She found herself often staring at the night sky, not because she was entranced by the twinkling stars or the veiled mystery of the night -- no...she considered the ways that she might take one of Caligo's stars for her own. If she had a pair of strong wings, she wondered if she might ever return to the earth or if she might choose to live among the stars and leave behind the pain of her life at last. Darkly lashed lids slid over the fae's glass eyes, her face void of the pain that she felt stirring in her gut. She looked at peace, save for the subtle twist of her mouth -- the way that her ears pinned back against her dark curls.
Despite her appearance on the peak, Freya was not there to worship. No, far from it -- her disdain for the gods just as potent as the one she held for men. How many nights in her youth had she cried out for the help of the gods....any god, and they had stood silently by as she suffered? They did not deserve her praise...nor that of anyone else. The gods were just silly stories that parents told their foals in order to keep them in line, lest they invoke wrath. The blue roan allowed her head to lower slowly, her nares flaring in order to take in the heady scent of a summer night. Even here, on the mount, where snow still touched the ground and the air was thin it was apparent that the summer season was in full swing.
Her feet moved with an abstract rhythm to a song that only she could hear, the click of her hooves loud in the cavernous space. Her back to the opening, she ventured further into the realm of worship -- a hushed whisper of wind and the sound of chirping insects the only companions. The inside of the cave was like a wonder of the world, spiraling stone columns holding the cave's roof far above her head. The thick blankets of moss and flowering ivy kept the cavern from echoing too much, allowing the privacy of those seeking to truly worship. Freya siged softly, approaching the altar meant for Caligo. Another role to play, that of a devout servant to an unseen master. At least... She thought. I can understand her pain.
Her offering was measly, certainly not her best -- no that had all gone to the Night King, Reichenbach and his crows. He had shown her a kindness when she had arrived in Denocte, and had kept her out of any real trouble. She repaid him now with the coin she earned as a dancer and entertainer -- but rarely hung around the Crows now. She had little interest in keeping friends or company anyway, and most of the Crows her age...well they had found their place in the Court. They became functioning members of society -- but Freya was still caught in the snares of her past, and didn't allow her to move forward. So she continued as she always had -- like a ghost, never fully free.
She set the gold down on the altar, muttering a small prayer if only for the appearance. And perhaps...somewhere in the depth of her heart, where she did not allow anyone to see...she meant what she asked for.
first post! tagging a couple of night court people who may be interested, but anyone from any court welcome!
@Reichenbach @Aislinn @Camdis @Mila @Raum
08-27-2017, 06:52 PM
Played by
Obsidian [PM] Posts: 146 — Threads: 16 Signos: 0
The words slink to her from the darkness, crawling their way across her sea-deep skin. Moonlight twirls about her limbs, fading cream to silver light.
About her the altars lie, ancient and ethereal, evangelizing in whispers she refuses to hear. Caligo’s stands out with shadows breathing, tendrils of night reaching to chase away the moonlight upon her limbs. He wonders if she sees it, if she feels Caligo there, upon her skin...
Within the darkness he moves, and he is little more than shadows shifting, swirling and contorting. He moves past her dancer’s body and as he goes electric blue eyes find the silver glass of hers, gleaming, shining, drowning.
Caligo’s altar calls to him, shrouded in a darkness as thick and luxurious as velvet. Her night was the cloak he wore, it adorned him, pulled him into shadow and concealed his silver skin from prying eyes.
From around a spiraling pillar he comes, passing Freya with little more than a sigh of air as moonlight dances between them. At the shrine of shadows Raum lays a black flower, delicate and ornate, so lavish in its black beauty. It lies beside Freya’s glittering gold. Black and gold, black and gold; they were his colours now, rising to consume him.
His prayer is a murmur, a chant that dances upon the walls. It splits into voices: two, three, four, until it sounds like a whole congregation worshipping around the duo, hidden in the darkness.
