Ira’s heart has lodged itself firmly in his throat. He stands in Denocte’s center, after sending out the word he would like to facilitate a Court-wide meeting. He tries to remember to breathe, as he has practiced so many times in the woods outside their city; calming, soothing, rhythmic—and even as Ira practices something he has practiced a thousand times, the elation of the day has stolen from him his ability to remain entirely calm.
Instead, beneath the surface, he is thrumming with exuberance. He had not expected to be chosen by the people. He had offered to serve with the knowledge that he might have to; but without the realization that, among the others who stepped forward, he would be deemed the most capable, the most—what?
Ira clears his thoughts. He has never liked comparing himself to others and, more importantly, the only thing Ira knows he does well is fulfill his duties.
That is what he intends to do. Ira calls the meeting at dusk; the heat of the days have been atrocious, stifling even the coastline. The sun has just begun to set when the first Denoctians begin to trickle in. Ira hosts the meeting beneath the statue of Caligo, where they had all been summoned, not so long ago, by their goddess.
“Thank you all for gathering this evening,” Ira begins. He finds himself pacing, albeit not nervously, in front of an open space before the statue. Movement allows him to speak more fluently, he thinks. “This, in no way, is intended to be a coronation or similar event, although I plan to host one in the future… No,” Ira’s eyes flash and a smile flits as briefly as a bird across the too-blue sky. ”No, I would prefer my first act of Sovereign to be something for the people, not myself.”
Ira continues, keeping his voice level even as his heart beat-beat-beats in his chest, a feeling like euphoria. It does not make sense to Ira he feels his adrenaline here, before these people he has known most of his life, versus in the woods facing off with a bear or beast. “That said, I will be facilitating the Trial of Champions for the remainder of the season, and into the fall. Denocte does not currently have a Champion of Community or a Champion of Healing, and this is unacceptable. It leaves us vulnerable to external influences, and our community fractured. I have noticed it, and I am sure you all have noticed it as well.”
Ira flashes another brief smile. He steps forward, so he no longer rests beneath the shadow of Caligo, but so that he walks among the people who have attended. “This will be done differently than in the past. I do not ask for you to step forward with words of allegiance in this moment, or of passion. It is an easy thing to do, when one is filled with patriotism before their brother and sisters. What I ask is much more difficult.”
Ira takes the time to measure those around him with his eyes. He adds: “That said, it is finally time for Champions to fulfill their roles within our Court. I step forward with that expectation as Sovereign, both of myself and of those applying. That said, the Champions of Healing and Community will be chosen not on a basis of a speech they give here, but on how they go out into Denocte and serve.”
The dark stallion pauses, before adding: “Thank you for your time. If you have any questions, step forward; otherwise, go forward and enjoy our Lady Night. Come next seasons time, we will decide upon our Champions, on a basis of all that they have accomplished.”
upon the conduct of each depends the fate of all
♦︎
@ everyone! | further information can be found here
The stars are alive, child! Did you know that? Everything out there is alive, and there are grand purpose abroad!
I stayed in the night court after the new sovereign was chosen. King Ira, he seemed young, but something about him was distinguished, solid, and it seemed he would make a fitting king, for Denocte's quiet people. So I made it in time for Ira's first speech, the boy seemed happier then most of the denocte citizens I'd come across in my time here. and reasonably so, being chosen to lead a people is a great thing, and a joy I hadn't felt anything like in a long time.
For once I find the crowd of people rather exhilarating, Everyone gathering to listen to a new leader, some I'm sure are hear only to complain, but others come with hope for the future, and the changes to come with it. His words come with a surprise, in that they are not for him, a striking decision for a new leader. As he goes on, I am nearly certain that the hint of a sparkle is making its way to my eyes. I've been looking for something for so long, and everything has fallen flat. I do enjoy what I do, healing, helping, but every so often, I'm Nostalgic for what was. Being the head of something more, guiding others to help do the same, and perhaps I could do that again.
