He had made the trip to Terrastella many times before - but this occasion was different, times were changing. To walk into Terrastella and The Dusk Court with no invitation might be seen as an act of war, a blatant disregard for the security and tenacity of the newly formed regime. So he had left Denocte, stars kissing his heels and woodsmoke swirling in his ebony locks, harbouring the knowledge that his city of starlight would be carefully watched over by his new regent, Camdis Lohir.
The path before him was slim, a path that has once been well-worn but now existed as an overgrown remnant of past times - it was rare these days for anyone to travel between Dusk and Night, so removed had each Court become. Still his steps were steady, if a little jovial, dancing and tiptoeing a line between their two worlds as he crossed the Arma Mountains and saw the first impressive view of the Praistigia Cliffs. Their glory was unparalleled, Reichenbach did often like to view the Terminus from atop the Prairie - and it did not compare to the savage, ruthless edges of the cliffs here. It looked like a completely different ocean, rough and wild, crashing against the uncompromising strength of the razor edged rock - the wildness welcomed him as he arrived, taking care to set his feet upon the very border of their land, his easy grin filled with pleasure as the wind caressed his hair.
The breeze curled her fingers through that wild ebony mane, taking away jasmine and woodsmoke to the citizens of Terrastella - an announcement of sorts, that he had arrived. Reichenbach waited at the border, patient despite his tempestuous nature, the picture of sultry health, practically glowing with all that Denocte offered: wildness, freedom, a life without restraint. He was both within and without, filled with wildfire and distant starshine, alive and bursting with vitality. They would come soon - either Rannveig herself (he knew the name through passing, but nothing of the woman herself) or one of her citizens. So the Sovereign of Night began his lazy vigil, wandering to the cliffs edge to stare out at the furious ocean below, one slender ear flicked back to hear any approaching hooves.
@Rannveig Reich has come to meet the new Dusk Court Sovereign! Open to any patrols, warriors etc. who want to find him first - or Rann herself if she wishes x
In contrast to the monarch of the Night Court, Morozko had yet to travel these cliffs or look upon the endless beating of the waves below. After his new court’s first meeting (the thought still bitter as dry bark on his winter-loyal tongue) the unicorn, as both soldier and sensible man, had thought it best to learn the geography of what must now be his home.
It was not ugly. That much he could surely say without feeling a pang of guilt or a strike against the loyalty he felt thick as ice. Indeed, the Dusk Court was a beguiling place, its landscape far more varied than what he’d grown up among, and as he wandered the stallion felt himself warming to it. Perhaps its people would win him over as quickly as the landscape did - though the thought made his dark lips twist, wry.
Eventually his soldier’s stride brought him southward, and his ears perked at the first cry of the gulls. The wind here was nothing like what he’d scented; all sea-grass and salt, the bitter hint of brine. It was a different wildness than the one he knew, and he picked his way carefully along the overgrown trail, the clamor of the sea against the cliffs in his ears.
It was within view of the sea - and the figure that stood against the cliffs as though hewn himself from stone, save for the wild tangle of his dark hair - that Morozko picked up a new scent. This one was beguiling in its own way, one that reminded him of the interiors of his own court at the softer edges of winter, and the lean stallion paused for a moment to simply observe. It was loud enough, with the wind in his favor, that he might have done so for quite some time - but after a few moments he started forward again. It was almost shameful, how grateful he was for the cliffside to not be sheathed in ice, as it would have been at home.
And the ocean - now there was something he’d never seen in all his eight years. So captivated was he that for a long moment Morozko said nothing to the stallion he’d drawn alongside - only stared down at the churn of the water, the white-capped waves that rushed and rushed against the stone, a mesmerizing advance that had been happening for hundreds of years. The distance to the bottom was dizzying, and he felt a prick of jealousy for each sea-bird that cut through the air between the cliffs and the sea.
