They move away from the storm, the chaos, the burning.
He keeps his electric eyes on the sight of gold scales and mahogany feathers. Beside effervescent Acton, the volcano erupting, Raum is the quiet of pyroclastic flow. His presence bleeds out like mercury, poisonous, choking.
They move together, two Crows winging their way through the throngs of bodies that run, this way and that. Always Raum keeps one ear on the pass, succumbed to destruction, and the other upon the meeting ahead. But his eyes, his eyes are never still. They scan the crowd, the reflection of the turmoil within. His body, the silver of his skin, is a picture of calm yet simmering violence. Within, Raum is ragged and tatters. He is an explosion ripping through the delicate parts of himself. Anxiety renders him numb, he should never have left his bed this night, when the pass was lit and the gates slammed shut. Where were Rhoswen and Sabine now? He looks for them always, but he need look no more.
Rhoswen is a flame that glows when Raum and his brother Crow arrive. He sees her pushing forward through the crowd, her eyes blazing bright like the sun. His Solterran girl, trapped within the confines of Denocte. Their daughter clings to her hip, eyes wide like a frightened bird. Remember your blade, Little Bird. He thinks into the part of his heart Sabine has made her own.
But it is to his sun-girl that his eyes return and he waits, as a dark smile slowly crawls across his lips. She does not disappoint him. Words, arrow-sharp and lit with vitriol, pour from her lips. There are no walls that can contain her, they have trapped a lioness of Solterra’s sands and she will fight. Dread and delight mingle like oil in his abdomen. There is no way she will stay now, and it is the Ghost’s time to choose: His family or his Crows – He would carry Calligo’s darkness whichever he chose.
Rhoswen leaves, her scathing words hissing their reminders long after she is gone. Raum might have turned to follow her then, had others not stepped up to speak. Isorath retaliates, sleek and smooth and wrong. But in silence the Crow listens. Still the cry of the dying full his ears like cacophonous song. Acton is building to erupt and Raum does nothing to stop him. The eruption is fast and violent, full of savagery and wicked intent.
Silver and deadly, Raum listens in silence, his skull twisting, corvine and fierce. He drowns the stormsinger in blue and then the kirin beside her. Many more have their say, furious and savage and suddenly there is a pause of silence. Just a moment, just a split second and it is his silence.
Raum steps into it, menacing and dark. Calligo’s shadows cling to his skin and he relishes her after so long beneath an unrelenting Solterran sun. “My allegiance is with Calligo and my brother, the King of Crows. There are no others I am loyal to, beyond that of my daughter and her mother, Reichenbach’s sister.” He steps forward from the crowd. He is that cloud of volcanic gas, hungry and destructive, loosed at last from the mountain’s side. “You say he will be here, but where is he?” He looks pointedly through the crowd but there are no black curls, no chink of golden coins. His brother is absent, for the first time and the most critical time. Suspicion builds hot and sinister. It twists like serpents in his gut. “It is no surprise there is revolt when only half the Regime are committing such a final and grandiose act and the supreme power is not here. It inspires suspicion. Many of us align ourselves with him and him alone, forgive our suspicions when a dragon is breathing fire on our people. It almost taste like a coup – whether it is or not.” He moves slowly, his blades glinting like violent promise in the firelight. “For a regime do carry out such an act in the absence of our Sovereign and after only recently being appointed, is of course going to strip trust from the court. We are a wild people, you cannot contain us and expect us to bow down. That is not the way of our king, that is not the way of us.” The Crow’s attention turns to Aislinn – she should know better, as a fellow gypsy. But when his gaze turns to Isorath, it lingers, for this man was new, the scent of Terrastella a ghost upon him and the shadow of a Regent’s crown atop his skull. How much could a newcomer know about the ways of the Dencote people?
“You say we do not have to follow you blindly, yet you have left us with no other choice. Not only that, you are attacking your own people with fire. They are the actions of a dictatorship. What trust will remain after you have robbed your people of their free will? You say we can leave now or choose to remain. What choice is that?” It is then that Denocte’s Ghost’s anger rises like a phantom from the depths of him. It is an alien thing to see branching across his skin like electricity, rising like a behemoth with its fury a scythe in his hand.