I am the first to step forward, and I find myself almost nervous, after all, who am I a small feeble thing, to step forward for such a position. Never the less I did, leaving Yara and Mithra sitting behind me. "King Ira" I start. "I know I don't look like much, and it is true that some days I am not much. But I have been a princess once, and a queen once, and while that will likely never come to be again, I would be honored to lead something once more." I paused, mulling over my words, wondering if they had been two much. "I worked as a healer in Dusk, before coming here, and I've been working in the mountains with the night order for nearly two seasons now. Growing up I saw many healers, brought in from far and wide, and in the process I learned from them, and I would love nothing more than to share that knowledge. Even for those who aren't medics, knowing how to stop the flow of blood, or treat a cough can be invaluable. Because of that, I would like to put my name forward for champion of healing, and will take the trials in stride. Best of luck, to everyone"
With a dip of my head I stepped back, ready to listen for all the other champions stepping forward.
A call for the Champions, both those that serve and those that want to serve. Perhaps it's time for Cicatrix to finally fit into the steps they had been given, to ease their way into a position and do their once friend proud. They think it's a good time for it, to learn and listen. Where once they offered themselves without having a clue, this time they step up alongside their Sovereign as someone that has a better grasp of things.
The last lingering rays of the sun sink below the horizon, casting longer shadows and taking the heat of the day with it. Here in Denocte, they thrive on the dusk and night that comes after it, and Cicatrix is one of the many that enjoys the dark. The stars above are their reason, they do not know others'.
As it is, they carefully step up, casting a glance toward the statue that does no justice to the deity they pine for. Caligo, beauty of the stars and the night sky. The untamed wilds above and the heavens that they yearn to learn even more about. Their gaze lingers, only to move once Ira steps forward, turning their gaze to him instead and flickering ears underneath their starry cloak.
He paces to and fro, exuding a nervous energy, but it's only natural. Standing so still is strange, for even Cicatrix moves themselves every so often, a small flutter of a wing here, a shift of their tail there. They listen to the passionate words Ira speaks, keeping their position near the statue, watching him even wander out amongst those that have come forward.
Later -- they think -- they will ask him about their own position. It's high time they started to get themselves together.
Head tilting, they hear the ending of his speech, a question on their tongue. What happens next is not startling. Someone steps forward, offering to be Champion of Healing, to take on the tasks ahead. The trials that would cause them all to prove their worth. If Cicatrix could smile, they certainly would be looking on with a warm fondness at the Court they're beginning to truly call home.
Slowly, they step up, wings folding at their sides in a better position, towering over the Court but managing to lower their head to seem smaller. "I look forward to proving my worth for the position given to me. Perhaps later, we can have a conversation?" After all, they want to make sure that they get this right. Not only for themselves but for the entirety of the Court and their Sovereign.
atching the new Sovereign is an interesting affair, if he's honest. The one's he's seen often stand tall and proud, statuesque — as if Atlas somehow plucked the globe from his shoulders and set it firmly on their withers without thought to leaving a manual. If they stumble now, then the impression is set. The globe inelegantly rolls off of them and splinters onto the ancient cobblestone floor.
But Ira paces, and paces, and paces some more and Renwick's features twist into pleasant surprise. There's a stark difference between a man who paces to offset nerves, and a man who knows he thinks best when he's on his hooves.
Young Kings have left a sour impression in his mouth, but that is not a cross Ira should rightfully have to bear — he's done nothing to warrant scepticism right out of the gate, and Renwick's gripes are old wounds that have healed wrong. Scarred ugly. So he attempts to keep an open mind, one ear quirked forward to better hear his first decree.
He chooses the people, instead of himself, and the Knight's surprise grows into a grin. He chooses action, growth, and accountability. Admirable.
