Tendrils of smoke curl in her lungs, all cinnamon and nutmeg and the musk of newborn earth whispering against the paper walls. Nostalgia has become a stone dropping in her stomach, heavy and unforgiving. But it is also the stars that tug at her hair spun of moonbeams, glimmering in silver as the sky begins to fade. Uncommonly, her gaze is not on the luster of the sun as it falls ever dutiful to the horizon, dipping below the expanse of trees in the Arma’s shadows. She does not note the burst of violent reds and cruel orange as Calligo’s violet swallows the heavens like gravity. The stormsinger does not even notice the first stars that begin to wake in patches where her vision is not clouded by branches and a wall of mountain stone.
Her eyes are on the pillars of smoke that rise and wisp into the night that falls, never wavering from their fingers that reach towards the first breath of stars. The muscles of her chest constrict, tightening, entwining around her heart in rose vines. Memories and guilt prick at her with thorns, leaving her bleeding and bare under the shadows of the trees that hide her. The darkness that cradles her under the mountain is a phantom wall that separates her from what she desires most.
To be home again. And her tribe is no closer than over the crest of hills that tumble from the impenetrable wall that shields Denocte from the world.
Only Calligo knows what she would give to find the courage to close the distance from where she stands.
Doing so would mean that her new crown, her regency, would be real. Wonderfully, blessedly, brutally real. And she would no longer be their Maiden, their protector. She had known that she no longer could be the Face that they needed; she had known that one day, she would have to look her people in the eye as she stepped down. Aislinn was many things, but a coward she was not. Eventually, she would no longer yearn to join them, noting every burned out bonfire, missing them by moments. The tendrils of their revelry and wood fires still coax her, pleading, and oh how she wants to give in. Drums beat and thrum, building with each breath as the sun sinks lower and lower still.
But the murmurs of nightfall pull at her, and she cannot decipher their words. And for the first time, the tinkle of her gypsy coins is a spear that stabs her, and no longer a song that she would do anything to hear.
So still, she waits, and watches as silent as the stars above.
REGENT OF THE NIGHT COURT
@reichenbach <3
I CAN’T CONTAIN MY EXCITEMENT
”Aislinn speech.”
It's a cool night for spring, though Reichenbach's blood always ran hot and the cold rarely bothered him. The previous night had gone well, with Aislinn and Isorath ascending to their proposed positions — a comforting thought for The King of Stars and Smoke. They were a powerhouse now, what with all three of their warrior skills and Aether, along with the loyalty of his deadly Crows. His family, growing larger by the day. The thought brought a smile to his black lips, his argent gaze scanning the forest ahead.
He'd followed Aislinn, guiltlessly, from the City. They had not had the chance to speak about her new position — and whether she was glad of the title or not. He had not thought that she might be trailing that faint scent of cinnamon and woodsmoke, the tell-tale mark of the famed Rahilah. He'd heard so many stories, had been fascinated and had even tried to find the fabled wandering herd in his youth. They were... history, culture, the salt and earth of Denocte and Calligo's land.
No Sovereign had entered their camp in as long as he could remember, and he had not thought himself worthy after all those years of searching. She had paused ahead and Reichenbach drew forth, his presence easily recognisable by the tinkling of his coins, always entwined within his ebony curls.
The scent of woodsmoke and jasmine followed him faithfully, stretching familiar fingers out to Aislinn. Whether that scent comforted or displeased her, he didn't know anymore. Regardless, he would stand beside her. He did so now, stepping forward slowly, argent gaze also focused on the tendrils of pungent smoke.
She had felt the shadows bend and curl before he spoke; silver moons falling upon her in silence. Of course he had followed her. Of course he would. They had not spoken, not truly, since the night upon the cliffs of a foreign kingdom. Even when she had been crowned the night before, ascending, still they had not shared words. She was his Regent now, and together, with Isorath, they would lead Calligo’s Court of Stars to a new era. The three of them were mortally bound by their fates intertwined, but yet, her mind cannot forget the moment that she and Reichenbach had met. Their histories had been woven, sewn from the same cloth of silver and gold. She had known the moment her eyes had fallen upon his strand of trinkets, tied within the curls of his hair. You.. you’re a gypsy.
Then, almost a year ago, he had been a newly named king. And now, so much has changed — and yet nothing at all.
Familiar tendrils of wood smoke and jasmine wisp and play across her skin as she inhales. Even the darkness of nightfall stretches to encompass the King of Stars and Smoke as he comes to stand beside the stormsinger. Coins of gold tinkle and merge with the song of her own trinkets, all carefully wrapped around her neck and adorned with her mother’s feathers. She breathes deeply as their goddess’ stardust falls to greet her, kissing her skin in silver shimmer. For here is her courage now, piercing her heart with a but a single word.
Together?
Only then does her crown turn, orbs flaring blue in the gathering dark. A hint of a smile haunts her lips as she nods. ”Together.”