“You are splitting apart families and friends by closing those gates. To give people the choice to stay or leave now is no choice at all.”
“The wrong deeds have been committed by so few,” The Ghost’s own name was written in blood upon such a list. “Yet you seek to punish the whole of Denocte’s people in the name of peace? This is not the actions of a peaceful Court.” His blue eyes consumed the light like the deepest depths of the ocean. “Do I need to remind you that I went to spy on Solterra at the orders of the old Regime and its Sovereign? Now, a new one wishes to punish the whole of Denocte for it? If you seek to punish us for our deeds, two of your sinners are here.” He looks to Acton, wild, explosive Acton before turning his eyes, liquid, smothering, back to the Regent and her Emissary. “Punish us now, but remember it was your King, my brother - who is still absent-, that sent me to spy in the first place.”
“Denocte may have worked as an isolationist state in the past, but what worked in the past is not guaranteed to work in the future.” His eyes look to Jezanna, to Acton, to Rostislav, then ultimately back to the quiet reason of Jezanna.
“She is right.” The Crow turns his gaze to the solitary figures of Aislinn and Isorath, “All your people speak in unison. You are wrong and to further pursue this will likely lead to civil unrest and you will only have yourselves to blame.”
He turns from them, as dismissively as Isorath had turned from his lover’s sister. “Until you respect your people-,” Liquid smooth and deadly, Raum turns back to the fallen gypsy and the draconic creature beside her, but his eyes settle ultimately on the kirin, “including the family of your own lover, Isorath, then do not expect my trust or allegiance. If you and the king are lovers like you claim, then that makes us family, you would do well to respect the family of your lover.”
You're one microscopic cog
in his catastrophic plan
05-02-2018, 11:43 AM - This post was last modified: 05-02-2018, 11:47 AM by Raum
It began quietly; a whisper along cobblestone growing into a murmur, then a buzz, and finally a roar. He had caught sight of his beloved Jezanna, and without much thought he knew she would seek out the core of this sound. It was in her nature to help, and it was in his nature to follow her. Especially now. He sensed trouble from wherever the sound came from and he was not blind to the blue glow in the distance. The pit of his stomach could feel the turmoil brewing like some snake's poison lacing his bloodstream. What had happened? He would know soon.
Quietly, Eidolon entered a scene of fury and fervor. It sat heavy in the air and formed like a fever; waiting to see which side of this arguement burned out first. He did not know the exact details of why everything that was happening was, but he could see it had the court divided. Citizens of all sorts set a blaze with their words much like the blue flames he could see in the distance. With the sentences traded back and forth he began to get a feel for the story behind the gate closing. Whether it was to protect Denocte's people or not he could not help but see this as dangerous. If so much turmoil had been begun by the night court's leaders then closing the gates could mean running away from responsibility, and potentially bringing war regardless. Hiding in the shadows only worked for so long, of this he knew with absolute certainly. And what were they meant to do in the meantime? Some would suffer greatly from this. Trade relying on any goods outside of this kingdom would be at high risk. Any alliances the court hoped to forge would be ground to dust leaving their enemies less to fight against. And the issue of loyalty. . . it was already falling apart in every face he saw. The ruling few hopefully had a plan to unravel things, or this was only going to get messier. Even Jezanna spoke out against what was happening.
It was she he had followed to this meeting. And with such eloquence and sureness she spoke in hopes of changing minds. He believed her right, peace would be the best course, but was it too late? What exactly had been done to the other courts to bring about complete and utter isolation for the night court? Going so far as to put up air patrols denying any entrance or exit by the next day. Denocte was being turned into a gilded bird cage and the stifling feeling of being trapped was slowly eeking its way into reality. Trapped animals tended to bite back worst of all.
Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he continued to listen to those gathered. He did not yet feel it was his place to speak for Denocte's people; still a stranger to so many. Instead he would act as a silent watcher. It was due to this feeling that he found it particularly odd someone originally from without the court was speaking with such authority to its people. The dragonesque one, Isorath, he caught the name in the air laced with distrust and maybe even hatred. For such a proud people, this would be an insult like none other. A relative stranger made their jailer in this gilded cage. One that supposedly had a lot to do with why the cage was erected in the first place. Things only seemed to go downhill as it all continued, and worried for how this all might end, Eidolon came closer to Jezanna. It felt as though a civil war were on the brink right here and now with how heated everyone was. The danger of what might happen next was very real. Like one more spark was all that would be needed.
