— you will ache as I ache—
tenderly, tragically, beautifully.
The flight from Terrastella to Denocte had been quiet, save for the thunderous roar of Aether's wings upon the breeze. A clap of thunder with each powerful stroke, protective as each downward thrust shielded the white Kirin from the World, save for those who dared to look up. He flew beneath the Goliath's chest, a dainty white star in a maelstrom of black and blue, his mind ablaze and their bond singing while a wall of impenetrable ice donned his outside.
He had never thought he'd be traveling again, he'd been content within the Court of Twilight. At least until the inevitable call happened, that deep, soul aching longing for his homeland that he would never be able to ignore. The equines there had become a piece of him, in their own way, as time had marched ever forward. Faces and names provoked a touch of a smile to curl the corners of his mouth. Until he came to the startling realization somewhere in the midst of the mountains, those that he'd come to call friends had drifted. Far away until it was all he could do but reminisce over what once was. Terrastella had been home, until the faces shifted and faded away. Those that he could still call friends in the Court and out, would be witness to the mess that had been allowed to run rife.
His personal life painted everywhere for everyone to see, with he and the stallion he had come to adore, painted as a villain.
'Stop thinking about such trivial dealings, they made their bed, and dragged a Court down with it.' Aether grunted, head lowered a fraction to better see the Kirin shielded beneath him. While he took great pleasure in delving deep into Isorath's thoughts and machinations, this. This was something he couldn't abide by. 'She is foolish to send you away, and they will know of it, in time. You know this.'
'I know it, it does not mean I have to like it.' He countered with a hauty snort, head cocked to the side. Had he expected too much, perhaps? That emotions could be kept from the well being of an entire nation? Had he overestimated?
'We have a new home now, your time would be better spent serving them instead of those that could cast you out.' Aether concluded, effectively shutting off the Kirin's thoughts with a single push between their bond. Focus on Denocte. Yes. He would do just that, he had risen from his own ashes once, better and stronger than before. He could do so again.
The mountain pass soon faded, the rocky mountains slimming to narrow outcrops and eventually the jagged road which lead to the Night Court's abode. Similarly his heart rose and fell in a deafening crescendo. This was it. The start of something new, start of something that no longer had to be secret, be forced to be an idle fancy on a cold night and slow days. The friends he had made here would become his family, and in turn Reich and he could start again. Start as something free. Open as a birds wings and as fierce as the Dragon he commanded.
He had hoped for a somewhat quiet landing, but Aether seized the moment. A proud creature through and through, with little love for demure acts or the quiet approach, a bellow rumbled from the Dragon's jagged maw followed by a breath of frostfire, illuminating the night with it's ethereal hues and sparked the clouds overhead to darken and weep snow. No doubt the inhabitants of the castle would be shaken to their cores, and from their beds as the Herald made his descent. Down and down like a falling star while Aether circled the castle in leisured beats, his breathing heightened to a grumbled roar of thunder on the wind, lower until he too gripped the walls and settled in one heavy thud of his weight. One cloven hoof followed another as his cloaked form landed, dwarfed in the plushness of it, and the bags carefully scrapped to his life frame. Silvery hair fanned and fell in lush waves to swallow his neck and shoulders, trailed across the ground behind him in rivers of moondust.
His wings pressed close to his covered sides as he slipped toward the familiar gates, lilac eyes hidden beneath a fan of white. Would Reich come to meet him and Aether? Would it be someone else?
TAG: @Reichenbach & also anyone in the night court!
"this here is your speech colour!
Time is the true keeper of fate, Caine thinks. The loss of an hour, the slip of a second, and something that is meant to happen doesn’t, and Time’s laughter is as dry as a corpse as he twines two paths together that were never fated to cross. Sometimes, Caine wonders who he would be if Agenor had not been the one to find him in that alley.
Tonight, however, Time seems to be on his side.
