With Eleutheria at her back, Avdotya’s once steady pace had come to a sudden standstill as the heat of the desert began to swathe her skin in its familiar touch. Her fire-lit eyes slipped closed and a deep breath drew into lungs that had been starved for far too long; this was where she belonged, in the vastness of the Mors and not stuck within the stuffy walls of foreign capitols.Secrets were a lovely thing, truly they were, but that was no life she wished to pursue any longer. Avdotya was meant to stalk the rolling curves of Solterra’s endless dunes, haunting the desert and striking fear into those foolish enough wander it alone as the Davke always had. And her timing, it seemed, was most opportune.
Chaos, once again, seemed to have found its way back to the Court of Day. The Silver Queen was supposedly no more, stripped of her throne and overtaken by a man she’d only heard described as a pale, vicious being - little did she know it was Raum, whose blade she questioned not so long ago in the driving rain. But regardless of the crown’s new identity, Avdotya held a savage desire to make the desert her own again and she harboured no concern for what cost it would come at. Perhaps, then, that was why she traveled with the dismembered head of a House Hajakha noble fastened just so to her shoulder.
She had found the man mingling among other high-borns at one of the many grandiose affairs she’d slithered into during her absence, the viper having disguised herself well enough to lure him away from the party without recognition. It was only when they disappeared from sight that she shed her mock skin for her true colours, but still a moment too late for a man with senses dulled by the warm embrace of a fine red wine.
And now she intended to deliver it upon the doorstep of this new king, whomever he may be. A welcoming gift, she might insist, to mount over his silken bed and an ever so gentle reminder that if he was to rule Solterra, his choices best be wise when stirring a nest of serpents. While the fangs of some were filled with the promise of empty threats, others carried a venom far more deadly.
It would not be folly to assume that it was the capitol now that lay in her blazing sights, for this delivery was of great priority.. and really, Avdotya was quite keen to see what they had done with the place after her last visit.
The capitol is a mere shadow in the distance, a blur on the dark horizon behind him. It isn’t a habit of his to look back and so he doesn’t. The wind has a colder bite than usual and sand stings his eyes as he braces himself against whatever storm is coming, political or physical.
He has never heard of “Raum” before but knows only that he is a foreigner to Solterra and its customs. Jahin doesn’t much care for the throne, the capitol, or politics, but he could not forget the debt he owed Seraphina. And so he leaves the city walls after he hears that she has fallen. He owes nothing to this Raum, to this usurper, this pretender. He does not know the stranger’s motives for conquering Solterra, but nothing good can come from a foreigner on the throne.
There is nothing holding him here anymore, nothing binding his allegiance to a city in turmoil. He is not sure his debt to Seraphina has been paid, but he hopes that at least in some small way, wherever Seraphina may be, dead or alive, that this was a tip of the hat, a last salute to the fallen queen that had once saved his life.
And so, after many long years of absence, he returns home to the desert. He returns with purpose in his heart and determination in his stride. He will find what remains of his people, however broken and scattered they might be.
It seems too much a coincidence that it is Avdotya he finds first. She is the same as he remembered her from his life among the Davke before the rebellion. Unchanged. The same eyes of desert fire, muscles as conditioned as steel. But then again, why would he expect her to be in anyway different? Davke are not particularly known to change, nor for their “adaptability” to change. They have lived the same for thousands of years in the desert, until one day, something changed. A rebellion. And it was their downfall.
But she is magnificent, regardless of her motives, there is no doubt about that. She is the Kahn of a broken people, but you would not know it by the way she moves, the way she holds her head…there is confident cunning in her eyes. Her presence is unmistakable and remarkable, her skin is the black of a sandstorm boiling on the horizon at midnight. Of course, he thinks, She is the storm that is coming.
They are within speaking distance now. Jahin motions towards the severed head with a raised eyebrow. “A gift for a new lover? Who is the lucky fellow?”
these scars long have yearned for your tender caress
to bind our fortunes, damn what the stars own ---
He appeared first as a mirage, a stroke of red-brown smeared against a golden horizon. Avdotya’s body hardened almost immediately at the sight of him, muscles taut and ready to release like an arrow secured against a drawn bowstring. She anticipated aggression, expected violence... part of her even thirsted for it - perhaps make a pair of heads for Solterra’s new king - but she had little time for useless squabbles. Even still, the viper bore no willingness to approach others with her hackles down. She was no fool, but part of her wondered if the man who so brazenly approached a woman with a dismembered head was.
Until she knew who it was.
Solis smiled upon her today, for she had found herself in the presence of another Davke. Unfortunately for her, though, it was Jahin of all horses it could have been and he was already busy spouting off some attempt at a joke. Her movement slowed, eventually coming to a halt while she allowed the silence to linger between them just a touch longer; she wanted to ensure Jahin knew that she truly found no humour in his words. That sort of thing was best saved for Makeda, wherever she was in her wild world. ”This,” she finally declared sharply, ”is a gift for Day Court’s newest king. Long may he reign.” Her lips curled viciously. Whether this man lived or died mattered not to a woman who found no value in a crown. Her knees did not bend before the velvet seat of any man’s throne - she would readily slit her own damned throat before that day ever dawned.
