August is a boy well accustomed to winning.
Whether it be a swordfight, a footrace, a bet or a simple game of Hearts, his victories far outnumber his losses. His instincts have always served him well, and for most of his life he has trained religiously to keep his mind and body as sharp as the tip of his pirate’s blade.
But there is no fighting the world itself.
The golden boy is as much a child of disaster as any Denoctian, the whole trajectory of his life shaped by war. But far more strange were the recent things to befall Novus - gods who seemingly had turned on them, or else had lost control of their creation. Sometimes, when he dreamt, it was against a backdrop of storms and the sharp cry of thunderbirds; he had been there when their queen quieted them with a story, though not close enough to hear the words. And even amid the treachery of Raum - another powerful man seemingly unappeased by death, as Zolin had been - his heart had not sunk.
Yet now there is word of apocalypse.
There had been a feeling in the air for days, a current of dark and anxious energy, an uncommon tautness to each cold winter day. August had assumed it was only a result of the heightening tensions in their court - certainly they had enough to contend with, after the attempted torching of the food stores. It was almost a relief, then, to hear that it was a volcano off-coast, billowing thick black smoke into a cloudless sky. Only when he stepped outside to see for himself did he feel the ground shift beneath him and his sureness fall away.
For a long moment he only stood, cool silver eyes reflecting the cloud of ash and terror that built and built on the horizon, and then August swore beneath his breath. With a glance back at the door of the Scarab, he joined the others streaming down to the beach, drawn inexorably by the need to see. What else was there to do? No sword, no story, could keep this beast at bay.
And still he wonders if it only the beginning.
There is a different kind of silence than the one on the beach when the sea had been drawn far from the shore. Nobody sought treasures here; they only stand alone, or in little knots of friends, and watched the dark tower on the horizon lean nearer. For once August’s heart does not leap at the sight of the waves, or the heartbreak blue of the sea; he only inhales a deep breath of salt and brine and does not move until he sees Minya, unmistakable with the vivid arch of her antlers and the gleaming black of her skin. The palomino doesn’t hesitate in going to her, or standing near enough that his shoulder presses against her own.
He can’t name the turmoil in his heart; too many feelings roiled there, like ash and debris and smoke building a crooked temple in the sky. When he speaks at last it takes effort to keep his voice casual as a summer afternoon. “Did you ever think you’d see the end of the world, Minya?”
@Minya
Whether it be a swordfight, a footrace, a bet or a simple game of Hearts, his victories far outnumber his losses. His instincts have always served him well, and for most of his life he has trained religiously to keep his mind and body as sharp as the tip of his pirate’s blade.
But there is no fighting the world itself.
The golden boy is as much a child of disaster as any Denoctian, the whole trajectory of his life shaped by war. But far more strange were the recent things to befall Novus - gods who seemingly had turned on them, or else had lost control of their creation. Sometimes, when he dreamt, it was against a backdrop of storms and the sharp cry of thunderbirds; he had been there when their queen quieted them with a story, though not close enough to hear the words. And even amid the treachery of Raum - another powerful man seemingly unappeased by death, as Zolin had been - his heart had not sunk.
Yet now there is word of apocalypse.
There had been a feeling in the air for days, a current of dark and anxious energy, an uncommon tautness to each cold winter day. August had assumed it was only a result of the heightening tensions in their court - certainly they had enough to contend with, after the attempted torching of the food stores. It was almost a relief, then, to hear that it was a volcano off-coast, billowing thick black smoke into a cloudless sky. Only when he stepped outside to see for himself did he feel the ground shift beneath him and his sureness fall away.
For a long moment he only stood, cool silver eyes reflecting the cloud of ash and terror that built and built on the horizon, and then August swore beneath his breath. With a glance back at the door of the Scarab, he joined the others streaming down to the beach, drawn inexorably by the need to see. What else was there to do? No sword, no story, could keep this beast at bay.
And still he wonders if it only the beginning.
There is a different kind of silence than the one on the beach when the sea had been drawn far from the shore. Nobody sought treasures here; they only stand alone, or in little knots of friends, and watched the dark tower on the horizon lean nearer. For once August’s heart does not leap at the sight of the waves, or the heartbreak blue of the sea; he only inhales a deep breath of salt and brine and does not move until he sees Minya, unmistakable with the vivid arch of her antlers and the gleaming black of her skin. The palomino doesn’t hesitate in going to her, or standing near enough that his shoulder presses against her own.
He can’t name the turmoil in his heart; too many feelings roiled there, like ash and debris and smoke building a crooked temple in the sky. When he speaks at last it takes effort to keep his voice casual as a summer afternoon. “Did you ever think you’d see the end of the world, Minya?”
@
August - -
this above all: to thine own self be true
***STAFF EDIT
@august has rolled a 1! He has been awarded +10 signos
