The cacophony of nighttime things singing their goodbyes wavered in various wavelengths across the expanse of the court, the hushed moment of in-betweens when the sky held both moon and sun. It was the opposite of everything they stood for--the great light in the sky rising instead of falling--but the peace wrapped itself tightly around them anyway and shooed those of nocturnal descent off to the darker places they could rest.
She was not of them, though, and her body moved with the motions of Oriens's sun, separating herself from bedtime spaces to disrupt the veil of tranquility as much as she dared to. Whispers of hooves shuffled through the solo tower amid the smaller network of buildings sleeping quietly behind, a hallway holding their oldest tales and important blips in history along its walls caressing each step she took toward its gaping mouth. It was a place that knew her body well; the weight of her paint settled at the footholds, and it was the sky then that took its chance to kiss her stars in greeting. It was just her--the lone wolf without a coat to hide behind--and the cuff that seemed implanted upon her leg.
She had been as silent as the world around them was, heart beating in corners of their territories instead of there among them. Summer had given way to autumn easily enough, and perhaps it was the falling leaves that ushered her out and told her that she could be absent no longer; Florentine had done more work than any combined for Rannveig, and if she was to be sovereign she had to be better than the crabs hiding in their shells. She was the meld of sky and land with earthy creams and atmospheric blues, and it was time she stood to rise her pack toward greater things than they'd seen so far.
A singular ring of a leader's call--not to be treated with ignorance--spread in the areas Terrastella claimed. The sun peaked over the horizon, the start of a day that she hoped would change everything.
He felt as if he'd been hiding for some time, more than being Regent of the Dusk Court. Whispers had swum around Terrastella, word of tensions between Denocte and Solterra. It's nothing startling, but it's enough that it had unnerved him. Still, he was awake at this odd hour, lingering like a ghost among the far reaches of the Court itself. Walls that held secrets and laws all their own.
Somewhere far off, Vidar was cawing, long and loud before silencing himself. Máni could feel his bonded's restlessness, and the exhilaration that came with flying. It was a strange sensation for him, but he enjoyed it, knowing that the albino raven could stretch his wings and soar. There wasn't much else for the Regent to pick upon, other than a call that echoed through the halls and around corners. It rang with Rannveig's tone, and he felt his ears gently fall, a little uncertain of facing her.
He was shamed for his lack of participation, but he was not one to shy away from the consequences that came with the lack of his duty. So instead of shying away, he turned himself toward where the call had come from, taking measured steps that ricocheted off the walls and the structure itself, fading phantoms of his hooves as they clicked the ground.
Máni found himself emerging to where he had heard her, finding himself to be the first, and his ears remained half back in a slight shame regardless, his head bobbing only a little in Rannveig's direction. "Rannveig," he uttered in soft greeting, unsure of himself or them at the moment. He had failed her, so it would be no surprise if she held disdain for him.
He wasn't sure, at first, what roused him. The scarred knight peered into the dawn sky from his hollow of soft grass, pelt damp with the morning dew. Then he knew, because the echo of it still clung to the air like a dream. It was a summons, though not the likes of which he'd heard before. Carefully he rose to his hooves. The muscles in his rear leg strained a little in the cool damp, stiff from sleep. It rarely bothered him much but he had noticed with the changing of the weather that he would ache, as though the magic had left him with some sense of weather divining.
He has skirted the stone keep of Terrastella since his arrival. He isn't certain of his welcome though he has chosen to remain here for a while- there is a feeling in the air that drives some of the restlessness from him. It is... calming. And the beauty of the place still takes his breath away a little, familiar enough to be like home but different enough to excite the senses. Now though, he turned his good eye towards the stone keep and his heavy hooves brush through the dew-heavy grass. Almost in defiance of the stiffness in his hind leg, he shifts quickly into a canter.
The summons does not alone insight the sense of urgency, but it is a large part. There is something compelling when a leader calls, even if it is a leader he has not given fealty to. It is one he way though, for he knows that if he chooses to stay then he will submit to whomever reins. He would see them first before he decides. It sounds like this might be his chance, to see the sovereign and hear them speak.
As he enters his hooves clatter on the stone, ringing to herald his approach. There is no stealth in the rose-grey stallion. Despite his unfamiliarity with the place, scent and sound and luck bring him to the meeting third. He stands uncertainly for a moment at the threshold, unsure of his place or his welcome as a stranger in the heart of the Dusk Court. His head drops, somewhere between a nod and bow, offering respects to both those who already stand before them. Then he steps away from the entry to clear it for others, turning his scarred shoulder away from them so that he can regard them more comfortably with his one good eye.
Somewhere there is the caw of a raven, low-throated and low, and it pulls Asterion from his dreaming.