With her breath released, she steps forward, the trees hiding her whispering at her sides as they let her go. She knows without looking that he is there, an ever present shadow at her side. Together, they step across the expanse of rolling hills, her eyes never leaving the pillars of smoke that rise in the air. Marking the camp of her tribe. Her family. Her home. And now Reichenbach is with her, with his gypsy coins and nomadic soul. Just as wild and untame as she. Aislinn’s heart swells as wonders: does he know? Does he truly know the weight of his presence here? His company?
Not a single Sovereign had found the Rahilah in centuries, and now, here he is. With her. Their Maiden.
She can feel their drums building into a crescendo as they walk. The music pulses against the inside of her ribs, thrumming with each breath of heady smoke in her lungs. They are moments away — moments away from rising over the hill that overlooks their encampment. Moments from so many things, all unsaid words like a galaxy’s millions of stars.
The Maiden stops as she crests the hill, her eyes on the tents of violet and gold that glitter in firelight and stars below her. A sea of mystery and music and everything that she held dear.
She breathes in curls of that tell tale smoke of cinnamon and nutmeg. A smile grows. ”Welcome home.”
His Stormsinger watched the shadows comfortably, as welcome in their embrace as he was, every dip and slide of light over her dark skin turning her more exquisite — more storm than woman. Silence reigned, sliding gentle fingers around Reichenbach's gold ringed ears as he moved to stand beside the woman he seemed irrevocably bound to. As she remembered their first meeting, so did he — it had been the evening of his coronation, a completely un-traditional affair (most were, in Denocte) full of music and flames, laughing, dancing and, as always in their fair city, drinking.
She had caught his eye immediately... like lightning before the storm she had looked beautiful and utterly wild amongst the swaying bodies. A hurricane wrapped in shadows, unmistakably gypsy even as his argent gaze had fallen upon her ice-blue eyes. He'd known her as Rahilah moments later — known and felt the grin growing to match the excitement within his great chest, he'd only ever known the Gypsies of his home through stories, and to actually meet one.
Neither of them could have guessed that they would end up here, together.
Together.
She confirmed, and Reichenbach turned his long lashed eyes to his Regent, dipping his rough-hewn head. His brow furrowed slightly as they moved, the sensation of muscle sliding and shifting strangely magnified as he thought about what lay ahead.
Of course he knew the history of Denocte and the Rahilah — he knew that he would be the first Sovereign in too long to step foot within a Rahilah camp. The knowledge did not settle him, did not fill him with joy or pride... instead he found himself filled with a nervous fire, marking the first time he'd been unsure of himself in years. These were his people. Not just because they were from Denocte and so fell under his protection, but because they were gypsy.
If they were all like Aislinn, would he be able to leave?
A thundering filled the air, so familiar and yet so alien — the drums of the Rahilah. They thudded along the inside of his great chest, vibrating along each cracked rib, building and building as they drew ever closer, The King of Denocte and his Regent. The King Crow and his closest friend. His family.
They crested the hill.
Before them lay a sea of stars and music, violet tents and orange flames setting the campsite alive even without the beautiful women that danced and sparred and sang. He wanted to see everything, and so he did. His moonbright eyes gathered every detail and memorised it, drinking in the family that were not family — as far as he knew.
For the King of Stars and Smoke did not know his heritage, did not know that his mother had been Rahilah, or even gypsy. The name Nadja Shadowsong meant nothing to him.
It meant something to the Rahilah, though.
"Welcome home."
Aislinn's voice was as soft as he'd ever heard it — content, proud. The words she utters so calmly send his heart chaotic, his insides churning with a strange sense of belonging and yet... not. The fact that she had welcomed him home. It wasn't a word he'd had much association with, especially when to him home meant anywhere he could see the stars — but it felt right.
Cinnamon and nutmeg wafted subtly upon the night air, swallowing The Night King and turning his eyes slightly hollow. Somehow, that smell reminded him of those blurry memories, the feeling of a loss so great he should have died. Reichenbach swallowed, trying to bring some moisture into his suddenly-dry mouth.
"Thank-you."
It came out rougher than he'd intended, a husky song, but then he'd never been able to control the emotions that ran havoc upon him.
"Time to meet the family."
And, finally, he grinned.
SOVEREIGN OF THE NIGHT COURT
@Aislinn
sorry for the crappy response! loving this thread though!
Her own words reverberate and dance along the curves of her ribs, and her heart has never thundered more loud than in this moment. Not even the flames of her war could drown out the sound of it. Carefree and without abandon, as if the cage of her bones could no longer contain it. The gypsy blood running thick in her veins sings to her matching storms — wild and untamed, beautiful and chaotic. It is the same blood, the same call of nomadic wonders, that whispers to her star born king. That very call is the music of gold and silver coins that jingle in any happenstance breeze; the familiarity of trinkets bound into his dark curls akin to the ones that are tied to the feathers of her own.