Her gaze drifted only momentarily over the stallion. He looked healthy, strong as a Davke should be, but she did wonder where he had spent his days in the absence of his brethren. ”What say you, Jahin, to the fall of Seraphina?” Avdotya wondered aloud, slowly lifting a curious brow. She did not recall ever seeing him the day the capitol burnt so beautifully to the ground, but the faces in the crowd was admittedly not her point of focus that day. Regardless, he was here before her now, and she was not one to deny opportunity.
If the Davke were to return, Avdotya needed her strongest kin. He would never hear the words fall from her mouth (she doubted she would live it down if he did), but Jahin was a valuable asset; he held a mental edge that many did not possess, his mind a weapon sharper than most blades. Most importantly, he was Davke-born. It was simply a matter of loyalty that Avdotya questioned, though she had a feeling she would soon find her answer.
So much for an ice-breaker. The wolfish grin, the glitter of her teeth in the Solterra sun….as ominous as any prophecy. She lives for this. For life and death. She is extreme in everything she feels. Most Davke are this way. Jahin himself feels deeply, extremely—but he doesn’t think there can possibly be anyone more driven, more intense than Avdotya. Has he ever seen her, dare he say, happy? No….how can someone so hardcore find something as simple as happiness? “Indeed. A fine housewarming gift, then.”
Despite being in the middle of the desert with no discernible path in sight, he knows he has arrived at a crossroads. Avdotya is interrogating him innocently enough, politely enough, but the intensity of her gaze is crucifying. Make no mistake, she is testing him and Jahin’s answer will define his future. I think we both know what you are really asking, he thinks. Whose side am I on?
“I think one of the greatest warriors of our time has fallen,” he says simply, honestly, meeting her gaze evenly. Jahin has never been one to lie or to speak half-truths. She may be displeased by this answer, but he has given her his truth, and in a world where lies run rampant, that is sacred.
Jahin doesn’t know much about kings or queens. He doesn’t claim to know the intricacies of Seraphina’s reign, the good or evil she may have carried out in the eyes of others. He is not a very complicated creature; he only knows what he knows and what he knows is the path and way of a warrior best. A warrior who protects their people at any cost to their own personal well-being.
A warrior that gives the gift of mercy to the weak.
While weakness is not something generally tolerated by Jahin (or the Davke), the dank prison lies heavily in his mind…a fog of sorts. He remembers wondering if he would ever see the Solterra sun again. Seraphina had saved him from a fate worse than a coward's death… The crown is not what he sees when he thinks of Seraphina; he thinks of a glittering silver sword of justice and the spirit of a Davke warrior. “I think Solterra mourns,” he says, then pauses and frowns slightly. “And the capitol is vulnerable in the transition of power.”
Vulnerable to whose advantage, though? He glances at the dripping severed head and then to Avdotya’s hungry, predatory eyes. Those eyes are a blazing inferno. Who will she see burn this time? She is on the warpath again. He recalls the capitol burning, the screams of those he had come to know in his time at court and the revelation that had rocked his world--his kin lived.
Revenge is what Avdotya does best (along with her noteworthy skill of severing the heads of idle, indulgent nobles), so what does she seek with this Ruam, what’s her agenda? Surely not just to offer a house-warming gift… Is this what she has been waiting for? There has been no whisper of the kahn since the attack on the capitol…as if she and what was left of their people was swept up by the wind and swallowed whole by the insatiable desert.
“And what say you, Avdotya kahn?”
It is only fair that he, too, gets to ask this question. If he is to join her and her crusade (whatever that may be) he wants to know her ambitions, her motives, her darkest desires.
these scars long have yearned for your tender caress
to bind our fortunes, damn what the stars own ---
@Avdotya i'm sorry i don't really know what this is
Whose side, indeed. It was a question many parties would soon find themselves scrambling to answer in the wake of Raum’s ascension, whether to align with the yet-to-be-known corvid king or face his wrath and paint defiance upon their flesh. The viper herself knew of only one thing: the Davke would find their feet in the turbulence to come, she would do whatever it took to secure their place in the Mors once more. Their time as mere words upon a dusty, dog-eared page were near an end now - Solterra’s vast desert would soon promise fear at every swoop and crest of its great dunes, for the feral horde would soon awaken from their too-long slumber.
And so Jahin’s answer meant more than simply a statement of his allegiance. This was a matter of his loyalty to his roots, to his family and the wild blood that coursed through his own veins. That wild blood was still out there, it never truly ran dry in spite of the efforts of others. But had he even come looking for them? Were they so quickly forgotten when the brush of silver hair had strung him into the arms of the very court that decimated his kin?
