winced as he felt a twinge in his shoulder he had landed on months ago. The heavens yawned and spit him out in Novus. That was what he got for tampering with dangerous magic. He smiled to himself as he passed through the gates of Solterra, adorned with statues of the deity he came to know as Solis. The god he came to understand as prideful. What he had gathered in his recovery was some of the court cultures. Silas enjoyed Terrastella, and had decided to make that his home. He was an adventurer, and could not be held down in one place for too long though. He had developed a fondness for Vespera and the traits she valued most. Silas did not reflect those traits, at least not many. He sighed as he came to a halt in the shade, welcoming the reprieve from the sun that beat down upon his back. Silas was exhausted from his travels, but he had adhered to the advice of the healers who had prevented him from perishing. It didn't help that he could feel his body aging once more. It had been so long since he had felt old. Silas leaned against the cool stone wall that surrounded the city of Solterra. It was cool only because it was coated in thick shadows.
Silas decided he would stand at the wall and rest awhile before moving further into the Day Court. He would have all the time in the world to find Locke and learn the customs of the harsh desert stronghold.
Notes: Ahh first post since my hiatus ;__; | Tags: @Orias
... The lives we lead
06-06-2020, 10:30 AM
Played by
Mana [PM] Posts: 4 — Threads: 1 Signos: 5
"Hail, stranger." Odd coloured eyes regard the mauve scholar with an air of quiet curiosity, shimmering in the lowlight as all divine things do. Incandesent, a pearl held up and marveled between reverant hands. Alive and snapping in the next instant, pale muzzle quirking up at the corners, a half-smile, secretive as hastily written notes hidden beneath a pillow at wolf hour. "It's warm today, is it not? One would be hard pressed to find this suitable weather unless they're born here."
Orias had grown up in a City upon a cliffs edge, salt winds and ocean spray. White marble structures gold dipped and woven by magic and an artisans dreaming touch. Warmth had always been balmed by the grace of the Sea, Solterra offered little in the way of buffering from the blistering crown of the Sun God himself. Save for the shadowed places beneath crumbling spires, weathered and worn through the ages. Monuments to history Orias would never witness, even if somehow, they came to hold Solterra close in their breast. The ultimate meaning and depth of the Land's history and it's inhabitants triumphs and pitfalls would mimic the thoughts and feelings one harbored after reading a particularly thrilling book. Certainly not superficial and artificially crafted, but it would be a shallow pool to sip from, given a lack of empathetic tetherings and lack of involvement to root them deeper.
In time, he thinks. His hourglass is full, firmly wrapped between the vestiges of his own design. They can tip it one way and then the other.
Stepping closer, hooves bellchime sweet against the cracked and sun kissed stones beneath their feet, leonine tail coiling around their hocks. "Orias," they greet, head tilting while gold horns glimmer. "And you are?"
Honeyed words spilled from the pale rose lips of his companion. Silas had not noticed them previously, despite the fact that they were adorned with such finery. They were celestial in design, from the very tip of their toes to the sweeping glory of their tresses. Silas' thorns twitched atop his head as he fixed his gaze squarely on them. Their eyes were like his own, heterochromatic. They both seemed to share the amethyst hue that danced in the dim light. His companion reminded him of the way the gilded cathedrals of his homeland sparkled in midsummer. Silas was convinced that this very well may be a deity disguised as a mortal with such an ornate appearance, and an opalescent pearl nestled between gilded horns. He found his companion utterly breathtaking. They spoke again, speaking of the heat the desert boasted. A chuckle slipped past his ivory lips. He did not miss the way their gentle smile highlighted their face.
Silas returned one of his own. "I suppose it is the pride of the desert, is it not? I prefer the dry heat, to the humidity in Terastella." He answered his companion. The words slipped from his tongue eagerly. It had been long since he'd been able to speak with anyone outside of the hospital. He acknowledged that his leaning might be taken as rude, but he couldn't bring himself to relinquish his position. The way the light danced off his companion had him momentarily mesmerized by them. It was only when their hooves fell upon the cracked stone that he snapped his gaze downward momentarily. They introduced themselves as Orias, and followed up by inquiring as to what his name was. "Silasthein, but I go by Silas. It's a pleasure to meet you, Orias." He gave a nod toward his companion and winced when the movement irritated his wounds.
"I take it that you're a traveler too?" Silas offered his companion with a quiet smile once more. He craved to lay in the sun, but his fear of being able to hoist himself upward once more prevented him from indulging such desires. He did force himself to push away from the wall and take a few steps toward his companion. The gait he held was awkward, and his steps staggered. He ceased movement until he had swung himself to face the same direction as Orias. He cast a sidelong glance at his new companion with a smile. A silent invitation to join him. "Would you be troubled if I asked for your company at the festival, Orias?" He asked before he made any assumptions about his companion.
Long ears flick forward at the sound of laughter, putting a somewhat sly smile on the Kirin's features. "I've never had the pleasure of desert temperatures without some kind of balm, an ocean wind to take the edge of that dry heat we're experiencing. Should I ever find myself in Terrastella, I'll make sure to be suitably prepared to sweat myself into oblivion and then some." The last part comes out impish, long white lashes obscuring a golden eye.
"Silasthein," It comes out pleasant on the tongue, an excellent parallel to the pastel twilight hues that bedeck the stallion so. It reminds him of old stone near mirror lakes, overgrown by frost vines and ice blooms. Earthen, but not. "Does it stand for something?" Honest and earnest. Orias can list the forebearers of their name, down to the detail. Such is the privelege and curse of long lineage. Eventually the pool runs dry of spectacular names, and parents turn to pilfering their ancestors in the name of honor, glory and acceptable parenting choices. Let no poor name be the noose on which your parenting reputation starts from.
I take it that you're a traveler too.
"Is it the accent that gives it away?" Orias inquires, light as a swift winged swallow in flight. Amused as glass spun chimes in spring wind. He wagers many who come and go over these stones don't have the Solar Court imprinted into their bones, stamped by the Sun. Their accent certainly gives them away, melodic in it's accent, sweet in delivery. Certainly heavy by some standards, compared to those he's listened to by lamplight and by accident, who have given him pause once or twice. Mundane is not so bad, it helps to blend and obscure, why pick the wilting flower on the wall when you can have the onslaught of vibrancy of a louder, more proud flower?
A daisy is no match for the dahlia.
"I'm not from here, but I'm not the first of my family to come walk this land either." They concede with a gracious nod of their defined head, tilting a fraction to the left at the last moment as they watch Silas. Silently taking notes, little anecotes hastily scribbled in margins. His previous assumption of the stallion's struggle is correct, though the depth is yet to be determined. But Orias has never been the sort to stand by and watch someone haplessly struggle, waiting for them to swallow pride and ask for help. Stepping forward, a spotted shoulder dips, polite and concerned. Something to lean against if Silas required it, the courtly extended hoof, open for the intended to take should they wish it. Orias was brought up with manners after all, and being an aid to those who need it was one of the firsts. Besides, his companion struck him as a genuine sort, the kind who they could get along with without effort or enforced patience.
"I never miss an opportunity to attend festivals, especially in good company."
![[Image: 11661096-Irhl-F8-TOJSYd-DA1.png]](https://i.ibb.co/yYZGBpD/11661096-Irhl-F8-TOJSYd-DA1.png)
