eady?" the sovereign called down to the priestess, securing the torn curtain in his harness. He intended to use it as a sling; how else were they going to transport fertile soil home to Solterra? In a few trips they'd have enough, and Maxence knew he could carry a great deal while flying; roughly three quarters of his own body weight to be exact. The king would not wait for Inkheart's answer, and instead took off in the direction of the sunset, using Solis's light as a guide for the land of dawn.
The king always flew above the clouds; it was his untouchable realm where none would bother him or knew to find him, and until the time came to land Maxence stayed above the cloud cover in his own starlit realm. It was there he could admire the sunset's colours best and how they washed over the land below, observe every star, and perhaps for a moment wish that this kind of peace existed for those left in toil in his homeland. Still when he drifted below the clouds Ves and Wolfgang were gone still, and spoils of war would remain.
Finding ample room to land was a challenge along the banks of the Rapax where the earthy soil was slick and soft, though still Maxence managed by landing in the shallows. Turning his nose skyward, he waited for a sign of Inkheart's safe arrival before he began digging into the bank with his hooves in a stamping, pushing motion.
Hopefully no flower pickers would notice them.
Maxence and Inkheart have come to borrom some soil from the banks of the Rapax. You can try to stop them...
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
"Ready?"
Her new king calls to her, preparing a torn curtain with which to transport soil to Solterra. She raises her golden eyes to meet his brief gaze and nods in agreement. Her own scrap of curtain is tied in a knot around her neck. Crude, compared to the harness the paint wears, but since she has no such harness, it will have to do. He doesn't wait any longer, immediately leaving for Delumine in search of their quarry. Inkheart gets a short running start, great wings beating the air as she takes off after him.
The breeze brings her warm but refreshing air, cooling as they rise, along with Maxence's scent carried back to her. He smells... musky, she decides. And she kind of likes it. She dismisses the thought with a brief shake of her head. The dark mare has no fantasies about him, not like that. She might have distracted herself instead with the view below, but the paint had taken them up above the clouds, and instead she watches the tops of the clouds with the sunset dancing atop of them. It is quite beautiful, and her heart swells with joy and.. reassurance that Solis is as wonderful as she has always believed.
After awhile, Maxence descends through the cloud cover toward the earth. She follows, and is greeted by a view of the Rapax River below them. Her wings flatten out, riding the air as she glides toward the ground, landing in the shallows of the river not far from her king. He has already begun to dig into the soft, water-soaked soil. Her hooves press into it as she moves a little farther up the bank, away from the water. The saturated soil may not be ideal for carrying back if the weight is too great, or the curtain is weakened from the water. But that's just a guess.
It had been a day like any other - spent mostly dozing and attempting to get to know those who also called Delumine home. There were still so few faces he knew by name here, and even fewer that knew by more than just their names. The familiarity he felt around Somnus was always a welcome reprieve in a sea of strangers, but the gilded man was often enthralled by the mysteries of the library, of which Ulric held very little interest.
With the sun making it's descent to soon cast the land into darkness, the roan made his way towards the Rapax for a long, cool drink before beginning his nightly patrols. They had all been uneventful thus far, as they should be, but as he emerged from the hickories that dotted the bordered the river, his eyes fell upon a curious pair as they descended from the sky.
At first, Ulric wondered if they were just newcomers to Delumine - he had welcomed a couple of them already - but something just seemed off about them. Their activity seemed suspicious, even if it was mere soil that the painted man was scooping into his bag.
Boldly he stepped forth from the trees to walk alongside the river bank, keeping a cautious air about him as golden eyes roamed over the painted stallion and his ebony compatriot. From what he could tell, they would both tower well above him, but that mattered little in the eyes of the sentinel. Even if they did choose to attack, Ulric had faced countless foes of various shapes and sizes and he bore the scars to prove it, but hopefully... it wouldn't come to that.