He is not sorry for the disruption. Since his fateful meeting with Flora his sleep has been fitful, pieces of things instead of the grand adventures he’d once had in slumber. Tonight (or this morning, rather, for the sun was rising and turning the frost to fire on the cool grass) he’d been dreaming of lions that turned to unicorns but did not stop their charging, and of mazes, and of rifts that waited like hungry mouths to swallow him whole, to carry him away.
Maybe they were less dreams and more memories, and maybe that is why he pauses with relief as his heart stops its careening.
The dusk-marked bay had been well impressed by the grand structure of Terrastella. He’d never seen anything like it – nothing closer than sandcastles as a boy – but despite his half-sister’s (and another wonder, that, in a land full of them) protests, he couldn’t bring himself to sleep in them. The only thing of stone he’d seen before was the maze in Ravos, and that had not been a trustworthy structure.
Before his eye can find it, the raven is gone. But Asterion is awake enough that he will not fall to slumber again, and he rises and shakes himself and then falls still, ears lifting, when there comes a call.
For a moment he thinks it is her, but even still bleary from sleep he knows Calliope is not here. Nevertheless, it is clear the voice is a leader’s, and the bay blinks and finally recalls what Florentine has told him of his new home. The Dusk Court. Rannveig.
He answers the summons.
It’s chilly enough that the rising sun feels good on his side, chilly enough that mist rises off the low, cool places as he passes them. He isn’t quite sure where he’s going; he’s grateful when his dark eyes find another stallion moving toward the keep. Asterion maintains a polite distance between them, his hooves too loud on the stones in the peace of the morning.
The dreamer is tongue-tied, unsure what to say. He’s still too new, head still swimming with too many discoveries – of family, of magic (or lack thereof), of a the existence of a world like this one with its kings and courts and castles. With dark eyes curious, deer-like, he follows the rose grey’s example and nods to the pair before stepping away from the entry, away from the first stallion, to an empty stretch where he hopes Florentine will soon join him.
He struggles mightily not to yawn, and doesn’t even think of the weeds-tangled state of his hair. Asterion always possesses the guileless look of a dreamer, but at the moment he bears the disheveled looks of one who’s been sleeping a hundred years.
eeeh so many words and so little said xD nevertheless, asterion reporting for duty
The maiden awoke to the sound of crickets and night birds, easing into the melodious melodies of the creatures which were alive and active during the day. Sleeping most often during these small, late hours of the night, and early, early in the evening, her two rests were usually bridged, lately, with prayers, or work on her songs. This morning, she had intended to do both as soon as she rose – but the sound of someone calling to others draws her attention, as she stretches her rump high into the air, and arches her sleep stiffened back, her wakening yawn cut short by her surprise that someone else is not only out and about at this early hour, but demanding a parlay of some sort.
The ginger and cream youth wonders if she should answer the call. Post traumatic stress dictates that she should be wary, and perhaps not go at all; some meetings were with evil Gods, pretending to be servants of those who were good, or concluded in the attack of hungry, foal snatching griffons. Some meetings, though, were just meetings, she reminds herself, looking around momentarily for Evangeline, who would certainly tell her as much. Besides, it wouldn’t do for Maude to avoid everything for fear it was not what it seemed.
Curiosity wins the day.
She approaches the tall tower and its smaller companions with the same reverence she had the first time; it is both imposing and impressive, for a girl who’d never seen a building of such size as more than a Goddess cast mirage. Unlike the last time, however, someone had beckoned her inside, and so, rather than simply dawdling a safe distance from its shadow, the girl approaches, her trot easing into a slow, cadent walk, that allowed her to gawp and gaze at the sight of the towering thing above her, all the way to its threshold.
Her small hooves create an equally small clamor on the stone as she enters, pausing to stare at the leaders, so clearly a pair that it steals the hopelessly romantic girl’s breath for a moment. Marked by moons and splashed with color upon white canvasses, they are matched, like the horizon to the sky, and it makes Maude’s poetic heart flutter and skip with more than the sheer nerves she feels entering a confined space, already filling with strangers.
Cress and Damascus are not here, nor is Evangeline, she thinks to herself with a frown, once she manages to look away from the more prominent figures in the room; her spring green gaze slips momentarily over the wearied warrior, her heart tightening with apprehension at his tough appearance, before she quickly appraises the galaxy-splashed bay. Feeling entirely out of place and alone, the young healer awkwardly shuffles towards a place in the back.
so give me hope in the Darkness
that I will see the Light
The winged kirin is no stranger to the intricacies of Court Life, Vectaeryn had instilled within him strong foundations and grand pillars of intrigue and diplomacy, taught him how to speak, how to be cunning and how to command an audience, swaying them toward his words with confidence and regal poise. The lands he'd visited in his departure had simultaneously refined and challenged them, soothed them with honey only to bring the warhammer down.
