I'M A MAN, I'M A TWISTED FOOL,
MY HANDS ARE TWISTED, TOO,
FIVE FINGERS TWO BLACK HOOVES
Forces all over Novus had been put into motion — some of them his own doing, others had happened without his knowledge. The world was brewing and seething, and Denocte had been placed (once again) in the center of it. This time, though, The Night King was not interested in amends or relations, for he was certain in the knowledge that diplomacy would not aid their fair city of stars. Others, namely the stars to his eyes, Isorath, disagreed. The King Crow knew people though, knew when to push and press and when to retreat — knew when it was best to strike, to slip his sticky fingers into a pocket and retrieve what he needed without the target even knowing.
Dusk was riled, or rather, it's monarchy was. He did not regret breaking Lysanders face beneath his bloody fist, did not regret the way his blood had boiled and fizzed with the rush of it — it had been so long since he'd allowed himself to be less than civil, to be the King Crow his people knew. Now he was perched, satisfied, above the chaos that had been released. The old God would get better, so he'd heard, though the path to recovery would be a slow and painful one — long enough for the ex-God to reconsider who he smirked at.
Now it was time to re-assemble the Court.
Camdis' illness had put him aside and out of action during all of the turmoil, and the weight of Regent would have to be removed from his shoulders. They also needed an Emissary — he had both positions mulling in his mind, names swirling comfortably, ready to settle into stone.
The evening was tepid, clouds rumbling threateningly above their citadel as a storm promised it's arrival. The winds were starting to pick up, plucking at the ebony banners of night as Reichenbach stepped upon the stone castle steps — waiting for others to arrive. His Crows had spread the whisper, the news that a new Court would be rising tonight... and that if any wished to be a part of it, they should attend.
The wind picked at his ebony curls as he waited, taking his coins and jangling them erratically. Shadows curled at his nape and around his rough jaw as his Court slowly arrived, all of them beautiful and exotic — all of them his to protect, his to care for.
His heart was big enough for them all.
It was true that Night bred volatile love, it was chaos and a wildness that could not be contained — and it was brutal at times. But it also bred the most beautiful, the most inescapable and unforgettable. It was proven simply by looking at the crowd before him. His argent gaze wandered and slid from face to face, pausing at a porcelain figure only arriving now — his pearl, Isorath. A roguish smile appeared upon his black lips, his voice booming outward like thunder;
"Denocte!"
His smile grew, charming and buoyed by his people, their loyalty and their love of home.
"The forces of this world are moving, changing... reacting."
Reichenbach's piercing gaze honed in on the golden chaos that was Acton, then slid to Raum — he'd yet to be filled in on all the details of Bexley Briar's maiming... but they were his Crows, his boys, his family. If he had to fight a war to keep their heads, so be it.
"It is time we renew our ranks — with our current Regent, Camdis Lohir, stepping down, and Lothaire leaving us for new lands, we have some positions open."
A pause, his gaze roaming the crowds, seeking familiar faces.
"Aislinn Stormsinger, our Champion of Battle — will you step into the place of Regent and serve our City of Stars to the best of your ability?"
His silver gaze strayed once again to the object of his heart, the tines that were twined with that fateful silver chain. He couldn't help it — a smile swelled upon his black lips.
"And Isorath Flamekeeper, as our most diplomatic citizen, will you step into the position of Emissary and serve your new Kingdom?"
Reichenbach was loathe to turn away from the Kirin, long lashed eyes straining for a moment before searching for the other Court members — Rostislav, his Warden, whom had visited Florentine only days after whisper of war had been upon the air, and whom had been missing for too long beforehand. He would need to make amends for that absence, or risk being replaced. Then Lyra, whom he knew had been searching for the perfect Council, Araxes... his little bird whom had been so injured both physically and mentally he did not know if she would even want to continue serving (yet another reason Reichenbach needed to pay Torstein a visit...) and Seree, whom had also been far too absent in such stringent times.
"If any should wish to serve in our Court, please step forth and state your intention now."
