Cold water brushed amicably against the mare’s hooves as she stared down at her reflection in the oasis, mismatched eyes narrowed in scrutiny; beside of her, a heap of makeshift, rough cloth bandages soaked in the shallows. Throbbing bruises covered her torso and legs, and a lacework of scratches coated most of her back. They were still raw, though no longer volatile red and apparently free of infection. She’d found the deep, gnarled gash that ran across her more concerning, though it seemed to be healing up just as well. (Seraphina imagined that there was a good chance that it would leave her with a nasty scar. She was also disinclined to care.) They still bled, occasionally, and she dared not expose them to the heat of the desert - she’d been unable to resume her normal patrols in the days that had followed the teryr hunt, and, though it had most definitely sped up the healing process, Seraphina was growing stir-crazy, and quickly. Sleeping off the nausea and injuries felt like a waste of time, even if she realistically knew that she’d be little more than a liability if she was at anything but her peak condition whilst wandering the wilds of Solterra, but she couldn’t shake the sense of aimlessness that had been following her for months. It was biting at her heels, now, like some hungry beast – but soon, soon things would return to normal, or as normal as they could be without Viceroy. The teryr had been slaughtered, the victor decided. They had a new sovereign.
What could only be described as a scream from the direction of the court proper sent a small shiver of anticipation down her spine. Maxence, by the sound of things; he was summoning the court. The bandages were pulled from their resting-place by her telekinesis, wrapped swiftly – but with the sort of practiced expertise that assumed she had done the same thing many times before – around her wounds. Seraphina left the cool waters and shade behind her and moved back into the stifling heat of the desert, her movements laborious and jerking. (She loathed it.) It was only her knowledge of the dunes that brought her to the court with any sort of punctuality at all. A spray of golden sand clung to her hooves and sides, and the bandages still dripped thin trails of water down her sides; like trails of smoke against smooth silver. It was indistinguishable from the sweat beading on her coat, once she finally arrived in the Central Hall.
In spite of the prickling soreness that ran all across her body whenever she moved, no pain was obvious in the mare’s steely movements as she took her place among the others – her gaze was, as ever, cold as ice. In fact, if it weren’t for her tension and slight limp, one might be fooled into thinking that she wasn’t in any sort of pain at all. Her eyes crept across those that had already arrived. Maxence, with his massive wings and painted coat; Leviathan, likely just as sore as she and coated in a new layer of scars; the warrior girl, Eden; Inkheart, radiating perhaps even more broken pride than physical agony; Avdotya, quiet as ever; the golden girl, Bexley, who’d surprised Seraphina with her vigor in combat; a stallion that she did not recognize at all – white, and small, compact, though muscular enough to suggest a warrior; Torstein, bearing fronds of aloe; another stallion that she did not recognize – silver and beautiful, practically ornamental in his delicacy; and, equally ethereal, a beautiful roan woman that she was fairly sure she’d never seen before. Seraphina kept to the edges of the crowd, moving in where the crowd would accommodate her. No need to impose. For now, she would simply listen.
ahahahaha it's been like a week, and I feel like I've forgotten how to write forgive me
anyways <3333
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
The flock gathered, and what in impressive sight it was to see. With the first few to heed his summons it had seemed like a small audience, the kind that would not demand any kind of formalities, though soon the crowd doubled in size until most of his brethren stood before him - all except a late few. Maxence had commanded troops of hundreds - why did he feel a lump in his threat standing before a little more than ten?
Torstein came baring a gift of aloe for all in attendance, stretching out a palm of offering for those who had fought against the teryr. A welcome gesture of cours,e though Maxence wondered what on earth had possessed the brutal stag in order to bring flowers to a gathering when he was not told to bring a thing. As usual the little faith Maxence had in others ripples through his gaze as he pondered an ulterior motive that an offering such as this might conceal, though nothing came to mind. A simple gesture of kindness it must be.
As usual Eden had offered words of surrender, offering her service without any question. It was the naïvety that caused him to both fear her and truly adore her, and truly he homes to never be a dissapointment to this girl who had sworn herself over to him so easily. Though still, it was she who had given herself so easily. Eden had proved herself a faithful servant thus far, and as Bexley joined the dreadlocked woman at the hip it caused a warm feeling to swell inside his chest, hoping Bexley was actually making friends rather than just enemies.