"Excuse me," the roan speaks up as he approaches, brows furrowed as he peers over the bank at them as he tries to see just who they are and what on the earth they are doing. Now that he's closer, he can tell that the natural aromas of Delumine fail to cling to them, and immediately his apprehension grows.
Yet Ulric holds his tongue, for now; the last thing he needs is to unjustly chase anyone away when he is still a new face himself. "May I ask what it is you are doing?"
HISTORY HAS ITS EYES ON YOU ➳ allcontact is permitted and encouraged
Ipomoea had been lost in thought all evening. A number of matters had pulled at his mind, shadowed in uncertainty in a manner entirely foreign to him. Worry creased his brow, withers hunched as he focused solely on the ground in front of his hooves, quite unaware of his surroundings but rather making his way instinctively to the river bordering the land of Dawn.
In the back of his mind he knew he should be back at the capitol, awaiting orders from Kasil or advising the masses—an assigned task which still sent shock coursing down his spine each time it crossed his mind—but the fresh air had become far too tempting, and his hooves carried him on and on. For a while, Alorus had flit back and forth about him, tugging this way and that as though to turn him around, but the cherry paint was lost to the world around him.
Only the rushing of air overhead was enough to draw his attention upwards, watching in astonishment as a winged couple descended. They wasted no time upon landing, unraveling a tarp and proceeding to fill it with the dark soil alongside the river. Po’s ears swiveled forward in interest, taken aback by their sudden actions but making no move to stop them.
In fact, Ipomoea had half a mind to aid them in scooping the waterlogged soil onto their tarp—when the round man stepped forward himself, his suspicion so thick Po could nearly taste it coming off of him.
“I’m sure they mean no harm,” he interjected, mottled legs carrying him closer to the trio of pegasi. It struck him then, just how out of place he might appear, a feeling that was becoming more and more familiar as days went by. It was true that he had wings—the small appendages fluttered excitedly at his ankles—but they paled in comparison to what he now faced, what he envied. But he pushed such unsavory feelings away, his stride unbroken.
“Perhaps they wish to test it, or use it for a garden.” His voice far more confident than he felt, he turned his cerise gaze now to the painted chestnut, who was the first to land upon the Delumine river bank. “Either way, I’m sure there’s a reason for taking it?”
he coo of another's voice ticked at the King's ears, his perpetual scowl turning colder as his narl turned toward the approaching stag. He wished, like any, to know what they were doing here, and also wished to be excused. Throwing each end of the sling to the ground which by now was half-filled with river silt, Maxence turned to the wandering brute and began his reply. "None of your gods-damned business flower picker" the sovereign snarled, eyes colder than the Terminus sea. "What's it to you anyway?" Maxence then queried, stepping forth on strong, pillar-like legs to meet the brute.
Soon came another voice, this one lighter and it even felt diaphonous upon his ears. The words he spoke were welcome and humble, and Maxence gave a smirking look of 'told-you-so' to the first male, and continued about his digging. "Right you are" He spoke to the second gentleman "We hail from Solterra where there is no food - not like here where you are literally walking all over it. We have come to take some soil to plant a garden so that we might be able to eat"
Turning his cranium in the direction of his accomplice, Maxence wondered if she needed any help with digging or pulling her own sling. The soil was harder further down the creek bed and full of rocks - the kind no garden would ever wish to see. instead maxence waded in further to where there was fine, weightless silt. I twas there he began to shovel it out with his hooves. "By all means stand there and watch" the king panted, glancing from the flowery gentleman and the questioning stag.
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
She's engrossed in her task, not paying much attention to the world around her, until she hears the soft approach of... well likely someone from the Dawn Court. A roan pegasus stallion has approached the pair, seeming completely baffled by their actions, even taking offense to their presence. She doesn't blame him - after all, they did trespass on this land without so much as a whisper of asking permission. At least, she assumes Maxence didn't say anything to those of Delumine. To be fair, he doesn't seem like the type to play by conventional rules. Maxence immediately takes offense to the question. Inkheart remains silent, a smile quirking on her lips at the King's quick rise to anger. She will defend him if necessary, of course, but until it came to blows, she would take a more diplomatic approach.
