Hello There, Guest! Register

Beautifully drawn by Sid (Erasvita@DA)!
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 - decay will feed the bloom
Basileios — Day Court Citizen Signos: 405
▶ Played by Silver [pm] Posts: 6 — Threads: 3
▶ Nonbinary [they/them] Hth: 15 — Atk: 5 — Exp: 10
▶ 4 [Year 499 Spring] Active Magic: Truthtelling
▶ 14.1 hh Bonded: N/A
Truth be told, Basil was adjusting to their status with more alacrity than they thought they'd possessed. It was difficult, of course, to remember that they were no longer the shrinking violet who prayed their presence went unnoticed; every habit was hard to break, and this was no different. Each step was a lesson in projecting poise, but now it become a lesson in command while poised. It felt akin to balancing on a tightrope — too callous and they would face the same violence their parents and cousins had met; too soft and their remaining family members would devour them alive.

Perhaps some day, in the distant future, there would come a day when Basileios held more pride in their status and less constrained dread. It might be a long ways off, obscured by the clouds of uncertainty, but it was there alongside it's faithful steed, Hope.

For now, Basil hefts their heavy load of scrolls, some of them flecked with unsavory brownish stains, towards the Court's libraries. The scrolls are some of Azhade's oldest and, though their stories are likely duplicates, Basil would rather the historians have a chance to search through them than condemn useful information to the sands of time. It is good luck, or poor luck, that as Basil is trotting along, head down to make sure they don't lose any of their precious cargo, that dark, striped legs swim into view— their abrupt skid to a halt tumbles several scrolls from their grasp.

"Sorry—" they sputter, narrowly missing colliding with the legs' owner, as they scramble to pick up the dusty tomes. "Oh— I was so worried— No, they're okay," they nervously reassure themself before their brain catches up with them. "O-oh. Seraphina. Um, good afternoon," they manage, after a moment spent gaping, ears sinking as they sketch out a bow before their sovereign. Seraphina elicits more than just nervous awe from them— her silver collar evokes that particular shame that surrounds their family's part in the regime that strangled so many young lives. Looking like a blundering idiot in front of the person they so desperately wanted to impress was only half their flustered state.

Basileous shyly looks down, away, at the tile that is suddenly more interesting than Seraphina. "I'm sorry, it was rude of me to go scrambling around," they apologize again, slipping so easily back into the reserved, wallflower persona that had kept them safe from their family's notice.


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

Another day of cold, another day spent attempting to reassure a swarm of citizens that yes, yes, they were doing their absolute best to handle the situation, yes, I’m sure that it won’t be long now. Now that Solis had descended upon the snow-covered court, with news that their troubles were caused by some sort of terrible beasts that they were now meant to vanquish, Seraphina could feel a bit better about telling her people that their troubles (or, at the very least, those caused by the snow) would come to an end soon.

Tomorrow, ideally, though she suspected that the damage caused by the snowfall would take considerably longer to deal with.

As she turns a corner, she finds herself narrowly avoiding a collision with a small, fawn-colored figure holding a stack of scrolls; she recognizes them as Basileios, the young head of the Azhade, and offers a small inclination of her head in greeting, though they are more concerned with gathering their fallen scrolls than they are with her.

“Basileios. Good day.” Her gaze rests on them with its usual, unnerving intensity. Seraphina likes Basileios, as much as she seems to like anyone – an ally among the nobility is a rarity, and she has a certain appreciation for those that step away from the grandeur and decadence of their bloodlines. You would likely never guess it, however, from her stiff posture and stern, ambiguous expression. She bends, slightly, and, with a whisk of her telekinesis, begins to help them gather up the fallen scrolls, ears twitching forward an inch to catch their stammered apologies. “You don’t need to bow to me,” she adds, a bit belatedly. The formalities of court life still make her uncomfortable, at best, and, though her personality is far from soothing, she wants her subjects to feel relaxed in her presence. (She serves them, after all – not the other way around. She wants them to know that. Although no one person owns her anymore, she is so used to being a useful thing that it is how she has come to process her role.)

As she helps them gather the last of the scattered papers and rises back up to her full height, her odd eyes coming to a rest on the young noble’s bright blue ones. They apologize again, their voice stumbling, and she wonders if she frightens them.

Mmm. You have nothing to apologize for,” she says, after a moment’s pause, though it occurs to her that her tone isn’t at all reassuring. (That said, she means it. It wasn’t as though she’d been paying enough mind to where she was walking, either.) “What do you have with you?” She gestures to the collection of scrolls.


tags | @Basileios
notes | <3


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

please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence


Forum Jump:

Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)