It was then that his eyes passed over the two who would be his advisors and truest allies; the shield maidens Avdotya and Seraphina. Both had fought with an undomitable courage during the battle of the Teryr and both had always offered him sound and well-counciled advice. These were the two he wished to rule beside. "Seraphina," Solis's new King spoke to the court, though directly to the woman who wore the name he uttered. "Let it be known that her wisdom will fund each discussion involved in Solterras future under my reign. And Avdotya-" He paused, nose turning to the woman who's strength rivalled his own. "Let it be known that her strength and bravery will cause our enemies to truly tremble" Maxence spoke this with a hearty boom, each word prouder and bolder than the last, a chest full of pride for his court and country. "Join me" He then uttered to both warriors, gesturing to the vast space either side of him where they ought to stand as proudly as he.
While he wished to allow both Regent and Emissary their time in the limelight, it was a meeting and time was limited. He had stolen these solterrans from their days work for long enough already. So came the next point of business. "Bexley, Leviathan, Inkheart" the king bellowed, his gaze turning over each. "Your skill and courage on the battlefield had no bounds. You are our champions, along with Oz who is away on court business. And Torstein; we name you our Warden." These words he spoke with a rare grin, one that even showed a few of his chipped and missing teeth. "Please, step forth." The council of solis must always stand before the others; an example to the rest of the court.
Business would move on, and the most pressing matter took it's place among the meeting next. The laws of Solterra were selected carefully and only with the aim of it's inhabitants to thrive. They were to be followed, or any would face punishment subject to the regime. "The law;" Maxence would begin, hoping to Solis that he had everyone's attention...
"The gates of Solterra remain open to any weary traveller. Any may join our ranks."
"Solis is the true Lord of Solterra; to speak ill of him on his ground will do you no favors. Worship no other gods, do Solis's will, and Solis will be good to you."
"Our court is a family; one built on mutual respect and trust. Violence toward any solterran outside of battle is assault and strictly forbidden. Reported attacks will be subject to trial by the Regime"
"Petty crime is judged by myself, serious crime is subject to trial."
"Utmost respect must be shown to those of higher rank. Warriors are required to salute to the Warden, Champions, Emissary, Regent and Sovereign. Lack of respect toward superiors will lead to punishment. That being said, Utmost respect must be shown to those who risk their lives and fight as warriors of the Day Court. Commoners and youths are encouraged to hail their arrival when they return from patrols and battles, and show appreciation for their dangerous work by making the effort to send for caretakers and provide food and water."
"And lastly, We live in a land stripped past the bone by wind and sand. Herbs for critical healing are rarely harvested, and until the garden is built we have no reliable source of any vital medicines. For this reason pregnancies are strictly forbidden. Aside from the troubling logistics, we are a court of warriors, and this is no place for a child"
With a gruff sigh, glad he had managed to get through every law that seemed relevant for the time being, Maxence then turned to Inkheart and nodded. "Inkheart," he bellowed "will you lead us in thanks to Solis?" This meeting is compulsory.
The following are LATE. If you do not show up for attendance by the end of this round you will be deemed absent and best have a good excuse for not heeding the kings summons.
THIS ROUND ENDS IN ONE WEEKS TIME on the 4th of september.
@Sirein @Voltaire @Eithne @Raum @Aryel @Victorina
Oz is away on court business so is excused.
Schtuff that will be covered in this meeting!
The Regent and Emissary will be named and encouraged to take thier place beside the sovereign.
The Warden and Champions will be named and encouraged to stand closest to the front to distinguish their rank.
The laws of the court will be stated.
To close the meeting, the court will join in prayer to Solis lead by Inkheart.
Tagging the regime and council of champions
@Avdotya @Seraphina @Torstein @Inkheart @Leviathan @Bexley
08-28-2017, 04:08 AM
Played by
Obsidian [PM] Posts: 146 — Threads: 16 Signos: 0
Raum arrives, the cold gleam of a silver knife in the gold of the library. Elegantly he pours forward, passing between the shafts of light that cascade through each window. He is far from the lure of the Night Court here, but never has he heard it cry so loud.
