Their world was coming together, and little did she know about it. She didn't know about the sovereigns rising to claim their title, didn't know that members of the other courts were piling in and filling all the empty spaces that used to be full. She didn't know that she should have been trying to rally her own court, for there were those that still lurked in the shadows of the great Dusk Court tower. Her time had been spent wondering: "when?" When would she see those of her past that pulled her into their arms, the ones she so desperately wanted to protect? When would any step forward and pronounce their loyalty to Vespera and her Court, bringing life back into the walls and openness of Terrastella?
She was ready to face the other courts as a one man army, and little did she know there were already others of Dusk who were prepared to do the same thing.
The day was well on it's way to showing the sun through the sky, hours before dusk still, and light grey rain clouds dotted the blueness. A sun shower had already dumped its contents into the lands around them, and another threatened to do the same as Rannveig paced the spaces before the court tower. There would be no celebrations, no raucous conversations about a sovereign being chosen for the Dusk Court; she was unaware that such festivities should have been warranted, for all she simply did was try to bring the court back together. The fact that she was seen as the 'sovereign' at all was almost missed amid her worrying and restlessness. She sat at the head, surely, but the head of what?
A call to arms passed through her mouth and into the lands beneath Vespera's watch, one not too dissimilar from the one she made some suns ago. But where that was was questioning, this was a demand not to be ignored for she was ready to pull the strings of her court together and create something beautiful. She didn't want to wait--didn't want to worry--and so that day would be the change they all needed to rebuild their system.
And through the harshness of the call she sent to gather those around, she was a soft creature whose words only held a plea. "If the Dusk Court is the home you seek, let us work on fixing it together. We are no weak kind--we are able as the warriors, wise as the sages. Let us prove that we, too, can be a court to reckon with." Her broken words faded out around her as she stood before the Court's entrance in preparation to meet all those that staked a claim as she had.
And all our problems make us powerless
closed for all dusk court members!! this is a mandatory meeting, and the intent is that rann can 1. meet the members of the court, new and old, and 2. your characters can tell her of their interested role in the system. this has a one week deadline and then the ball starts rollin! <33
for all dusk court rules/positions, look here: dusk court information
for non dusk court characters looking for something to crash, try this thread: come rising up
Inara had not known the simple joy of a spring rain. It left her chilled, the water slickening her splashed frame and flattening the thick, auburn locks of hair on her head. But it was glorious, and she found herself unable to seek the shelter of the trees. The moment was worth a thousand words, and yet she lacked them to express the sense of freedom that she felt. She drew a slow, savoring breath as the pitter patter of the rain began to die away -- leaving her standing amongst the wet earth. The sun began to peer through the clouds, as if it were interested in what the inhabitants of the land were doing, and Inara smiled -- free in her seclusion to bask in a feeling she did not fully comprehend.
The silence that the rain had ushered in was shattered by the callings of birds, the rustling grass as the world resumed its motion around the mare. Inara turned her crown away from the sky, opening her luminescent green gaze to turn it back to the horizon. Dusk Court was a peaceful place, even with the lack of organized leadership. Truly it seemed that none of the four courts had a leader, and some part of her would always prefer it that way. Then again, Inara had only ever known a ruler...and not a true leader. Another call joined the sounds of the world, drawing her attention away from the fields and to the citadel -- a frown finding its way to her features. A gathering.
Apprehension coiled like a snake around her heart, but some invisible force seemed to draw the mare to motion; carrying her with haste towards the capitol. The sound of her hooves as the ground transitioned from soft earth to unforgiving stone made her cringe, and she drew back her pace in order to regain the element of stealth. Inara was hardly one to be heard, and found that putting herself in the center of another’s attention was entirely unsettling. A mare stood in the entry of the Court’s centermost point -- a shocking contrast of blue and white unlike anything Inara had seen before.
Shy, as was her nature, she lingered away from it all -- choosing instead to watch and listen. Dusk Court had been promised to her as a peaceful place, and she wondered if it would remain so.
The call that cried out into the land of the evening was one that beckoned any within its reach to come forth, come forth and see what must be shown, hear what must be said. Anxiety latched onto Instinct, immediately screeching to run as swift as able in the opposite direction of the cry. It was harsh, a summons, one that would be unforgiving if it was not heeded.
