Suffice to say, the God of Day was not a fan of the snow.
He missed the warmth of the sand beneath his hooves and the sun upon his back, missed gazing upon the Mors Desert. He missed gazing out over his lands and seeing nothing but dunes, stretching for miles upon miles, changing shape and form at the will of the wind. The Court he walked through now was a stranger to him, his own personal hell of snow and ice and cold.
It’s time for this Winter to end.
And soon rather than later. Solis enters the Court in a flourish of light, bringing the sun itself back into Solterra. Gold drenches the streets and buildings, melting the snow beneath his hooves. Heat radiates off of his skin in such fervor that if one were to close their eyes, it might feel to them like Summer again.
He stops in the very center, right before the castle, raising his boyish voice to be heard above the wind, booming throughout the Court.
“What’s the matter, doesn’t anybody want to know where all this snow came from? Or how to get rid of it?”
The god tosses his head, his smile as arrogant and easy going as always. He’s indifferent to any anger they might greet him with- he’s the God of Day after all, what could mortals do to him? And more importantly, why should he care?
“I might tell you a little secret... if I feel like it.”
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Everybody's (least) favorite god is back! Love him or hate him, he might just be the key to getting this strange weather sorted out... and at least he brings the gift of warmth with him?
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09-12-2018, 11:21 AM - This post was last modified: 09-12-2018, 11:24 AM by Random Events
there is a bitter triumph in crashing when you should be soaring
There is no relief at the feeling of the cobblestone streets beneath his hooves, no warm sense of recognition as he finds himself within the walls of the Day Court. He is a member in name only, devoid of any belief in their god (or any other), ill-at-ease amongst others of his same court. He came for the desert and the isolation it offered, not for snow and parties and whatever else the Court seemed to be enjoying during the storms.
Perhaps that’s how he comes to be the first to stumble upon Solis, his teeth baring in a grim-faced sneer that only barely mimics a smile. He is not awed, not cowed, not impressed by the presence of the boisterous sun-god, burned too many times in too many lands to even pretend at fealty or devotion.
“I just thought it was because you couldn’t control your dandruff,” He drawls, irreverent, apathetic towards the God despite the quickest flash of mercurial eyes.
It wasn’t something he would ever acknowledge, nor was it bound to last, but the wrinkling scar on his flank and the shuddering lung clung to him like the stench of manure. The rage that had burned through the very end of the battle had sputtered out with the drowning wick. He couldn’t breathe or walk properly (or without spurting blood) for a good while after that fight, and even now there was no running too fast or talking too loud or really doing anything he was prone to. To be frank, it was fucking depressing.
He’d met that starlit mare up in the mountains, and stayed out of Solterra’s reach for a good stretch while he healed. Toro had next to no ties in his home court, and yet, he felt like a defeated warrior, shamefully returning home with no victory, brethren dead on the battlefield. It was truly quite unfortunate.
So, after this brief absence, it was with great surprise that El Toro clambered over a final cresting mountain, only to see the desert blanketed in white. A chill wind carried his tails high. I don’t like this. As swiftly as he could (with the bleeding, wheezing, et cetera), the pale stallion made his way through the snow to the capital. Perhaps he’d gotten lost here or there, everything did look the same, you know, especially now, but he made it and when he did…it was also covered in snow. Surprise. Some were panicked, others pranced about, threw snowballs and more than once grabbed at his hide, only to realize it did not belong to the false winter. It didn’t seem right, he knew it wasn’t right, but he had no one to ask and was feeling too sorry to consult a stranger. The fair stallion simply wandered and waited.
It was during one particular bout of wandering that a golden light came to illuminate the world around, accompanied by a boyish voice that boomed throughout the alleyways. El Toro approached, tentatively; before him rose a golden stallion, though something about him lacked the feeling of horse-ness, mortality, maybe, and there, mouthing off, was a dark equine that certainly seemed too pale to be this sun’s shadow. Toro said, without conviction or his characteristic confusion, ”Does this sort of thing usually happen?”
When the god's voice rings through the halls of the court, boyish and arrogant, Eik does not want to approach. The last he heard that voice was on Veneror Peak, at the meeting of the Regimes.
It is not a fond memory.
But he approaches anyway, because this has gone on for too long. He arrives to hear a voice rise above the slowly gathering crowd- "Now fuck off, would you? You're in my way."