Silence descends, thick and spiritual. It hangs, easing, soothing fingers over his body and hers. It slips into the corners of the temple and smothers sound from even the winds outside.
In reverence the Crow turns from his goddess’s shrine and finds the girl still stood. He can feel her religiously apathetic heart from where he stands, sees the gleam of rejection in her eye. He smiles, small but uncaring – her rejection of the gods were not his problem.
“You do not have to offer her gold you know.” He murmurs, slipping closer, quicksilver pouring across the stone floor, “It is only we who treasure gold.” Raum offers, he knows the money she gives away. The girl has lived more years than he, arriving, older wiser and for four years he grew beside her, watching her, watching their brethren Crows. Raum saw her dance beside their fires, with gold and silver clinking upon her torso. Maybe that is all she knows.
The mountain peak was like a beacon in the distance -- staring at her, beckoning to her -- as she traveled. A place of worship, an aclove close to the gods themselves; a stairway to heaven as she climbed. A string of curses loosed from the wicked lovely thing's lips as she trotted higher and higher still. Damn the gods, all of them. The gods of this world were no different than the nasty beings that had her bastard parents throwing wee little babes across the desert sands to rot; no different than the so-called gods that sent "saviors" to scoop them up and take any ounce of innocence they had left. The only one she felt even a shred -- however small, however hesitant still -- of indifference was for Calligo. The demi-goddess of Night, triumphant of shadows and stars and miracles born of darkness itself; the only true home she had ever felt. That was why she had found a sudden, shriveled up desire to make the climb to this world's highest point. In a half-attempt to try and thank her, to pray like the devout.. well, she hadn't exactly figured it out just yet.
Nearing the peak, her breath comes out in soft pants as the air thins. Her ears flicker at the sound of voices, suddenly aware of the presence of others lurking within the citadel. Mila slinks into the shadows, a phantom of red and gold, her ears pricked and listening. She roams and finds solace in the darkness at the corners of the cave, moving deeper inside as emerald-jeweled eyes take in the sight of.. not strangers, but family. Her heart floods warmly as she takes them in; Raum, a ghost of quicksilver and secrets (and reeking of sand and scorched earth, although she would not tell him this), and Freya, her ocean-kissed skin and gold trinkets shining under the little light in the sacred aclove.
The freckled chestnut beauty melts from the shadows, all grace and fluid movements as she makes herself known. Her locks of flaxen ginger-gold are tied up into a messy bun, loosely held by a shimmering gold ribbon, and adorned with trinkets throughout. As she nears the shrine of her Goddess, Mila pulls one of these trinkets from her thick tresses -- a small one in the shape of a star -- and places it onto the altar. She whispers a prayer, half-heartedly but not at the same time, before turning to her company with a coy grin tugging at her lips. "Fancy seeing you two here.. all alone," she teases, a bell-like giggle bubbling in her throat.
@Freya @Raum
second post with her -- still trying to get used to her persona! please bare with me c: "Mila speech."
Okay so she had followed him, so what? It was her duty now to watch Raum, to monitor his shadowborne movements so that no Solterran should befall a grisly end by his hand. For if she would not, could not, betray him to Maxence then it was her burden to bear through gritted teeth. Rhoswen had come close, in the midst of a fitful cyclonic rage, to landing three hardened knocks on the Sovereign's throneroom only to falter at the last moments, frozen within herself. How could she, how could she! And so, spitting and hissing, she had withdrawn.
Night had discoloured her fiery skin but heat still rolled from her petite, sharp-edged frame as she ascended the great slopes of Veneror. It's position was much closer to Solterra and the desert than Denocte, and Rhos was thankful for the shorter journey, snidely wondering if the religious cathedral existed closer to Day Court for a reason higher than geographical coincidence.
