To hold my tongue except when I try to pray...
The streets sighed with relief the moment his hooves fell upon them. They had ached for the return of their street-wise son. Each stone was eager to sing with each footfall. Reinhart listened to their hymns each while his head spun from the surge of smoke. Nightfall was sweeping across Denocte swiftly. The blanket of Caligo, an item strewn with stars and insurmountable promises, was being dragged across the sky by some invisible chariot. This court was a far cry from the zenith of Solis. Their people stirred with the dawn slowly and then they roared to life as soon as the sun stretched itself high into the sky. Denocte rumbled to life as Caligo painted galaxies for them. Reinhart smiled to himself, his silver tongue writhed across his enamels. It ached to break free from the prison that had been constructed around it. There had been a woman in Solterra who could have pulled the chariot of Solis herself. She had dogged him when he made away with the precious scarf that had quickly lost its luster. The weaver could be assumed to be a temporal lady, for the pattern was so fine.
These trinkets did not fill the ugly void that curled like toxic smoke deep inside. Reinhart dove into the swathes of bodies clamoring through the Night Market. Ezra was home. A sigh escaped rose petal lips. Reinhart danced his way through the streets and allies. The ornate scarf was tied around his leg, a gift for one of the children who believed their parents had left them behind to worlds unknown. Music and the sizzle of cooking food drifted through the streets. Smoke wafted and curled at the edges of his frame as he danced through the streets. The wisps were desperate to cling to any form of movement and life before they expired. The oblivious magician stopped to catch his breath in the heart of the night markets where the entertainers were throwing themselves into brilliant patterns of movement. He was no dancer, though he wished he were. Each step they took was as decisive and fluid as the racing water of a river. There was no question about where they would go next. His tongue ached for release, to spin tales and lies for all who might listen. The magician was oblivious to the reason of the ache nestled in his jaw.
Reinhart spotted one of the street urchins at the edges of the admiring crowd. The magician slithered through the streets, reaching down to tug the scarf free from his limb. He drifted past the child and dropped the ornate fabric atop the child's head. The shadows greedily swallowed him up as soon as he broke from the crowd and straight into a collection of Denocte's soldiers. The slate magician with mottled flesh had collided with one of them due to being distracted by the look of surprise on the child's face. His tongue and magic silently seeped from him. His eyes began to swirl as his head abruptly turned to face the equine he'd run into. "Didn't see you there, too many bodies out there you know. Hail soldiers, how fares the night?" Reinhart felt his panic spike as he spoke to them. He hoped they would not recognize him as Ezra. He hoped in equal measure that they would not recognize him as a member of House Vogelstein.
These trinkets did not fill the ugly void that curled like toxic smoke deep inside. Reinhart dove into the swathes of bodies clamoring through the Night Market. Ezra was home. A sigh escaped rose petal lips. Reinhart danced his way through the streets and allies. The ornate scarf was tied around his leg, a gift for one of the children who believed their parents had left them behind to worlds unknown. Music and the sizzle of cooking food drifted through the streets. Smoke wafted and curled at the edges of his frame as he danced through the streets. The wisps were desperate to cling to any form of movement and life before they expired. The oblivious magician stopped to catch his breath in the heart of the night markets where the entertainers were throwing themselves into brilliant patterns of movement. He was no dancer, though he wished he were. Each step they took was as decisive and fluid as the racing water of a river. There was no question about where they would go next. His tongue ached for release, to spin tales and lies for all who might listen. The magician was oblivious to the reason of the ache nestled in his jaw.
Reinhart spotted one of the street urchins at the edges of the admiring crowd. The magician slithered through the streets, reaching down to tug the scarf free from his limb. He drifted past the child and dropped the ornate fabric atop the child's head. The shadows greedily swallowed him up as soon as he broke from the crowd and straight into a collection of Denocte's soldiers. The slate magician with mottled flesh had collided with one of them due to being distracted by the look of surprise on the child's face. His tongue and magic silently seeped from him. His eyes began to swirl as his head abruptly turned to face the equine he'd run into. "Didn't see you there, too many bodies out there you know. Hail soldiers, how fares the night?" Reinhart felt his panic spike as he spoke to them. He hoped they would not recognize him as Ezra. He hoped in equal measure that they would not recognize him as a member of House Vogelstein.
Notes: Reinhart for some quick words. I'm open to him having to walk into Erasmus, but that was not my intention. Just a random npc soldier c: | Tags: @Erasmus
... try to breathe words out, But I’ve got nothing to say