He had been at the meeting all along — swallowed by shadows in the dingiest of nooks, his eyes flicking between every speaker. They were not happy... he'd warned Aislinn and Isorath that freedom was what mattered to Denoctians and that they would not take kindly to being trapped. He felt it himself.. that tightening of his heart, the edge that suddenly appeared in every movement he made. Every word he'd uttered, every promise about freedom, every welcome to Denocte, where you can be free... All now turned to ash in his mouth, lies.
As always, his keen eyes picked up every detail — Isorath carried himself like a cold flame, his eyes sharper even perhaps than Reich's own. He looked unsurprisingly comfortable underneath the weight of fury levelled at him... him, not Aislinn. Poised despite the uncouth remarks made, the slitting of Isorath's feline eyes was the only revelation that his own fury was growing.
One by one Reichenbach felt his people damn him, each one striking his black heart blacker with their cries of YOU! YOU! YOU!
He could feel the burden of them all, the aching of their fierce hearts at being held — and he dare not say it's for the best. It had not been his choice, to close the gates.. He had been overruled by his Regime.
But he would not abandon them while so many bore down upon them, would not sneer and spit at their feet with the others of the crowd — Aislinn Stormsinger was gypsy born and bred, Denoctian born with that Rahilah blood running through her veins. The Rahilah run through your blood too, came a gentle reminder. Yet Ash had served as her tribes Maiden, their warrior, and she rarely made the rash decisions he had come to be famous for.
Isorath, too, was heralded for his diplomacy... or had been, until he had been stained black by Reichenbach's own hands. He came from a long line of rulers and had lived through Courtly politics and dramas for most of his life — his experience did not count for naught. There was so much ire, so much distrust, so much blame. All placed upon the wrong heads.
Reichenbach had vast shoulders — what more would a little extra damning hurt?
Raum's svelte voice faded from the electric air, an unhappy buzzing emanating from the crowd gathered.. his people, some of them welcomed only weeks ago.
He slipped from his nook, moving through the crowd, decorated by writhing shadows that reflected the churning turbulence within his own wary chest. This had not been his meeting to announce.. he had, quite petulantly, refused to be seen supporting it.
.. but he could not stand idly by and see his Regime torn to ribbons.
Silence fell as he made his way to the dais, muscles rolling easily underneath his dark skin. His coins jingled quietly as he found his place before the people of Denocte — their elected ruler, whom had been called many things. Brother, friend, lover, father-figure, heart-breaker, King. His long lashed gaze swept through his people, their words collected and repeating within his inky curled head.
At last, the melodic baritone they had been waiting for:
"I did not close the gates."
A hush, glances thrown this way and that.
"But — " his gaze became pointed, "I trust that our Regime — my family, has made an educated choice."
"It is well known that the fault and the blame for inter-Court discord can be laid solely upon my shoulders." If Raum hadn't been in Solterra on his orders, there would have been no incident with Bexley Briar.. and had he kept his roaming eyes settled upon honeyed skin and not porcelain and gold, there would be no conflict with Dusk. It was possible he was not good at making rational choices, and that the big decisions... like closing that Gods-damned Gate, should be left to minds more suited to politics and strategy.
"Rostislav is right — if you seek someone to blame, you may blame me. But I would pose the same question to you, WARDEN."
It was his turn to be angry now, to spit at the feet of the man who thought to throw blame when he had let down their Court various times over. When he had vanished, time and time again, when he spent most of his life drunk and disorderly, providing nothing to the Court that had offered him refuge against Maxence. He had been granted the position of Warden — for what?
"How do you think yourself fit to slander a Regime that has been here. YOU are our Warden — or have you forgotten? What have you done to further Denocte and her people, Rostislav? To throw insult at us is to reveal your own misdoings."
