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Current Novus date and time is
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 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.

Spotlight
Member: E-cho

Character: Seraphina

Pair: Moira & Asterion

Thread: Coloring outside the lines

Quote: "There is something to be said for how soothing habit could be, when one was trying to avoid words they shouldn’t say." Theodosia, Cinderblock gardens
see here for nominations


Private - sculptures of open-armed sadness [winter]
Isra — Night Court Sovereign Signos: 410
▶ Played by nestle [PM] Posts: 246 — Threads: 32
▶ Female [she/her/hers] Hth: 30 — Atk: 30 — Exp: 66
▶ 6 [Year 497 Winter] Active Magic: Transformation
▶ 15.1 hh Bonded: Fable (Sea Dragon)
#1
Isra who yearns for a window

“Shall we mourn here deedless forever a shadow-folk mist-haunting dropping vain tears in the thankless sea” 



At first Isra came to the lake only to lay beneath the willow tree, bury herself in snow, and listen to the glass leaves sing a sad song against each other. She wanted to dream of Eik who tucked clovers and sweet grass between her lips. Any dream full of rolling meadows instead of fire or waving flowers in the wind instead of waving swords in the sand. Isra is desperate for anything that feels like love instead of hate, peace instead of war. 

Sometimes she feels like she's dying in her own skin. 

The distant sea is still calling her home in that place between the dream and the real. Each day it's leaking out a little more.

So she came to bury herself in winter instead of fury. But instead she found a castle by the lake, shining with more colors than she could ever name. It looks like something too wonderful to touch (she thinks she breaks everything lovely she ever touches). Isra almost trembles when she gets closer, and when that old artist looks at her she feel like a lie of a queen. She's about to turn away. But--

She spots the widow on which a mare and a stallion lay tangled beneath a shroud of stars. Air catches in her lungs and her heart quivers like an arrow in her chest. She feels hollow and wanting, and, and, and...

And she feels like she wants to learn how to bury herself in whatever ice that window is cut from. Isra wants more than anything to lay her cheek against that plane of winter and scream Eik in her head until he can hear nothing in the world but her calling him home. She wants every mind in the world to echo with the sound of her sorrow, until he has no choice but to listen. It terrifies her to think that she wants justice with the seem fervor as she wants Eik.

A mare crosses before her, and Isra cannot help but look at all the elegant curl of her neck and think, this is how I should learn to move, always. She calls out and it's soft like the lowing of a swan at the crescent moon. “Are you going in?” Her hooves whisper through the snow and leave small moons full of rubies in each place she steps. The stones glitter like blood, like she's bleeding out a hundred small pieces of something hard and sharp.

“If you are, would you mind if I walked with you?” Because she's so very terrified of what she might do if she makes it alone to that window singing to her of winter, and Eik, Eik, Eik.

@Antiope


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Antiope — Night Court Scholar Signos: 130
▶ Played by Kat [PM] Posts: 9 — Threads: 2
▶ Female [She/Her/Hers] Hth: 9 — Atk: 11 — Exp: 10
▶ Immortal [Year 498 Spring] Active Magic: Energy Transference
▶ 15.2 hh Bonded: N/A
#2
It looks nothing like the temple on the cliff that the gods who created her sat within. The temple that they had looked down from on to their world of mortals, judging, interfering. Taking. It is not open to the sun and the wind and the sky, not made of huge pillars and marble as white as the canvas parts of her skin. It is not bathed in blood and burning, burning, burning.

But still the strange keep made of ice reminds her of it, somehow. With its shining, gleaming exterior and it's high high walls that grasp for the heavens above—(when gods die where do they go? Are they there, in the sky, planning their own revenge from a world away?)—it looks like a temple. Antiope hates it, it makes all of the burning, fiery, righteous anger inside her steam and boil and threaten to rupture from her skin.

The lioness that lives in Antiope's bones stirs and she can feel the rumbling of her growl crawling across her skin. It is a warning and a message. And the god-slayer, once-lover-once-mother, she intends to heed it. There is nothing in those shining ice walls and glittering colored windows for her. Nothing but reminders and so much hate. Hate and anger and an ocean of leaving behind.