Having decided to keep a comfortable distance from that tall iron-skinned boy, it was late by the time her hooves struck stone and pillar of this hallowed house. Eyes darker than a winter storm flashed at the sound of voices dancing from within, causing her to quieten her steps - clinging to the shadow despite the natural pull of moonlight. Rhoswen shifted forward, breaching the entrance at last of the divine ground to witness the sight of three umbral silhouettes. One, of course, was Raum - she'd recognise those broad albeit lissome shoulders anywhere - but it took a moment longer for her to distinguish the accompanying women. Mila - the young viperous blonde, and Freya - a strong and pragmatic woman; both crows.
She hadn't see either of them in a long, long time.
Mila's words rang out into the air, and Rhoswen stiffened; what exactly was she insinuating? Freya and Raum, surely not? Teasing the poison-mistress might have been, Rhos found the idea to be suddenly viscous and unpalatable and it stuck like tar to the halls of her head. Snorting, as though to dismiss it entirely, the auburn-haired Solterran finally gave away her presence, moving forward into the silver light. She cast Raum a brief and bleak glance before turning to the girls, her gaze softening - "Well, long time no see..."
It took a long while for Torstein to trek up this mountain, to make his way to the shrines of the gods of these lands. Gods he, admittedly, knew nothing about and didn't... care too much for. But if he was stuck here, he might as well learn as much about this land as possible, right?
So he found his way up the icy paths, through the thin air and chilling winds, to finally set hoof on the weathered stone that lay beneath the spiraling columns. Each god had a pedestal, a shrine, in its own symbolic area. On the shrines lay offerings of varying sorts - gold, jewels, cloths, trinkets, herbs, all things large and small. He took a few moments to take it all in, and he had to admit that it was quite an impressive place of worship. If you were into that stuff.
And as he took in the sights and familiarized himself with the stone temple, he heard voices. Steps stilled and an ombre ear perked up, rotating towards the three, no... four inhabitants as they spoke. Peering at the other shrines from the one he stood in front of - Vespera, was it? Goddess of the Dusk Court? - he saw the quartet, surrounding the shrine of the Night Goddess, Caligo.
For a moment, he thought nothing of it. He was sure it was not uncommon for multiple people to gather among the temple and worship as a unit.
But he recognized two of them.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Both ears slid forward, and the hulking stallion stared more intently at the four. He knew he recognized two of them from the last Court meeting that Maxence had held. While not surprising that they were amongst those in the temple - it seems much of Novus was innately religious in some form - what was surprising, is that one of them kneeled at Caligo's altar.
Stern eyes focused on the sleek stallion, tall and melding easily with the shadows - and while Tor himself still stood in front of Vespera's altar, his attention couldn't be farther from it. Messily braided tail flicked at his hocks, and his ears slid back to rest against his crown of horns.
Slowly, his body turned towards the quartet, weathered hooves shifting calmly against the worn stone beneath them. He made no attempts to conceal himself... because, to be honest, there was simply no way he could. He towered above even the tallest of the four.
But still, his attention lay focused two: the dainty female with the bun of red hair and flowers, and the sleek, shadow-swathed stallion.
"It's a pleasure to see other Solterran inhabitants within these grounds," he stated matter-of-factly and with not too much concern for interrupting conversations. His eyes never left Raum and Rhoswen, and spent more time focused on the former.
She didn't know why she was following the red-gold youngling up the god-damn mountain. She didn't know why she even bothered.. the wicked lovely little thing could obviously handle her own. Watching her from afar, however, and seeing her emerald-jeweled eyes gleam with nothing other than pure mischief had the warrior's skin crawling. Her blood sang with suspicion. The last thing she wanted to do was to trek up to the Peak, so soon after she had run into her king in the citadel.. too soon after so many things were said and unsaid between them.
I'm in love with —
She stomped her hoof angrily onto the stone, quickening her pace as she trotted up up up, hot pants ringing through her lungs as the air thinned. The louder her breathing, the more his voice was beginning to drown out in her head. If only she could stop the constant replaying of his words.
