t was strange, this world of civilization. He was right – living in a city would be a first for Mephisto. Though she’d lived in herds before, it had always been in the wilds. As she stepped over cobbled streets, she had to wonder who’d had such an idea, to build a place where the setting sun met the cliffs. There was something organized and almost militaristic about the way the buildings rose against the dusk, tiny lights flickering within… and Mephisto was instantly curious, wanting to know more about those who build structures and gathered for a purpose outside of survival.
I suppose it’s obvious I have not. While I’ve heard of such things as temples and roads, this is the first place I’ve been which has such structure. She wondered absentmindedly as they walked, if they would accept her in a place like this – if she would ever be able to fit in or find a place in the hierarchy. While it didn’t bother her to be an outsider, there is a piece of Mephisto’s wandering soul that aches for camaraderie once more… and for the first time since arriving to Novus, she begins to doubt if she could truly assimilate to such a different life.
I have never known a god, so this will be something new for me… to worship and pay homage to something other than the wilderness. Pausing as if considering, she nods at Asterion’s words. A trip to the library would probably be a benefit. Chewing thoughtfully on her lip, the dark Pegasus wonders if she should offer her services here or not. Already, she’d made up her mind to stay. Though they weren’t overly friendly, they also weren’t chasing her from this world… so she knew she’d need to earn their trust, in one way or another. Drawing a breath to steady herself, the warg added:
I suppose there is an order to your world… where would you have me, should I stay? Blunt, and to the point. But Mephisto had never been one to mince words. She needed to know where she stood with them, before she would go any further.
In the back of her head, over the sound of their hoof steps in the soft grass and the sweet song of the cicadas and the wind ruffling Marisol’s short hair, she hears the lines of an old poem she cannot quite remember: something about a pathless wood, and the sea, and a sweet kind of rapture. She wishes for a moment that this road lead closer to the ocean. But even from here it sends a bright whoosh of salt into the cool air that kisses her skin, and it comforts her to hear the far, far away beat of waves on the shore.
That is her kind of temple, and even that one bears Vespera’s name.
The air cools as the road winds into the heart of Terrastella. Shadows drop from the high buildings and the smell of herbs wafts from planters placed on windowsills. It is pleasantly quiet, save for the beating of wings and the song of bugs. Silent as always, Marisol is content to listen to Mephisto and Asterion talk just to each other as the trio wind from the dirt-packed path onto cobblestone, as they pass from moonlight into lamplight and silence to low chatter. The streets are mostly empty, but every once in a while a couple goes walking past, talking to each other in low murmurs; as they pass the temple Marisol catches sight of silhouettes in the dimly lit windows, and it makes her smile faintly.
The world has not changed so much that they cannot go back. She holds onto that like a Bible, like a well-worn book of poetry. A promise.
Where would you have me, Mephisto asks, and Marisol cuts her king a casual sideways glance. She thinks of the Dusk Court’s last meeting. Bodies. Bodies. The spear strapped to her side rumbles a little, as if in hunger, or thirst, or simple desperation; she appraises Mephisto’s wings like a butcher appraises a piece of meat and blinks in mute approval.
I assume you have some experience defending yourself. Marisol slows her step just slightly, ducks her head at the stranger. Our flight unit would have you.
She is careful not to say needs you, lest their weakness become public.
The king is grateful for the relative peace of the night, and the shadows that have risen up like the tide to douse the court in darkness. As Mephisto takes in the court in all its strangeness and splendor, as Marisol walks in silence, Asterion does his best to avoid limping. He can’t help but favor the hind leg, however insignificant the injury; with the coolness of the dark, stiffness is beginning to set in. With it comes exhaustion, the product of drawing so deeply from the well of his magic and the culmination of too many nights with too little sleep.
He does not smile as his gaze lingers on the temple, a beacon in the gloaming, and it takes him a long moment to speak. Perhaps he should not at all - particularly with Marisol only paces away - but their patron goddess’s actions still burn at the back of his memory, a blame he can put out no more than he could put out the stars. When he does answer, the words are carefully chosen and steadily said.
“You may worship as you see fit. The wild was the only god I knew for a long time.” If Vespera blames him, he thinks wryly (or Marisol, for that matter), let her defend herself. He will be no tyrant, to enforce belief of a deity who answers prayers and praise with disaster and death. Nor will he ask his people to do something he cannot.
He breathes no easier when they pass the temple, but something about the night in the city softens him nonetheless. They are all of them shadows and stardust, the king and the dark warriors beside him, and every eye cast his way he meets with pride, even if he is a little chagrined at his slight limp, his torn-up ear. Asterion does not look much like a king, tonight, but that is really nothing new.
When Mephisto makes her offer, wisely phrased, it is Marisol the bay looks to. He, too, thinks of the meeting, and how emphatic the Commander had been, and he has to fight to keep back a smile from his dark lips before she answers.
“If you so choose,” he says in the beat that follows, as his gaze moves between the two of them, “then the Commander will show you the Halycon barracks. Of course you are free to sleep where you like until you make your decision. Welcome to Terrastella, Mephisto.” Now it is his turn to pause and nod (nevermind that it gives him a chance to ease the weight off his injured leg), as on the hill above them the lights of the castle dance in the windows, beckoning to him like the temple had not.