I'M A MAN, DON'T SPIN ME A LIE,
GOT TOES AND I CAN SMILE,
I'M CROOKED BUT UPRIGHT.
A little Court refresher!! If you'd like to keep your current position within the Court please respond — all positions are open to new blood also, so if you think your character would do well within the Court please reply! <3 <3
She needed no voice to call her, no trumpeting horn to reign in her loose mind. Instead, Lyra arrived of her own volition. An instinct had rang out within her, as soft as a whisper, telling her to go to her king this night. 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 stone. How could she feel welcome? This grand abode had been built for nobility and she was neither.
With a soft sigh she slowly made her way to where she knew she would find Reichenbach. Her eyes glancing to the familiar forms of the people she called family. Her flower crown was once again back to the pretty white flowers of spring interwoven in her long mane, it was a very rare sight to see her without some kind of plants or flowers in her hair. As she came to stand before her king she let a gentle smile cross her features, she was never a bold person but she worked hard and did her best with what she had. Which that was probably her strength..her kindness and hard work ethic.
Even with the rest of the world seeming to be against them, Lyra would never betray or leave Denocte. She listened to what Reich had to say about Camdis and Lothaire, sad to see them step down but understanding that these roles must be fulfilled. It was shortly after that Aislinn and Isorath were asked if they would step up to take these positions, Lyra didn't know Isorath very well but she knew he had the faith of their king. And Aislinn was a good warrior and easy to talk to. She remembered the first time she ever spoke with the woman, it was on a night much like this one only they had been gazing at the stars. It was then that Reichenbach was asking if the rest of them would still serve the court, there was a time when Lyra thought it had been a mistake that Reich had named her Champion of Community. Now though..she didn't feel that way.
With a small intake of breath and look around, Lyra took one step forward and then another. "I still wish to serve the Night Court in whatever way I can. You have my loyalty until my last breath."
SWITCH THE LIGHT OFF, WELCOME THE NIGHT
WHAT’S THE PROBLEM, NOT GONNA MAKE IT RIGHT
BITE THE BULLET THEN PULL THE TRIGGER HOLD TIGHT
IT’S A FEELING, YOU KNOW
Veteris was brimming; wicked and alive, overfilling at the edges with rebellious firelight under a sky of bruised clouds. Electricity thrummed against her skin, dancing and flirting with the wilds of her hair. She herself was the storm, all stardust and thunder and hurricanes. But on this night.. this night, she was no more than a woman. A Champion. A loyal Child of Calligo serving under the King of Stars and Smoke. And oh, the stars were held at bay behind the clouds as night fell. The darkness that gathers clings to each body that sways at the song of drums, each wood pipe and singer, every fire dancer and sword eater. Veteris is so so alive — for the threatening of the storm does not scare away those who call the Night their mistress. The Crown City burns and writhes with the lightning that crackles behind the violet clouds in flashes of ivory. Rain drops dribble and instead of running, they revel.
Aislinn herself joins in the merriment, despite the shadows and demons that snap at their borders and throughout the lands of their mortal world. For she will allow herself this night; this night where she will join and be one with Calligo's people. Reichenbach's people. Her people.. for she knows, for so long she has known, that the moment she had stepped away from the Rahilah, this kingdom had truly become her own. Now, her hooves are light in the embers that crackle and simmer beneath her, kissing her flesh in goosebumps where the darkness ends and the midnight of her skin begins. Their laughter and joy is chaotic, breathing passion into unsaid words and the brush of bodies that pulse with each flicker of the bonfires that roar.
Denocte!
The familiar timbre pulls her; a thread of silver and gold bound in her ribs, akin to her coins that whip violently in the storm breeze. She is a wraith forever bound, a tempest phantom that does not bend to the sizzle of electricity that rises in the air. The stormsinger only walks, her chest heaving with her racing heart, her body still dancing in the fiery pits at her back. But now she stands, silent and watchful, with a gaze of blue flames upon the object of her loyalty. A man who she would no sooner lay her life down for; a man who had become her family; and a man blessed with the stars that riddled the skies behind the curtains of violet. She finds him, noting the regal air that has become so befitting of his stature, and how it does not tame the wildness that clings to each dark curl or the coins that jingle in the wind.