Knight Commander's have no place being Champion's, in truth, Direstone still heaves and wheezes to the north-west of here. Gripped in the icy embrace of the Arma Mountains, where her men huddle beneath thick cloaks and grouse of better yesteryears. They've began repairs on the Weyr's, though for what reason he'll never know, when he decreed it so. Roc's are fickle birds, and their eggs rarer still — but it gives them something to do. It sows hope in the stonemason whose gruff, silvery face lights up as he talks, and talks, and talks about how he remembers when their raven faced companions would spread their wings.
Their lorekeeper's eyes twinkle as they retrieve the yellow scrolls from the tower, written long before any of them.
Perhaps the reason is hope. For once they're coming out of the shadows and turning their eyes skyward to see the great blue expanse for the first time in an age.
Champion's should come from the people, so they may take Atlas' weight without prior engagement. Renwick's calling makes him a hybrid of sorts, to King and People. He must look to Denocte's borders, he must answer to the crown, even if he loves his people fiercely than a wolf to the pack. He keeps to himself, mostly, enjoys Cica & Luvena's words as one of the people, for a change.
"Congratulations, your highness." He says, wolf-like and fox-sly. The lad from the markets who asked him why he became a soldier, now a king in front of him. One day, he might ask him why, turn the question around on him. Doubtful, but fun to think about. "I'm but a humble soldier, but if you require anything at all, you need only ask."
As dusk finally falls on Denocte, Katniss knows that it is time to meet her new Sovereign. He has summoned them.for a meeting, a meeting she is expected to attend. All afternoon she had been doing as she always does, patrolling the boarders. The activity is second nature to her and it offers her a quiet moment to reflect. She thinks about the past sovereigns, all the women that have come before: Isra, Antiope, Morrighan. She remembers them all and how strong they were. She wanted to be the next one, but her court had chosen differently. And knowing that her court new best, she was happy for Ira, happy that he was able to step forth and lead them into a new era of peace.
All around them leadership was changing and Katniss wondered just how safe their boarders would remain. Already she had told herself to increase her patrols, train her soldiers, and prepare the court should something sinister arise. Already she knew that she needed to speak to Ira privately, but she was confident that the request could wait a few days. After all, he needed to get used to his new roll and all the people who demanded his company. She would wait her turn.
But as she comes down from the mountain, she’s overwhelmed with a sense of urgency and so her feet seem to pick up the pace as she moves forward. She is not the first to gather, but she will not be the last. Finnick flies down from the sky above, perching himself on a nearby tree. She can feel he is close, although she cannot see him.
Katniss listens quietly when he begins and she cannot help but think that she would have done the same: putting her court’s needs before her own. Perhaps she is more like Ira than she originally thought.
He speaks of the lack of champions and she knows he speaks true. She does not remember the other sovereigns putting much stock into champions, not quickly filling their roles, although they needed to be filled. In this moment, while she doesn’t know who Ira is, she knows that at least he knows her by name and title. Never had she announced herself as Denocte’s Champion of Battle, feeling as though titles were far too formal. Perhaps she needed to start.
First a sickly looing mare comes forward, putting her own name in the hat for Champion of Healing. She is a medic, trained in Dusk Court’s famous hospitals. This makes her think of Kibou and how much he wants to train to be a healer like his father. Katniss makes a mental note to have him seek Luvena out. Perhaps she can help him in his studies. After all, she wants to cultivate his thirst for knowledge.
Next comes Cicatrix, one chosen to be Champion of Wisdom. Kibou has spoken of the individual and their bonding over fizzy candies. It makes Katniss chuckle and she makes note that she needs to thank the individual for being a friendly soul to Kibou. The child was growing into a young and impressionable stallion, Cicatrix had so much that they could teach Kibou.
And then comes Renwick, a young soldier that Katniss has not been given the opportunity to meet individually. She makes note that she needs to meet all her soldiers, to allow them to see a name to a face.