A deadly gleam had entered his argent eyes, a trace of disgust curling his black lip. It was easy to throw words and blame everybody else — especially the Regime. If they'd had an attentive Warden, perhaps things would have been different. If they'd had a Warden that had any input at all.
Reichenbach shook his curled head, and still came another invisible tremor as he revolted against the idea of being held. It would not be permanent — he would see to it. He'd visit each Court and make amends, if that changed things.
It likely wouldn't, but he could try.
"The closing of the Gates will not be permanent." Now he looked to Aislinn and Isorath, daring them to say otherwise. He would get written letters from each Court stating their goodwill, if that was what was required — in fact, he would open the Gates himself if he thought the danger of harm had passed. There was reason behind their choices, and care, it was easy to see despite the verbal attack being laid upon them.
He looked to Lyra, his Champion of Community — her job was about to get a whole lot harder, and a whole lot busier. He had no doubt she would be inundated with requests and questions about the Gates once their meeting had finished, and so he would seek her out later and sit with her while she was approached. For solidarity, to show his people that they were not ruled by a highly King in a golden throne, but a gypsy thief that had grown up in their streets.
"I must ask for your patience in this matter — Remember, Aislinn was born in our own forests, she has lived and grown and served in Denocte her whole life. Isorath has given all of himself to our city, to our Country, despite previous ties."
And he's getting destroyed for it up here.
"I have seen mercy, and happiness, and the undying loyalty of a people who refuse to be anything but themselves. I see passion and flame, and love for our Country. We come from different backgrounds, different lives.. sometimes different worlds — and yet we live together in harmony." A small smile cracked his black lips, "Most of the time."
I should have known that Reichenbach was nearby. That he waited in the shadows, as much a savvy spy as his little Crows. (Or some of his Crows.) But in the whirlwind of emotions that swept me away, I didn't notice the glint of that aquamarine eye. The words of Jezanna and Raum melt away in my mind as he steps forward. Of course, King that he is, he calmly weaves through the crowd to the front -- and they part like the Red Sea. His melodic voice carries over the din of chattering, and the crowd falls silent.
I did not close the gates. For this then, Reichenbach was blameless. I don't know that I'm surprised. Though there are many things that I would like to blame the King -- my friend -- for, I can't actually say that I grouped him in with Aislinn and Isorath on that charge. Perhaps it was simply the fact he was not by her side when Aislinn pronounced the order. And so I am silent. I am silent when he supports the choice.
And I am silent when he accepts blame -- and hurls it right back at me.
I stand my ground, not breaking eye contact with the Sovereign. His accusations sting, because I know that to at least some extent, they are true. That being said, I am not as pathetic as he makes me out to be. I feel a muscle in my jaw twitch as I clench my teeth together. Damaris growls next to me, feeding off my anger. It's true that there is not much I have done to protect Denocte. It is hard when the army is so... spotty. And two of the reliable ones are in positions of power already!
"I stand accused and admit my faults!" I snap back, nostrils flaring. "I have always been flawed, and you have always known this! I find it difficult to defend against Solterra when I am their prisoner, don't you agree?" A barked laugh as I remember my imprisonment under Maxence's orders. "I have had no instructions from you, nor have I been privy to your council to know what you desire. These past weeks I have been trying to rouse the troops, especially when I heard what was going on with Terrastella. Is that not the action you desire? I accept the blame, M'lord, but do not think that I am so worthless that I may be cast aside like the dumb runt of the litter."
Despite my anger, despite the charges I have leveled against him, Reich's answer is like a soft balm to my raw fury. The red that I had begun to see fades, and my jaw relaxes ever-so-slightly. The closing of the gate will not be permanent. 'I ask for your patience.' I do not have that sort of patience, and yet....
Under my breath, loud enough only for Damaris and one or two of the closest bystanders to hear, I express these last thoughts. "I may have patience - for you to mend what is broken."
he disorder continued to mount, and yet he remained strong. They come at him with teeth bared and insults dipped in venom. But it is a lack luster venom, at that, it barely nicks the surface of his otherwise ethereal form.
