Jude can hear the call. It isn’t long before he comes creeping from the safety of his hidey hole. Mittens trots along at his pasterns, decorated in a new array of flowers freshly placed on her head that morning. He can sense her hesitance, sense the annoyance the disruption of her nap but all the same she remains at his side. Together they go to join the gathered group as the monarch calls.
There is a nervousnss in his chest when he spots the crowd. He hasn’t’ ever actually placed his eyes on Rannevig, merely letting himself become comfortable at Isorath’s invitation. As he takes in the crowd he fixes his gaze on the pale familiar figure. Quietly he comes up beside Isorath, Mittens climbing up to rest on his shoulders and stares ahead at the monarch, the tip of his tail twitching in silent anticipation of the meeting.
The day began like any other, and the butterfly mare found herself alone with her thoughts. Though she would welcome such things even months before her arrival to Novus, now – there was a certain amount of loneliness that came with the silence. The empath craved interaction, and dragged herself from her now-frequent perch on the sea cliffs to make her way back toward the capital. Whether it was duty that spurred her onward or the simple need for companionship, she picked up her step, crossing the familiar borderlands until she found herself striding toward the dusk-shadowed temple in the distance.
As soon as she began to arrive in this place, she knew something was different. There was an energy in the air, an urgency that drew her to move faster. As her legs danced rhythmically along the moss-strewn path, she heard the cry of Rannveig, curiosity settling as she wondered what the cause of such a meeting would be. And as she neared the others, the butterfly mare began to take in the sights around her.
Morpho was, in a word, surprised to see so many faces here. Most were new, though she offers a smile to Rannveig as her meadow green eyes scour for her one familiar friend, the effervescent Florentine. Not finding the flowery emissary, the butterfly mare joined ranks with the others, looking around to memorize their faces. These creatures, all of them, would be her family now. The sage made a mental note to try and meet each and every one of them, her presence among them unobtrusive and quiet as she watched, and waited to see what came next.
The call to assemble came and was as impossible to resist as the song of a siren, although admittedly the Sovereign's call was far less... melodic. However, no matter the sound it was unmistakable, a timeless sound that bade all who heard it to merge together, to harken the words of their Sovereign. Arluin was no exception, his own fine ears catching wind of the cry on the breeze, and he turned his head from the overlook he had been gazing out from, pale locks tousled by the playful breeze.
For a span he watches from afar, from on high, as others began to trickle through the hall and the woodwork, his gaze devouring their appearances with a curiosity that knew no bounds. Oh, he had seen several of them as they passed, but this was a chance to do more than just 'see' his kinsman. Finally his own cloven hooves joined the trek towards Rannveig, his pale visage slipping among the throng. Already the Sovereign was approached by bolder folk, one of dragon scales and wings, yet graced with horns. That man caught his eye, if for uniqueness alone, but eventually the grey stallion settled himself beside a golden mare also graced with both wing and horn(how many aberrations were there in this land?). "What do you think she has summoned us for?" Arluin questions conversationally, his gaze moving around those gathered, fine ears pricked sharply at attention.
(Wow this is short but @Israfel bc arluin decided to chat)
The young warrior was late; so very very late, and as he fumbled over rooftops and dallied through gardens he was convinced that none should wish to speak to him ever again if he did not attend such an important meeting. "Stops!" the thunderous voice of the young man echoed upon the walls of the court as he entered, bowling past numerous Terrastellan brothers and sisters until he had battered his way to the front. "Late be I am but now here myself is being" He whispered to the stranger next to him, a palomino with bright splashes of pink. When the giant had taken his place beside a stranger, scooting himself infront of a great deal of smaller others, Damascus looekd to the unfamiliar woman and cortled once again. "Hallo, Damascus be myself".
Waiting for the meeting ot begin was torturous, and it turns out he wasn't actually late apparently. There was no talking going on, no announcements, no nothing really. Instead the vigilant stag allowed his attention slip from the Lady Rannveig to the gathered crowd, looking amongst his brothers and sisters for someone familiar. "Maude!" He cooed over the heads of many, a great grin betwixt his ears and nose when he sighted the young woman who made his heart thump at one million beats per second.
It had been difficult adjusting to this new place. She had more questions than answers, but she tossed them to the wayside to be piled upon the building pile of regret and resentment she had been collecting. She knew little of her new herd's customs, of their ideals and ambitions. She had yet to meet any of the sovereigns, and despite having already met one of her fellow soldiers, she felt herself growing more isolated and withdrawn with each passing day.