Thankfully, the winged fae began to slow, relief flooding her as the stairway to heaven began to plateau and flatten. A shiver ran down her sweaty skin as she tucked her wings in close to her lithe frame, shaking her crown to rid herself of the lingering voices from her memories. Suddenly she realized that the sacred aclove was no longer as small as she remembered it — the shrines of their gods no longer the focal point, as the space inside the stone citadel was crowded with a throng of strangers. Orbs of icy-blue flames glazed over the group huddled under the vaulted ceiling, nostrils flaring as she took in the combined scents of those she had never seen before.
Her target — Mila — stood on the edge, half of her freckled body still covered in shadow. The others, Aislinn began to take note of. The silver-blue mare had the distinct cloud of Denocte's musky perfume; the other three, however.. were not children of the Night. The warrior-gypsy's eyes narrowed as she took in the details. Her gaze hardened, velvet lips tight in a thin line. A pretty thing of copper coloring, a boy the color of molten silver — like his eyes, she noticed, snickering — and a peculiar painted man that towered over her own height by several hands. Aislinn's ears pricked at the man's words, a muscle twitching at "Solterrans."
With a stiff inhale, the Night King's chosen Champion of Battle stood her ground, raising her chin defiantly. Her ears flattened against her skull as her gaze flickered between them with obvious distrust. "You two should not be alone with them," she said through her teeth. "I'm here to take you both back to the Keep."
Only the space of heartbeat passed before she found that she was not alone in the temple of the gods. Her glass gaze, the color of her eyes so light a blue that often they appeared translucent, cut across the room towards the darkness where someone of such a light color should not have been able to hide. Raum had always been one for the impossible, it was what made him the perfect Crow to send to the Day Court; although she couldn’t say she envied him at all. She much preferred the Night Court and it’s ways, the way that night swaddled her children like a tender mother. No...Daylight was much to harsh for the likes of Freya, who had grown up in the night’s embrace long before she had even truly known it.
Save for his words, she might had tensed in reaction to the sudden interruption but the voice was all too familiar. And then, like the wraith he was -- he appeared too close to her, causing her to step to the side. The sound of her feet clipping the floor was scuffled in her haste to move, as a frown settled deep on to her features. It took several moments for her to wash it away, taking a deep breath to steady herself as she opened her lips to speak. ”I came to give my offering. A respect that I show my king, if not the goddess herself.” She said, her voice much more level than she currently felt. She might not care for the crows in the public’s eye, but she did fret after them in her personal thoughts. Raum had assigned to the Day Court and she had cornered him up after it all came out, pressing on him...in her own way that he would promise to be safe out there amongst strangers.
To see him now, obviously faring well, pleased her to some extent. The dark haired beauty brushed back her hair, pretending to instead be smoothing out her appearance rather than checking out every inch of him for undue marks.
When Mila appeared, the freckled girl doing as Raum had done before her -- appearing from the shadows, Freya grows even more unsettled. Her private worship was quickly turning into a Crow gathering, which would only mean trouble since that was what the Crows were good at.
”Oh, bite me.” The night kissed mare retorted, giving a little snort at the absurdity. Her gaze flashed to Raum, to confirm that they were indeed the farthest thing from a couple. Freya was an ice queen when it came to actual relationships, and although they had briefly held each other’s interest -- those days were far behind them. Especially because she could sense what a love-struck fool he was for…
“Well, long time no see…” A familiar voice said, and if Freya had not known the auburn-haired beauty by her voice, that silly bun on top of her head would have given her away. Rhoswen, the fair maiden of a fair house -- once part of Denocte but forsaking the moonlight for that of the sun. Freya frowned, pulling her head up to give her some height as the elegant mistress towered over her. She had some hard feelings against Rhoswen, for a multitude of reasons she didn’t particularly care to revisit. She shifted her weight, swinging her hips around so that she could keep everyone in her line of sight as her dark tail slashed against her hocks, a sign of her irritation.
She had come up on this mountain for peace, not some godforsaken reunion.