The Emissary has endured far worser insults over dinner in his homeland, to be sure, than all the scathing remarks hurled his way. If they intended to see him flinch and crumble, they were going to find no satisfaction from the Kirin, no pound of flesh sinisterly carved from his porcelain hide.
They would go to bed hungry, starved and still oh so very mad, and he would retire to his chambers. Wrapped in his silks, held in the embrace of someone he loved.
Acton stepped forward and Isorath can only offer him a sugar sweet smile, as he takes his turn to try and aim a proverbial arrow, and it is deflected by an arrogant flick of those long white lashes, the shift of a hidden hoof beneath the silk velvet of his cloak to rest upon it's sharpened point. An elegant Courtesan humoring a rather rambucious and outspoken admirer, with naught to offer but words and thinly strung trinkets. Penniless, but quaint. The boy thought himself a dancer of dragons, some bastard-born slayer, that was to be sure. The childish threat provoked a silvery brow to raise and the barely hint of teeth to show behind those blush colored lips.
Ironic it is, that all of a sudden there is a handful of capable, knowledgeable diplomats and leaders in a crowd. Which is made up with vagabonds, thieves and crooks more interested in furthering their own agenda, and is part of the problem they are now facing. So eager are they now to find their voices and speak. Where were they a handful of days ago? Where were they when he flew to Solterra to have words with the Warrior Queen, Seraphina? To try and stem the tide of negativity and distrust between the two nations.
Where were the voices of concern, fear and diplomacy then? Where were these concerned citizens seeking their Regime out and voicing their concerns. Offering their suddenly acquired knowledge and insight into the finer points of ruling a Kingdom.
Raum followed similarly, and so did Rostislav. Somewhere a Dragon roared in the distance, and it's song of ice and fire brought comfort to his ivory bones. Dragon's do not bend their necks to the undeserving, and so he will not bend now.
The drunkard is humored at best, as he stirred the earth and his dog barked at his side. His words too, try and strike deep, and again they find themselves batted off with another flick of lashes. Rostislav is his own enemy, in this fight, if he had been more involved, especially given his position as Warden — Isorath would treat him with the respect he had bequeathed Lyra. He forfeited his right to speak and spit with the absentee role he had adopted for his prestigeous position.
Fortunately, his King of Smoke and Stars comes, and Isorath turned his lilac orbs to him. The faintest flicker of affection streaked across his face for the first time that night, like a star burning up as it hurdled towards the earth. Reichenbach spoke and made to placate the crowd with truths and promises. The Gates would open again, but Isorath himself is not placated by the words alone, even if he is relieved to see the King finally make an appearance.
"It is good to see that we have capable diplomats unfolding in front of us, so eager to say their piece upon the matter now that the time for deliberation is closed to them." Isorath finally sighed, but it is one filled with bitter humor. "I would of enjoyed to see you all reach out to us, any of us, prior to this night with these concerns. Our predicament is hardly scandelous news now brought to the surface to titter and gasp about. How to address them in a way that will not harm delicate sensibilities, and freedoms. Considering that is what I have been doing, seeing those among you now — stand accused of attempted murder of Bexley Briar, and are hereby exiled from Solterra under threat of death. Especially when the Court of Law that they have broken, demands that which is done be done unto them. Justice which is still to be settled through the proper channels." His gaze then flicked leisurely back to Rostislav.
"Your duty is not to our army, you are not our Champion of Battle." A quizzical brow rose, did the Warden not know his own duties? there is a faint line of a headache beginning to wrap around his delicately shaped head, tied neatly at the center of his forehead. "You are the Warden of Denocte. You are our enforcer, you make sure the laws are abided by and deliver our justice if they are broken. You have been absent in these roles." He paused, disappointment coloring his scaled face but for a moment. He cleared his throat and his body straightened, drawing himself to his full height as he glittered and glimmered in the fire's light. A dragon basking in a role he has been bred for.