“Stunning view, isn’t it?” he said, voice just loud enough to be heard above the crash and fury of the waves below. “I can half imagine what it would be like to fall.” It’s only then that his silver-eyed gaze lifted to the (unbeknownst to him) monarch, and whatever that rich, dark scent was born of, he knew it wasn’t the Dusk Court. “What business?”
@reichenbach omg his picture is so lovely.
07-13-2017, 11:44 PM
Played by
Obsidian [PM] Posts: 380 — Threads: 45 Signos: 25
Jasmine and wood smoke drew her in, a reveler about a campfire. Those scents stirred her memories, bound to them as they were, and pulled them forth to play out across her body. She could still feel the starlight upon her skin, playing with the flickering flames from a sea of torches. Denocte had become, to Florentine, a dreamworld of sorts. It was a fitful memory she had yet to revisit.
Until now.
Where Reichenbach was jasmine, wood smoke and starlight, so Florentine was lavender, wild sea breezes and the purple-orange bruises of a dying sun. There was no peaceful death about Florentine. She was too wild and untamed, too brave and unaffected by its clammy-cold, for she knew there was more to come; she welcomed the dusk for the promise of the night and she lived in the veil between them both.
Wings flare as her honeyed body drops into a curtsey - another memory relived that lays a smile across her lips. “Your majesty,” Flora hums. “I am glad to see I am not the only one with an adventurer’s heart.”
Her heart beats also with the thrum of dance, her skin tingling with the touch of the vibrant sea air and it is effortful to lay her wings away to her sides. The winds tug at her, luring the flower girl out, out over the edge of the cliff. She responds, in part, as a stream of petals catch the wind and fall like a banner of swirling silk over the edge.
From her vantage point between them, her eyes drink in a mane as thick and tangled as her own, but black as pitch. A dusk flower, swirling in hues of purple and orange, is plucked from her mane and placed within his. “A gift from The Dusk Court.”
Florentine turns, another poised to settle into the snarls of Morozko’s mane, yet pauses as her eyes meet and slip along the smoothly shaved crest of his neck. Her eyes trail over the rest of him, the flower still hovering, expectantly waiting for any surplus hair. “Well, that is unfortunate.”
Loathe to waste a flower, she lets it twine about his diamond horn. In silence the flower girl drinks him in, pondering whether it made the warrior seem any less a man. Finally she chirps softly, “Purple suits you quite well.” Before her eyes flit away swiftly, leaving the matter quite unresolved.
Amethyst eyes, framed with honeyed gold, settle upon Reichenbach once more, “I am sorry I left the festivities so suddenly. I trust you did not feel too sore the following day? It was quite a wild do you were hosting.”
He was not alone for long, for as if summoned by the raging beauty of the ocean below, a man appeared. Reichenbach heard him approach without turning, allowing the cold breeze to twine it's fingers in his hair and tug it toward the frenetic activity below before glancing silently at his companion. His glance was swift, affirming - Dusk Court but... with the lingering scent of snow and ice. His glance was longer this time, hovering about the roached mane and slick icicle-like horn that stirred memories of the Winter Court within his keen memory. He'd visited Veteris before, years back when he'd had more arrogance than sense (that arrogance had transformed into something more stoic, though his senselessness in truth remained healthy) - and he'd also visited Hiemsterra, The Winter Court.
His argent eyes turned back to the ocean, warm and curious - it was well known that Hiemsterra were a proud territory, and very loyal... so what was a Winter Court man doing in Terrastella? The question paused in his mind as Morozko began to speak, his voice a pleasant, foreign lilt. Reich's smile only grew, the charcoal corners of his lips turning upward easily and pleasantly, his great head nodding slightly in agreement;
"You'd have some time to enjoy your fall, at least"
His silver gaze didn't leave the roiling mess of whitewater below as he spoke, his baritone voice a melodic, memorable thing.
"I'm glad you ask -" Reichenbach turned his broad chest to face the stranger, continuing with a roguish grin. "I am Reichenbach, Sovereign of the -" And so entered that girl.