”Not long enough, if you were to ask me -- not that anyone does.” Freya muttered bitterly, looking the mare over. When the giant stallion appeared, she decided to pick her side -- letting lithe steps take her closer to the freckled familiarity of Mila. Besides, if there was to be trouble she’d rather have the poison-wielding youngster at her back than a traitorous snake and someone who was supposed to be under cover. He was a beast in size, towering even higher than the tallest of them that had arrived so far; yet he paid no mind to the two Night Court patrons in favor of those from his own court.
She kept her eyes on him, quite intimidating with those horns of his his and the peculiar split of his chest. It seemed like teeth lingered along the outside and Freya had a morbid curiosity if it might open, revealing a blackened heart at any moment.
”How many Solterrans does it take to give an offering?” She posed the question aloud, glancing at Mila. An unusual and strange looking smile had curled onto her lips, only to fall away at the arrival of Aislinn -- causing the banshee to pin back her ears in annoyance as the Champion of Battle joined the fray. This was certainly not how she had seen her night going, and it would put her off from visiting Caligo for a long time. Like a battering ram, the winged gypsy’s voice cut through them.
Her laughter floated out amongst the cavern like a mist, before cutting short -- a brow raised over one of her glass eyes. ”Oh...you were serious?” Freya said, pinning her ears back against her head. The gold and sapphire adornment on her face glinting as she turned her head away again. ”We were just fine until you decided to show up.” She said, although she too had a distrust of the daylight -- she wasn’t about to let anyone tell her what to do, even if it would piss Reich off that she defied his little Champion.
”Take yourself back to the Keep. Things were just getting fun.” She said nonchalantly, turning back to the group of Daylighters who smelled of sand and sun.
just wanted to say holy hell the response to this thread was overwhelming.
@Raum @Mila @Rhoswen @Torstein @Aislinn
09-05-2017, 11:20 AM
Played by
Obsidian [PM] Posts: 146 — Threads: 16 Signos: 0
He had not been with Freya long before the temple begins to sing with a familiar rhythm of clipping feet. Too many time Calligo’s darkness worked like a blindfold and by now, through many years of working the shadows, Raum had become accustomed to seeing through the darkness where others might not. Yet Calligo’s magic could always work deeper still, would always knit itself together, tighter and tighter until the black was near impenetrable, even to this Corw’s eyes. It was then she taught her Ghost to listen. Raum had long ago learnt the sound of each twin’s feet, the rhythmical dance of each Crow’s own body.
Raum knows, even before the desert girl’s bird-like voice begins its taunting song, that Mila is there in the shadows and darkness. He turns to where she pours out across the temple like liquid gold, hot and dangerous. The blue of Raum’s gaze is as deep as the sea and he turns the full force of them upon Mila; his water set to strip the heat from her skin.
There is no intent to strip the girl of her humour, it is just impassive the way he watches her. For a long while he regards the younger Crow, wondering if she merely aims to tease or if she knew that he and Freya had once had something. A something borne of convenience, granted.
Freya, viperous, wild as she was, bit out a fierce and biting retort that had Raum’s lips curling into smirk. He remained limned in shadow beside Calligo’s altar, his offering of ebony roses wilting softly in the cool mountainous air.
It was there he remained when Rhoswen also slipped from the darkness, her body blazing with a fire that even Calligo’s shadows could not quench. He blinks, as if to keep from dousing her flame with his ocean blue gaze.
The look she gives him is bleak, even for the wild storms her gaze normally yields. Yet the silver boy holds it, like the raging sea beneath her squall, until she looks away and then, only then, does he shift his gaze back to the others. It would be a brief passing however, for from the darkness approaches another. The Crow instantly recognizes this creature with his pallid skin and imposing torso. Nerves begin to tingle, electric awareness seeping through his skin as coils of wariness begin to knot within his body. But Raum is quicksilver and to quicksilver he returns, becoming once again sleek, cold and unaffected.