Stepping forward, she looks at Ira, the flames of the torches flickering over the dark scars that scatter her body. She looks like a warrior: tall, strong, covered in scars. She holds her head high, arched, the picture of confidence. “…and I hope to show you my own worth.” She does not feel the need to identify herself as the current Champion of Battle. He would know her name and perhaps he could connect the dots. Perhaps an individual meeting might be necessary. But until then, she watches him with a curious gaze, watching to see if he has what it takes to lead Denocte.
Kassandra does not know where all her energy has gone. If she’d been a ship, her sails would slacken completely, the wind not just gone but taken. Spirited away somewhere, and all she was left with was some sort of empty husk, home to barren devastation.
Had she not been enough?
Caligo had chosen her. She sent her these visions for a reason. And so when Kassandra had rushed to supplicate the Night Queens holy feet and beg for some clarity, some relief, what had she said? What had the witch said? Your visions are vivid and powerful. The thought of the words made a childlike rage, a wall of infantile frustration bubble up through Kas like she was a crack in the continent and what dwelled beneath her was hellfire.
She already knew that! She’d known that all these years, all these long, tortuous, dreaming years. Every nightmare, every vision, every shake, every morning waking up to bloodshot eyes and sore bones and bruises.
One day you will need to tell me the words I spoke, the pictures I painted.
No! Kassandra wanted to scream. You need to tell me! You’re the goddess here! That’s your job!
And afterwards, there was a sinking feeling, a horrible thought, a realization that dawned on her and turned her veins tepid:
Maybe Caligo didn’t actually have the answers… because the dreams weren’t from Caligo.
What if she was nothing more than some silly, unwanted girl who was fucked up in the head? What if she deserved nothing better than her Folly Tower? What if seeing Furae’s fate and then it happening was just some mad coincidence?
What if she was nothing?
She is shaken, and hollow, and feels very scared and small for the first time in a long time. Like, back when she was dying in the desert, long time. So as Ira gathered what courage was his, what faith was his, what confidence was gifted to him, Kassandra could only watch, body numb, and listen as his words fell on shattered, far-away ears.
She was not upset with him, by any means. Likewise, she was not angry at not being chosen. Rivane had chosen her, stood by her side, and that was good enough for her. She bore Ira no ill will. But she stands now, listening to him speak, not really putting meaning to his words, and all she can see is the black shadow of Caligo’s monument, absorbing the faint, lavender dusklight.
Ira paces like a tactician. Something for the people. How admirable. How good of him. There is hope here, yes? Hope that things will get better. Oculos watches him, enthralled like a good dog, and turns back to Kas, and falters. She should be jubilant, and excited, and ready for whatever challenge is coming next. Kas always is. He paws at her hock, anxious. i think you would make a good champion of community. everyone likes you.
Her lips pull thin against the frame of her teeth. Something inside of her is worn raw and growing teeth and claws. Luvena comes forward and speaks and Kas can see her worth. Cicatrix is there, as well, though Kassandra knows them only by name. They already have a title. Katniss, as well, and certainly deserving of all the respect, and responsibility, lauded heavy upon her strong shoulders.
Kas does not dislike any of them. She does not know why she feels such a pitched darkness, a thrall, rattling around in her guts; an empty spot in her ribcage where her joy would once be.
Everyone around her was stepping forward and promising to be good, promising to be worthwhile, promising to be useful. She was just a tired woman with no social graces and terrible dreams.
She smoothed her smile out into something believable, something less pained and more calmly accepting of whatever she was going through. She offered Ira-- a stranger, her king, now-- her best curtsy. Years upon long years could not dull the lessons ingrained in her (she’d had nothing else to do, nowhere to go, but take what she was given and learn what she was taught) and the movement was still sharp, precise, perfect.
“My sovereign,” she said, voice dry, but genuine. She spoke only the truth. “And my fellow Denoctians. I, too, will offer whatever it is I can.”
Whatever little it is, I suppose, you can have it.
@Ira et al ! "Speech."oculos speech.
she's... working thru some issues
![[Image: manaicon4.png]](https://i.ibb.co/4jzj8QS/manaicon4.png)