"The Gates will remain closed, that is the will of the Regime." Isorath's gaze swept out across them again, piercing and unmoved. He is not here to be beloved of the people, to have them coo over him and worship the ground he walks on. To excuse the coldness in his veins or the arrogant tilt of his head, he has grown a thick skin in regards to that. He is here to ensure that the people are safe, and taken care of, to forge alliances and maintain them and deal with those that would jeprodize that. "Until we have addressed the issues which pertain to the greviences this Court has caused, and to ensure that there are no more attempted murders, assaults and roaming with malicious intent. Then, they will be opened by the will of the Sovereign. I look forward to the celebration that will no doubt accompany it." With that, the kirin turned toward Reichenbach and Aislinn both. "Unless there is more you wish to say, then I'm more than content to adjurn the meeting here. If there are any more concerns, you are more than welcome to seek us out. Or defer to our most capable Champion of Community." He has nothing left he has to say, the night has been a rather interesting one to say the least, and he's in need of a questionably large glass of wine.
The Prince moved, with all the elegance and serenity of a star twinkling in the night, into the depths of the Night Palace. Smoke across starlit waters, silk across water. The roll of heated breath against flesh. However, as he went, he leaned in close to Reichenbach his voice lowered to an octave that only they could hear. "Thank you, Amatus."
NOTES; Isorath has left the meeting! He will not be responding to anymore comments and is no longer in the vicinity.
@Reichenbach @Aislinn @Lavinia @Lyra @Raum @Acton @Jezanna @Eidolon @Rhoswen @Isra @Rostislav
thy kingdom come, thy will be done
on earth as it is in heaven —
Aislinn had done what she could to prepare for their defiance, their anger, their fear. Yet, it might not have been enough. However, she would endure, as she always has.
Starfire falls from the skies in streams of Calligo’s silver and gold. She stands in front of her people as the Messenger, the Deliverer of their chosen decree, with Isorath at her side. The kirin’s cool presence by her side is a beacon that she instinctively leans towards. He is the white and gold stone amidst this chaos. She nods as he speaks — gaze unblinking across each face that dares meet them on the dais. Together, they stand to meet the wild sea that is their Court on this night. Together, they had done what they thought was best for their people. And together, with Reichenbach.. as a family.. they have sacrificed to do what needed to be done.
How could she possibly convey that to those she would no sooner lay her life down for? How could she possibly make them understand?
Then, she watches as the crowd parts for the sun-kissed woman she had met when the sky cried in snow. And oh, how her iron eyes serves to ignite the building storm that churns just beneath the surface of her skin. The stormsinger’s frustration is only but a beast that chomps wildly within the constraints of diplomatic self-control.
She could not hold it’s chains for too long.
Rhoswen’s orbs pin onto her with their ferocity that befits her as one of Solis’ own, but she would no sooner forget that she is also of Calligo. Despite this, Aislinn cannot simply simper the storm of hers as it rages with each fallen word from copper lips. She was her king’s sister, his kin, she knew; yet that will not stop the words that race to be born from her mouth. The stormsinger looks down into the crowd, remembering the winter night they had met, the swell of the woman’s belly as they had shared delicate intricacies of their pasts.
But this was not that night. This was not easy — this was a world on the brink of collapse.
”You would do well to remember who our enemies are, and they are not of this Court,” she spits, teeth clenched. Her midnight neck twists violently, revealing the crude sun forever etched into her flesh. ”This is what happens when the actions of others are left unchecked. We are not innocent, either. But who is step in and stop this chaos before something worse happens? Before someone — Calligo forbid — dies? Did that ever cross your mind?” She inhales sharply, straightening, eyeing the woman with a final glance. ”We are doing what we must to prevent that fate. What have you done?” @rhoswen
Her outburst wrecks havoc on her soul. Storm clouds bleed and rush wickedly under her skin in answer to it, straining within their mortal cage. Aislinn’s muscles bunch to hold it, but it is her emotions that decipher the will that is the magic in her blood. She does not watch as Rhoswen leaves, vanishing into the gathering dark. Instead, she exhales, loosing free the fire in her gut. A heartbeat passes, and as one leaves, another enters. This time.. this time it is another familiar face. One of stardust and night skies and a prairie that catches falling stars on a midsummer’s eve.
Only for Lyra does the flaming blue of her eyes soften.
