galileo;
The last few days of extreme summer heat had driven him from his Solterran homelands. Fall inched ever closer, and Galileo longed for the cooler days and longer nights, but it did not come quick enough. And so, in a strange turn of events, he found himself straying from the lands he knew to unknown places filled with promise -- and shade. He had fled south, every step taken revealing a cooler atmosphere, and for that he was glad. He wasn't sure why he kept walking for so long. Perhaps it was the will of the gods, for him to end up in the realm of the Night Court, or perhaps it was simply the lust of adventure that pulled him forward.
It was a long road, but not an unpleasant one. Strangers were numerable and friendly enough, tilting their heads his way as they passed by each other. He had been surprised to find that there were more leaving Denocte than going towards it, and he wondered if perhaps he had missed some notice about the kingdom.
It was evening when he eventually arrived -- fitting, seemingly, for his first time in the Night Court -- and the pitter patter of rain had just begun to sound on the road ahead. With no cloak to cover him, he peered through the foggy evening, the streets emptying of equines as the weather began to turn and the clouds opened up their heavens to pour thick storms above them. Ahead, the dim light of a swinging lamp hangs beside a tattered wooden sign, beaten by the blustering wind. He doesn't stop to read the name -- the smell and sound of a tavern is unforgettable when you have visited as many as he.
He enters, dripping wet but already warmed by the crackling fire and cosy, low ceilings.
His instant thought is of drink, and he nods to the barmaid as she questions what he would like. She brings her some sort of honeyed mead, and he nods thankfully, turning to find a place he can rest his weary legs. The tavern is bustling, but not overly full, and he takes a moment to absorb the faces.
Shockingly, his gaze lingers on a face that was truly a ghost of his past.
"Tristan?" He speaks out loud, the other patrons glancing at him only momentarily before returning to their conversations and booze.
The stallion beckoned to him, his aged face welcoming and eyes ever-kind. There had always been something ethereal about Tristan, something Galileo had never been able to put his finger on... perhaps this was one of the so-called chosen ones, plucked from the stars by the gods to do their bidding.
He pauses in front of his fellow warrior's table, a smirk playing on his jaw. "Well, well, well. It really is you. What brings an old man like you to these parts?" Setting his drink down on the table, he allows himself to get comfortable, before turning back to his long-lost comrade. "It's truly been years, friend."
-
@Tristan
It was a long road, but not an unpleasant one. Strangers were numerable and friendly enough, tilting their heads his way as they passed by each other. He had been surprised to find that there were more leaving Denocte than going towards it, and he wondered if perhaps he had missed some notice about the kingdom.
It was evening when he eventually arrived -- fitting, seemingly, for his first time in the Night Court -- and the pitter patter of rain had just begun to sound on the road ahead. With no cloak to cover him, he peered through the foggy evening, the streets emptying of equines as the weather began to turn and the clouds opened up their heavens to pour thick storms above them. Ahead, the dim light of a swinging lamp hangs beside a tattered wooden sign, beaten by the blustering wind. He doesn't stop to read the name -- the smell and sound of a tavern is unforgettable when you have visited as many as he.
He enters, dripping wet but already warmed by the crackling fire and cosy, low ceilings.
His instant thought is of drink, and he nods to the barmaid as she questions what he would like. She brings her some sort of honeyed mead, and he nods thankfully, turning to find a place he can rest his weary legs. The tavern is bustling, but not overly full, and he takes a moment to absorb the faces.
Shockingly, his gaze lingers on a face that was truly a ghost of his past.
"Tristan?" He speaks out loud, the other patrons glancing at him only momentarily before returning to their conversations and booze.
The stallion beckoned to him, his aged face welcoming and eyes ever-kind. There had always been something ethereal about Tristan, something Galileo had never been able to put his finger on... perhaps this was one of the so-called chosen ones, plucked from the stars by the gods to do their bidding.
He pauses in front of his fellow warrior's table, a smirk playing on his jaw. "Well, well, well. It really is you. What brings an old man like you to these parts?" Setting his drink down on the table, he allows himself to get comfortable, before turning back to his long-lost comrade. "It's truly been years, friend."
-
@Tristan
- nobody can tame your soul, wild one -
![[Image: ddjamb1-122f9879-334b-49d3-9bc8-46d9c2fb...TM43jI0AC0]](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/976c7a49-1931-4cb7-a8f2-7f2f0babf2a7/ddjamb1-122f9879-334b-49d3-9bc8-46d9c2fb1b18.gif?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOiIsImlzcyI6InVybjphcHA6Iiwib2JqIjpbW3sicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvOTc2YzdhNDktMTkzMS00Y2I3LWE4ZjItN2YyZjBiYWJmMmE3XC9kZGphbWIxLTEyMmY5ODc5LTMzNGItNDlkMy05YmM4LTQ2ZDljMmZiMWIxOC5naWYifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6ZmlsZS5kb3dubG9hZCJdfQ.7WunW61zJYHTvK2AFA21ZN1a1QKTYkgXXTM43jI0AC0)
ＥＡＳＥ ＭＹ ＴＲＯＵＢＬＥＳ， ＴＨＡＴ'Ｓ ＷＨＡＴ ＹＯＵ ＤＯ
