[AW] Calm Snow

[Isorath]

I S O R A T H — you will ache as I ache— tenderly, tragically, beautifully. Isorath. His name is called by a voice he does not know, and the Herald stopped mid-step, an ivory hoof barely scraping the cold stone surface. He does not move, not immediately. The cloak pooled around him and settled, while his hair danced in the midnight air, silver streams of starlight and fire. He should be used to equines knowing his name, after all, there are no equines like him in Novus. Both in looks and standing, his name is worth knowing, to anyone worth the sweat upon their brow. If not for who he is, but for the Dragon which regarded the multi-winged Pegasus with a mixture of interest and a thinly veiled threat. But this is a voice he does not know, in a Realm he had long come to view as home. He had prided himself in memorizing the names, faces and voices of those who had filled his days with knowledge and happiness. I hope you are not too weary from your travels, my Herald. Only then did he whirl in his silks, as his title reached his delicately curled ears. In the thickness of the velvet cloak wrapped around him like a dream, he stood, wings raised like a nightmare on high. One hoof remained raised, even after he burned the pegasus' face into memory, caught between placing itself back against the stone it had moved across a moment before — he is a statue in that moment, in the halls of his mother and their ancestors. They are immortalized in this pose, regal, threatening. Powerful. Wings raised to the heavens in a declaration of owning the skyward dominion at their mere presence. "The flight was pleasant." He finally answered, his voice measured as his lilac pools bore into the dark figure before him, pupils swallowed by the cold expanse of pastel which had frozen the warmth from their visage. Still unsure whether he trusted this raven stranger from the shadows, he is not Crow. He has not spied him hovering close to his beloved. But, he quickly learned the truth. When the raven chose to speak further. Ah, the pieces fall into place after that. The Garde had long known the High Prince's intrigue. Perhaps they had forseen that the Prince would find himself in a position to create something similar. Homesick and longing for the political intrigue and games the Garde often orchestrated. If anything, the title of Herald suited him well. Even if the old manifestation had long slithered to ground in their homeland. Aether can only stare, his moon colored gaze sharp and bottomless, a huff of frost fire escaped between jagged teeth. A rumbled noise sounded somewhere deep in his scaled chest, and Isorath answered with a tip of his antlered head. They were fine, in fact, this was an unexpected boon. From an unexpected place, and from an unlikely equine. An unforseen ally. He cannot deny the excitement which sparked along his spin, in creeping waves. His scales beneath his cloak shifted and flared as he mulled over the situation. Here in Denocte, he was safe. There were guards, the Crows, even the King and of course, Aether. Caine would be wasted by his side. It would be foolish to not make use of this new found opportunity. In the midnight of a rather ceremonious, but otherwise quiet night, the Herald finally lowered his hoof and closed his wings. Lilac eyes peered around, checking for any ears and eyes which may have lingered in the shadows. There are none, little princeling. We are alone. If there is a note of excitement and anticipation in Aether's voice, Isorath chose not to acknowledge it. "Very well, Caine." He began, his voice musical and so very very light. A feather on the wind, but there is a dangerous lilt to it, the feathered fan which hid a knife. Only then, did he alight from the steps, drawing closer until his teke could reach out and ghost across the Raven's face, the pale glow of amethyst danced across onyx flesh, assessed the marks upon his forehead with a keen interest.  I would have you keep an eye on the other Courts for me, there is discourse being sown and I would know it well." Isorath paused then, and drew away, seemingly satisfied with whatever he had found upon the man. "Play your part as you see fit, earn their trust, make them love you if you so desire. Run their little errands if it is required. Kill them if you must, if they get in your way. But..." It is there Aether announced his presence again, sinuous as he lowered his neck to bring his colossal head to rest above Isorath's own, teeth bared, a thousand jagged blackened swords and the ominous glow of lich fire in the back of his throat. He is less the graceful and elegant thing of marble and gold in that moment. Illuminated by the light the color of tormented souls lost to the grim, he is a banshee, a wraith whose golden scales are a carefully crafted lie of warmth. He is terrible and ruinous as he allows his alabaster facade to crack and splinter. Revealing the spite and fury which crawled and slithered within. His own teeth bare in a grin, a cold, twisted and ominous thing before it's gone in a smile which is pleasant. Sweet. Caring. The warmth is back, as if the flames in the braziers have suddenly been lit in a dark room. "Report only to me, and me alone. You may stay the night within these walls, if you wish, unless you already have a Court in mind to stay in already." TAG: @Caine "this here is your speech colour!