Cloaked in shadow, the Raven moves as silent as the grave through the citadel’s torchlit corridors, unseen by even the keenest of beady-eyed crows. From what he’d gathered in his conversation with Crows of a far more refined appearance, Caine had felt the smallest tinge of relief when he learned his sputtering magic had not failed him entirely. For they are close. Even without the validation of his spells, he knows that his journey is drawing to an end. Like the fading rays of dusk, before night descends upon its throne of dreams. Dreams, or nightmares? Soon, we will see.
The beating of scaled wings so massive they can belong only to a Goliath–namely, Aether–cuts through the air like a furious storm, and Caine pauses as he turns his silver gaze to the skies. His eyes narrow upon the Herald in an instant, because the Kirin is a swirl of blinding white in a sea of chasmic black. “Isorath.”
It starts as an itch in his skull. Yet the boy is still watching the ivory prince, only vaguely aware of the markings along his forehead growing hot. Like embers in a flame. And then, and then–the pain descends upon him like hellfire. His body reacts instinctively, his training steadfast even as his breath ends in gasps. Slipping behind the closest marble column, Caine hesitates only moments before crumpling to the ground in blinding agony.
It is as if his forehead has been wrenched open with an ice pick, and the hammer has driven the iron stake home. Get a hold of yourself, boy. Have you not felt worse pain? echoes Agenor’s spitting voice in his mind, and Caine stills. This is nothing, compared to what he has endured.
As quickly as it came, the pain vanishes like a thief in the night. The boy is left with only a dull throbbing, the symbols atop his crown glowing red, then silver, and then nothing at all. With a grimace, Caine draws himself to his hooves and exhales, silver eyes as hard as the crystal statues littering the courtyard like frozen sentinels. So Agenor had succeeded with the blood bond–his most ambitious spell yet, implanted upon his greatest pawn to date. I should've known he'd make it as painful as possible. He has an unquenchable flair for the dramatic, mutters Caine, as he shakes the last burning ache from his feathers. And I should not postpone the inevitable any longer.
A smooth smile settles upon his lips, black as obsidian, as the Harbinger steps out from the column and walks as soft as a cat towards his gilded Herald. Not a trace of the agony that had gripped him mere moments before, remains in eyes as pale and cold as snow.
Up close, the Prince is as resplendent as Agenor had described. A true son of Aesthia, yet greater than she will ever be. “I hope you are not too weary from your travels, my Herald.” He refrains from saying more, before lowering himself into a sweeping bow. The tips of his onyx wings graze the icy ground, and as Caine stands, his silver eyes fix steadily upon lavender pools framed with endless white.
“It has been very long since Your Highness has left Vectaeryn. The Garde has grown restless in your absence.” Placidly, he glances towards Aether’s smoking maw, the dragon’s glare as sharp as icicles, before turning his attention back to the fine-boned Kirin.
“I am called Caine, and I was sent by the orders of High Consul Agenor of House Selwyn. He expresses his deepest condolences in not being here himself.” His voice is light and lyrical, his smile lovely and pristine. The boy pauses, observing Isorath’s reaction, before finishing his long-rehearsed speech. “From this moment on, Your Grace, I will obey your orders as they come. Whether you wish for me to stay besides you as your shield, or to remain in the shadows as a Harbinger should–the Herald's command is absolute.”
Whatever you ask, Isorath. I do not have a choice.
@Isorath | "speech" | totally had a bit a lot of fun with this post x"D
— you will ache as I ache—
tenderly, tragically, beautifully.
Isorath.
His name is called by a voice he does not know, and the Herald stopped mid-step, an ivory hoof barely scraping the cold stone surface. He does not move, not immediately. The cloak pooled around him and settled, while his hair danced in the midnight air, silver streams of starlight and fire. He should be used to equines knowing his name, after all, there are no equines like him in Novus. Both in looks and standing, his name is worth knowing, to anyone worth the sweat upon their brow.
If not for who he is, but for the Dragon which regarded the multi-winged Pegasus with a mixture of interest and a thinly veiled threat.
But this is a voice he does not know, in a Realm he had long come to view as home. He had prided himself in memorizing the names, faces and voices of those who had filled his days with knowledge and happiness.
I hope you are not too weary from your travels, my Herald.
Only then did he whirl in his silks, as his title reached his delicately curled ears. In the thickness of the velvet cloak wrapped around him like a dream, he stood, wings raised like a nightmare on high. One hoof remained raised, even after he burned the pegasus' face into memory, caught between placing itself back against the stone it had moved across a moment before — he is a statue in that moment, in the halls of his mother and their ancestors. They are immortalized in this pose, regal, threatening. Powerful. Wings raised to the heavens in a declaration of owning the skyward dominion at their mere presence.
"The flight was pleasant." He finally answered, his voice measured as his lilac pools bore into the dark figure before him, pupils swallowed by the cold expanse of pastel which had frozen the warmth from their visage. Still unsure whether he trusted this raven stranger from the shadows, he is not Crow. He has not spied him hovering close to his beloved.
But, he quickly learned the truth. When the raven chose to speak further. Ah, the pieces fall into place after that. The Garde had long known the High Prince's intrigue. Perhaps they had forseen that the Prince would find himself in a position to create something similar. Homesick and longing for the political intrigue and games the Garde often orchestrated. If anything, the title of Herald suited him well. Even if the old manifestation had long slithered to ground in their homeland.
Aether can only stare, his moon colored gaze sharp and bottomless, a huff of frost fire escaped between jagged teeth. A rumbled noise sounded somewhere deep in his scaled chest, and Isorath answered with a tip of his antlered head. They were fine, in fact, this was an unexpected boon. From an unexpected place, and from an unlikely equine. An unforseen ally.
He cannot deny the excitement which sparked along his spin, in creeping waves. His scales beneath his cloak shifted and flared as he mulled over the situation. Here in Denocte, he was safe. There were guards, the Crows, even the King and of course, Aether. Caine would be wasted by his side. It would be foolish to not make use of this new found opportunity.
In the midnight of a rather ceremonious, but otherwise quiet night, the Herald finally lowered his hoof and closed his wings. Lilac eyes peered around, checking for any ears and eyes which may have lingered in the shadows.
There are none, little princeling. We are alone. If there is a note of excitement and anticipation in Aether's voice, Isorath chose not to acknowledge it.
"Very well, Caine." He began, his voice musical and so very very light. A feather on the wind, but there is a dangerous lilt to it, the feathered fan which hid a knife. Only then, did he alight from the steps, drawing closer until his teke could reach out and ghost across the Raven's face, the pale glow of amethyst danced across onyx flesh, assessed the marks upon his forehead with a keen interest. I would have you keep an eye on the other Courts for me, there is discourse being sown and I would know it well." Isorath paused then, and drew away, seemingly satisfied with whatever he had found upon the man. "Play your part as you see fit, earn their trust, make them love you if you so desire. Run their little errands if it is required. Kill them if you must, if they get in your way. But..."
It is there Aether announced his presence again, sinuous as he lowered his neck to bring his colossal head to rest above Isorath's own, teeth bared, a thousand jagged blackened swords and the ominous glow of lich fire in the back of his throat. He is less the graceful and elegant thing of marble and gold in that moment.
Illuminated by the light the color of tormented souls lost to the grim, he is a banshee, a wraith whose golden scales are a carefully crafted lie of warmth. He is terrible and ruinous as he allows his alabaster facade to crack and splinter. Revealing the spite and fury which crawled and slithered within. His own teeth bare in a grin, a cold, twisted and ominous thing before it's gone in a smile which is pleasant. Sweet. Caring. The warmth is back, as if the flames in the braziers have suddenly been lit in a dark room. "Report only to me, and me alone. You may stay the night within these walls, if you wish, unless you already have a Court in mind to stay in already."