That girl that stank of adventure and mischief, that was honey and yarrow, shadows and steel blades. Reich huffed delightedly at her appearance, watching through wry eyes as she curtsied. He didn't see her romantically (she was so young, although couples in Denocte were made up of all ages and genders, so in reality she wasn't too young at all), though he couldn't help but to recognise a kindred spirit, couldn't help but to see her dancing about the maypole in his Court, not this one.
He watched the petals as they danced over the cliffs edge, beautiful and perishable, bursting with colour and scent. When he returned his gaze to the flower girl she was inches away, tucking a dainty flower within his wild hair. His heart picked up it's pace, his lungs tightened, his pupils dilated with the closeness of her - ignoring the burning of his skin, he simply gave a small smile and dipped his head in a bow of his own.
"Thank you"
He murmured, eyes crinkling with amusement as she wound a flower around the other mans horn. A hearty laugh escaped his throat as she turned her words once more upon him;
"Only as sore as I deserved."
Warmth settled about Reichenbach like a cloak, nestling in the crooks of his eyes as he turned to Morozko and finished his earlier sentence.
"Let me start again - Reichenbach, Sovereign of the Night Court, at your-" he paused "- at both of your service." There was another pause, the silence filled with crying gulls and crashing waves.
"I've come to meet with Rannveig - there are things that we will need to discuss. Would you introduce me? Although perhaps it would be best if you first introduced yourselves"
His grin returned, robust and vibrant, his gaze swapping between Morozko and Florentine openly.
@Morozko @Florentine sorry this took so long, I'm loving the dynamic between the three of them!
From the corner of their little world she watched from the very edges, not hidden yet not quite close enough to make one's proper appearance. It was from that distance that she gazed on at the gathering that transpired, heart strung tight at knowing Florentine had already found the one that came calling. She could also make out the body of Morozko; she hadn't quite figured her feelings toward seeing him again, his first reappearance a grand gesture at their meeting. They hadn't spared a moment for proper conversation yet, so she didn't know anything about his reason for being in Novus after those years of last seeing him in the Winter Court.
But he was not the reason for her choosing to not approach, instead giving into the desire to simply watch as opposed to breaking through their conversation. A curiosity hung itself around her neck in wonder of how her court would greet strangers into their lands; Florentine looked the part of court royalty, though, as she included both stranger and fellow member in her musings. The dual cream and dark painted mare could hear none of their passing words, and so she watched intently instead.
The one who crossed into their borders pulled all attention onto himself, and Rann couldn't miss the jovial way he carried himself through all his actions. She didn't know which court he hailed from--scents and mannerisms were foreign to her of those not of her own Dusk. So he commanded her thought while she hung back, finding no reason to interrupt what was already underway.
And all our problems make us powerless
feel free to either ignore or address rann, just wanted to pop her in for some character/herd development <3
Damascus had fallen in love with avoiding problems and found great comfort in lazing away each day upon the clifftops. It was only when the chatter of a nearby voice caught within the snare of his ears that he would rise to meet it, only occasionally breaking from his lounging state upon the dusklit land he now came to call home. There wasn't much in the way of family here yet, and while he greatly admired a small few he had met there was little he had in common with anyone. His voice, his accent, his speach; it was all mismatched to those he met. Damascus was an oddity and remained like a sewn on patch to cover a hole in a well-loved cloak; he didn't yet fit, wasn't yet loved.
It was as he heard the boom of another familiar voice that he lifted his head from the 'star flowers' (dasies) and turnedh is maneless head toward the gathered party along the cliffside. Dohv had burrowed into the grass and would easily catch up should he just follow thetwenty-feet of hair constantly streaming from the colt's dock.
