 M A X E N C E SOVEREIGN OF SOLTERRA
It was a cloudy day until Solis breathed rays of precious light through the heights of their citadel, turning the entirety of the Day Court's library a familiar shade of gold. The shafts of light were mesmerising, the dust that floated within especially so, and all at once the gilded room had lit like a flame. Lifting his gaze from Zolin's collection of books Maxence was soon to sway to the window, breathing gently on the stone sashes of the room's opening as he cast his sights outward to where he expected to see those who had returned to this thirsty land. Together they were the outsiders, the hard-yarders, the true fighters of Novus and already they were blooming as a nation it would seem. Though, without rules or laws there would always be hiccups, so, the time had come for them to commune as a growing family and ensure order. Stepping with a prowl from the library of their fortress, the King surveyed the area and where he could present himself and the regime for the populace. There was no better place than the central hall - it was much like a throne room but without much in the way of decor. To the great doors he ambled, pressing the creaky but mighty arch doors open for the populace before he turned upon his hocks to look out upon the great expanse of his kingdoms and the countless dunes the people might come from. And then, like a lion he roared. A summoning so loud that the gods might quake, demanding any and all who heard it to come to the Day Court at once. Taking his place at the back of the room upon an elevated slab of stone the sovereign watched and waited for the flock to enter. There was much to discuss. This meeting is compulsory. All Day court members are expected to attend or may face IC punishment! You will have until the 26th of August to reply before the next round begins, though if you do not make it please jump in in the next round. It's better to be late than to not show up at all! Schtuff that will be covered in this meeting! Tagging the regime and council of champions @Avdotya @ |
All Welcome - DYNASTY pt. 2
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LEVIATHAN
the supernova Good deities, he hadn't been this sore in a long time. Muscles ached and pulled as he walked, his back screamed from pain as every step tore open the wounds that laid across his spine. His chest was bruised and his flanks were covered with smaller scabs, and he seemed to walk with a delicate step. He would have scars from that, and he would need to clean himself, to rid the dangers of potential festering. Still, he heard the call, loud and proud this time. It wasn't like the past few times that Maxence had called for them, no. This one held fire and duty in it, and maybe he was a little bit impressed that Maxence had finally stepped up to the mantle of Sovereign. After all, killing the beast in the canyon had been his victory. Leviathan turned himself from where he had been resting, and lifted his head high as he walked, a proud stance despite the pain pulling at him. It would fade, it always did, and the fight had been worth it. The victory over the beast, the rush of adrenaline and endorphins. It had been a long time. Both ears twitched forward as he walked in to the Court itself, his hooves heavy under him, and his body moving with the same posture as always, the same grace. Upon pausing and glancing around, he realized... he was the first to the meeting. A surprise indeed, but he had also been close by, recovering. Later, he would have to find the Oasis and soak himself within the waters and the falls, to clean himself and to wash away everything. He deserved it. For now, he merely lifted his head toward Maxence and nodded toward him, his head turning so his good eye could focus on the Sovereign. The man had his attention now, and respect. Her commander had made the call, his summons laced with the passions of one who had claimed his place as first among warriors. The striped maiden had heard talk of Maxence's successes in the canyon, slaying the mighty beast and stepping into his rightful place as Solis' chosen patriarch. At the news, the lass had rejoiced, her chest swelling with pride that her chosen leader had emerged with a mantle of victory upon his shoulders. Indeed, Eden had felt a sort of pride for the stallion, though they knew nothing of each other outside of rank and name. Regardless of her king standing as a stranger, the golden shieldmaiden grinned as she entered the great hall. The echoes of Maxence's summons had long since faded from the sand stone walls and the onyx slashed maiden strolled into a near empty room populated by a pair of veterans and silence. Golden bangles clinked softly as she moved, the sound unmuffled and sharp. Spying Leviathan before even Maxence, Eden felt a wash of affection for her favorite sparring partner. Aurelian gaze sought the behemoth's leftmost eye - his seeing eye - before offering the scarred stallion a nod, noting the stiffness of his posture and the peppering of scabbed wounds that must have been gained within the canyon. Her grin could only grow; her decorated friend would have several more badges of honor scattered along his multicolored hide. Nearing the proud winged figure that stood as her king, Eden slowed to a stop before him and proffered a shallow bow, her eyes glinting with curiosity and intrigue. "Yours to command, my lord," came her murmured greeting, amber eyes searching Maxence's countenance for any flicker of recognition. Suddenly, she felt almost sheepish in the presence of the winged male and she felt a blush begin to heat her cheeks. With a shake of her heavy, loc-laden skull, the youthful paladin shoved the feelings of awe away and moved to stand beside Leviathan's massive bulk. "I hear you fought well, brother." @Leviathan @Maxence hello sorry for crappy phone post Inkheart