The man did in fact find his hooves carrying in the direction that was opposite the call for but a moment, ears back as he reacted as was second nature to him, run away from that which will not forgive. But memory bid him to still his hooves, bringing himself from the breakneck gallop he had broken into to a near immediate halt, ignoring the sensation that almost amounted to whiplash, but just barely avoided being so. Dirt was kicked up around him just enough to be noticeable if one looked, the end result of his sudden halt as hooves dug harshly into soil. The grasses looked a little trampled where his hooves had skidded across the ground.
The man bowed his head, ears twitching nervously as his teeth ground without his conscious knowledge.
He knew that voice, the one that struck a cord within him. He had heard it before, although not in such a tone. Not such a cry.
Not such an order.
Run.
His mind whispered.
Run to the edges of these lands and then run even further.
But what for? To escape the one who had offered him an official place within her borders? Protection?
But who is to protect you from her and her warriors?
The point was fair, and the stallion felt rather than heard the unbidden whimper that whined behind his closed lips.
He didn't notice that the grinding of his teeth had started up again, didn't register that he ought to stop that lest he have a headache from the strained jaw muscles later. He hardly realized that his hooves had begun to shift on the ground, body twitching in nervousness as he thought.
The woman had not seemed too horrible, and had not seemed too aggressive towards a wandering stranger in her borders.
An act.
But she had welcomed him. Offered him a home. Should he not attempt to return the trust that had been given? To welcome an unknown stranger into ones home and offer them a place within it as well was quite the show of trust indeed.
A lure until the time is right to strike.
But... it hadn't just been an offer of a home. The man was no fool, and knew that officially belonging to a court meant protection against that court's enemies. That the court would fight for you. It was a strange thought for the man who had lived with wandering parents whom had spoken nary a word about what court they belonged to.
But who is to make them keep their word? Or to defend you against them?
The thoughts were repeating themselves, but that only drove the point further home. Copper eyes flicked to and fro about the landscape as teeth worried at themselves, the man's head sure to ache later in the day. It was with a sudden movement that the man stomped his hoof, snorting almost angrily before seeming to withdraw to something closer to his previous state. But the dim glow that almost resembled fire remained in his eyes.
No... he had agreed to the offer. He would keep his word. Even if only for the promise of protection.
A lie.
But he didn't know that for certainty, now did he? And walking unknowing into a possible truth was better than fleeing from it, wasn't it?
Wasn't it?
But protection demanded loyalty. Guardianship demanded fealty.
The brown stallion still doubted quite heavily, but the possibility of the promise was too great to pass up, an opportunity never bestowed on him before.
Besides, if she truly was someone to be feared by him, if he fled, she would only hunt him down for his cowardice, no? And if she was not, then he made the right choice in going to her. So... running would solve nothing if the future really was dark, so was it not worth the risk to answer the call?
...
The whispers of fear had nothing to say in response, only dim mutterings that could have almost been thought of as mere repeats of words said before, no new threats to offer.
And with that thought settled, albeit with head lowered and eyes still brimming with nerves, the stallion slowly turned from his place to wander in the direction from which the call had come from, gait picking up into something faster on the journey as the thought of displeasure for him having been late swam in his mind.
He winced at the clatter hooves upon stone made, flinching as he nearly leapt up and back in surprise, before realizing it was only himself. The thought of being so loud settled with disquiet in his mind, but he had already made the decision to come here, and he would go through with it.
In time, and with only mild distress and confusion in an attempt to navigate the strange, stone enclosure, he soon found himself in the place from which the call had echoed from. It was both with a sigh of relief and soft grinding of the teeth that the man came to realize he was only the second to arrive, perhaps he had not been so late after all?
But it still unnerved him, to willingly approach another.
The woman was there, the one who spoke like a queen. And so was someone else, another mare. She looked darker in hue, more akin to the brown stallion himself than the mare who stood before them both, but she had white upon her form where the man had only the smallest (relatively to hers) of black markings.
She... didn't seem to intimidating, as she seemed to stand away from the mighty woman. Almost as if she too did not wish to be put in the spotlight, to be observed by all.
Or perhaps she was watching and waiting for a chance to strike.
Suddenly eyeing the unfamiliar face with wariness, the man slowly crept to a point that put him at the farthest distance he could attain from both women without being closer to one over the other while still remaining in what was clearly to be the meeting area. He tried to turn his eyes on the mighty woman, the one who had called them both here, waiting to see what she had to say, but he found his gaze nonetheless drawn back to the other one from time to time, feeling the need to keep watch of them both.
