AND WHEN THEY SEEK TO OPPRESS YOU, AND TRY TO DESTROY YOU, RISE AND RISE AGAIN, LIKE THE PHOENIX FROM THE ASHES UNTIL THE LAMBS HAVE BECOME LIONS AND THE RULE OF DARKNESS IS NO MORE
In his dream there is a ship
it beats, beats, beats against a dock.
There is lightning somewhere.
He thinks he has forgotten to breathe and
he can smell, but not feel, the way his skin burns.
If that dream had not come to him in waves last night, with a pain so sharp it is more than memory, he would not have walked the beach.
But the dream had come to him. So he is, now, on the beach beyond the dunes with the sun rising on the far horizon. Oriens is there, perhaps, for his transient moment of glory. If Orestes only squints hard enough there is a chance he may see the great god elsewhere, fighting off the coming day, just a few more moments the dawn seems to say, blossoming in shades of indigo and then, rapidly, mauve, lilac, heliotrope, blooming roses and soft pink orchids and cherry blossoms. The sky blushes shyly, coral and rose and then, the moment Orestes has been waiting for—
The world becomes gold.
Everything is bathed in it as the sun edges just above the far-off, curving horizon. Solis crests the end of the world at last and Orestes is bathed in the light. He listens to the gentle lap of the waves and mourns the fact they do not sing to him—but Orestes cannot dwell on that tragedy for long, as
the sun is in his eyes and
there is nothing but light
and it shines, and shines, and shines.
His new kingdom is a broken thing; as broken as he himself has been. But there is something beautiful in broken things. He knows, and envisions, the way every corner of Solterra is becoming rich beneath the touch of the light, as though evoked by King Midas in to some higher form. The streets of the Capitol must be transformed, now, into something pure and promising. The desert is not yet baked beneath the heat of the sun’s glare and, instead, it is all pristine. Orestes knows it must be. The canyons and the oasis and the city—all of it awakens beneath the mighty touch of the sun.
Orestes dwells, for a moment, on the deep irony of it. Should all this gold not burn me? And his forehead aches with the recollection of what those from another life had done. He could recollect each design as they etched them into his skin with metal that burned and burned and burned and yet—
His faces lifts to the light just as the sky fades into the cerulean of the day, and he thinks, there is nothing so beautiful.
Orestes ignores the void the loss of the light brings. He ignores the way there is an aching thing in his chest that asks, why does the sea not sing to me? Instead, he turns his back upon his once-mother and trots up the dune back toward the city. There is work to be done.
——
Something tells him—
Yes. Something says, in his mind, in his heart:
Let them come forward.
Challenge them.
Hand them back their kingdom, give them
The—the…
Yes. The torch.
It is midmorning when he walks through the streets of the Capitol and feels their eyes upon him. Heavy. Heavier. Atlas’ burden and more—more, it is Prometheus that Orestes’ emulates, because what is a greater burden to give a gift to men and hope they do not ruin it?
There is a statuesque horse at the center of the castle’s gates, a remnant of Raum’s tyranny. The other victims of the Mad King’s basilisk had thawed, dropping chunks of stone and returning to flesh. This one had not, and months later, Orestes no longer believed the rearing stallion would awaken. The irony of it—he was struck in the shape of so many figures of Solis, proud and fierce and defiant. The weeks since becoming Sovereign Orestes had spent cataloguing the dead and gone, those who had been lost. He was ensuring they would not be forgotten.
Orestes had imported a slab of glistening white marble from Venoror, sold by a caravan of vagabonds. He discovered a mason within Solterra and asked: catalogue the dead. The marble slab had been inserted before the rearing Solterran, with a long list of those who are no longer among the Court. And then, for good measure, there is a poem inscribed.
That neither schools nor priests,
Nor Kings may build again
A people with the heart of beasts
Made wise concerning men
Whereby our dead shall sleep
In honour, unbetrayed,
And we in faith and honour keep
That peace for which they paid.
~Rudyard Kipling
Orestes has made a promise, and the lion’s burning words resound within him still. “You are Solterra’s sacrifice. She has made you and she will break you. None can take from her any more. Only those who her fire chooses can sit upon her throne now. Sit. Sit and remember you are ash.”