Raum lets their gazes of electric blue and bruising plum meet, holding them for as long as Solterra’s Warden wishes to. An ear twists forward, though retreats with Freya’s caustic quip. Raum turns the tide of his ocean gaze upon her, the blue of his gaze suitably cold for the presence of Torstein. “Touché.” He murmurs, his lips no longer finding the curve of a smile as he schools his reaction into something more subtle. This was a lesson in tact, for how long had Solterra’s Warden been watching? Enough to see a Crow lay a rose at the altar of his goddess?
The Ghost’s face smooths into easy acknowledgement, “Indeed, it is good to see other Solterran’s here. It brings some balance to our numbers.” His eyes flit between the four others gathered before returning to Torstein, “I saw your appointment to Warden at the meeting, congratulations.” The Crow’s lips curl into a smile as cool and freely flowing as water. “I am Raum, by the way.”
He would have left it there, would have found some way to free himself from this situation, in an unsuspecting manner and yet the situation continued to spiral, wild and out of control: A girl arrives, battle ready, bearing shadows as her armour. Her eyes flit to Freya and Mila at the rough rebuke.
Freya’s laughter ricochets around the temple as caustic as the gypsy warrior’s. Her dismissal is sharp and this time Raum does allow an amused smile to light his lips, a smooth, perfect lie. “Discord amongst the ranks in Denocte?” He asks slyly with blue eyes glittering like a sea before the storm.
Begins the long list of tags:
@Freya @Mila @Rhoswen @Torstein @Aislinn
She was wickedness and loveliness glad in red and gold, a child of desert suns and the burst of supernovas before the upcoming darkness of a black hole. Dangerous, and soft, and unexpected; a Crow, through and through. And here before her were two more of her kin. Freya, the lady of blue and jewels; someone she had often found looking up too, with both the annoyance and admiration saved for older sisters. Then Raum, Denote's Ghost, the Crow's quicksilver spymaster. And although her heart swelled at the sight of him again -- twice now in recent days -- she remained impassive and unknowing. She would do nothing to reveal his secrets or his intentions; for doing so was not the way the Crows worked.
And suddenly their group of misfits and blackbirds were no longer three, as another soul stepped through the citadel's archways to join them. Mila's ears perked at the noise of featherlight steps -- nearly silent with an untrained ear -- before her head turned to look at the newcomer. Her eyes widened in surprise moments before her mind burst with heartfelt recognition. For the mare was Rhoswen; beautiful, strong Rhoswen of copper pennies and rose-colored wine. She did not know how long she had been hiding in Calligo's shadows, but Mila found that she didn't care. Rhoswen had been a sister to her without the boundaries of blood since the day the Crows had stormed and scooped up the twins from their shriveled past life. And now she was here; no longer in a far off place that Mila would dare not go. But right here instead.
A genuine grin broke across her face at the mare's words of welcome, and Mila could not help but run to her side. Her excitement was a tangible thing, for although she acted far older than her age, Mila was still only a young girl of two. A child with a woman's body and mind at times.. but still a child.
Before she could utter any words, however, Mila's ears caught the incoming steps of not one, but two more to their party. A man that was at least twice her size and the color of painted night skies, and a peculiar third eye on his forehead stepped in. He stank of Solterra's dry summer winds and endless red sand; common for those who called the court of Day home. Immediately, the girl's muscles tensed at the sight of him, but it was the next incoming soul that had her gaze narrowed. A familiar woman of thunderstorms and starlight, emotions playing on her unamused face joined them. Aislinn, she recalled. Of course. Reichenbach's lady knight.. his stormsinger. One of their Court's chosen champions.
With a snicker, Mila snorted at the gypsy woman's tone, her laugh mirroring Freya's own reaction. A musical giggle bubbled from her, before she stared at the stormsinger with an emerald gaze as sharp as her twin's beloved daggers. "And on who's orders?" Mila pushed, a muscle twitching in her soft lips. She stepped forward with a wicked grin, gesturing to the group of them as she strode towards Raum with a dancer's grace. "Your presence is as unwanted as a horse fly," she spat to the gypsy mare, her tone as toxic as one of her poisons. "Be gone. We were just getting started."