Aislinn’s eyelids fall heavy as she listens to their Champion speak. She is so much more than that, and will be more in the times to come. This will be a Trial for her, but not an impossible feat. When her orbs blink open, she looks upon her with a strength she had hoped to lend to her one day, ever since they had met so long ago. This girl, this woman of Calligo’s stars and skies, was stronger than she herself knew. After all.. she had found her voice here before them. @lyra
Because of this, the stormsinger offers a feather soft smile, before it dissipates for lingering too long. Before she can reply, Isorath answers, and for once, she is glad to be rid of the moment to speak.
Those of you who have done nothing wrong, have nothing to fear from this.
Aislinn nods in agreement to the truth that rings in his words. All too soon, however, the gentle waters of her hurricane’s aftermath are reawakened; for now dear, sweet Lyra has been replaced from before her. Gilded gold and the ebony dark of night splashed across a canvas of illusions and mastery.
She almost scoffs. Almost, if it weren’t for her sparking rage. @acton
Is that a threat?
”Would you like it to be?” She trembles, not from fear. Oh, oh no.. electricity crackles in her bones, rain drops steaming against her skin where there is only heat and heat and heat. Aislinn nearly climbs down from the dais, if only to look the man in the eyes as he dares speak ill of her Emissary right in front of her. What did he know of the lengths in which Isorath had gone to serve Denocte? To serve him, as one of Calligo’s, one of Reichenbach’s own? She would not stand for it.
A rough hum ripples from her throat in an almost-snarl, copper-kissed lips pulling back from her teeth. She steps forward, stealing his molten gaze from Isorath, capturing it. ”If you threaten one of us, you threaten all of us. Your King included,” she seethes. ”And what did your Emissary say, hmm? ‘Those of you who have done nothing wrong have nothing to fear from this.’ If you believe that we are punishing Denocte as a whole.. would that not include you? Would that not make you guilty? Remember that, the next time you dare speak before you think.”
They’re right!
Rostislav. Not Rostislav. Not their Warden. But oh, she is wrong. So incredibly wrong in this moment. Her friend, her comrade, ensnares her from where she pinned onto the golden man. A heartbeat, and she finds him in the crowd, boisterous and angry. Waves of crimson flood from him and pierce her, and she meets his righteous rage with the swords of her own war. Her heart aches, reaping her lungs of their breath as his words stab at her. How could he? ”If you had so many thoughts, why speak of them now? You have had ample chances, and yet where were you? Where were you when we needed you most?”
Silver pricks her eyes as she stares at his handsome face, contorted with everything unsaid that has been laid bare between them. ”You are our Warden and you were gone.” @rostislav
She is shaking, shaking, shaking now with the roil of waves that crash from the inside out. If her own friend could not see what the truth in what they must do — in what they are doing to keep them all safe — than who would? The crowds that scorn only grow and grow, like Calligo’s shadows that gather in the dark. So many faces that she cannot help but desire to reach out to them all; to place her hands upon their shoulders, to look them in the eye until they see — truly see — that this is for them.
Aislinn steps back, hearing nothing save for the roar of her own heart and the blood that rushes in her veins. She does not hear a girl speak, does not hear the soft whispers of reason that fall from a moon child, nor the unspoken questions that linger in fearful gazes. The stormsinger leans into the far stone wall, burning. She is quiet, too quiet. But there is a storm that is called, signing it’s sweet, wicked song and building in a symphony of waves crashing onto a shore. Thunder claps with the beat of her heart, crying out with each rushed exhale of her lungs. She barely realizes then, that in moments —
She begins to sing a lullaby. @isra @lavinia @jezanna @eidolon
Bruised, violet billows rush towards where she and Isorath stand on the dais overlooking the courtyard. The light of Calligo’s stars are snuffed out, one by one, by the darkening of clouds. Her hurricane swirls in answer, begging, pleading to be unleashed.