He had no true reason as of now to not be on his guard around both of them.
It didn't help his nerves that despite being the one stallion between the two of them, both of them looked a sight more fit than he and also, even if just by a little bit, taller.
No, it really didn't help at all.
@Rannveig
OOC: He's trying
Also he doesn't have schizophrenia or anything I just often write characters doubts and subconscious thoughts as being 'voices', but they're generally not schizophrenic, just throwing that out there if anyone was curious.
The Winter had come and gone, and with it had gone his day of birth, when he had come in to the world. Máni hadn't much worried about that, not while he'd been on his journey. His new companion, a bonded he learned, was a stark cream raven by the name of Vidar, perched on his back as he walked through the lands of the Dusk Court. This place was as much as he remembered it from the bare few months away, and he felt an itch in the back of his mind, like something was amiss, something was... different. A voice carried on the wind, and his body turned toward it lazily, ears cocking forward and violet eyes blinking once or twice before he paused, a hoof lifted from a front leg, poised though he took no step. He could have sworn it was Rannveig that spoke, yet...
Well. Had he been gone long enough to fantasize her running out to greet him? Or rather, coming to meet him on his entrance back in to the Court? Part of him had, but it was no greeting he heard. It was something more.. royal, perhaps. Something commanding and authoritative that had him curious.
So Máni moved forward, feeling the jostle of the raven on his back and the clip of a beak against his mane with a squawk from the corvid. "Do you mind not taking sharp turns? It's hard enough to balance back here." The voice was a drawl in his head, but he knew his companion was merely complaining for the hell of it. Máni ignored it.
Instead he stepped forward, blinking brightly while he rounded a corner and found her, as well as a spare few others. Very few. What had happened in his time away?
"Rannveig..." Máni breathed out the name, his chest giving a subtle swell of warmth as he neared her. He didn't understand what this was all about, but all the same, he was glad to see her face once more. Carefully, he stepped up beside her, pausing himself before he could reach out, instead turning his tall bulk toward the two that had gathered, and then turning his head back to his beloved. The gift of trinkets was left forgotten where Vidar had it around his neck.
"What's this all about?" Curious were his tones, low and soft, as he attempted to place two and two together. Generally he was quick n the uptake but... was it an actual possibility? That the Sovereign had been chosen and it was.. Rannveig? A prestigious title indeed, and plenty of responsibility.
The tides of politics changed with the moon in Novus it would seem, and a squickly as the strange bird had fallen into the ethereal continent he was in the wake of a new dynasty. Clumsily he spilled into the meeting, looking with starry eyes to the strangers who stood there - all except Inara, one who he had the pleasure of meeting once or twice. Taking his place beside the charming stutterer, Damascus reached out to his herd-mate with his nose in an attempt to greet her silently while the woman ahead spoke.
Ranneveig; that was her name, or so he had heard whispered over the hills and dale. She appeared to be composed of starlight and moondust just as he had been, with a kiss from a sun here and there but mother moons blessing adorning most of hr peculiar coat. The woman who adressed them was a true beauty, one who awoke desire within the youngin - the kind he had not really felt before. He wished to please her, to impresss her, to inspire her. He wished for her to admire him... because gods, she was beautiful.
As he tilted his gaze to look toward Inara he noticed that she too was inherently gorgeous - why he had never noticed before quite frankly astounded him.
Snapping his dazed gaze back to the lady Rannveig of stardust, the towering colt tossed his head over the others in attendance who spoke, though it seemed very few wished to speak - so of course, Damascus would.
"Damascus I am" He spoke with this voice already as rumbling as thunder, and not just to the bottle of moondust but to the others gathered before her. "Protect you I be doing, job of mine it be" The boy then continued, explaining to his new found family that he was a warrior and his job was to protect them.
ALL SHALL FADE
OOC: little pubescant damascus.
PS. Damascus will be glad to take a higher rank should Rannveig wish him to be a part of the council! He would suit champion of battle <3
Make haste, each winter-dark crow seemed to chastise Morozko, as he made his way to Novus and the world thawed around him. The wind, too, seemed to agree with the need for it, whipping and whispering at his back and urging him on and on. The snow gave way to mud, the branches caught forever in ice turning bare, then dotted with buds. And all the while, leaving miles of footprints behind him, the unicorn wondered Why me?