A call broke the silence, and she knew well what it meant. For she had heard similar summons from Deimos, from Hotaru, from Thranduil, the Lords and Lady from her past home. Rising from her resting place, she shook the remnants of sleep from her celestial robes, and took off towards the calling.
She seemed to arrive late to the meeting, which though unusual for her to be tardy, she found a semblance of comfort in. She remained in the back of the gathering, and scanned the shifting members of the populace with cold silver eyes. She noticed Arluin, who had taken place beside a golden woman, but otherwise recognized none from the group. She then evaluated the woman who stood before them, noting her proud stature, and though was unknowing of her rank, figured she must be of importance since she had wielded the power to call them all to meet.
Remaining silent, she listened and watched intently, hoping to perhaps learn of the people she served, or at least learn a little bit more about where and how she fit into this new system.
10-19-2017, 12:42 PM
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How late was she? There was nothing sleep tousled about Florentine as she chases after Damascus and the elegant train of his tail. Better to arrive together, the flower girl thinks, than to do the walk of shame alone.
Carefully she picked her way around the young man’s tail that flowed like an ebony stream behind him. Keeping close, the Dusk girl casts apologetic smiles this way and that, keeping close, keeping hidden, behind the tall stallion.
It is only when they are deep within the throng of court members that Damascus stops and the young Emissary is forced to keep going, to the front, to her position beside Rannveig and her Regent. So much for missing the walk of shame…
Slowly the flower girl slips from beneath the tall boy’s shadow, her own body catching the morning sun like buttermilk. With a steeling breath Florentine muscles her way forward, soft as petals, as nimble as a bird. She is nearly to the front when her amethyst eyes befall a familiar body. Asterion’s presence draws a smile from her lips, and suddenly the girl is no longer as soft as petals, but as unyielding as stone as she muscles her way through the gathered crowd.
Florentine chimes, “Brother,” in greeting, her hip bumping against his shoulder. A retreating look, adorned in smiles is cast to the Dusk boy from beneath Flora’s tangled forelock as she slips by him, disappearing again into the crowd.
Finally the girl reaches Rannveig’s side, her lips touching the warmth of the Winter Wolf’s skin. “Sorry I am late.” She says rather breathlessly, “I got held up looking for a pink dolphin in the Dawn Court. Somnus claims there is one – I didn’t see anything.” Then she adds a little lower, “I think he might be making it up.”
With that Florentine’s amethyst gaze returns to the crowd, rather pleased that, despite turning up sans pink dolphin, she has, at least this time, managed to arrive clean of mud and dirt.
Breakdown: Sneaks in late behind @Damascus derrière and not so discreetly hip-bumps @Asterion before talking utterly irrelevant stuffs at Rannveig.
((Sorry, safe to say I am tired and VERY rusty at writing rn but hey, Flora's made it at laaaast))
first off, i apologize for my inactivity, the lateness with literally everything rann was supposed to be part of, and the limbo state Dusk has been in. i ask for forgiveness for this post being mere sentences long in such an important thread; but it's time to pull rann out of the sovereign position and give it to someone much more capable.
Break me down and build me up
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
They came as most do: dutifully, loyally, singularly as each responded in kind to a call she intended to be her last. None knew, save Máni, of her plans--not even the one they centered around.
So as the last pulled to a stop in front of the tower, Florentine sidling up close, she held her head above all gathered for the sole message she had for them.
"I continue as Sovereign no longer. Duties call me elsewhere; Vespera calls for another more able to lead Dusk on." Words stopped, a motion sideways parted her body from the Emissary's, and she stood before the girl as a statue with eyes of both adoration and misery. "Florentine follows the path now as crowned sovereign. Embrace her."
And she bowed, low and long, and made way into the gathered crowd to disappear among the masses.
When morning dawned this day, it had not seemed at all unlike any other. Well, except that the flower girl had gone in search of fabled pink dolphins in the Dawn Court – that did not happen every day. However, the buttermilk girl had returned empty handed and really quite convinced that her friend, Somnus, possessed a wonderfully vivid imagination capable of fabricating beautiful pink dolphins.
This morning, it was Florentine’s own lively imagination that let her down. She could be forgiven, however, for not imagining that she would go to sleep a queen this night.