She is walking not toward the castle but away from it when the voice calls out to her. Antiope stops and her jewel blue eyes (ocean blue, sky blue, there is a world of blues in her eyes that they had drawn from) settle on the other woman. The rubies in the snow, glittering and red, are as like blood as the red splashed across Antiope's throat and streaks through her hair. 'Are you going in?'

No.

'If you are…'

The lioness inside her huffs its disappointment, its disapproval. Antiope glances back at the towers of ice and she doesn't know how her hate, how her anger, will like it. The heat of everything inside her might bring it all to the ground. She brings everything to the ground, eventually. She has killed everything she's touched. Will she kill this too? "Yes," Antiope says, biting her tongue, roiling, screaming.

"You can come," and she's changing course, angling back toward the castle that is a temple that is bathed in blood and the remains of everything some gods had once held dear. In the blood of who she had once held dear. She moves toward it like a predator and like a goddess and, over all, like something so unearthly that it is strange and beautiful all at once. Antiope takes the first step through its arching entrance and even as the chill rushes over her skin, she burns and burns.

"Speaking."
credits


@Isra
[Image: 13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png]
a war is calling
the tides are turned





Reply
Isra — Night Court Sovereign Signos: 410
▶ Played by nestle [PM] Posts: 246 — Threads: 32
▶ Female [she/her/hers] Hth: 30 — Atk: 30 — Exp: 66
▶ 6 [Year 497 Winter] Active Magic: Transformation
▶ 15.1 hh Bonded: Fable (Sea Dragon)
#3
Isra the ship in the sand

“And white winter, on its knees, observes everything with reverent attention.” ”



Isra is learning how to read that flicker of something greater crawling across a map of bones and skin. There are messages in the fire of all of them, bits of fury and hate, that refuse to be drained dry like a spring pond in summer. It's in her too, that eddy of heat swirling and caught in the corner of her heart. She knows it'll never go away, not when her body remembers feel of teeth at her throat, or the way her magic feels like a whip of salvation when it flays pieces of her off.

So perhaps they walk through the arching doorways not like two mares, but like summer chained.

The rubies follow her, blooming across the ice and snow like not-flowers. They bloom glorious and strange, a little like the ice rising around them in a place where flowers have died to give it life. Isra wonders if she's the winter or the summer; she wonders which parts of her are life and which only death.

And when that window etched with love and constellations stretches alongside them, she does not look. Instead she looks only at the mare and smiles even when she wants to scream, and cry, and turn the temple into wood. Wood can smolder, it can burn just like she's burning with need to turn towards that window.

“I'm Isra.” Her name sounds a like hollow, cracked bell-chime. She's a steeple with no foundation, an altar with no religion, a ship trapped in a sand dune. She is a hundred different things that do not make sense anymore, nothing does. Even her name seems strange on her own tongue when she wants to ask the mare who she is, why her eyes look not like eyes but like an ocean. She wants to fill the silence around them with enough words to drown her need to turn the winter to burning wood.

She doesn't let her step falter when they walk by that window calling to her heart. But the rubies are still blooming at her feet in small reminders that even her magic still doesn't feel like her. So she says, to break the sound of ice turning to bloody stone, “What would you have carved on a window?” Because she knows what her heart and her awful magic would have demanded she carve.


@Antiope


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Antiope — Night Court Scholar Signos: 130
▶ Played by Kat [PM] Posts: 9 — Threads: 2
▶ Female [She/Her/Hers] Hth: 9 — Atk: 11 — Exp: 10
▶ Immortal [Year 498 Spring] Active Magic: Energy Transference
▶ 15.2 hh Bonded: N/A
#4
Antiope can sense the fissures in the woman at her side, in the way her voice sounds like the wind passing through a cracked window. She can sense them as though she can see them, but Antiope was never made for repairing, only destroying. So, she doesn’t know how to fix them, to seal them off, to stop whatever it is that’s leaking out of this woman Isra. She can barely stop the things inside of her from emerging, like the lioness that calls the cage of her body home, who is bloodthirsty and indulgent.