He’d never gotten a satisfactory answer; perhaps there wasn’t one. It was enough, his commander would have said (and his parents had said) that he was chosen. Now there was only to go, and see what this Dusk Court would make of itself.
It was raining when he first beheld the tower rising before him, a stately beacon; he was glad of his shorn mane, then, for every flick of his sodden tail felt like a slap. The cloudburst was quick to pass and Morozko was forced to admit that the resulting sky made for an impressive look at his new home: darker clouds shot through with the guileless blue of spring, and the spire rising up between them. Being so close to his destination was encouragement enough for the stallion to push himself into a lope, and so it was that he arrived at the Dusk Court.
And with perfect timing, it seemed; though Morozko would have preferred something a little more discreet (and a chance to bathe and rest), there was something to be said for having the business out in the open.
Now at a walk, the unicorn joined the (small, quiet) gathering just as a dark pegasus - young, fit - spoke. Morozko hung back from the group, silver eyes keen, the lines of his body graceful even as his muscles ached with travel and begged to be stretched. His gaze was on Damascus, wondering at his accent and the strange way he spoke, but after only a moment he lifted it to their sovereign.
Rannveig. She’d been only a yearling when last he’d seen her, full of promise but untested, and now she was grown. Lovely and powerful and stately, a fitting sovereign of the Winter Court - or the Dusk one, he thought wryly. His eyes sought hers, but he expected no recognition there - they were distant cousins, enough that he’d only been a member of the crowd four years ago.
Much like now.
He would have preferred to say nothing, to simply observe, but they were few enough that to take that route would be almost more noticeable than speaking. So, his impassive gaze touching them in each turn and taking the measure of them, he spoke. “Well met,” he said, voice rough with disuse over the journey, and it was strange, for him, not to see a puff of vapor vanish with each syllable. “I’m Morozko. I’ve come from Veteris to join your Court.”
It was the first he’d spoken the words aloud, and they tasted as strange as he’d imagined.
07-11-2017, 06:54 PM
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Rain tracked like honey tears down her cream cheeks. It dripped from her eyelids, gathering like gems in her lashes. It had been a day of sunshine and showers. Black and gold feuded their way across the sky, setting all below in the Dawn Court to suffer their outfall.
When at last the grey shadows passed and rays of sunlight tumbled down to warm the earth with hazy mists of condensation, Florentine shook the final raindrops from her wings. Her skin tingled, basking in the warmth of this new sunlight. The winds kept her high in the sky, tugging and tangling her already tousled mane and tail.
With violet eyes, she peered down across the Terrastellan lands that rolled by below her. There was not a soul in sight.
Late.
She was indeed late, as suspected. Petals danced in her wake, rolling and toppling as they were carried on the light currents of air that billowed behind her. Then, slowly, they began their idle descent to the grasslands.
The meeting was easy to spot from her vantage point. Amethyst eyes skipped over each face, recognizing none but Rannveig, their monarch. Flora descended like a hawk, the winds whistling its laughter in her ears as she fell towards the rising earth. Long limbs reach out to meet an unfortunately wet patch of muddied earth that sprays over her torso with a chorus of splats. The flower girl pauses, mud adorned and rather surprised. Yet such a wide-eyed look is fleeting for more important matters are at hand.
Casting aside her unfortunate landing, Florentine enters their small gathering in a tangle of anticipation and wildly snarled hair. Blithely she ignores her rather feral appearance – despite the mud has tracked its way up each slender limb, across her stomach and up her throat. In their midst she is damp earth and wild flowers, the wildness of spring set to blossom. With a grin and a graceful dip of her wings – a startling contrast to her bedraggled appearance – Florentine begins chirpily, “Sorry I am late. I am quite looking forward to this meeting.”
The itch of damp skin and gritty earth, draw her eyes to a dirtied limb. Extending it out she huffs gently, placating her new compatriots lightly, “It’s okay, I promise I pay much more attention when I heal than I do when I land.”
home is behind the world ahead
there are many paths to tread
Tender pink hooves stepped gently across the grasslands just past the swamps of her home in the night court. The search for the relic had brought many miles under her legs and many conversations to her mind and mouth. This is not something she usually will subject herself to but in the excitement of arriving here in Novus and loving the challenge of searching for this object, Weir felt the extra energy and drive to push herself farther than she had before. It was time that she settled into her home now and meet her new sovereign.