JUST LIKE FIRE, BURNING OUT THE WAY
IF I CAN LIGHT THE WORLD UP FOR JUST ONE DAY WATCH THIS MADNESS COLORFUL CHARADE NO ONE CAN BE JUST LIKE ME ANYWAY Her body more broken than not, she uses her wings to carry her refined mass through the desert lands. The Elder Teryr that they had fought wounded her greatly, its first attack wounding her much worse than the others. Still, she follows the group and the resulting leader back to their home in the Day Court. Her wings grow tired from bearing her weight for so long, but still she persists. Her pinion wounded, broken within, she can place no weight on it. A gash marking her from shoulder to ribcage - half of her body - still looks raw, though the blood has stopped pouring from her wound. Now it simply stains her hide, dry and flaky. Golden orbs watch the new sovereign exit the library, then enter the central hall. Another follows him before her - the giant known as Leviathan, so aptly named. Another female, one she does not recognize, follows behind the large stallion. Her wings assist her as she tries to put more weight on her four legs. Silently she enters the hall, crown lower than normal, for she is ashamed of her wounds. Her weakness. Still, she pulls up next to Leviathan, orbs half-lidded as she dips her head to the new King. The mare she was unfamiliar with offers her service to Maxence. She tries to lift her crown, to carry herself a little higher, prouder. She takes a deep breath, lifting her head to watch her King. Her lids lift and her orbs start to regain a little of the fire they held before they took on the great and terrible beast known as the Teryr. Let it not be known that Inkheart, Prophetess of Solis, could be defeated so easily.  AVDOTYA
they have achieved nothing altered nothing and will die for n o t h i n g - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - When Maxence's great bellow clamored into the air, even Avdotya lifted her head to listen; by the sound alone she knew it was no simple invitation, but a summons for all of Solterra. Her eyes lingered on the dank remains of the fortress' fighting pit for only a few seconds more before she heeded the call, yet her mind still strayed as she climbed the steps back to one of the main halls. It had been a long while since she last set foot in that wretched place and she could not help but smile at the sight of it in such a ramshackle state. To this day she still wore the old bearskin from the beast she slaughtered there, laying it proudly over her withers and back for the world to see. She saw it as a gift from the god Solis himself, and for that, the woman would never see it lost from her possession.
The claws of that very skin tickled at her shoulders with every step she made towards the central hall. She anticipated some glorious speech from the crowned king's lips, something she may have abhorred just a few weeks prior; now, she did not seem so bitter at the thought. The stallion had proven himself a worthy fighter, one who she actually found herself pleased to work alongside. Of course, it was his wielding of her spear that truly gained some the mare's respect. It was easy to fiddle with it like a child with a toy, but very few could utilize it in such a lethal way.
Now, as she walked through the doors and saw him (among a few others), she did not growl with distaste. Instead, Avdotya stayed quiet and settled herself neatly alongside one of the grand pillars the supported the old building. She watched, then looked to Maxence to offer a subtle dip of her head in silent acknowledgment. Unlike the last congregation, the mare kept to herself, for this time she had no qualms to declare.
It appeared Solterra had found its next ruler.
notes notes notes ![[Image: 500_by_memuii-dbfxt60.png]](http://orig02.deviantart.net/75f6/f/2017/192/d/5/500_by_memuii-dbfxt60.png) " BEXLEY BRIAR " Sun flares against Bexley’s swash of dark lashes. She dips her head against the oncoming light, dropping her chin to her chest as to traverse that many shallow steps that lead into into the building. The universe is almost completely still, a heavy silence that promises change. Dust swirls through the air around her, backlit by watery yellow light, to form glittering microscopic clouds; her appearance can be easily heard, due to the soft click her blonde hooves make against the age-weathered stone, but she continues forward without self-consciousness. Her muscles and joints squeak in gentle protest but hold. When the light starts to fade around her and Bex finally steps through the threshold, into the hallway just ahead of the grand room, she finally looks up, calm, eyes readjusting to the shadows that stretch around her.
Unbelievable that Bexley has not once been the quickest to join a meeting. Though her head snaps up immediately at the sound of Maxence’s guttural roar, and her slender legs move quickly over the sand back to the Day Court, she knows by the time she rounds the last corner that she is intruding on a coalition already half-formed, a group of Maxence’s most loyal, tireless cronies. A snort of derision floods from flared nostrils, yet she moves forward with enthusiastic purpose, positive against the pain that still blossoms in her side.
Avdotya, Leviathan, Inkheart, Eden. It’s satisfying that she can name them off so quickly. Sloughing salt-crunchy white curls from her delicately carved face, Bexley slows her pace to an amble, narrow hips swaying, and takes her time in fully joining the group. When she does, she comes to a stop just next to Eden and bumps the taller mare with her shoulder, conspiratorial, the soundless mention of a friendship she’s not subtle about showing off to the rest of the group. With a flicker of dark-blue eyes she watches the expressions of her peers, gauging the mood of the hour, then turns her gaze evenly on Maxence and raises an eyebrow at him in wait.
 Torstein has washed his wounds, rested his creaky bones and tired muscles. So much of him ached, but it was a sweet feeling he did not dislike. The slice along his side, however, was another story... the Teryr had raked its claw along his barrel, cutting the flesh with the fine tip of its horrid claws. Every movement made him feel the disgustingly familiar pop as the skin pulled apart from one another; the same feeling a papercut on a joint would illicit, except all the more unpleasant. He had scoured the desert for what one thing that he knew to be beneficial, and he had found it. Aloe. He may not be a healer, but he knew the basics every good warrior should... and this plant was truly a godsend. He had spent the time around the Canyon pilfering off whole plants' fronds, biting off one side of the tough skin to expose the gel center. It was during this time that he heard the guttural roar from what he assumed was the flashy stallion. An ombre ear twitched lazily forward, and his gaze moved up to the skyline where the grand hall lay. He had yet to set foot within its stone quarters, but he assumed that now was as good a time as ever. Not like he had too much of a choice, anyhow. He turned his attention briefly to the moderately sized pile of aloe fronds he had. He took two exceptionally large ones that he had, and scooped up the gel from its center. The telekinesis this land afforded him proved to be useful, even if he was quite clumsy at handling it.. but it did assist him in smearing that glob of gel along the cut along his barrel. The cool sensation brought a hum from his throat, even if the aloe stun a tad as it entered the crevice of the wound. For good measure, he slathered another large frond's worth of gel over the wound, effectively coating the entire thing and the fur surrounding it. The gel was doing good work at keeping the wound's edges from popping apart from one another, but it still stung. He gathered the remaining aloe fronds - a good amount for a number of the inhabitants that had been involved in the scuffle. He was feeling oddly nice, so he figured he might spread the love. And off he went, making his way slowly and carefully from the Canyon to the grand hall. He was in no rush, and had no intentions of ripping open the wound upon his side any further. He would show his face, even though he questioned why he would bother. He finally made it. Eyes peered around the grand Court and all its old glory. Even if it was old and akin to ruins, it was still quite an impressive feature of the land. He saw several, whom he assumed were also Solterran inhabitants, rush past him and up the worn stone stairs. He paused at the base, dreading the hike. Might as well follow, since I haven't a clue where I'm actually headed. And he did, slowly up those time-worn stairs and into what he would learn was the Grand Hall. He entered the room where several others already stood: the other massive brute who tackled the Teryr, the dreadlocked mare, the black and gold pegasus whom had the utter shit knocked out of her by the Teryr (which still illicited a cruel chuckle), the golden chestnut mare, resting bitchface - whom he had met upon more than one occasion, and an unfamiliar white dappled stallion. Somber eyes regarded the mass as he stood in silence near the outcropping of the room. He eventually meandered forward, towards where the painted stallion stood atop his slab, and found an unused surface. It was here that he dropped the remainder of the aloe fronds for whomever would find it useful. "For those of us still licking our wounds," he commented unequivocally, and then returned to his spot at the fringe of the room. Action. Thoughts. "Speech." Free aloe gel for anyone who wants it ;D This is his 1 good deed for the year, fyi ↤ Reference Image - - chest cavity: CLOSED - - 680 words - - code Ⓒ inkbone ↦ [ please tag @Torstein in all replies ]