”Isorath is not to blame. Your Regime is not to blame. WE, as a collective Court, are to blame. WE, as a people of this continent, of this world, are the masters of the problems that have transpired for too long.” Aislinn turns to face the silver stranger — a barely familiar face amidst a crowd of many. Frankly, she does not care, save that he slanders a coup in the midst of everything that they — his Regime — had done to ensure that he, himself would be safe. Protected. Despite the wrong doings of so many. ”If you damn yourself a spy, than by all means, that is part of the reason why we have closed the Gates in the first place.” @Raum
Thunder rolls across the sky, flashes of ivory illuminating her face in brutal shadows. She sweeps the crowd, near blind with her fury, her frustration, her breath trembling. Shrieks cry out, stumbling over each other in the madness of their gathering. Yet she cannot relent, not when the scales are so close to being tipped. ”None of you know the lengths in what we would do for each and every one of you! Not one of you knows! But you do not have to understand, no matter how much we wish you could.”
Her eyes shut, shut, shut, and she holds her breath, waiting for the onslaught of words. It does not come.
At last, he enters then.
I did not close the gates.
Blue orbs snap open to behold him, watching as he steps from the corners and the shadows part from him. Her storm clouds vanish in trails of smoke, and suddenly, with it, exhaustion grows heavy within her blood and bones. Reichenbach’s presence silences them with his Stars and Smoke, and despite his wildness, his untamed soul, he settles a temporary calm over each and every one. Even her, his stormsinger, their gypsy hearts a match. Aislinn is quiet as he nears, daring his Regime both. @reichenbach
The closing of the Gates will not be permanent.
She only listens and waits. A miracle has transpired, where he alone stops the tempest from being unbound by her cage. And when he finishes, Aislinn dips her crown. Her King had stood up for her, and with it, a blossom blooms in her chest, floating on the still sea that is her.
With a slow exhale, her chin rises, eyes on the stars above, before falling to meet them all. ”Your King and your Regime have spoken. Should you have any grievances, our Champion of Community may hear them, and our doors our open. May the stars be with us all.”
She departs in a rush of silent, tired fury, until at last she herself goes to say her own goodbyes.
The Night Court lore/history will be released soon. I’ve tagged each of your babes where they are mentioned for ease of reading <3
OOC: WOAH, here guys, have a behemoth post of a pissed off, frustrated, and upset Aislinn ;_; I’m so sorry if I missed anything, this was a beast to write XD
When he had received the Raven to come to the capital, the gnawing feeling in his stomach told him he would not like what he was about to witness.
So it's only some small comfort that he turned out to be right, and his instincts haven't decided to abandon him. Renwick might've laughed, but instead he watched from his own position in the shadows, as everyone gathered and the Regime stepped forward with their decree.
And the Court erupted.
He cannot say he blames them, especially those who are new to Denocte, for the closing of the Gate. Effectively closing them in once more. They're fresh faced and fortunate enough to have not seen the bitter truths Novus often carried within her grasp. Renwick had been born to those truths, he had gone to war and fought for and against those truths too. Now he was Lord Commander of the Brotherhood for it, his wolfs teeth crown pricks his brow and the flowers he wears are almost too much. If he was younger and more naive, he might've spoken up too.
But he is world weary and a cynic in certain lights. He understood difficult decisions, making them in the knowledge they would not be liked. That more than the deserving would be affected by the seemingly cruel hand played. Even the most benign commands could sour a crowd, too. Leadership was a fickle thing, there was no balance to it, only a scale you tried to keep even.
Briefly, he thought of Seraphina as the drone of the crowd blurs into one voice of discontent. Then, he thought of the letter he had sent, hopefully it had arrived in a timely manner. Kalani had never failed him but...well he worried. Did she like the flowers? Were they too much? Too little? What did one gift a Queen who had made such an impression upon his mind? Had she left the Abigo caves and returned to the Sun's version of this? What if she didn't like the flowers. It's a blind moment of panic and the rational part of him that was at least trying to get him to pay attention, cannot help but roll it's eyes.
A sigh escaped him, and the Rose Knight shifted in his place in the shadows, he would have to worry about the flowers later. In a place that was not so public, even if he was hidden in the shadows. Denocte looked the same as it always had, even if the faces had changed over the years. They are still so vibrant and different and utterly what he'd expect. A tug of fondness reverberates deep. Just as the Emissary and Regent make their timely exit. The Crowd is too riled to continue a conversation, better to let it cool off.
So he too made his exit, a wolf silently padding into the night.
![[Image: x341oLX.png]](https://i.imgur.com/x341oLX.png)