Still he’s a little sorry to leave them, when there is still much to be said, and it shows in his voice when he speaks. “There are matters I must attend to. I will see you both soon, I’m sure - until then,” and with a last smile (and a last searching look at Marisol) Asterion parts his company and makes his way up the path as the crickets sing around him.
king of dusk.
@Mephisto @Marisol | blah closer but so glad Mephisto is here! I'd love for them to talk more in depth later.
heir offer is made, and Mephisto considers it as she walks like a dark cloud beside them. The autumn wind stings at her mane, teasing her wings as they itch to rise in flight, and when her feathers ruffle, she notices Marisol watching them. Surely, she would pass muster, but it would also be clear to them soon enough that she was not exactly a fighter. Mephisto’s talents were in her watching, serving as a sentry far above the world, and seeing through the eyes of the many hosts she has come to know. Though her warg powers were not yet revealed to the relative strangers of the Dusk Court, it could not be kept a secret for long.
She nods mutely to Marisol. I will fly with you then. As Asterion leaves them, she offers the star-studded king a nod of respect before turning her attentions back to the warrior maiden with wariness in her eyes. Mephisto knew instinctively that this path would test her and would not be an easy one. She would have to earn her stripes here, to prove her worth just as she had done for the Winter Court. In time, they would see her as a loyal member of the Halcyon unit, and she resolved herself to showing them just that.
Though the idea of sleeping in barracks was not appealing, she turned to follow the commander there, relishing the last moments of dusk as night began to creep over the kingdom. In the place of dying sunlight rose dusky shadows, and with it came the sparkle of stars and sallow moonlight. The autumn breeze continued to play against them, though now the world grew still with silence, with only the whisper of nocturnal beasts rising to the night air. They walked in silence for several minutes, each mare guarded, before Mephisto finally asked the question:
I would like to know more about the air unit… the Halcyons, you are called? Perhaps in the morning, we can find somewhere to speak in more detail? She didn’t want to keep the commander waiting, curious to explore the barracks on her own and find her footing in this strange new world… but still there is a nagging curiosity that begs to know more about the mission, and where she might find a place.
Matters he must attend to. His cushy bed? His rotation of lovers? Marisoi watches him leave with cool, dark eyes and does not know if the smile on her face is one of affection or disappointment. Oh, she loves him, not for his power but his vulnerability - the way he can pretend the world is still soft, like there is still good to be found. It is admirable. And stupid. And something that she has never been able to do, not even as a child (if she ever really was one). She says nothing as he departs, only offers him a somber, knowing nod and then turns her dark hooves back toward the barracks, the path to which she knows as well as the back of her hand.
It is strange to have someone at her side, even someone she is not tooth-achingly suspicious of. She feels Mephisto trailing her shoulder and does not know whether to speak, what to offer, how to address the silence that hangs between them like velvet curtain - but she has never been one to speak much, and cannot change something so deeply engraved in her. Instead she lets the quiet of the night wash over them until Mephisto speaks, and even then waits, ears flickering, for a moment to pass before she responds.
Of course. The roads are darker now, and narrower, and their hooves sing a song over the cobblestone as they move toward the barracks, rising stolid and wooden in the foreground. Despite its relative squalor, it stirs up something like pride deep in her chest. Tomorrow, she agrees, and opens the front door with a gently shove of her narrow shoulder; it creaks inward on rusty hinges, surprisingly quiet relative to its old age. Inside, the hallways are dim and the walls postered with Terrastellan flags. It is late enough that the majority of cadets have already gone to sleep, exhausted from their day’s training, and the few that are roaming the hallways duck and skitter away when Marisol glares at them.
Here, she says, coming to a stop, and nudges open another door further down. The beds inside are narrow but soft, and a lantern shimmer softly from a sconce - piles of swords, spears and arrows stand against the nearest wall, and Marisol clicks her tongue in soft disappointment. Take a bed. The other cadets should be back soon. I will collect you tomorrow so that we can begin.
Goodnight, finishes Marisol, with the barest of smiles, and then ducks out of the doorway and back into the hall.
he walks through the barracks with Marisol, saying nothing even as curiosity nags at her. Though she had always been a warrior of sorts (more accurately, she had always been a sentry or spy), she had never been in a place as organized as this. Weapons both crude and elaborate were strewn about, with pieces of armor and the occasional roll of gauze left out from a first aid kit. There is a part of her that itches to reach out and see how the spear would feel in her grasp or the breastplate on her chest… for Mephisto had never used such equipment before, relying only on her warg abilities for prowess on the battlefield. But tonight was not the night for indulgence.
Instead, she nods as Marisol shows her to the bunks, ducking into the wooden doorway and surveying the space with a murmured Goodnight as the commander leaves her in silence. Stepping between beds, she makes her way to a corner, fluffing the bed some and turning in one circle or two before settling down onto a bed much softer than she was accustomed to, eyes blinking close as candlelight flickers across the room, eager to see what the next day would be as she drifted into sleep.
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