R E N W I C K
The trek to the summit was one filled with anticipation. The sort which settled deep in the bones and sang, melodic and deep, like a voice in the caverns. It wasn't unlike the twist in his gut before a fight, serpents slithering over rock and stone. The breath before the joust, to the cry of the crowd. Winds changing and howling, dark clouds and the crackle of electricity in the air. The calm before the storm. While his Regime glittered and smouldered, shadows, stars and the spun silver of the moon. Renwick trudged a ways behind, his pace militaristic and measured, garbed in the robes who crowned him Lord-Commander. Before they had departed for the summit, Renwick had stared at his reflection and mourned, for what seemed like days crammed into a matter of insignificant moments. Alavin had stood here once, bedecked in a similar design, with a fire in his eyes Renwick could only ever dream to possess. Alavin should of been the one standing here now. He remembered the first time he had seen the ceremonial outfit, the first time it'd slid across his flesh and settled like a deadweight on his back. He'd been numb when they had come to take his measurements, numb to the tailors understanding smile and the thin-lipped expressions of his fellow Knights. Melancholy hung heavy in the air that day. Emerald and gold, where Alavin's had been sapphire and silver. A too-large wolf-pelt collar where Alavin's had been a dazzling array of roc feathers. The embroidery was the same, and that proved to be too much. Emerald covered in intricate golden stitching depicting the constellations and stars which glittered and glimmered in Calligo's eternal realm. So were the burnished leather straps and breast-plate which kept it in place. The similarities are enough to pull at him like mud in the monsoon, down and down until he's consumed by it. But, there was one piece that was so very different. Something precious, and that is the gold medallion taking pride of place around his neck, thudding softly against his chest with each monotone step. Such thoughts persisted for much of the journey, warmed and soothed by the glittering gold of Solterra's Queen against his breast. Keeping him from being consumed by the mud completely. The summit is alive, and so strikingly out of place the Lord-Commander is forced to tear himself from his inner reflections and look. Equines from all corners of Novus have come, not that they had much choice, and their expressions range from awe-struck to defeated. Wariness and devotion are carved on every face, and Renwick cannot blame them. The Gods had long grown silent, too different to continue their song, if the stories are to be believed. Now, here they are. Answering them as if they had never turned their back on them. He wonders if others have similar thoughts, if their lips turn up at the corners in grim-amusement, if the frowns they wear are there because the irony isn't lost on them either. He doesn't quite understand how he knows where to look, among the sea of faces with no names or titles that he knows, to find her. Pulled as if lassoed, moon eyes rest upon the gilded visage of Solterra's Queen and for the first time since talks of the summit reached his ears, he smiled. The night in the caves still lingers freshly in his mind, as does the letters they have shared, but they do not compare to seeing her in the flesh again. Radiant and fierce, the paint which marks her divine does not detract from the dangerous nature of her, does not make her any less a warrior. Her displeasure at her title lingers in his mind, and he wonders with no small amount of amusement if those gathered have made the mistake of thinking of her as just a Queen, and not something more. "Keep an eye on the Regime for me." He murmurs to the Knight at his side, as he stepped forward to meet her half-way. She bows, bringing with her the smell of the desert, it's warmth and something else that he can only describe as her. Solterra and Denocte have never been on the best of terms, to be afforded such a boon, in public no less, is something not to be taken lightly. "My Queen." He replied as smoothly as he can, his smile deepening on one side as he bowed low in return. Nerves skitter across his spine and down his limbs as he rights himself, meetings those sun and sky eyes that haunt him in the best of ways when the hours grow late. "You look radiant." He blurted, fortunately it's quiet enough for only them to hear. He's usually more put together than this, and internally he scolds himselff for the slip, before he smoothes his expression into something more fitting. "I feel like an overdressed peacock." Silver eyes trace the golden lines which paint her, and then he gestures toward himself and the outfit he wears with a huffed laugh. "How have you been?" TAG: @ NOTES: he's a dork. "sunshine dasies butter mellow!" |