She sees the window of lovers and stars and it should remind her of Rezar. It should remind her of the thing that she had, but all it reminds her of is the thing that she lost. She looks at the window and hates the soft, sweet couple she sees because she hates the memory of the lover and the child that she lost.

Not lost, they had been stolen from her. Ripped from the world and her grasp and her heart.

“I am Antiope,” she responds in kind. They called me Antiope, she thinks, and she thinks that they did not think very hard when they gave her a name that would put her against them. Gods, who can see so much, know so many things, make and give and take, but how stupid they are to overlook such simple things. She may have been their downfall, but only because they had been their own first. There is nothing in her blood that feels regret, nothing in her bones that sings of remorse.

When Isra asks her what she would carve into a window Antiope can see it, like she can see inside herself, like she can see the stars in the sky even as they fade away against the morning sun. She sees a temple on fire, with blood like lava rushing through its doors, and all the anger in the world knocking down each pillar and bringing the whole thing to the ground. She sees statues, crumbled and bodies crumbled and so much fury spiderwebbing across it. Antiope says none of these things, however, only, “Death.”

And her eyes are an ocean but her heart is a blaze, all-consuming. “Because it is all-around and inescapable and sometimes,” she pauses, eyes dancing across the rubies glittering in the snow and to the eyes of the woman Isra at her side whose cracks can only be filled with one thing: the thing that she too is filled with, “necessary.” And she wonders, and wonders. She doesn’t know this unicorn, and Antiope has not come to this world for war (she does not want to fight, for what is there to fight for now) but,

“Would you carve it with me?”

"Speaking."
credits


@Isra
[Image: 13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png]
a war is calling
the tides are turned





Reply
Isra — Night Court Sovereign Signos: 410
▶ Played by nestle [PM] Posts: 246 — Threads: 32
▶ Female [she/her/hers] Hth: 30 — Atk: 30 — Exp: 66
▶ 6 [Year 497 Winter] Active Magic: Transformation
▶ 15.1 hh Bonded: Fable (Sea Dragon)
#5
Isra who forges a blade

“Not so sad and tender, like I’ve always been, they say, so I changed. ”



Isra knows that she should look inward, towards the beast in her belly that's rattling like chain around her leg. There's ice all around her, but there is only winter in her chest where wonder should be. All her blood feels like festering wine, too sweet and ruined to do her any good now.

And maybe, she's feeling like the sea is crashing against the shoreline of her bones. Maybe she wants to drown so that she won't look at the window and her city shining with light and fire. Because each time she looks all Isra can think of is all the ways she's still going to bleed, and bleed, and bleed for all of them.

So instead she looks at Antiope and tries to forget the sea, and the windows, and the way her blood hurts each time her heart beats. Isra tries to smile when the rubies stop blooming strangely at her feet. She tries to look like anything but a unicorn with teeth-mark scars across her neck instead of pearls. It's a queen she's trying to seem like when Antiope says, death.

Then--

She smiles. It doesn't look as forced as her queenly walk and her blood starts to run smoother, like steel through skin. Isra feels easy in her own skin. She feels like the sea feels against the horizon (easy and endless). “Necessary.” She repeats and it doesn't sound like the question it should be; it sounds like a prayer to a god she's just learning about. “I never thought about death like that before.” She doesn't say that it helps or that she understands it's as necessary as a leech is to a riverbed. But she wonders if her eyes, that are shining too brightly against ice and rainbow walls, give away all the words she's not saying.

“I will carve it with you.” Not would, tonight the word would is as dead as her innocence. Tonight there is only doing, only death.

Isra lays her cheek against the ice. She sighs for the coolness of it against heat of that fire smoldering in her bones. The ice turns to cedar-wood. It's red, red, red against all the white and clear ice around it. She turns a lantern hanging near them into a blade with an ivory hilt. It glimmers wicked and sharp in the dancing, colored light around them.

And when she uses her telekinesis to hand it to Antiope, her smile fades into something as deep as a pledge. Above that her eyes are whispering I understand and we are death. Another lantern turns to a blade but this one has below it a hilt of ore, pitted and black.


@Antiope


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