"Reich-bach-nen" Damascus boomed to the night court man, one he had met numerous times now and perhaps even considered a friend (though still could not get his lips around his long name). "Doing be here you? Home long away far you for" Damascus came to comment, scanning his pondering and curious gaze over those who had gathered. Easily he recognised thier sovereign, a woman he had sworn to protect. Standing up for her in front of Reichenbach should things turn sour would prove problematic - he turly liked the man, and knew hardly anything of this star-dusted maiden. perhaps he should remedy that.
The others were two he had witnessed at the meeting, though still did not know their names. Feeling ignorant and slightly unwise, he cast his nose between them with and wanting thirst for knowledge - not just for their names, but for everything there was to know about them.
The mystery of the wild-maned stallion did not last for very long.
Morozko’s silver-eyed gaze was a solemn, still counterpoint to the rest of the scene, even as it sharpened on the other stallion as he spoke. His voice was as easy and pleasurable a roll as the waves below, and the unicorn fell into listening, his straight, almost rigid posture (more force of habit than intent) belying his curiosity. He caught Reichenbach, and Sovereign, and his attention sharpened further —
and then came the first arrival.
He recognized her immediately, by sight and scent and voice, and was immediately struck by the similarity between the two. No, not in anything physical, despite their wild hair and the careless way they carried themselves; they both were alive, marvelously and unapologetically, in a way he seldom saw in Hiemsterra. If they were flowers, he was frost; if they were the sea, feral and lovely, surely he was the cliffside they dashed and danced against. It was a foreign kind of grace they both possessed, and Morozko kept his silence as the young mare - little more than a girl, really - curtsied and spoke.
A king, then, and if the pale unicorn dipped his head in response to the discovery, it was out of respect and surprise, not obligation. He watched with faint amusement as she tucked a flower into the sovereign’s hair, but when the girl turns to him, he keeps his stillness and his silence. He quirked a brow at her comment on his mane, and forced himself not to protest - not to move at all - when instead she laid it around his horn. The brush of its petals against his forehead felt soft as a butterfly’s kiss.
“It suits you better,” he said, soft and half unwilling to speak at all, but she has already turned away.
He does not feel jealousy at their easy manner, or their reference to festivities - so he tells himself. And yet he is pleased when the talk moves on, back to business, back to things he knows and understands.
“I am not so charming as she,” he said, “but allow me to welcome you, your Majesty, to the Dusk Court. I am Morozko.” The unicorn paused, wetting his lips to continue, but they were once more interrupted. This time it was the dark colt from the gathering, a striking figure in his own right, whose lengthy tail trailed him like a robe. Morozko flicked an ear at the interruption, though he betrayed no outward displeasure. It seemed this Reichenbach was well known and as well liked, an observation that ought to comfort him.
But it suddenly felt quite crowded on the cliffside, with the breeze that pushed them seaward and the waves that leapt up the rocks. The winged colt’s arrival drew the former soldier’s attention to something else - and at the sight of Rannveig, the unicorn does drop his head in a bow. When he lifted it again, it’s to turn his gaze back on the bay king. He doesn’t notice when when another gust tears the flower from his horn and tosses it out to sea.
“It seems you needn’t wait long on that introduction.” He angled his head, looking with something like pride toward his queen, again marveling at how she had grown from slender filly to proud sovereign. He could not guess what else the Dusk Court might hold, but she at least would be easy to protect, to serve.
The thought, at last, drew a smile to his features, though it was as lean a thing as the rest of him. “I suppose I needn’t warn you that you’re being watched,” he said, a laugh in his silver eyes, for the Night King was well and truly surrounded, now. With that he stepped away from the cliff and toward Rannveig, turning so that he stood alongside her.
But Morozko stopped short of carrying out the actual introductions. For this, his gaze cut to the flower-maned girl, their Emissary. The winter-forged unicorn was nothing if not obedient to titles and the duties that they bore.
