— you will ache as I ache—
tenderly, tragically, beautifully.
The last tendrils of Solis' reign painted the earth in brilliant hues of pastel warmth, illuminating both stone and equine alike in an aura of light. In the confines of the throne room, the same warmth bled through the windows and fed the low light provided by the ornate torches. It's beautiful, a scene for an artists careful touch upon a canvas, a moment to capture as the light spans across the throne like posessive tendrils to uplift it's silent power.
In the center, is the Dusk Sage, regal and serene in his contemplation as lilac eyes regarded the throne with a veiled gaze, beneath the lush canopy of snow lashes which framed them. Porcelain and marble elegantly sculpted, with flakes of gold scales glowing as the firelight caressed them. As still as he is, it would be easy to mistake him as another effigy, a figure lost to history, until the subtle tilt of his head betrays him.
To those that have grown used to the Sages presence, it'd be also easy to say that he is mulling over the secrets locked within such a timeless chamber, after all it's one of the reasons he'd come to Denocte, to unravel her history and mysteries to write reverently into his tomes. This is a chamber of history, etched in the lines of the throne and it's cushions. It would make perfect sense to see him here, in such deep thought.
But that would be far from the truth.
A myriad of emotions slither beneath his skin, a mixture of his past and his current predicament bubble underneath the smoothness of his face and the sharpness of his cheekbones. Internal conflict had never been his strong point, it is too much of a finely sharpened knife between the ribs, an assassins deft dance which weaved effortless around his own sword dance to fell him and watch him stumble onto his own blade.
History is beautiful, but terrible. It's almost too much.
Absent mindedly, his teke reached out to touch at the trinket weaved upon his crown, the moon providing a small measure of comfort, it's appearance striking against the gold which adorned him so perfectly, before the knife twists just so to break the serenity on his face. It's a small, but it's a fracture on the statuesque appearance he strives to create.
TAG: @Camdis
NOTES:
"this here is your speech colour!
The light that streamed in through open air windows was delicate and watery as it settled upon the contents of a rather contradictorily decorated chamber. Within, opulent wealth was met with supplies and handcrafted charms that seemed an echo of another era. Deep purple drapes insulated with thick linings of velvet and dyed furs were pulled back, the heavy fabric hooked around silver holders embedded in the wall despite the frigid outside temperatures. From there, chilled breezes swept through the room, brushing across a solidly hewn obsidian workbench that held an array of scattered herbs, vials, stone containers, and a series of parchment documents with sketches and notes scribbled hastily upon their ash dusted surfaces.
Despite the table’s bulk, the size of the chamber made it easy to accommodate its cluttered surface against the wall nearest the door. Above the workbench sat a pair of polished mahogany shelves filled to bowing with worn and well-loved tomes. Hanging from the exposed wooden beams of the domes ceiling were a plethora of items; folded paper diagrams of flora and fauna with notes and labels meticulously added to their balanced surfaces in a looping, elegant font; bundles of flowers and herbs in various stages of drying; braids of ribbon, vines, and even hair interspersed with feathers, beads, and other such tokens knotted carefully into their lengths - talismans of the ancient and primitive variety.
On the wall across from the workbench, set within the dark stone wall, sat a cavernous marble fireplace. The flames that flickered within provided a welcome warmth to the chamber, combating the chill of winter with an ease that belied the merry crackling. If on were to peer closer to the fire, they may see that the smoke rising into the chimney was a shade of violet so dark as to nearly match the drapes - the result of a few choice herbs scattered into the embers before the Regent had ignited it the night before. Accompanying the warmth that permeated the chamber was the intermingled scents of peppermint tea and jasmine increase.
In the center of the chamber, nestled within a cushion-filled basin pressed into the stone floor, lounged the Denoctian Regent, his scarlet brow furrowed in concentration as he utilized his telekinetic ability to braid together ivory strands of hair, ropes of lavender, and a series of golden coins without allowing the string of chants falling from his lips to waver.
Despite this focus, however, Camdis Lohir couldn’t help but let loose a string of curses as the carved doors of his Study were kicked open by the all-too-enthusiastic hooves of his Page.
“Raglan, rust it all, I told you to enter with caution when you see the plum smoke,” came the horned Regent’s frustrated greeting.
“Wonderful to see you, too, Camdis,” drawled Raglan with a grin and a sort chuckle - the irritability of his Regent had become almost endearing over the months that they had spent together. Catching sight of the charm that Cam was in the middle of weaving, Raglan narrowed his pale eyes and took a few steps forward in opal hooves, “Is that one for me?”
Glancing up toward the dozens of other braided talismans that swayed gently from the rafters, the Young Crow pursed his lips, wondering what sort of prayers his mentor had woven into the threads of his charm.