About the gathered Solterrans, books rise and spiral their way up to a vaulted ceiling that frames a skylight to the sun. With the lands laws ringing in his ears as they bellow from the mighty king’s lips, Raum surveyed the golden sun with interest. It is unrelenting, bold and furious as it blazes its heat upon his skin. It knows there is a traitor in its kingdom, it spotlights him with a heat and light so strong his skin will surely burn. He will be ash before he even leaves the library.
The meeting is a large and impressive gathering that shrinks the grand library down and yet it still shines, lavish and glorious. The Crow moves to stand at their heart, his blue eyes drinking in the many strange faces: a creature with two horns and lava red eyes, a man of liquid gold to answer Raum’s own liquid silver, a girl of golden daylight with an impish face, a creature of flowers, a girl of scars… on and on. His body, his soul fights for shadow, to cling to the edges of the room. To slink, so stalk, to spy. But to spy here, in the heart of Solterra, he had to stand open beneath the sun, relaxed, hot and unassuming.
He does, feigning casual interest as the king continues.
At the mention of prayer, his sea-blue eyes find the ebony girl, Inkheart. His eyes trail over the sun that gleams from her chest and pours liquid gold down her hind limb. A curious and beautiful creature she is. His head turns toward the sun, the raging sea of his blue eyes calming as his eyes close in reverence and prayer.
Bexley does not stir as the group continues to form around her, nor does she grace the stranger that slinks to her side with more than a derogatory, sideways glance; he was not at the hunt, and so not worthy of her respect. If Bexley Briar could help kill a Teryr, surely this man could have. With one glance-over she files him away in her brain and turns her eyes back to Maxence, an absurdly stoic figure in the face of the celebration that is about to commence.
Only when Maxence begins to list off his advisors does Bexley stir, leaning imperceptibly forward to catch each word, hoping, hoping, hoping. She knows it must be in vain - what purpose does she have here? what position would Maxence be foolish enough to grant her? - yet still the thought of proving herself runs rampant behind that cool-as-ice expression, so unfit for a child of Day. Under the sun her bright blue eyes are glass, are fixed, are pinpoint-dark. Her heart thrums the beat of a wild thing too deep inside her chest. And, as if Solis himself has been listening to her prayers, the sovereign calls her name, a champion, and, with a sharp and genuine smile half-hidden in that silver hair, she leaps forward to take her place ahead of the rest, a warmth not brought by the summer still flourishing through each nerve.
Poised in her new spot, Bexley listens to the laws with fractured attention, though each one is still put away neatly and completely in the recesses of her brain. Champion! Champion! From across the sand she catches Eden’s gaze and grins again.
Let them come for her now - the ungrateful, the overconfident - those who see her as weak, as lesser, as nothing but flax and gold and bone. Let them come.
short lil reply for y'all
08-30-2017, 07:15 PM - This post was last modified: 08-30-2017, 07:16 PM by Bexley
Why had he been summoned to this gods-damned meeting? Just so that others could gloat and claim their place in front and above him? Velorca would have loosed an angry hiss if Avdotya hadn't been standing up there with the others, the only representative of a people slaughtered by the regime. Perhaps not this regime - but one like it.
Velorca Ludimyr was, in fact, a sore loser.
Even if he had not wanted a position in the court, seeing others promoted irked him to the bone. There was no outward sign of his displeasure, only the usual sensually bored expression he often wore. Until Maxence started talking again, spitting out laws and rules that Lorca knew he would not follow. Salute? Fuck that. He'd been a slave before, he wasn't going to be one again.
His lupine gaze slid to Avdotya, a weapon amidst the crowd of commoners. Loyalty wasn't a word Lorca was particularly associated with - but when it came to blood, to the Davke, to the gods-damned woman who had freed him... loyalty wasn't a question. It was the only rule he'd likely ever respect. So for her legacy he remained quiet, would linger. If that meant he had to provide for Maxence, too, so be it.
He wasn't fucking saluting though.
08-30-2017, 07:44 PM
Played by
inkbone [PM] Posts: 75 — Threads: 5 Signos: 0
Eyes the color of wine met with Maxence's briefly, and Tor saw his questioning gaze; most likely accented by a furrowed brow or a lazy flick of an ear. Truth be told, he couldn't exactly blame the Sovereign for questioning him. Afterall, Tor had shown very little faith in the stallion across ... well, almost every encounter they had. But while Tor was not a sympathetic or trusting creature by nature, he certainly wasn't about to shoot himself in the foot when, after all, he wasstuck here.