She continues to stay silent as yet another joins them. A paint stallion this time, deprived of wing or horn. He seems much more amenable to the pair's presence, and is a voice of calm to soothe the storm that is Maxence. Though he still poses the question of why they are there, he has guessed their purpose. The tension that had grown in the air settles slightly as Maxence answers the paint and returns to digging up soil.
She lifts her golden eyes to the pair and offers her own greeting. "Forgive us for our intrusion." She begins in a sultry voice, though as a priestess of Solis she believes she has a right to go into any land. But that doesn't need to be said just now. "Your land is so fertile, we only wish to partake in the nutrients that it provides. We don't suppose you'll miss this much." She dips her crown and returns to digging up the soil, but her gaze continues to glance at them.
His ears flatten immediately against his head at the painted's words. Flower picker? Really? The words irk him indeed, but they're nothing compared to the plain and simple fact that the pair have trespassed upon Delumine, which he has committed himself to protecting... Not to mention the vulgar behavior displayed instantly by the stallion.
Ulric then shifts closer, mirroring the painted's own actions as he glowers at him through narrowed eyes, uncaring the vast difference in their sizes. Before he can even begin to utter what might possibly be something he'd come to regret later on, however, another voice sounds from behind him, a soothing balm to the tension that had formed in the air about them. One ear ticks to the side as the warrior regards yet another painted man; this one clearly from the Dawn Court, although Ulric has never laid eyes upon him.
When he speaks, Ulric considers his words, but his attention is soon snapped back to the wading paint when he confirms Ipomoea's assumption. He knew little about Solterra othe rthan the fact it was an endless, blistering desert, and he struggled to imagine living a life in such a place. If a garden was what they wished to create, so be it - Ulric was far from the type to drive them away for something so simple and necessary - but rest assured he would see them away from Delumine as soon as they were finished.
Heaving a ragged breath, Ulric prys his gaze from the winged stallion and instead settles it upon the ebony mare who carries a curious marking. Moving forward, the roan stepped down into the bank, the mud squelching beneath his hooves as he approached. "I don't suppose we would," he remarks, "So let us help."
HISTORY HAS ITS EYES ON YOU ➳ allcontact is permitted and encouraged
09-11-2017, 06:47 AM - This post was last modified: 09-11-2017, 06:48 AM by Ulric
It amazed even himself, just how quickly the tension diffused between the three. His brow creased in sincere concern at the painted stallion’s plight, shuddering inwardly at the thought of wandering alone in such a harsh, unforgiving environment. Solterra might have been the Court he was found in as a weanling, but his ties to the militant country stopped there.
“Take all that you need,” he encouraged warmly, pawing one delicate, winged hoof at the soft topsoil. “May it bless your gardens bountifully.” He paused, surveying their work. The river was now muddied, the bank a jagged, gaping hole stamped out by their shoveling hooves. He wished they would spread out more, a small step to ensure as little damage as possible to the wildlife—a minor irritation, and one he was hesitant to voice. So he shook such unsavory thoughts away. “We only ask that you remember from where it came when your plants flower and bear fruit.”
Ipomoea watches as the other Dawn Court man, with his dark face and striped wings, begins to aid in their digging; but he himself is hesitant to take part. Small, speckled wings flutter quite delicately at his ankles, limbs clearly not designed for any sort of manual labor. He looks skeptically at the ground, flinching as a bit of mud flings up at him from one of their hooves.
He hopes neither Solterran notices.
“Perhaps I should go and find King Kasil?” he speaks up again, a slight strain wavering in his voice. “I am sure he would be quite interested in your dilemma… perhaps it would be in our Courts’ best interests if he were to meet with your Sovereign, to find more ways Delumine could aid our eastern neighbors.” It seems like a good idea to Po, and for just a moment he allows himself to be impressed by it, by his newfound diplomacy.