@Freya @Raum @rhoswen @Torstein @Aislinn
All speech directed towards Aislinn.. poor girl xD "Mila speech."
Heart beating, Rhoswen didn't know what to expect from the girls. Raum was inconsequential - they had already shared words both hot and cold, their feud was irrelevant here. But Freya and Mila? They were new territory for the Solterran girl; a year or more they had spent apart by her own hand. She didn't expect much, why should she - Rhoswen knew that in a house built from the ground up by secrecy and kinship, her desertion was an affliction they would not soon forget. She didn't blame Night Court for not understanding, not so much anymore at least; the girl of hellfire and whitelit daisies felt simply resigned to their contention and disparaging tongues. It had not happened in their lifetimes before, so the abdication and leave of a high-ranking merchant's daughter had rattled and jarred against their dark flashing eyes.
Time moved nonchalantly, dragging its feet - digging ancient heels into the stone beneath their feet. Rhoswen took advantage of this seemingly lethargic lapse of the hour to observe the Crows' reactions. Freya's frown tugged at the frayed edge of her heart, though with steel and chainmail she refuses to let it sink downward - instead she merely returns the cerulean woman's gaze, seemingly open and unabashed. Too long had she lived in shame; there was no use hiding the truth now. Freya's words glide smoothly, a knife against the air, and Rhoswen might have retaliated once, now she only shrugs. Let her have that one barb. Just the one. She glanced, then, to Mila - and was startled, instantly, by the uncorrupted grin roaring across her beautiful face. Blonde hair dancing as she moves, the youngster closes the space between them and Rhos is suddenly suffused with something old, something familiar. Colour spreads vibrantly through her chest until it rises into a smile upon her own silver-red lips.
Before either of them can speak, the atmosphere is perforated by the scent and sound of a Solterran man of whom Rhoswen knew very little. His name dangles just out of reach, taunting her, until she catches it with sharp wolven teeth: Torstein. It would have been nigh upon impossible to forget a beast such as the Day Courtian Warden, with his skyscraping stature and uniquely-featured appearance. Where others might have been morbidly perturbed by his chest, Rhoswen was... hungrily curious, and then it was forgotten. What a crowd they were - standing in the halls of Novus' great cathedral, filling up the house with their heat and their ego. Rhos offers the Warden a brief, transparent smile in welcome - knowing quite how bizarre the aforementioned scene must appear to him, and equally wishing not to draw untoward attention to herself or Raum. Raum - who had altered himself so fluidly in the blink of an eye.
"Well Solis' isn't going to worship himself, now, is he?" The redhead had been silent until now, and as her playfully vulpine tones poured toward Torstein, she took a moment to glance at Raum once more, her gaze utterly unreadable. All the better for it too. She watches as the silver man speaks, playing the perfect part, and nobody notices the minute hitching of her chest as he does so. "And I am Rhoswen." Who knew what the Warden had seen from the shadows...
The night is embodied and transforms once more, shadows twisting to let through yet another figure, this one unknown and unidentifiable. The woman was quite striking, all lavender and moondust, but the roughness in her eyes and voice felt caustic against the stiff air surrounding the group. Voices clattered against each other as Freya and Mila reeled against the stranger, of whom apparently belonged to Denocte. Rhoswen could smell the smoke, the jasmine, the faded oak and campfire: a place she'd once called home. Usually an incandescent participant, the desert maiden allows herself to assume the role of a nocuous spectator - watching from beneath heavy lids and bloodied-sunset curls - a dark smile swelling at the corners of her mouth. Her ashen gaze flits toward Torstein and Raum, her eyes rolling to the roof before turning back toward the newest addition.
"I don't know who you are, but I highly doubt Reich gave such an order. In any case - we don't bite that hard, hunny."
@freya @Raum @mila @Torstein @Aislinn this took me about five hours to write lmao
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