For good.
The thought had taken a long time to settle; that he would never grace the lands of Stolthet again. That his empire was ripped so violently from his hands, just as his father --...
He felt his blood boil. His muscles tense. His teeth grit - he tasted sand again. All else drowned out, becoming a hazy mumble as he felt his throat tighten, his anger surface; the Triennial Eye flicked open slowly, peering around the room with its erratic gaze while Tor's own gaze remained glued to the bright rays shining through the open window. He felt the heat radiating off of it.
He heard a name: Seraphina, the collared. How fitting for her to be shackled to Maxence's heels.
He heard Avdotya's name. He questioned if she could swallow her pride long enough to heed Maxence's words, as strong willed as she was.
And then he heard his name. He was abruptly ripped from his anger and frustration, and his eyes quickly snapped up to Maxence with a brief look of disbelief. Warden? Warden.
In all his attempts to learn more about this strange land, he had read about the Courts far more than most else. The Warden enacted the decrees of the Sovereign. And for a brief moment... Maybe his judgement isn't as bad as I assumed it was.
Such a vain and selfish thought that was, Tor knew as much.
And just as slowly as the thought settled, he walked up and took his place where asked. At his side was Leviathan, Inkheart, and Bexley - the latter of whom was directly beside him. The tiny, golden mare practically pranced in place as she stood beside the rest of the Counsel, and Tor stared at her. Such a peculiar little creature she was... and next to him, she was practically dwarfed. A warm breath huffed out of his nostrils, and his head lowered very slightly towards the golden mare - or a filly, with how she was acting. "Your antics give away your age," he murmured softly to her, eyes the color of mulled wine peering curiously at her in a sideways glance. But just as quickly as the hushed statement was muttered, his gaze fell away from her and settled upon the growing crowd in front of them. For while Maxence barked out the rules of the land, the massive stallion took the time to survey each inhabitant that stood before the Regime and Counsel.
AVDOTYA
they have achieved nothing
altered nothing
and will die for n o t h i n g
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
She listened lazily to Maxence as he spoke, a hind hoof cocked and her eyes half-lidded. Gatherings such as these rarely stirred the woman's interest, perhaps because she had never been born to culture so formal in its ways. The Davke were a primitive band, uncivilized and certainly not concerned in the details of politics; however, even in the time Avdotya had spent in the Day Court capitol during Zolin's reign - as meager a time as it was - she found herself unimpressed. She had adapted by now, of course, but hearing the names of the sovereign's chosen council did not have the same appeal as it may have for others.
Until it was her name that fell from his lips.
The viper of a mare lifted her slouch the second he said it, nearly caught off guard by his invitation, though still looked as stoic as ever. She hesitated to bring herself to the front of the crowd, stepping slowly as she made her way there. Avdotya was not keen on being the centre of attention, even if only for a moment. She had always been a dweller in the shadows, happier to allow others the focus while she slipped under the radar... yet here she was, standing before the Day Court with countless pairs of eyes looking on. It wasn't where she would have seen herself years prior, but this was something she could work with.
Avdotya's gaze lingered on Velorca when she picked him out from the gathering. There was a particular expression upon her face that she was sure he would pick up on, one that seemed to suggest her desire to meet with him. They had many things to discuss once things had settled. Until then, she simply stood quietly and listened; to the names, to the laws, to the whispers among the crowd. She had to admit, things didn't look all too bad from up here.
"Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on sea and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls."
- - -
He is surprised at how many arrive, at how the room seems smaller with each one. He is acutely aware of the four walls around them and how unnatural it all feels. They should be outside, beneath the sky, beneath the sun. He breathes in deeply (sweat and dust and excitement and more sweat and... is that ylang ylang??) and focuses on Maxence's words.
It is not long before there are more in front of him than at his side, most looking quite pleased with themselves (some far more than others). There is something about the whole spectacle that strikes him as funny, although he could not describe it in words. There is a moment of warmth in his eyes but that is the only hint at the thoughts running through his mind.