At least here, there is an established Court system, the last lands he had visited had been sorely lacking.
So he answered the summons in his usual grace, his pale coat and striking scales glimmering in the sun's lingering embrace and the gentle glow of fire light. A faint scent of lavender and jasmine hung about him, produced by the delicate looking flowers which were tenderly weaved through the thick braid of his mane. Dressed in his silks and golds, loathed to be parted from them whatever time of day, his hooves struck the floor in a pleasant cadence, a soft breath exhaled as he eyed the already gathered.
The Sage had been tardy, he internally lamented, in not learning the nmes and faces of those young and old who had come to call the Court home.
"Your grace," he greeted, lilac eyes settling upon Rannevig in polite acknowledgement, "is all well?" In his experience, meetings were never good, when called in grand halls. The last time he had been in such a situation himself, it had been because his sovereign had been stolen. A sweet thing made of sunlight and purity, accosted by dark claws and insidious minds. That seemed so very long ago, now he allowed himself to think upon it, he had been a very different being. So full of righteous fury, the sun's fire at his back and his words his testament, rather than the icy strands of starlight he was now, bedecked in frosted gold and kissed by betrayal. Soon his eyes turned to Mani, and his head dipped in greeting toward him too before he lapsed into a contemplative silence a small distance away from their Sovereign.
OOC notes can go here, as well as tags! remove the 'hr' tag to get rid of this line ^
"this here is your speech colour!
She needed no voice to call her, no trumpeting horn to reign in her loose mind. Instead, Faye arrived of her own volition. An instinct had rang out within her, as soft as a whisper, telling her to heed the call this day. Many voices meandered through her head, this was by no means the most noticeable, yet she noticed it all the same. Following her guiding voice, she entered the place that she seldom entered, always not feeling welcome as her hooves clicked on the smooth ground. How could she feel welcome? She was not a native to these lands, a foreign woman from another land. Her beliefs couldn't be kept under one deity, she believed in none of them and was therefore governed by not one of them. Faith lay with the eternal chaos of the universe for her.
Everything could be explained by the answer that it did not need to be explained as literally anything could happen because chaos granted it so. In this swirling sphere of chaos and harshness, a small portion of power was granted to karma. She knew she believed in karma only because she wanted to believe in karma, wishing it were true even if she were not sure. It was enough for her, not nearly as outlandish as some unseen goddess watching them from above, moving them like chess pieces on a board.
Today her faithful companion had joined her, Arcus the golden retriever. He had been with her since he was just a pup and despite all of that he bossed her around far more than she did to him. They both walked to greet the leader of this court, Faye's new leader and home. She came to a stop and she observed the others quietly, usually more friendly towards people but she didn't know any of them just yet. So she waited to see what Rannveig wanted.
Several days had passed and the sea still sang its sweet sweet song to her. Painfully unable to answer the call that sang to a deep part of her heart, her soul, her very being.. she stayed, albeit reluctantly. A mermaid cursed to land with legs instead of fins. She had no knowledge of the whereabouts of her crew, or her lover; nothing that could soothe the ache that ripped her raw and bleeding behind closed doors. For now, she had found solace in a castle bordering the ocean blue; finding herself in another court, another kingdom. Another hierarchy, and one she did not know well.
She was no stranger to monarchy, gods and goddesses, and thrones with their heavy crowns. The only daughter to a kingdom that ruled the seas, she was their Blue princess; beloved. Cursed. She, who rose from the ocean, nearly drowned, and became the now-lost Takarian queen. Lady to the Pirate Lord; who, for all she knew, was trapped beneath the sea. Her heart smoldered and burned with a desire brighter than the flames of emerald fire that had torn apart her ship; she had to know. Somehow, someway.. and maybe, just maybe, the kingdom that called this castle home could help her. A foreign queen in a foreign queen's land.
Sleep did little for her now; instead, she found herself waking in the mere moments before sunrise since she had arrived on the shores of the Unknown Sea. The crispness of autumn was sharp, the dewy morning chilly and running cold fingers along her dappled, blue-steel skin. She could hear the call of seagulls, despite the distance from sea from where she slept; a nook in the shadow of the Keep, as close to the ocean as she could reach without leaving the safety of the city's walls. Like all ocean fae, Thaleia could swear that she still heard the lovely sounds of waves crashing onto the steep, unmoving cliff face; the lapping of water against soft sand; and the musical, bell-like tune that was her patron goddess, Calypso, singing to her to come home. To her true home.