So it is, that as talk of imaginary pink dolphins fades, and matters of resignation and replacement begin to replace it, Florentine becomes very ill at ease. Her stomach starts to fall, as if cast from Verenor’s highest peak. It drops faster and faster the truth rising up before her like the hard, ground rushing to meet her. It is dread that has the flower girl’s nerves prickling like electricity.
There is too much royalness in this moment for Florentine to ever feel at ease. The words tumble from Rannveig’s lips and this is not a queen leaving her subject a Court. No, this is a friend, a sister leaving another. It is this that breaks Florentine’s heart. Oh how ironic that her heart should be so newly filled with a true sibling, only to lose the woman who was as much of a sister to her as blood could ever be.
The girl does not lift her amethyst eyes to her courtiers until Rannveig’s body is swallowed by their mass. Rannveig’s bow, long and slow and reverent, was awkward for the girl of curtsies but the silence that follows is worse.
Tears, hot and dangerous, prickle the back of the once-Emissary’s eyes, threatening to overflow. One breath, two breaths and then, at last, “May we wish Rannveig the best with all she does from here.” Her eyes do not leave where the wolf-queen disappeared. “I shall do my best to lead us on.” A breath, fluttering and sorrowful whispers its way past the girl’s lips. “Dusk can and will flourish, we are blessed with numbers and I will see all our ranks filled. Take time, mix with the other courts, show me your skills. In a few weeks we will have a coronation celebration and invite the other Courts. It can be a time of giving and receiving. I will make my announcements for our Court and the positions you will hold then.”
It was all too much this early in the morning, even for a girl who had been chasing dolphins with the first sun’s light. Another breath, long and deep and steeling, “So, tea anyone? Top marks for anyone who gets Rostislav’s flask off him, lord knows my tea could do with something alcoholic.”
Yes, now was definitely a time for strong tea.
----------
-So, Florentine is in shock and frightfully upset at Rannveig’s leaving (for a while, Rann still remains a member of the Dusk court – Yay!). Flora would never be able to address the court properly given what has just happened. With that in mind, I will be putting up a list of court positions on the first of December or there about. It would be great to get the Court really alive and interacting in dramatic/fun ways with the other courts.
On the 1st December, lasting through until new year, we will have a winter coronation party/festival. It can be their version of Christmas – exchange gifts/share love/be merry with the other courts etc.
Flora will be approaching members over the coming weeks with tasks – party prep, messengers to go to the other courts etc so keep your ears to the ground peeps! <3 -
No one could ever say Court Life was dull, Isorath had expected something grand to take place today — but he hadn't expected that. The winged Kirin can only watch with a mixture of surprise, curiousity and daresay a pinch of sadness as Rannevig announced her abdication. His feather light sigh is accompanied by the musical notes of crystals clinking together from their chains upon his gilded bridle. Halo crowned head turned to each of the gathered to drink in their own responses to this shock event.
He had returned to Terrastella for this meeting, and a part of him wonders what this will mean now. His position within the Library of Denocte was threatened by the alliance with Solterra, delicate and forced him to guard himself with an extra layer of scales. Will this Florentine, who now drew the Princeling's attention to her fully, continue with that alliance?
She's pretty, he decided internally, as his eyes finished their search of her winged frame. In a sunshine and butterscotch way, sugary sweet wrapped in lavender lace. Not that it was a fault, there were many who had come and gone in his life who were the same. The fae of his old court, wreathed in pastel roses, powdered head to foot in the sweetest shades of pink. The woman who had once enraptured his heart so completely, she had been spun from sunlight and gold. The soft, pink and cream boy with eyes the color of spring grass who lingered at his side.
Absently, his eyes cast downward to the pink kirin at his side, and the familar cat who rested on his withers. "I see you found Mittens, I told you, you would." He commented with a small pinch of fondness in his lilted voice, head dipped to try and nose at the fluffy creature. Momentarily distracted from the event that had unfolded in front of them all until Florentine called his attention back, righting himself to his impressive and ethereal height. "I will return to Denocte in the morn. I have set myself up there to learn from their library and sages, and I'm sure my new friends miss me so." He hummed to the new Sovereign, a soft chuckle escaping his pale maw.
"Tea sounds wonderful right now, while I cannot pilfer Rostislav's flask from him," Isorath mused with a smile and a nod of his antlered head, the halo which floated behind him bobbed with the momentum. "I do have a wonderful Delumine spirit that goes perfect with tea. If you would indulge."