The new Sovereign rests within the shadow of that statue, staring for a moment at the inscription. A courtier exits the castle and trots before Orestes. “Would you like the bell rung, sir?”
He thinks for a moment. Then:
“Yes, please.” The courtier runs back to the castle, and then:
Ting, ting, ting.
Silence.
Ting, ting, ting.
The bells are new, and at first there is nothing. Then—he sees a stallion step out of a small dwelling at the far end of the street, nearly out of sight. Hesitantly. Step by step. Another horse follows, and then another.
He waits as they gather, one by one. They know. They have seen him in the streets, and haunting the halls of the Solterran castle. They have seen him come and go, quietly. But he has not yet spoken.
Not until now.
“I am Orestes.” He says, and his voice is soft as a sigh—but it carries in the thin desert air, and he thinks he can hear each and every one of them breathe. There is a resounding emptiness to it, a hesitation, as though there is meant to be more than just his name. Orestes, Prince of a Thousand Tides. Orestes, Prince of the Khashran, the Shape-changers, endless and infinite. The Prince of the Lost People, the Forgotten People, Prince of the Sea and all Her Suffering.
It does not do. He repeats himself, louder, more confidently. His voice echos in the heat. "I am Orestes, Prince of the Sun. Solis has chosen me." The truth of it may be embroidered, as he has yet to discern whether the furious lion were an entity of Solis, or merely a manifestation of Solterra’s suffering. Either way, he does not feel as though it is dishonest, and as he thinks it he focuses on drawing on the heat around him. His tattoos begins to glow bright, luminous, as if the light has cracked open from within him and it pours out. “I know I am a stranger to you. But there are some things I can promise.” He steps forward to stand beside the statue and brilliant white parapet.
The sky aches above like a wound and beneath him the earth bakes. There is nothing but the sun behind him, rising, rising, into midday. Shadows lay still beneath their casters. “I will go first, into every fray. I will wear my scars for you like badges of honour, and they will all be on my front.” His mind is full of old failures, of foolish peace treaties and tricks. He thinks of how the sea sang to him from prison bars as his people were slain, and he thinks, never again. “I will be fair, and just, and Solterra will always come before anything. Before myself. The first thing I will do is rebuild the kingdom. I know you may not trust me, but I can earn that and if nothing else, trust this: I am nothing but your servant.”
”I cannot do this alone. Solterra has no Reagent, no Emissary, no Champions. I ask you, her people, to come forward. Take the fate of your city back into your own power, and choose to serve beside me. Guide me. Help me. And we will rebuild together. Who will stand?”
In his dream, there is a city
and it is broken, browbeat, bent.
In his dream, there is a city
the walls are gold, gold, gold
and there are people within them with hearts of lions, unbreakable, and he stands before them and asks:
Rise, rise, rise.
Just like the sun.
It is not enough, to ask.
He must tell them. The words come,
and come, and come, and he says:
"Who will rise?"
AUDITION RULES
Not every character who replies to this thread must audition! This is both an audition and a meeting for all active Day Court Members. I would like this to be a very interactive IC process. I will end this October 27th with one more reply from Orestes, and if any characters would like to break off and have individual threads with Orestes or each other, I highly encourage it!
If you are auditioning for one of the positions, your character does not have to be a current member of the Day Court. They may be a newly made character and their audition can literally be their first post, so long as they have been accepted by staff beforehand. Additionally, the character can audition for a position in the court if they are from another court, although it is encouraged that they have previous ties to Solterra that are well-known.
In your audition, please answer the following questions OOC:
- Which position are you applying for, and why would your character be well-suited toward it?
- What is your current activity level, and can you commit to a reasonable amount of activity? How many IC posts could you make approximately each month?
- Would you be willing to contribute plot ideas, lore, and court events? If so, do you have any existing ideas?
- How would you like to see Solterra "rebuilt" post-Raum? What kind of events would you like seen, and multi-Court relationships?
- Is there anything else you would like to add?