A memory comes to him. Knee deep in the rising tide, the moon glowing silver in the cold water, the chime of beads and smell of age. Turhan. Eik had told him: "I don't know how to pray."
He still does not.
But the prayer comes to him before he realizes it is there, and it slips from his heart before he can wrestle it down, untangle it, refine it.
"I pray Solis has a sense of humor."
Eik hovers at the edge of the small gathering, a moth just outside the reach of the flame. He is cautious, as one ought to be with gods, and he does not speak a word.
* I have let myself go where the dust
E I K Has the color of nothing
The bold and italicized font is a silent prayer, not spoken out loud. Sorry he's doing his own thing, next round he will probably be more interactive with mattie and toro <3
He recalls his childhood, if you could call it that. Davke children grew up very soon and did not usually grow to be old, dying in the heat of battle or from the perils of the savage desert. He remembers the festivals for Solis held for days under the blistering sun and simmering sand. Fighting tournaments and drinking and parading about to win the attentions of a particular maiden. He misses the simplicity of Davke life. Eat, drink, reproduce, survive.
There was nothing complicicated about Davke life. War was simple. Worship was simple. Courting was simple. It was a life of truth and the only way Jahin could ever really live. Day Court life, however, was complex and intricate. Secrets and lies and scandal and revolutions and betrayal. Such things didn't exist in the desert, amid the sand and sun and wind. Such ideas of grandeur were beyond him.
And yet here he was, living at court, pretending to be something he clearly was not.
But what was left for him out there in the desert? The Davke were bleached bones in the sand turning to dust or ghosts wandering lost amid the crowds of the city of Soleterra. Solis was a relic of his past; of a simpler time when he had little to worry about other than gaining renown among his people and winning the heart of a woman he loved. Jahin had worshiped Solis all of his life (mostly because it was Davke did; not that he felt any real sense of loyalty) but he did not know what he should feel as he stood before the divine being for the first time.
Someone tells the god to fuck off. Jahin pins his ears in irritation, but says nothing. If the fool wants to die, Jahin has no objections to one less idiot in Day Court. He doesn't recognize anyone else besides Seraphina's Emissary, who stands by cautiously and silent.
Solis seems to enjoy taunting them. Jahin waits. What else is there to do?
these scars long have yearned for your tender caress
to bind our fortunes, damn what the stars own ---
lol this is the worst sry just wanted to get it up in time
Something drew Avdotya to the capitol. She could not say that she was entirely pleased about being so close to its vicinity, but whatever feeling it was that lingered within her chest held a stronger influence over her distaste. It wasn’t until a flash of golden light caught her eye that she finally convinced herself to cross into the actual court, forgetting her own feelings with the greatest of ease. She knew what that light was, whose boyish voice it was that rang through so many ears. Solis had finally grown tired of the wintry hold Solterra found itself shackled to.
Despite the stares and the scoffs at her presence, the Davke queen lacked hesitation in her stride. There was, perhaps, even a small touch of hope that a disgruntled citizen would step out of line. She and Feliks - who trotted alongside Avdotya with a slight curl to his lips - were past due for an altercation.
“Now, fuck off, would you? You’re in my way.”
Or maybe it was she who would stir the pot.
Before the mare was quite a sight: her god, Solis, a man foolish enough to run his mouth, a face she vaguely recalled to be Davke (or ex-Davke?), Seraphina’s right hand Eik, and an unknown man unsure of it all. Avdotya’s eye immediately fell upon the one dropping lackluster quips. A rare chuckle spilled from her frosted lips, wafting wisps of hot breath out into the cold air. ”Your words are weak.” She hissed to him. She’d rather see the stallion attempt to remove Solis from his path than listen to his childish insults.
After a pause, Avdotya glanced over to Jahin, studying him wordlessly and from a distance. There was Davke blood in those veins, that she knew, but she questioned the worth of every drop he carried. Time did many things to one’s loyalty, and the fact that she recognized him only as a faint recollection of the past left the woman doubting him...
but that was not her concern at the moment. Avdotya was here for Solis and no other reason.
The sun god wasn’t surprised when they came - why would they not flock to him, like moths to a flame? Solis was the sun incarnate, and in a winter wasteland he was just the cure this Court needed.
Or so he would let himself believe.
Even the frowns and the grumblings, the ”fuck off”s and other muttered curses could not wipe the stallion’s smile from his lips. Even bad press was better than no press, after all, and Solis thrived in the attention. Still, he swung his golden head to look @Mathias in the eye, and his smile seemed to deepen into something appearing almost-feral.