Avdotya could feel her blood begin to effervesce as her thoughts ran rampant, the heat in her eyes growing more intense by the moment. ”They waste their time mourning,” she hissed lowly, ”sorrow does not avenge the dead.” The mare was not petty enough to have turned a blind eye to Seraphina’s shining reputation among her citizens; she was a strong woman and, though she would never admit it, a respectable leader. She knew many would brace against a new king’s reign. Regardless, the queen’s demise left a wide opening to those who lingered and laid in wait. The capitol was vulnerable, as Jahin pointed out, and Avdotya would be one of the first to slip past the gates she had once burned down in order to take her upper hand.
Her path was quite clear now. ”I will have the Davke back while they struggle upon their knees. I will erase the work of the dead boy king and his court of cowards.” She stepped closer to Jahin, close enough that he might have caught the foul smell of rot she carried with her while the noble’s jaws hung agape and festering. ”I will have them back as the world remembers them if it means I draw my last breath doing it.” The viper stepped even closer still. Her gaze was entirely critical, almost as harsh as the desert sun in its attempt at prying what she sought out of him. ”I wonder if you would do the same? If not for us all, then perhaps for our dear Makeda...” Avdotya knew who the man's heart once beat for, but oh, did it still yearn for a wayward girl?
No, he agrees sadly, it does not. But what does the act of revenge accomplish but cause more death, and sorrow, and avenging? It is a vicious, endless cycle, one that Avodtya will pursue no matter what. And of course they will follow her, because that is the way of the Davke.
Live, fight, and if you are lucky, die a warrior's death.
Makeda. She may as well have stabbed him through the heart with the spear she carries strapped to her back. Of course, the matriarch's youngest daughter is always there, a shadow, a mirage, a ghost. But he has found she fades every day...it has been so long since he last saw her, last heard her voice, that the details of her image are deteriorating. And the way she always finds new and creative ways to lure him in, and then cast him aside like an old plaything...
He is weak. When will he find the strength to let go?
Would you do the same?
He bristles and something dark simmers in his blood, but he takes the suggested accusation of abandoning his people gracefully enough. It is true he has been gone, but has she forgotten his service in his past, his utter devotion to not only Makeda, but to their people? "I gave all I had to give to our people, to you, to Makeda. My life has never been my own. It belongs to the Davke, to those who remain..."
She is close enough that the stench of rot and decay lingers, spreads...it devours him until all he sees is red and the corpses of those he once knew and loved sinking into the sand of the desert, the soldiers laughing as they desecrate the bodies. He sees the blood pooling, and hears the screams of his people slaughtered, or worse, as he is dragged away in chains. He recalls the stench of his own body from sleeping in his own piss and shit and the way the rats nibbled at his skin as he lingered between sleep and awake, wondering if he would ever see the sun again. Most of all, he recalls the shame of not dying with his people.
"I should have died along with them that day but I didn't," he says, utterly defeated. "I did not know of any who lived, save you, until the attack on the capitol."
There were no pyres for the lost souls decaying in the desert, no embers blazing in the sky like stars. He wonders if their ghosts wander the desert still, or if they have all found a way to haunt him; he one of the few who lived.
"I am here now," he says, at last, meeting the fire in her eyes unflinchingly. "I have come home. Will you have me or not?"
these scars long have yearned for your tender caress
to bind our fortunes, damn what the stars own ---
She saw the subtle change in him, the ever so slight rise in his hackles. It was what Avdotya had hoped to see; her words were a lure, bright and full of temptation, and he was there ready to bite. Had she not roused Jahin’s temper with her brusque accusations, it wouldn’t have been unreasonable to presume that the jagged edge of her old spear would have found its way to the soft crook of his neck... for what good was a man without loyalty? Yet with his words, he quelled her brewing suspicions.
The sharpness of her posture lessens, no longer that of the imposing woman seeking answers, but a fellow Davke lending her ear. Avdotya did not know the gruesome details that he witnessed during the slaughter of their people - her family - while she festered in a cell, but she knew Zolin and what he had been capable of. In her mind, the viper could only imagine all of the horrible ways his wretched soldiers defiled them. Her lips curled with seething disgust, only to slowly come back when Jahin lamented over his own survival. ”Then Solis has greater purpose for you than you know.” Her voice was quiet, and with it there may have even been a sense of sincerity, for she too had felt the creeping hand of guilt upon her shoulder. It was not one shaken so easily.
Their deaths were all at her mother’s command, it was Avdotya, her beloved daughter, that they had surged to the capitol for when her mind began to fray. Vaska was admired for a great many things, she was a beacon of vicious and unrelenting strength... and yet the matriarch fell to the whims her own foolish heart, led astray by the affections for a daughter long gone; she should have severed her attachments like she did with any other being in her life summoned to death.
But Avdotya did not die. In fact, this world was eternally hers, leaving the deaths of so many Davke resting ominously at her feet - and no amount of spilled blood would ever satisfy her thirst to vindicate them.
Jahin then snapped her from the blackness that her thoughts had enshrouded her with when he spoke of his return. Home. The word lingered and her eyes finally left his own, her legs brushing her past him and onward to where she knew the citadel’s silhouette would eventually bloom. ”Welcome home, Jahin,” she murmured to him in passing, turning her head only briefly to call back to him: ”I will find you when it is time. I have a king to meet with.”