@Rannveig @Florentine @Reichenbach @Damascus SORRY FOR THE NOVEL
07-25-2017, 01:58 PM
Played by
Obsidian [PM] Posts: 380 — Threads: 45 Signos: 25
Florentine had been navigating that wire-thin path between adulthood and childhood for some time now. She slipped between maturity and childish ways as readily as the sea below rolled up upon its beach and then away, back out to sea. But the tide was changing for Florentine. If it began with puberty it most certainly ended with Rannveig’s appointment of her to Emissary.
Maturity was the pull of the tide out into the sea of adulthood. But oh Florentine will not go gracefully into the boring sea of ‘grownupness’; she is too rebellious for that. She escaped the boring rigours of court life in her birth land and there was no space for sorrow in her heart. It has wings and it flies, it soars and refuses to be caught.
Florentine saw the strain ruling had put upon her father. This girl of flowers, this young woman of dusk and glimmering starlight, would carve her own path beneath the title of Emissary. Yet it has her gaze lingering a moment too long on Reichenbach as she wonders, no, hopes he would never lose this carefree, playful demeanour that called to her so.
It suits you better. Morozko had said of the flower she wound about his horn. Her eyes held his, purple dusk-light meeting the lunar glow of impending night. “That may be so,” She acquiesced but with a smile playing across her lips. It was a pleased, charmed little thing – as any woman would wear when complimented with flowers. “But a flower’s beauty extends itself to everyone.”
She had watched the wind tug at the flower she wound around Morozko’s horn. It had unraveled, snagged by the wind, and chased her petals over the cliff edge only to vanish, tumbling down, down to the sea spray below.
It was always painful to watch her flowers wilt or die and she is warning the Night Court’s boy-king not to lose his, when her eyes settle upon a familiar figure within the distance.
Damascus came with a voice so loud it would harken any ear. Behind him his tail billowed out, long and lustrous; a cathedral train of ebony silk. The tall colt’s voice sang Reichenbach’s name (well, his version of it), with such joy that Flora’s attention is cast back to the King of darkness and moonlight. “Well aren’t you just winning hearts wherever you go.” She teased him lightly. “I am not sure you needed my flower to make you any more appealing.”
Then, and only then, as Morozko pulled away from their small number, did she notice Rannveig stood close. She moves closer to her queen, enough to bridge the gap between Reichenbach and his young colt-friend and Rannveig and Morozko. There is a moment, maybe only a split second, where Flora’s eyes flit between the two monarchs their Court line’s drawn with her stranded in between.
The butterflies of unease begin to flutter in her abdomen.
“Your majesties,” the young emissary begins at last, chasing away those nervous flutters with a smile and a welcoming glance cast from beneath her forelock at each gathered courtier. Her wings flare with a swan’s grace, one pointing to each monarch as she introduced them lightly, “King Reichenbach of the Night Court… and Queen Rannveig of the Dusk Court.” The girl paused, amethyst eyes dancing between them to flit away to Morozko and Damascus. “And these handsome boys, for any who might be wondering, are Morozko and I believe, Damascus.” Her lips twitch, though her eyes hold a hint of concern as she drinks in the colt. Florentine had never had a formal introduction with the young courtier, though the winds had more than once carried his name. It was unlikely she would find a colt so similar called Damascus and so she hoped her powers of deduction were on better form than her depleted dagger.
Came a familiar voice, deep but youthful, the accent muddled but improving. The Night King turned smoothly, silver eyes settling upon Damascus as he drew closer on mile-long limbs, that endless trail of hair sliding soundlessly over the grass. A genuine, warm grin swept his sable lips upwards as he answered;
"Damascus, my friend!"
He waited for the maneless boy to arrive before replying fluidly;
"I've come to meet with your Sovereign - I'm the new leader of Denocte, if you can believe it." He paused for a moment before adding "Your speech is improving, I almost didn't recognise it!" The sweet, small truth lingered on his tongue as he smiled at the gentle boy. Damascus was pure - an unadulterated, honest young man with too much history upon his vast shoulders. It was impossible to dislike him, not that Reichenbach had ever wanted to try. As Florentine's coy, sweet voice sidled into his waiting ears he slid his silver eyes to her, grinning with the promise to show her just how appealing he could be. The moment was quiet, private, the world moving around them slowly until he tore his abyssal gaze away. Watching Damascus closely, the Night King noticed his reluctance to speak with the others and said evenly;
"Damascus, Morozko and Florentine were just about to take me to your Queen, to Rannveig, would you accompany us?"