“That’s a good one,” he applauded him with false praise, laughter accompanying his words. “Is the cold getting to you? Come closer, warm your hooves and fur. I don’t bite.”Sometimes. He turned away, leaving it up to the black and white Solterran to take up his offer or not - but the air surrounding Matthias grew noticeably warmer, sweltering even, so that the snow began melting into steam.
“Where’s Seraphina? Is our studious Sovereign busy in her books again?” he joked lightheartedly, eyes roving across the group of equines who had joined him. “It makes no matter, she’s the one missing out. I heard you guys threw a snow party without me.”
In actuality, parties were the least of the god’s concern. He came here today with a mission, and his pride would not let him to fail at it. Of course, it would be easier to just wave a magic wand and turn the snow to sand, but alas, things wouldn’t be so simple today.
The sun god considered laying down and making himself comfortable, but thought better of it. “Alas. In all the years since Novus was created, never has there been snow in Solterra. Snow is unnatural. This is the result of deep magic, magic that does not belong here.”
He takes a second to look around at the gathered faces, wondering which would prove themselves useful in the commoner adventure. The Davke he had no doubt - they were strong and fearless, had grown up hunting animals and horses alike. The newcomers he was less certain of; they would have to prove themselves.
“There’s a beast out there in the Mors. A whole herd of beasts. It’s past time we went out and found them.”
Everybody's (least) favorite god is back! Solis is proposing a hunt of sorts, to find the beast(s) that have brought this curse upon the Day Court. Are you with him?
Replies due by midnight on October 3rd EST!
***STAFF EDIT: extended to midnight on October 6th!
El Toro fidgeted as more horses arrived, mostly silent and watching and waiting, his spine shivered as the heat warmed his chilled flesh. They seemed predatory, these two, the brown stallion and the black mare, scarred and fearsome, taut strings that made his muscles itch. Worthy opponents, had he been in any other state. His lip curled as the mare hissed at the dark stallion who’d insulted the golden being, but Toro looked away from her, gaze focused just beyond the sunlit stallion. Toro could not seem to look upon him directly.
He flicked his ears as the stallion spoke again, deriding the dark one. Toro’s eyes widened as the snow around the black and white stallion melted into steam. Perhaps it was the lack of mortality he sensed, but then, there must be magic among mortals. He’d seen it in passing, on the streets of Solterra during his few visits. ”Where’s Seraphina? Is our studious Sovereign busy in her books again?” The name rung familiar. Shouldn’t someone so important be here? This obviously wasn’t…normal.
Toro listened closely as the stallion spoke, a thin whisper of air entering and exiting his lungs as he breathed. ”There’s a beast out there in the Mors. A whole herd of beasts. It’s past time we went out and found them.”
A hunt?
He wasn’t in any condition for this. Toro’s opal eyes slid across the other equines again, this time noticing Eik, just out of reach for acknowledgement. There were the two that stood out like beasts among the crowd. Worthy opponents on another day, that’s what he’d thought, but, no, a hunt sounded great.
”What kind of beasts?” He did his best to make his voice sound strong; if he inhaled too much he’d have a coughing fit. There was just enough air in him to sound hale, he thought.
One part of him is remembering a heavy orange moon and the cries of a dying animal underfoot. Another part of him is out over Solterra, picturing the canyons as the jagged veins of the desert and wondering what cancer is lying there in wait.
The third-- there are always three-- is looking into the sun god's golden eyes.
He stands unwavering. "I am with you."
Whatever they hunt and wherever it takes them, and whomever he must stand beside. Not for the thrill of it, or for the sun god, but simply because it is a deed that must be done.
* I have let myself go where the dust
E I K Has the color of nothing
there is a bitter triumph in crashing when you should be soaring
Around him, the air shimmers, and his teeth bare in what might be a smile, or might be a scowl. Never once, however, does his gaze break away from the golden man, even as snow melts to steam and a layer of sweat drenches his hide. “Cute party trick,” The words break on a laugh, harsh and ugly, marred by the memories of a time when the man had once held such power in his hands, had once summoned fire and heat as easily as breathing.
He is still not convinced this man is a God, thinks perhaps that it is a mortal, and yet the expression on his face practically dares Solis -- make me a believer, it taunts, all harsh lines in the wake of the scowl that overtakes his features even with mention of a hunt.