The sun was just rising and laying a light glow on her ivory albino zebra coat. The braids in her mane and tail wove like snakes in a nest, weaving one into the other and then stretching out towards the ground. Her long caribou horns bounced ever so gently with her gait but they posed no burden on her mind. The charm on the back of the right antler of six red leaves clinked gently. Pink eyes looked over a land she had already explored but now the borders are closed. She didn’t feel trapped but it still felt as if there was someone watching now, people judging, and tension perhaps. Weir knew there would come a time that members of the group will fight for positions of power and that newcomers will come to challenges those. Weir hoped this sovereign would be the leader they will need to bring her home into something fantastic.
Weir stepped towards the one building in the land as the sun began it crest over the mountains in the east and shine across the grasshoppers near her feet. Soft pink eyes eyed them as the crawled out to the tips of dew laden grassed, trying to warm themselves for the first time today. Here she remained most of the day but as other started to move in she stayed where she could not be seen around the side of the building. She watched as a strikingly beautiful blue mare arrived with all the authority of the new sovereign. The moon on her face being her defining marking. Later arrived one by one a small group that Weir was unfamiliar with. All except for one mane-less stallion. Weir watched him the most, not just because he is familiar and handsome but because he is different in a way she can’t easily decipher.
Deciding this should be the moment she comes out of hiding, she steps gingerly out from the shadows and walks towards the group. She shows no emotion to any but does bow her head and lower her eyes towards the sovereign out of respect. She holds for a moment before lifting to look over the group once more, her eyes barley lingering on any one horse but she does smile this time warmly to each. Her eyes landed this time on the Sovereign.
Salutations. I am Weir. I assume you are our new sovereign. That is an incredible task to undertake and I commend you on your courage. I pledge full loyalty to you and the entire Night Court here and now that I will always care for others when the need arises for that is what calls to me is the art of healing. I hope to find a position within the Night Court where I will be of the most use.
Chest deep in murky water, the witch pays no mind to the rain and its gentle taping on her starry back. Black lips form a frown as she focuses on the task at hand: braiding the broad green leaves of cattail plants into thicker cords. Had it not been for Kaladin and those coins I would never have known one could use their mind in such a way. She is clumsy at the task at first, but after several hours of devoted concentration she has managed to construct a dozen fibrous ropes. The hag's grey gaze scans the pile of braids to ensure she has estimated correctly. This should be enough for the first one.
Before she has a chance to act on phase two of her scheme, however, a distant command from the south reaches her ears. A similar call has summoned the witch before; as annoyed as she is by the interruption the girl knows better than to ignore it. Not after the deal she has struck with the sovereign of these lands. Regardless, she could have summoned me at a better time. I have important matters to tend to if she expects to have a fully functioning witch in her court.
And with that, she drags one last bushel of cattail leaves to the largest of the marshy isles that make up her home. The witch's ivory tail lashes against her legs once she's ashore, sending out rivulets of swamp water to join spring showers in their attempt to drown the land. Her eyes turn to the towering black obelisk that stands guard in the middle of the swamp. "I trust you'll keep an eye out for trespassers while I'm gone?" She receives no answer of course, but a cunning smile spreads across her lips as she turns away on scrawny black hips. I'll uncover your secret one day I'm sure. Maybe then you will truly stand guard over my swamp.
---
The hag's arrival is announced by the hoarse coughs and harsh gasps erupting from her throat. Perhaps another would feel ashamed for their tardiness, but the witch composes herself quickly and keeps her distance from the crowd with no betrayal of any such emotion. It is hard for her to express regret after so many years under her mother's care: it did little to lessen the effects of Umbra's wrath in the past, and why is it any different now? She is here at the very least, and Rannveig already knows of her intention to provide her aid to the Dusk Court in return for refuge in the swamp. If it is her Sovereign's desire to make her rank known amongst these strangers so be it, just as it is her business to promote the girl as she sees fit.
Not that all of you are strange to me. After briefly surveying the crowd grey eyes settle on Damascus' dark figure. It has been some time since she last spoke to the winged warrior, and she should have liked to share his company again- until the girl's gaze narrows at the sight of the wench astride him. Something inside her star-spangled frame ignites, and her once emotionless stare transforms into something far more exciting: behind the witch's gaze a storm has begun to brew. Have you any idea what you've done?
OOC| Herd meetings have the best drama, don't they? XD @Rannveig You're welcome to place my witch into whatever position you see fit. We are quite content to be anywhere you need us!
take a trip to your dark side, go on and have a good cry