Yet even as he spoke, Morozko was speaking, that cool, intelligent voice somehow demanding more attention than Reichenbach's boisterous rumble. Reich followed his gaze, his long lashed eyes settling upon the fierce woman with distinct interest. She was stunning - a warrior Queen, somewhat removed as she examined the small group that had formed, memorable and star-spun. He liked her instantly (though it was difficult for Reichenbach not to like someone so full of vitality) and flicked his eyes to Morozko in amusement as he suggested that Night, at least here, was outnumbered.
His gaze shifted to Florentine, lingering on the curve of her neck as she cleared that cheeky throat and introduced the two Sovereigns. Reichenbach re-focused upon Rannveig, offering a pleasant smile and dipping his sable head respectfully - though not bending the knee completely. His ebony curls danced about his face, the coins within their depths tinkling quietly.
"A pleasure, and greetings from all of Denocte, Rannveig."
Their two courts were possibly the most similar - not only in their Solar similarities but also their values. Those in Terrastella were big-hearted and loved fiercely, just as those in Denocte did - just as he did.
@Morozko @Florentine @damascus @rannveig ahhhh this is the best thread???
The ease with which they conducted themselves made her imagine previous introductions and interactions had already been made; save for Morozko, who held himself with the caution of unfamiliarity. The mark of the Winter Court rested easily across his back, and she would dare admit to pride as she watched him. It was a soft coolness that strung the two of them together, not the harsh blizzards that claimed lives yet enough of a bite to keep themselves and their kin safe.
Her line of thought was only interrupted when the boy warrior dropped down to the small gathering; Damascus, who gave himself over easily to her despite not knowing who she was. His blind devotion was equally endearing and worrying, for one of such pure heart needed to protect himself if things turned down a thorned path--if she had not been a proper leader after all, would he have still served her cause simply because she was of Dusk? Yet even he held an air of confidence around the newest stranger in their lands, and she could only put trust in the idea of the bay man holding only good intentions, not threats.
It was Morozko who first noticed her solitary stance against the break in the earth, her colors settling themselves easily against the land and sky's horizon. He exchanged some sort of pleasantry with their visitor before setting of toward her, Florentine not far behind in action. With their approach she nodded her head to both of them, both a greeting and a thanks for upholding the values of Dusk well with a stranger. As her Emissary made way to break introductions, Rann only looked at Reichenbach. His eyes held on to the pegasus girl in a way that made her muscles twitch, but she remained still and merely continued observing.
The Night King carried himself with an ease that filled her with suspicion, and she couldn't tell if she admired or distrusted him for it; perhaps there were both finding their ways into the curves of her bones as she returned the slight bow, her for-now promise that he was welcome within their Dusk bodies. It seemed that at least two of their Courts were finding their way back into their Goddess' sights, and she wondered how the remaining fared with their Gods. Whereas Florentine cleared her throat to ease her way into making conversation, Rannveig simply broke silence with the cool touch of her voice. Words lilted into each other as her nordic accent rang strong, "Reichenbach. Vespera welcomes you."
It was the Night Court that she had first found herself seeking refuge when she crossed the borders of Novus from Veteris; she ran into the Autumn Court heir, Erynvale, and spent many moons with her and her court before travelling on to Dusk. She held the kindness of Erynvale and her people close to her heart, and so she would extend the gratitude toward Reichenbach until she felt he deserved otherwise. "It appears my court knows of yours more than myself." And whatever she meant by the statement she didn't explain, letting the words fall off while eyes never left the face of the Night Sovereign.