He truly was their King.
The forces of this world are moving, changing... reacting.
Her own smile grows as she watches that shining grin crack across Reichenbach's dark lips. Novus was changing; morphing and moving in all directions. Their world was a storybook of myths and legends breathed to life, and it's inhabitants the pieces of the game board their gods played upon. She refused to balk, to falter. Not an ounce of fear struck her, the demon of her darkness no longer clawing at her vulnerable insides. Calligo had crafted her after all, for she was the storm eternal, night embraced, and the whispering of stars. Her goddess knows that she would do anything, anything, to keep the people of her beloved kingdom safe. No matter the cost; be it her body, her heart, or her very soul. She does not hesitate as her king's voice booms across the crowd, finding each one of them that has clustered to listen to their true King. And the breath in her lungs doesn't pause nor hitch as his words find her like an arrow. Her crown dips, gaze breaking as her lashes fall.
At last, as if all this time she has been holding her breath, Aislinn answers. A ghostly fist covers her heart as she swears, on the stars and the moon and the rain drops that fall, "I will serve in this world and the next, should our kingdom ask such of me."
And when her crown rises, she rises as Regent, with orbs of brightest blue meeting his of twin moons. Unwavering. A promise made on this night.
There is tension in the air. While Isorath swathed himself in his decadent jewels and silks, pressed his lips to the midnight ink and moonstone flecked material, and listened to the music and the melodic songs and chants of Veteris — he cannot ignore it. Not forever. He is compelled to do something, anything. The time for talking drew to a close, faster and faster, as wounded hearts and well, the wounded were stirred to anger.
At the very least, he can say he tried, in that wispy, almost breathless tone he uses when all voices died and the banners raised; before Aether comes down in a storm of ice and fire.
Then there will naught left but bones and ashes, and who wants to be King and Queen of that?
In the dim light of the evening, punctuated by the fires already burning, he glittered and glowed. His hair decorated with ornate, crystalline hair sticks in the shape of dragons and calligo, having embraced his history and his future both. The intimate moon trinket is still wrapped where Reichenbach had placed it, moons ago, precious and jealously guarded. Wreathed in a halo of warmth and luminescent scales, he moved across the stones as if he floated above them, a train of shadow and starlight followed him to keep the chill off where the braziers cannot.
He is drawn to Reichenbach like a moth to a flame, though he felt it was something more poetic than that. Something greater, something more fitting for the tome of kept histories. A Dragon to his Knight, Icarus to his Sun. Lilac met Silver, and his own smile easily slipped onto his features, there is that feeling in his chest again. That hopeful thing had blossomed into a fire, fed and contained now rather than left to be ash locked behinda rather pretty cage.
His head dipped courteously toward the Night King before it turned away to the equines he addressed in his next breath.
The forces of this world are moving, changing... reacting.
Curled ears pressed attentitively forward, drinking in the words Reich spoke. Whether those around them knew it or not, tonight marked a pivotol moment. The Game had began, prepared or not. Even Aether had felt the anticipation which poured out of him in great waves, enough that the Dragon had come down from his sky eyrie to watch the meeting with a curious gaze. He landed as he always did, a thunderous groan of the stones beneath his taloned feet as his breath rolled out as a rumbled growl. A deadly sentinel who would protect those beneath his winged shadow if Isorath commanded.
Aislinn Stormsinger, our Champion of Battle — will you step into the place of Regent and serve our City of Stars to the best of your ability.
Head tipped so he could look at the Stormsinger, a mixture of pride and fondness glittered in those lilac orbs. "My lady." A fine fit. For a moment his mind lingered on that discarded, jeweled piece he had worn upon his own regency, before he bitterly tossed it away and returned his attention to the now. There was no sense getting caught in unpleasantness, there will be no such weight upon Aislinn's head, he hoped, but the future was a smokey one. It twisted and turned in paths they did not yet know.
Reichenbach had picked well, a storm to back up his own shadow.
And Isorath Flamekeeper, as our most diplomatic citizen, will you step into the position of Emissary and serve your new Kingdom?
The Kirin cannot hide the momentary surprise which flicked upon his features, before they schooled themselves to something more neutral. "I don't know about being the most Diplomatic, but I do rather enjoy the wine and subtle barbs." Isorath mused with a breathless chuckle, his head lowered in a bow as the music in the air was interrupted by a plume of frost fire, and Dragon song. Aether's own declaration, and he can feel the volatile power, a surged of protective fervor swelled within the leviathan's breast. His eyes remained transfixed on the Night King, affection and determination a storm within them. "But I will serve my King, and my Kingdom. My talents, and my power, is yours."
The Emissary's gaze held onto that silver one for long as possible, until duty dictated Reichenbach must look away and tend to their people, and Isorath lapsed into another contemplative silence, stoked by his new position and the ignited bond between Dragon and Kirin both.
At long last, she had healed from her wounds. Araxes had taken far too hard of a pummeling that fated day on the beach, and her speckled frame bore small bits of evidence from it still. Silvery pink scars where hair wouldn't grow, though only seen if one was close enough to poke around her. Today, she took her time with her steps, soft clatters as she navigate the court itself. Reich had called for the herd, the entirety of Denocte, and she seemed to be straggling along, just a little.
The Champion took another turn, ears flicking forward to catch the rumble of voices, announcements and soft acceptances. Rounding the corner, she came in to view, looking more prim than usual, with her braided mane curled in to a bun on her nape, her long tail hauled up in to a cord that held it tight, folding it enough that the ends of black wouldn't touch the ground. "Congratulations are in order," she said, smiling despite herself.
Something seemed... different from the mare as she stepped forward, a subtle curving of her sides, a bit of a glow about her eyes. It was nothing she hadn't experienced before, and all the same, Araxes drew no attention to it herself. She greeted the others with a soft dip of her head toward each, lifting up once more to gaze upon them all.
"I have since healed from my wounds, and hope that perhaps I can keep my position as Champion of Wisdom?" After all, she had amassed many things in her little nook (with help from Cynix and Siavax of course), and had begun to spread the knowledge, as well as heal those that needed it.
The Crow of Whispers lingered off to the side of the meeting, a wry smirk upon his smokey features, as ocean colored eyes drifted back and forth. Denocte had come alive all of a sudden, all out of the shadows like serpents, crows wolves alike. It seemed the other Courts had played a rather bad hand, and had finally provoked the Realm of Stars and Smoke to fling open it's Gates and let the shadows all pour out.
Poetic, truly. He should of asked for some paper and a quill so he could write it all down.
In the warm light of the nearby brazier, his silver glittered and glimmered, rings and chains wound around his delicate frame. To anybody else who didn't know better, he was just another dancer, an entertainer perhaps or even one of the old blood coming to enjoy the King and his declarations. Either way, he was every ounce denoctian, one would never expected the stallion had spent a day outside of it.
Good.
As the ascended all made their acceptance speeches, teal colored eyes flicked leisurely up to Reichenbach's figure, head dipped in acknowledgement. "Yes, congratulations. The other Courts won't know what hit them." He agreed, as Araxes stated her own congratulations and wants. "I'm more than happy to remain a sage, I've never liked the spotlight. I rather like my cozy little nook."
The civil unrest hadn't gone unnoticed, even in the furthest reaches of Denocte. The Raven's had come and gone, penned by informants and the worried alike. Wolf Knight in turn, had prolonged his ride to the Capital for as long as possible, instead moonstone eyes turned toward the mountains, pensive and concerned. Solterra had always been an issue for the Night Kingdom, and many of his people still bore the scars from that, Dusk on the other hand — now that was a new one.
Only when it had become apparent that the Pass was safe, for now, he'd turned his eyes toward the four walls he'd used to call home. How long had it been? Too long. Too long since their banners had flown and their laughter had joined the rest of them. Too long since maids and lads alike had braided flowers in his hair as he readied himself for his moment infront of the crowds. Ready to fell or be felled.
Yet, for all that ache, the itch beneath his skin that begged to be scratched, there is no spectacle when the Knight's finally approached the Capital. The silver bay had continued on when his party had veered off toward the taverns, tuberoses and orchids in his hair and gold which glittered warmly in the light. Better to let the Commander deal with the politics, they'd all joked and gruffawed, better to let the Commander take the fall so you can drink, he had replied with a smirk.
It appeared that he'd arrived at an opportune moment in the meeting, as Guards showed him the way, not that he needed to. He had spent many a season as a young colt, with scraped knees and bruised shoulders. Renwick remembered it all fondly, every scratch and every cheeky word he'd muttered under his breath. The Knight easily slipped among the folk toward the back, taking up against one of the ivy laced statues.
I watch him standing before us all. He's silent at first except for the jingling of coins that he always wears. The air about him is different. His casual, laidback, carefree demeanor has changed to one not of stoicism but much more stern, regal... purpose. He has ideas, goals -- plans. I'm different too. Though the stench of alcohol permeates my skin, probably there til the day I die, I'm sober. There's not a drop of booze to taint my blood and I'm as sane as I'm ever going to get.
My focus is not on those gathered around - Acton, Isorath, Aislinn, Araxes nor those that are unfamiliar - but the King himself. In short order he names Aislinn the new Regent, Isorath the new Emissary. I remain the Warden, which suits me just fine. I suspect that Reich has learned of my journey to the Dusk Court and my visit with Florentine. Perhaps he even doubts my loyalty and commitment to Denocte and the security of its denizens.
He shouldn't. The facts are there, sure. But I didn't go to Terrastella to make friends with the queen. I wanted to see if Weir was anywhere to be found - and the answer was just as Reich had said. It just so happened that I stumbled upon Florentine in the process. I don't know what made me want to hear both sides of their story, perhaps it was idle curiosity. But what I heard from her was not exactly comforting. You mean to confront him. I nod subtly to the question, posed more like a statement. I know he's your friend, but I'm not sure that's the best idea.
I snort quietly, but otherwise appear engaged in the goings on. 'It is because he is my friend that I must confront him. And because he is my king, I need to know if he's getting the Night Court into trouble for personal reasons. For foolish mistakes.' I will make sure that Reich knows my loyalty and reliability. But that doesn't mean that I won't attempt to hold him accountable for those things that I believe are morally wrong.
I do not ask to keep my position as Warden. If the King finds me suitable, he will keep me in that position. If not, he will choose someone else. That is the way of things.
I'M A MAN, I'M A TWISTED FOOL,
MY HANDS ARE TWISTED, TOO,
FIVE FINGERS TWO BLACK HOOVES
They arrived as he had expected them to, all drawn like moths to a flame — to his flame. His black hair fell in opulent curls around his cheeks, shining like the wings of the crows gathered upon the parapets. Nothing escaped the sharpness of his gaze, the absences noted and recorded, the attendees welcomed by the splitting of his black lipped smile.
Unexpectedly, it was Lyra that first stepped forward. Reichenbach took in her flowered appearance, his gaze lingering on the way she held herself, so different now from when they had first met. Then she had been uncertain, unsure of the quiet strength limning her bones. Yet now... now Lyra commanded the attention and respect of their populace, winning over each individual with her calm determination.
"I still wish to serve the Night Court in whatever way I can. You have my loyalty until my last breath."
The Night King's smile was warm, resplendent against a storm-hued sky. His handsome head dipped:
"And you, mine. I can think of no one better to be our Champion."
It was easy to be this King — the kindhearted, loyal, strong man. That ease faded when faced with true diplomatic problems, when faced with morality. Such thoughts led him to the woman moving to stand before him now — a hurricane.... a tempest of justice to keep him in check. To sense when his chaos became destructive rather than purposeful, committed not to him — but their Court.
"I will serve in this world and the next, should our kingdom ask such of me."
Reich shifted ever so slightly so that Aislinn Stormsinger : Regent of The Night Court, could take a place beside him. He could feel the ice of her gaze upon his skin like a blade, knowing that while Aislinn was as family to him... she would not hesitate if it came to saving Denocte — even if that meant destroying him in the process.
A solemn thought, but one he carried with weight, a reminder to keep a check on his temper.
His eyes met lilac then, waiting — watching. Even while Aether roared his commitment, the ground trembling beneath the assault, he set his long lashed eyes and waited.
"But I will serve my King, and my Kingdom. My talents, and my power, is yours."
His muscles loosened, a broad grin opening his rough face as he simply announced;
[b]"Excellent."[/b]
He would thank the kirin more intimately later, when only he could see the faint blush that would surely kiss porcelain cheeks.
"I have since healed from my wounds, and hope that perhaps I can keep my position as Champion of Wisdom?"
Reichenbach shifted his intense gaze, eyes softening in familiarity as they alighted upon Araxes. The slight bulge of her stomach was not lost on him, though he associated the sight with his own sister — perhaps the children could be friends... if he could get Rhoswen to come home with his niece or nephew.
"I see no reason to object. As one of our most knowledgable citizens, you will remain Champion."
A pleasant smile followed, more tender than his usual grin — Reichenbach had a soft spot for gentle girls. And a blade with Torstein's name on it.
His eyes slide to Rostislav, waiting silently at the back of the crowd. He says nothing, offers nothing, only silence and a cool stare that spoke of future conversations. Only a moment is lost on the quiet before Dovev offered words, creating a quirk of a smile upon the King's lips. Remain a sage — as if that's all the Crow of Whispers is. Reichenbach is happy to pretend along with his blue-skinned boy, casting an amused glance his way before searching the crowd again. There were merchants, Crows, members of the Brotherhood — that laughing-eyed man so familiar to him, like a shadow or a memory.
I'M A MAN, DON'T SPIN ME A LIE,
GOT TOES AND I CAN SMILE,
I'M CROOKED BUT UPRIGHT.
Lilac eyes watched beneath a fan of white lashes, observed the grin with a note of fondness upon the sharpness of his face. Amusement flickered within, dancing like a flame on midnight wind as he exhaled a laugh dressed in a sigh. Lighter than a feather, and freer than any bird who had ever graced the sky.
A part of him wanted to go to him, rather than wait until later, where they could shed their crowns and their gold in the safety of the four walls they called their chambers. Strange it is, to be suddenly filled with adoration and love, in the absence of it, that which had bloomed again is a greedy thing — it basked in each stolen glance, and each lingering gaze, even the subtle notes within words shared in public. But, it is just was eager to return it, perhaps too much, to prove that this is oh so very real. That he is capable of love.
So, he forced himself to stay put, at least for the moment. There are others gathered who drew his attention easily enough, when his mind focused once more. His draconian gazes passed them all over again. Araxes earned a gentle smile, the sharpness of him lost for just a moment. The Kirin is grateful that she is allowed to keep her position as the Sage Champion. She had been kind to him, after all, so eager to share the wisdom within the ancient library. They needed a gentle soul such as that, who made the sanctum a welcome place for all who wished to learn.
Then his attention is brought to Rostislav, when he caught Reichenbach's gaze flicker to him. The Warden had yet to say anything, no congratulations, no comment on the words shared between them all. A note of curiosity painted it's way across his face, as his hooves finally felt they had idled too long. He moved, with all the grace befitting his royal blood toward his beloved.
He took the side not offered to Aislinn, his scaled shoulder momentarily brushed against the King's own before his attention once again returned outward. Together all three of them must have looked a sight. Beauty, power and grace wrapped in storms, gold and shadows. Together they are a promise of greatness, the world around them moved, changed and adapted but together they were untouchable. A mountain against the wind, the tides against the crumbling rocks.