The drums that beat into a crescendo and fall is not unlike the music of Veteris, save for the passion that is driven into each strike against her skin. Below her, bodies pulse between the nooks and crannies of shimmering tents of violet and gold. Their camp is a galaxy — an indigo sea of stars and moons and suns of forgotten lands. She was drowning in the cinnamon and nutmeg smoke with a smile on her face, for this world was unlike any other. A kingdom of their own, and every bit Rahilah.
Time to meet the family.
If only he knew.
Her crown whips to regard him, orbs flickering with blue flames. Wicked and matching the mischievous grin that tugs his velveteen lips. She doesn’t need any words, not anymore, as she turns and begins to descent into the heart of her universe. Her home, wherever her people may be. And maybe.. maybe it truly was his home as well. An abode for a wandering soul.
If only she knew.
Quickly, she is encompassed in the throng of beautiful bodies and warriors; colors and shapes that befit a summer’s rainbow shifting in the firelight. Voices rise and join in the gypsy’s song as they dance beneath a dusting of newborn stars. But yet, it is not long that one stops, then another. Their gazes fall upon her like the drapes of silk they fashion themselves with, and the smooth dips of their crowns are the respect of shared steel blades in the heat of battle. The music does not stop as she strides forward; a spear of shadows and storms with a King by her side. After all.. she is their Maiden. And like an ocean’s wave, their orbs drop as they pass, before flaring like supernovas. Their excitement palpable; glittering brighter than the silver of their weapons and the coins of gold that mark them.
She’s home.
She’s back.
Our Storm Maiden.
With a king.
Those coins.. is he..? they whisper as they pass.
Their cries melt into the symphony of drums and pounding feet and embers that fly heavenwards. And although her nerves burn with the ache to join them, to revel in her own return, Aislinn waits. She has come with purpose, as uncertainty falls off of her shoulders. Reichenbach is by her side, and that is all she needs. Together.
But for once, her eyes catch the trinkets that shine against a backdrop of mahogany skin. They linger, as her ears curve to catch the sweet lullaby of the metal singing to one another as the chain moves. She had never noticed the intricacy of it’s design before, only that is was there, and that the coins were a near match to her own. Now, the whispers that grow speak a truth that even she might not have known. One that tugs at the corner of her copper lips. A story that had been told to her, long, long ago.
In the midst of the ocean of wanderers, the stormsinger stops. She blinks, slowly, as if seeing the silver of his eyes for the first time. Under a new light. ”Reich.. your coins.”
Could he be..?
No.. we would have known. Wouldn’t we? the gypsies murmur.
Her glare silences them as the drums swallow their whispers whole. But the world had never been more quiet to her, as she nods to the King of Stars. To Reichenbach, ever the man of shadows and song. Just like someone else the gypsies knew. Someone who’s legends were melded into their bookless stories spoken by fires and told to children both old and new.
”I think you’re Rahilah.”
REGENT OF THE NIGHT COURT
@reichenbach <3 bloop
this post is EVERYWHERE but I figured the eventual meeting with her mother would be able to answer more questions too c:
”Aislinn speech.”
Aislinn started forward, her grace unmatched, each trained muscle rolling and sliding over her bones with ease. She was exquisite to watch, and filled him with an unnameable pride — to serve her as King, to work alongside her.. to be her friend, her brother. Maybe, once, they could have been something... and yet when he stared down that road now, he could see that it would have ended in turmoil. She was his match, with a temper to compete against his own — they would have turned the world to rubble.
He followed her quickly, pressing to her side as his belly flickered with nerves. Though he'd never been any good at hiding his emotions, he tamped down on the butterflies striking his ribs, trying to dull their effect as Aislinn vanished into the throng of bodies. Rahilah were stopping and turning their cool gazes upon him... a man, in their midst. Not just a man, but a King. Who knew what they held within them when they looked at him — interest, contempt, curiousity? They stared at Aislinn with equal intensity, though their eyes sparkled like stars when they looked at her. Reichenbach cast his eyes forward, holding onto the flash of silver hair like a lifeline.
He heard the whispers, but did not recognise them for what they were — until his Regent paused, her ice-blue eyes falling upon his softly singing coins. Reichenbach slowed and stopped, watching her with a furrowed brow as the light slipped off his inky curls.
"Reich.. your coins."
The way they were watching him — like they knew something he didn't. Almost like they knew him.
"I think you're Rahilah."
He half smiled, a breath huffing out of his black lips before he frowned again, trying to match pieces of an unknown story. He shook his head, feeling the sway of his midnight hair and the eyes of the tribe all over him —
"That can't be... I was born far from Novus."
Yet he could not help the faint blooming of hope within his vast heart. This... knowing that he had a history, a bloodline, a whole tribe.. it could change the very essence of who he was and who he had become. It could remake him, if he so chose. Reichenbach stared unblinkingly into the eyes of their Maiden, his Regent, and murmured, almost to himself:
