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Current Novus date and time is
... currently in progress!

 Year || 503
 Season || Winter
 Temp || -10℉ (-23℃) to 55℉ (12℃)
 Weather || Winter has left a blanket of pristine white snow in many parts of Novus. Only Solterra remains mostly untouched by the season's frosted hold, but even the desert may feel a cold breath of wind now and then. With Winter now settled across the continent, dreams of Spring dance in the minds of many.


Character of the Season

Member of the Season

Thread of the Season
Coloring outside the lines

Pair of the Season
Moira and Asterion

Quote of the Season
"There is something to be said for how soothing habit could be, when one was trying to avoid words they shouldn’t say." — Theodosia in
Cinderblock gardens

see here for nominations


Private - We Get What We Deserve
Blyse — Night Court Soldier Signos: 305
▶ Played by Apothic [PM] Posts: 11 — Threads: 4
▶ Male [He/Him/His] Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 10
▶ 10 [Year 493 Fall] Active Magic: Mirages
▶ 16.2 hh Bonded: N/A

sins only god can forgive.

If first impressions are the most lasting, then he knew he would certainly not forget this moment he was assaulted by the sweltering heat and a despairing sight that was his first impression of Novus.  No, this was not what a wearied man would hope to see after crossing the ocean—desert, as seemingly vast as the sea but half as pleasant on the eyes.  His saving grace was that a city lie along the shoreline that he traced alone, where occasionally he was cooled by an errant wave that lurched upon his legs.  For too long it looked just like a mirage.  So much, that he wouldn’t allow himself to believe his eyes until he was walking among the crowds within where his other senses could be satisfied.  

He traded glances with a few market patrons, but mostly everyone saw through him as they mulled about paying mind to their business.  Blyse was plagued with discomfort as he looked at their faces, each one as unfamiliar to him as the last.  He never realized how much he took for granted the familiarity with his clan.  The only thing here that remotely resounded with his past was the slow, steady wail of a blacksmith’s hammer and a single scent which played in the air like a musical note that was hard to discern from the rest.  These were not his people.  He had no people,he needed reminded.  Blyse had given that up on what most might perceive as a whim. 

The overwhelming road ahead was just beginning to dawn on him.  He needed to find his people.  He needed a plan.  He needed to strategize just how he was going to find his way in to a position of safety in a land he knew nothing about, but where to even start?  That mare, Celeste, she called herself.  She was the soothsayer that brought him here, the mare with the gift of Vision who saw a truth that so resonated with him he would betray his own people to follow her. 

But then, of course, she left him in the desert. 

How sweet.  She did part with some cryptic instructions to a place called Denocte and that was the only known value to him in this entire equation.  Blyse pushed through the crowd and stole the first alley that took him away from these strange faces.  What he found on the other side was a shrine of sorts.  Head-high walls of stone stood before him, worn and cracked with barely legible inscriptions.  Flowers, trinkets, and other small tokens of love were strewn at the base and idols as unfamiliar to him as the equine of this land stood upon pedestals.  He had a guess as to who the idols were for.


He murmured that name, trying it out for the first time.  He had only heard it in the Soothsayer’s rambles.  She spoke about the Gods a lot in their brief time together.  Mostly she spoke about her own.  Rarely she spoke of his, which was a strange concept to him—belonging to a God he was not yet sure he believed in.

@Seraphina  /// delivery ❤

Seraphina — Day Court Outcast Signos: 785
▶ Played by Jeanne [PM] Posts: 258 — Threads: 44
▶ Female [She/Her/Hers] Hth: 17 — Atk: 23 — Exp: 51
▶ 5 [Year 498 Spring] Active Magic: Greater Telekinesis
▶ 16 hh Bonded: N/A
☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼

throw the ashes to the wind
sun sinking like a stone

At nightfall, they burn candles and incense in the markets – it is a business strategy as much as it is a matter of illumination, though the moon is swollen and brilliant in the darkness of the cloudless sky above.

Seraphina wanders the maze-like streets aimlessly, though she moves with the confidence of someone with some pressing directive. Sand scatters beneath her hooves, and her lungs catch on the dry air and heavy perfume, but she is as grateful for the renewed heat as she is for the bustle of activity it has brought with it. Now that they are no longer confined indoors, and now that they have had more than enough time to recover from the Davke attack, – more than a year ago, now – the market is beginning to bloom again. (She remembers pacing through it as a child, keeping close to Viceroy’s heels. The slave auctions were the worst, and she is quick to push the memory of them out of mind.) This is…different. This is smoke and silk and gleaming jewels, fineries imported from foreign shores, well-crafted weapons and gleaming armor, wine and candy and rare, sweet pastries, flowers…charms and idols. Pretty things, surrounded by the trappings for war. It’s dazzling, and she is simply a shadow against the brightness; unless you knew her, you would never think her the queen of Solterra.

She ducks off the street and finds herself in a shadowed alleyway. As her eyes readjust to the candlelit darkness, she realizes that she has stepped into small, simple shrine; various offerings were strewn about it, strangely pretty things for the worn, warlike harshness of the desert, but things that she thinks that the god would like nevertheless. (She recalls him glancing at his reflection in the metallic sheen of his own hide with a hint of something that is almost - almost - akin to amusement, but Seraphina is not an easily amused creature, if she is one that can be amused at all.) She quickly realizes, too, that she is not alone. Down the alley, in front of the shrine, stands a stranger. He cannot be too much taller than she, and she can barely make out his features in the hazy darkness, but she notes that he is in possession of a pair of gigantic wings; if he spread them, she imagines that the alley would not be wide enough to accommodate their bulk. She exhales the heavy scent of perfume and breathes in his, and she does not recognize where he hails – the desert sand and sweat and the salt of the terminus sea are there, certainly, and the thick incense of the market, but, beneath it all, she finds something…unfamiliar. A traveler, perhaps, or a passing stranger. She turns to leave him to his business, but then he speaks, but not to her, and her ears flick towards him to catch the hushed murmur of his voice, barely audible over the distant hum of the marketplace they have just left behind.


She eyes his dark silhouette, illuminated by a halo of golden candlelight, for a moment longer, and then she steps forward.

“…do you seek the god, traveler?” Her voice – low and lilting and thickly accented like the rolling dunes of the desert she calls home - emerges from flickering candlelight and shadow a fraction of a second before she does, the dull, dark silver of her coat mimicking the darkness; as she steps into the light, it gleams as though she is made of the metal wrapped around her throat. She watches him with dark, quiet eyes that take in each and every detail of his muscular frame and massive wings with a certain wariness, in spite of the certainty in her long strides and the vaguely commanding air of her raised chin. And what if he does seek her god? It is not as though she can call Solis – he does not bend to her command, or the command of any other, and he comes and goes with the rise and the fall of the sun. Now that the snow has been dealt with, gods (very literally) only know what he will do; perhaps he will return to his perch on high for another hundred years, and she will never see him again. (Either way, she will manage, but she wonders how she would tolerate his prolonged abandonment if he left his people to their own devices again. She remembers how that went – she remembers it like the sear of flame against her hips, the weight of metal around her throat, the taste of ash on her lips.)

But she does not think of Solis, now; her mind loops around itself like a snake and finds its attention again on this strange ghost in the night who whispers the name of her people’s god.


tags | @Blyse
notes | holy sudden rambling muse batman


and there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself

please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence

Blyse — Night Court Soldier Signos: 305
▶ Played by Apothic [PM] Posts: 11 — Threads: 4
▶ Male [He/Him/His] Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 10
▶ 10 [Year 493 Fall] Active Magic: Mirages
▶ 16.2 hh Bonded: N/A

sins only god can forgive.
The smooth, archaic eyes of idols stared down at him with stilted wrath permanently imprinted upon their faces.  It was as if the day they were molded they knew he would one day walk upon their holy grounds with the dirt of his godless lands still dusting his hooves and swearing no fealty to their monarchs.  He wondered what provoked these desert people to craft such elaborate effigies of their God.  Did they think that divine beings who could create practically anything they desired from the nothingness in the world might actually hold intrinsic value in their carvings?  Or, and more realistically he thought, were the idols just for the people themselves?  Tangible instruments with which they could relay their unrequited love so that all that ceremony and worship felt more meaningful and real.  

For Blyse, a God had always just been a thing on the outer edges of his life.  A concept that small-minded men elevated when they wished to find a reason to parcel out their accountability or justify an immoral action.  Now while that notion couldn’t entirely be discarded, the happenings of the prior weeks did convince him that divinity was something more incarnate than he had once thought.  But there was still so much that stood to baffle him.

Could she see that?  The mare who, in his intense absorption, he had not even noticed until she woke him with her dulcet voice.  He certainly must have looked like a lost boy to her (which was not a far cry from the truth), so he swallowed his confusion and turned his attention to her.  He would not have believed that she was made from this desert.  Even in near- darkness, her form looked glacial when compared to the sand-washed cityscape behind her and if smoke rolled from her icy breath he would not have wondered how.  But her eyes did this strange thing as they defied the darkness, reflecting the firelight in a striking display of contradiction.  One eye portrayed the flames as whiskey-fed fire, the other for cold smoke.  The only common thing they shared was the occupation of their focus: Blyse, who so returned his focus that he let the silence hang between them until it was deafening.

“He intrigues me…” He finally offered. “…but he is not the one I seek.” Blyse spoke with a surprising softness.  The commander that normally carried his voice like a torch was wearied and begging for rest.  Duty denied him. “I’m not sure he’d want to be sought, anyhow.”  He added sotto voce.  

And at the risk of sounding foolish, he posed to her a question of his own.   "Where are the other Gods?  I only see the one."

@Seraphina  ///


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