“Yes,” the voice of the bay stallion brought Raglan’s pale eyes back down to level, “It is yours. I’m hoping to inspire some common sense and discipline with it.” A dry grin has risen to the Regent’s lips as he spoke, but the attempt at humor did not reach his eyes - pale and far too full of sorrow for his four years. “What brings you here? You don’t have another lesson until tomorrow.”
“There’s a stallion from another Court in the throne room. I couldn’t find Reich, so I thought I would bother you with it,” Cocking his head and widening his grin, Raglan turned about and practically skipped out of the room, tossing a farewell over his shoulder as he stepped back into the hazy darkness of Calligo’s palace, “I’ll make sure to find a good hiding spot in case things get tricky.”
Brow furrowing further, Camdis heaved a sigh and lifted himself from the cushions, leaving the unfinished charm to rest upon one of the crimson pillows. Moving slowly out of his study and making his way through the labyrinthine passageways of the fortress, a slight scowl resting upon his already stern face. Truly, it wasn’t unlike the stallion to glare at nothing, but having been interrupted in his study had rather darkened his already tumultuous temperament. Yet, as he turned the final corner and walked toward the pool of light that fell before the throne room’s arched doorway, he took a deep breath and focused on becoming the penultimate image of diplomacy.
This, of course, didn’t work in the slightest, but Camdis did manage to lighten his scowl enough to seem neutral.
“Welcome, Stranger, to Calligo’s realm,” Came the Regent’s quiet greeting, his voice cool and polite. Slowing to a stop before the golden scaled stallion, the Regent gave a respectful bow of his horned head before meeting the pale gent’s gaze. It was an effort not to raise his brows and inspect the male further, to oooh and ahhh over the seamless melding of skin and scale, of gold and ivory. The words “handsome” or “attractive” were almost insulting in comparison to the almost overwhelming essence of artistry that had gone into the foreign courtier’s physical form.
It would be appropriate to surmise that Camdis Lohir greatly appreciated the stranger’s presence, if only for the aesthetic.
“I am Camdis Lohir, Regent to Denocte, what brings you to the heartland of Night?”
@Isorath sorry for no coding I did this on my phone also sorry for the muse explosion :(
— you will ache as I ache—
tenderly, tragically, beautifully.
He's not sure how long he'd stood there, before the quiet song Denocte often sang, one filled with music on the wind and low hum of voices enraptured by the night, was shattered by the arrival of another. Wrapped in his own thoughts and comforted by the turn of the moon charm in his teke's careful cradle, the faint smell of jasmine and woodsmoke which seemed to linger even when the Monarch did not. It almost overpowered the scent of lavender and vanilla which perfumed his hair and skin.
'Welcome, Stranger, to Calligo’s realm'
The wispy tendrils of his teke released the moon charm from it's willowy grip as lilac's immediately slid to meet the stranger's brilliant ruby ones. Instinctively, his face slipped into one of neutrality, frame angling itself to appear elegantly poised as his scaled tail coiled around his hocks. Silence lasted but a moment before Isorath dipped his own head to return the greeting, all fluid grace as his neck arched and tendrils of spun starlight slid forward to hang around his face in soft curls. Court etiquette was as much a part of him as the songs of Dragon's and Magic was, carved into his bones and very essence. It's a safe dance, one that pulls him easily away from his troubled thoughts and warring soul, like slipping into his favorite cloak and gilded bridle.
"May Calligo shroud you in shadow, and illuminate your way, Regent." He replied silkily, his accent heavy and sultry on his words, distinctly Taeryn with not an ounce of regret. Unlike the Regent, he has no qualms in flicking his jewelled gaze to dance along the other's sturdy frame, over the bloodied birthmark and tangles of coal black hair braided and left to their own wants and whims. Stopping short at the long crowns he'd been blessed with, the Sages gaze returned easily enough to the ruby tinted one as a polite smile ghosted over his pale maw. He had heard of the elusive Regent in passing, yet had never had the opportunity to see him. Denocte and her shadowy citizens had a knack for not being seen until they wanted to be.
"Isorath, Sage of the Dusk Court." He added after a moment, head tilted to give the throne a sparing glance before setting back on his new found company. "I've been here awhile, mostly wrapped up in the Library and it's books, I've come to learn of Calligo and her people to add to Vespera's own knowledge." While it had proven to be an enlightening experience, the vastness of the library and it's wealth of information, as well as the quiet but pleasant company of their champion. It had quickly become one that had tied him emotionally to the place that was supposed to be temporary. Shadow strings decorated in stars now wrapped between his ribs and held fast to the four walls that had quickly become a home.
"How are you this night, Regent Lord?"
TAG: @Camdis
NOTES:
"this here is your speech colour!