I have three eyes TWO TO LOOK ONE TO SEE  DO WE NOT BLEED? Lorca heard the summons from within his decadent chambers and scowled, rolling his golden eyes with utter ire at the sound of the new Sovereigns call. He didn't immediately jump from his cushions to scamper to the King, instead he lounged further back into the comfort of his soft bed and stretched out each long limb sensually, ears flicking lazily at the sounds of hurrying footsteps all throughout the keep. Only once the sounds of hoof-falls had diminished did he slowly rise, luxuriously rolling his elegantly muscled shoulders and sweeping his silken hair back from his delicate face. He left his chambers in silence, the click of his door deafening in the quiet halls. Velorca didn't hurry. In fact, he paused a few times to admire himself in whatever reflections he could find. He looked as delicious as always - smooth, unmarred skin the colour of steel, hair like silk draping elegantly over his back, no avian bone out of place. Lorca's lips curved upward in a pleased smile at his appearance, satisfied that he would turn heads wherever he went - most of all this Solis-damned meeting. It irked him that Avdotya - the one being in this cursed temple that had as much reason as he did to hate The Day Court as he did - did not hate it at all. Still, he was attending in the hopes that he might see her again, might speak with her after Maxence said what he needed to say. To see her again here was... remarkable. He didn't linger on the memories of her, bloodstained and ferocious, but slipped into the meeting silently, unnoticed and unknown. Lorca shifted from shadow to shadow, finally coming to a pause next to an absolutely delectable mare with golden skin and corn-silk curls. He sniffed loudly, inhaling heat and perfume but finding little to complain about. So, in a rare show of self-control, Lorca remained silent, staring coldly at Maxence. OOC; Lorca snakes in and stands next to Bexley bc she pretty ![[Image: rhosbyspace2_by_outofthefurnace-dbkwvw7.png]](https://orig15.deviantart.net/7f0b/f/2017/234/b/6/rhosbyspace2_by_outofthefurnace-dbkwvw7.png) Rhoswen had been absent for weeks, roaming lands beyond Novus in search of something vast and indefinite. An answer, or several, to the questions desecrating her happiness. From Denocte she had fled after visiting her sovereign brother, storming toward the open road with only fire in her heart and the heat of the sun on her pale back. For a long time, then, the sky had been her only companion, and for once she had enjoyed the ringing song of solitude. For years previous it had hung around her throat like the hangman's noose - but no longer; she was free, if only for a moment. Into her father's heavy shoes she had stepped, shackles of burnished iron cast from her bloody ankles; the looming fear of not being the dutiful merchant daughter her family had expected of her. But what wolf can truly be tamed? The call of a wilderness beyond Novus dimmed after weeks of chasing wanderlust into the night, into the dark crevices of her spiderweb mind. And at last she had turned back toward Solterra, knowing ultimately she might have missed the most important events in recent history. Thick auburn curls bounced around her cheekbones as the distant sound of a bellowing roar echoed to the north. Rhoswen paused, a fleeting smile dancing across her lips - she'd barely stepped foot back in Solterra and already drama was unfolding. She knew most, if not all, of the gathering would not recognise her, for she had been most unusually unforthcoming - but all that was about to change. Leaving Denocte and her family behind had been far more troubling than the young girl could ever have anticipated; she'd needed time to adjust; and adjust she had. With a push of her milelong limbs, Rhoswen flew across the ground toward Solterra's great court. By the time she arrived there were already several heads standing before and around a man of whom she could finally put a face to the name. Her eyes, borne of raging storms and rain, glittered fervently; set alight by the buzzing anticipation in the air. She moved languidly, slipping through the tall doors with elegant ease, and yet every muscle in her body stretched and tensed with excitement. Unlike others, she did not sidle up against anyone - instead she stood apart - distinct and proud. Here she was at last. |