“Please, forgive me; I’ve forgotten to introduce myself. I am Ipomoea, Emissary of the Dawn Court. And you are..?” He looks expectantly at the three still-digging equines, ears pricked forward. Perhaps this new role he found himself in would be easier than he had first thought.
he king watched in silence as the two men of flowers took their actions, one certainly more welcoming than the other, though secretly Maxence was more than relieved that they had accepted their somewhat blatant theft of river soil. Flower crowned and wine coloured was the man whole wished them to take all they needed, and with was to this man that the sandy sovereign gave a nod of acknowledgement and thanks. Perhaps he had misjudged these so-called flower pickers... "We will remember" Maxence assured the stag, eyes of an entire ocean crossing the river to meet with the patriarch's eyes of a peachy morning "And when our gardens bloom in abundance the excess will be shared with Dawnish citizens" he then promised in return, as was only fair.
Turning his attention back to the task at hand, soon Maxence was hard at work once again filling his sling with river silt until soon enough it was nearing it's full capacity. Of course it was then that Ipomoea made the suggestion to find King Kasil, and immediately the solterran sovereign recoiled. Please dont, Maxence wished to convey to the kind and merry emissary, though truly his expression would likely be enough to convey his distaste at the prospect of socialising with anyone else -particularly and audience with the king. "another time" Maxence responded as politely as he possibly could, collecting the straps of the sling under wing.
The other gentleman was still cautious - to the point where Maxence was certain they'd be watched like a hawk until they were far past the border - though still he gave a nod to him as his eyes passed him on thier way to check on Inkheart's progress, though soon his ears were snagged by the welcoming emissary once more who introduced himself as Ipomoea, and then proceeded to ask after his own name.
Recoiling once again, Maxence released his wings from his side and began to lift his body from the riverbed with a number of sweeping beats. "Commander Maxence of Solterra" he spoke, or rather announced, before he made his departure. His work was done.
TY!!! Maxie poo is outie but if you guys would like ot write a response and close up yourselves pls go ahead
She finds it rather peculiar that the tension has dissipated, whether it was her doing or one of the Dawn stallions. (Certainly Maxence was of no assistance.) The roan seems to have changed his attitude on their presence, and actually offers to help. She does not learn his name, but marks him in her mind for future reference. He steps down to join the Solterran King and herself. Soon their tarps shall be filled, ready to carry back to the desert. She moves her muddied hooves up the bank a little farther, to slightly more solid ground.
She glances up as the last stallion begins to speak, and mentions King Kasil. Though his words are friendly enough, entirely diplomatic and make plenty of sense.... Her golden gaze shifts to Maxence once more. She suspects that perhaps they are not here by invitation, and Maxence has made an assumption that taking the soil is perfectly fine with the residents of Delumine. Bringing their little trip to Kasil's attention maybe would be less beneficial than the handsome stallion suggests. Her eyes remain on Maxence as the Dawn Court stallion introduces himself as Ipomoea, Emissary. Then news of our visit shall reach Kasil soon enough anyway.
She finishes gathering the soil and again ties the fabric in a knot around her neck. It will be a more difficult journey back, and she will use the slight magic this land gives her to assist the strength of her wings. She has no doubt that upon their return to Solterra her body will ache for a very, very long time. She's pleased to hear Maxence offer kinder words, promises of returning the favor. She remains silent as he responds, then bids his farewell by offering his name. Now she raises her gaze to meet the roan's, then Ipomoea's. "I am Inkheart, Champion of Wisdom in Solterra, Priestess of Solis." She dips her crown. She would not have used such formal titles, except to spread knowledge that there IS a Priestess of Solis, and she would wish to let it be known that such a connection to the God exists. (And she may return to find more followers of the Sun God.) Finally, having checked her knot one last time, she spreads her wings. As she lifts to the sky she offers parting words: "Thank you for your kindness and generosity. We will not forget, and shall repay the favor."
