 I S O R A T H my kiss burns like ares, my hands are aphrodite's broken heart
The Night is alive with the song of the Northern Wind and the hum of Guard song, the heavy thud of soldiers hooves again stone nad wood. Gruff and raspy, the lilt of the port dialect and a flagon of ale make it rich and warm. Even the breeze is warm, carried by summer winds and solterran sand, undefeated by the cold of the mountains. Fires flicker and crackle, spout embers as bodies huddle close by. Dotted along the horizon like the stars in the sky. Cradled within the Mountains embrace, the Raven's stand eternal. Ancient and eternal, their foundations laid in the era of the first King of Stars and Moondust, finished by the third who wore the shroud of the King of Stars and Shadows. They had barred entry into Dencote for an era, and it was by good grace and hope that they had relinquished that eternal vigil, their wings folded closed to reveal Calligo's kingdom to the hopeful and adventurous. Those smouldering emerald eyes of there's peered out now as an omnious symbol to those who passed beneath their shadow, that Calligo watched them. That her children watched from water and shadow, from the stars and the wall. If the stories were to be believed, that in times of great upheaval, Calligo would wail her terrible song and the Raven's would stir. Brought to life with a singular purpose to protect. protect. protect. If the stories were to be believed. But, they cannot bring the Raven's to life. As much as they wished. Then again, he can do so much more. He can make a promise that he had every intention to keep. The song is broken with a dragon's cry, thunderous, bitter and angry. Life evaporated immediately, this song that had sang so sweetly. Like a held breath, fearful and curious. Again, a roar. A terrible clap of thunder upon the wind. Again. Again. Again. The air is alive with the sound of dragon song. And it is not kind. It is not patient and purred. Like the rumbled breath Aether had rasped before. It is angry. It is bitter. And so is he. Isorath comes like a banshee in the night, garbed and braided. He dons the colors of Night and the war braids of his homeland. Twisting forever, eating themselves upon his neck like a hundred different serpents cloying for blood and braided with gold coins. He alighted upon the ramparts. Beneath the shadow of the Raven's gaze and he embraces it as he did his lover of Shadows. "Close the gates." Is his demand, and his wings clap upon the wind in time with Aether's own as the Dragon descends. A soldier is pinned beneath his lilac gazes as porcelain hooves alight upon wood and stone. 'Close the Gates?' A guard sputtered, half in disbelief as the rest hesitated. "Close the Gates." Isorath repeated, and that is when the illusion broke. Pale lips pull back to reveal the sharp canines within as his wings flared. He loomed over them all, a pale spectre in the moonlight as finally the call is made. 'Why? Why now? What has happened?' The night is alive again, but it is not the sound of sweet summer and guard song. It is filled with fear as Isorath felt the gates grind beneath his hooves and the wings of the great ravens begin to grind closed. They are returned to their glorious purpose, they are called again to guard Calligo's children against the unworthy and undeserving. Outsiders that would do them harm. There would be no more joy to be found Lilac eyes stare out at the pass, unmoving, focused and alive. There is bitterness there, a serpents grin. The taste of blood upon the tongue. He doesn't bother to hide the grin when Aether descended, beautifully, terrifyingly upon the pass like a reaper upon the soul. Guards wailed and others gasped as they bore witness to the beast. He circled, once and then twice. Again and again, and Isorath does not hide the manic glint when those jaws open, and the familiar rumble of fire echoed out into the night. The Arma mountains is often beautiful, yes, with it's fires winking in the night. Isorath likened them to stars, watched them often with soft eyes, from the window of his King's bedchamber, his heart filled with a lover's haze. They brought him peace in those times, filled his mind with a hundred different stories of what secrets it held. But this night, it is an inferno. A sacrifice. A warning. In this night the Arma Mountains bore witness to it's greatest bonfire yet. Itself. Oh, and the Night screamed, as Dragonfire bit into her shadowy embrace, made her bend and break. It scoured the life from the trees, from the animals which called the pass home, they all went up in one last symphony of fright, a swan song pulled painfully from it's open chest. The sweet smell of burning cedar wood, perfume and the lingering taste of ale is evaporated with the smell of burning flesh and rot. Aether's breath forces the life out of all those it embraced in a lover's chokehold, joyously. and the night sang onward, but the cadence is all wrong. THE RAVEN'S GATE IS NOW CLOSED. BARRING ENTRANCE AND EXIT FROM THE NIGHT COURT. DRAGON FIRE RAGES IN PASS ALL NIGHT, ONLY TO DISSAPATE AT MORNING BREAK. WHAT IS LEFT IS A HUSK OF WHAT LITTLE LIFE CLUNG TO THE SAFETY OF THE PASS, THE ASH HANGS HEAVY IN THE AIR MAKING IT DIFFICULT TO BREATHE. THE GUARDS STATIONED AT THE GATES WILL NOT TALK, AND QUIETLY GO ABOUT THEIR BUSINESS WITH A DETERMINATION FUELLED BY FEAR AND AWE. What is happening? Has the Night Court finally returned to it's isolationalist state? |