He has no protest, at least not outwardly, although a few phrases catch him off guard- 'Worship no other god' rankles some deep-seated independence and sense of freedom, although he takes the words as suggestion and not law. What truly throws him off is 'Our court is a family.' It is the opposite of what he experienced in his only Solterran encounter, one which Maxence was also there for... Words are important, and lies are lies, whatever their motives. He glances to Velorca, who is surprisingly silent, then returns his attention to Maxence. Each and every word will be analyzed later, for now he simply needs to soak them all up.
Surprise!-- more rules which chafe his personal values. In his mind, respect is won by force, the idea of saluting a stranger because someone else said so seems bonkers. And how else will children be great warriors if they do not grow up watching fights and sparring with other children? But he is still fresh enough here to feel as though it is not his place to criticize, certainly not publicly, so he simply nods and waits for the prayer (he hasn't prayed before, not like this) and ponders the sheep.
The room swells, breathes, and Rhoswen is enamoured. There existed an energy here which clamoured and roared, burning her ankles as she stood in the sunlight and by this she was gripped by pleasure in the place of pain. The heat pressed close, almost uncomfortably so but she wore it like a crown that had been destined, always, for her beautiful fervid head. But today, she was not the only wearing jewels and garlands - Maxence stood proud, his booming voice filling the room - not so loud, mind, that she did not notice Raum's late entrance. The sight of a Denoctian, one she had grown up with, in Solterra's capital made her skin crawl - her flesh overrun - and she pointedly turned her head from him, sharp-edged shoulders twisting away as though he were a sickness. Perhaps he was. Arsehole.
Names of the new regime and counsel hung crisp and exciting in the air, though a distinct sense of disappointment washed over the red girl's head - invisible to any onlooker. Disappointment in herself, of course, for her absence at such an important time; one that her cost her any possible position of power. But, she thought with a determined smile, there was always time, always ways and means.
09-01-2017, 11:34 AM
Played by
Jeanne [PM] Posts: 399 — Threads: 81 Signos: 100
Her name was the first word out of his mouth.
She would have started, slightly, but the only reaction the sound of her name provoked from the silver mare was a faint widening of her eyes; it was only when he continued that she took a half of a step back, her stomach lurching beneath her as she acknowledged what he was asking of her – it was almost enough for her to miss his appointment of Avdotya as Reagent. In fact, had the dark mare not moved to the center of the crowd, steps guarded and perhaps reluctant, Seraphina might have simply remained where she was. As things stood, she followed behind Avdotya in a stark silence, expression unreadable. She didn’t know how she felt. (Sometimes, she didn’t know if she really felt at all.) As she took her place at Maxence’s side, gaze fluttering across the crowd, she felt as though she had been pulled out of her own skin. Her eyes scanned the mares and stallions in front of her without really looking at them, and, vaguely, she caught the names of Maxence’s Champions and Warden. (Fitting choices, really – even, reluctantly, Inkheart. She was not sure if she could stand her philosophies, but her devotion couldn’t be understated.) She catalogued the his descriptions of the laws and filed them away for later reference, because, with the ground pulled out from beneath her hooves, she could think of nothing else to cling to. (Had she ever had anything but the law? Anything but Viceroy? Anything but blind orders, blind loyalty? Had she ever had Seraphina?) Those were the laws of her kingdom. She was the emissary, the advisor, the diplomat – but she had been bred for war, carved for war, melded and reformed and broken into blind loyalty and detachment. This was what her kingdom asked of her, and, now, her sovereign was asking something else of her.
Just another job, she told herself. She would learn. She had to learn, because, in some, strange way, she wanted this. She remembered her youth, spent in far-off lands chasing the whims of her sovereign, then returning to the Mors – home was little more than another war zone, full of the dead, the starved, the lost. Viceroy had never hidden the horrors from her eyes, nor had he ever allowed her to fight them. He had simply taught her to survive. This was a chance to prevent history from repeating itself, to keep the horrors of the past in the past – or, at least, the power to try. Seraphina very rarely found herself wanting anything, but, dipping her head in prayer, she found herself wanting to believe that they could be more than the Day Court of her youth, that they could be better, that Maxence could be different, that maybe, just maybe, she could be more than what she had become. (Solis, is this what you would have of me?)
sorry that this took so long and that it's rushed and incoherent - I've been super busy!!!
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
![[Image: x341oLX.png]](https://i.imgur.com/x341oLX.png)