But there was another call that rattled the stones of the city instead, her long, fae ears flickering to catch the noise. She lifted her crown from the steps that had been her pillow for the night, as she waited and listened. Yes.. it was unmistakable. A leader's call, a wolf howling for their pack. Thaleia, who now fell into that order. A princess, a queen herself, now under that of another royal that she had yet to meet.
The blue fae heaved herself to stand then, as the sun began to peak over the horizon, slowly ascending across the sky as the moon waned. Warmth teased the coolness of autumn from her dapples where the sun kissed her as she moved towards the castle. She travels through the mist like a wraith, quiet and unreadable, her hooves softly beating against the stone. Until at last, she emerges in a great hall, similar to the room where her Queen Mother ruled her court with a fist made of iron and pearls. Her pupil-less gaze of molten silver lands on a woman of painted galaxies and stars; a lone wolf woven into flesh and bone. For although Thaleia sticks to the edges of the room's shadows, unsure of herself and her place, she can already note the air of regality from the woman. Most certainly, she would guess, her new queen.
Her gaze hesitates and blinks to take in the others gathered in the hall. She sees all and nothing; noticing the warm bodies huddled here, and the very few who deem themselves worthy to speak to the alpha who stood before them. With half a heart to leave, Thaleia nearly turns to melt back into the fog she had emerged from, when her eyes of silver land on a familiar face. He, a knight scarred, who pulled her from the clutches of the angry sea. Heat rises to her cheeks, her heart thundering, suddenly anxious.
She steps closer to the man of rose-touched grey, her crown falling in a respectful dip. "I remember you."
@rannveig @diarmuid mentioned ♡ directly speaks to @diarmuid!
"Leia speech."
Evangeline was not the first to heed the call of their sovereign, and judging from the meager gathering she likely wouldn't be the last. This meeting, whatever it was about, was the first thing in Novus that felt familiar to her. It reminded her of the Edge, of the meetings that Alysanne and Tilney would call for the healers for them to discuss their plans for the season. To introduce new nurses, discuss who would be mentoring who, and decide where they would venture to gather herbs. Some days she missed it, some days she felt relieved to be done with the near constant flow of patients and herb gathering.
Emerald eyes scanned the small crowd as she approached, but there was only one individual there that she knew by name. Maude had been the most endearing filly that Evangeline had ever had the pleasure of teaching. She had been eager to learn, polite, and fascinated by everything she said. She was so very unlike, Oizys had been. That girl had been so hostile, rude, condescending, and frustrating that Evangeline had gladly used some semi-toxic herbs to teach the child a lesson she wouldn't soon forget.
Perhaps that was when life in the Edge had started to lose it's shine for her. Maybe she'd be able to make life here a little bit better and more meaningful for herself.
Eva sighed as she made her way toward the antlered girl. She hoped with all that she had that Maude was finding it easier to transition to life in Novus than she had. "Hello, Maude." She greeted as she came to stand at the younger girl's side. "How have you been?" The girl still looked to be as healthy as ever. "Have I missed anything?"
The call was unmistakable. In another life, she had heard many just like it. It was a beckon, a summons, a call of immediate gathering, and Israfel knew better than to disobey.
She had yet to meet those in charge of Terrastella. Come to think of it, she really hadn't met many that called the Dusk Court their home, preferring to keep to herself and tend to her duties, both obligatory and personal. It was a train of thought that was spurred by destructive self-consciousness, self-criticisms, and mental hangups, but she was trying. The Sun Daughter was trying to assimilate herself to a life that she knew nothing about, full of strangers that she didn't know, in a life she had been reborn in... But even though she was trying, that didn't mean that she would do so without fault or hindrance.
Still. She was trying. That had to account for something, right?
The call had been made, and Israfel had arrived without grand splendor, preferring to slip in unanounced. She filtered in among the others, fiery vermilion eyes wandering across the unknown faces presented in front of her. Oh, she recognized some, like the stallion Diarmuid that she had pulled out of the unsavory swamp to the north, but other than that? None. Briefly she cast gaze around, searching, trying to spot the sooty gold body of Finnian, but since their first meeting, he hadn't been around. A shame.
So, the ivory and gold maiden stood at attention near a sorrel mare with flaxen locks beside a creamy colored youth, wings pulled close to her sides, hooves stationed in proper formation. Her eyes, fierce, fiery, were locked on the bespeckled lady that they formed around, the one who had made the summoning call. Rannveig. The Sovereign of the Dusk Court. Israfel knew of her, but they had never spoken. So odd, wasn't it? That she was willing to lay down her life for a lady of whome she had never even conversed with simply due to her station.
Loyalty was foolish, but brave. Israfel had yet to discover just which she might fall under. Perhaps, under Rannveig's monarchy, she would discover it.
