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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 - MANY-FACED MAGIC
Elchanan — Night Court Scholar Signos: 100
▶ Played by RB [pm] Posts: 6 — Threads: 3
▶ Male [He/Him/His] Hth: 13 — Atk: 7 — Exp: 10
▶ 6 [Year 497 Spring] Active Magic: Charmspeak
▶ 15 hh Bonded: N/A
#1
Elchanan
TELL THE TRUTH AND RUN

Elchanan is not sure what, exactly, he is looking for.

Even if he did, trying to find it would be an exercise in becoming overwhelmed.

Delumine’s library is the largest in all of Novus. Someone had told him this - it was, truthfully, the only reason he had altered his recent pattern of getting piss-drunk at night in the Denoctian streets and sleeping away his hangover into the afternoon - but the mere description could not have begun to prepare him.

The forest begins to narrow, and to show its age. He is walking slowly through Viride, the sun (thankfully) distracted somewhat by the webbing of leaves above so that it cannot be bothered to singe him. Frost crunches underfoot, beginning to refreeze as the day wanes. Small lanterns smile from the boughs. Anyway, it is almost dusk. How worried can he be? What light does shine through is bloody with sunset, as dead as it is warm. It has lost its bite.

Now he is in charge.

The ground turns from dirt to wood, the path inlaid with spirals of knobbed, gnarly tree roots: overhead the branches on either side of the road start to knit themselves together into a kind of roof: suddenly it splits into a cavernous circle, and Elchanan stops short to observe what must be the center of Delumine’s infamous library.

Small canine things scutter across the floor, appearing and disappearing from tunnels cut into the hard dirt. Scholars in green robes and eyeglasses drift quickly from aisle to aisle. (Elchanan presses himself, somewhat irritably, against the wall where the light does not hit so hard.) Intricately woven silk and canvas rugs line the floor, as do thickly knit blankets and pillows.Bookcases sweep from floor to ceiling, stacked with perfectly-organized gluts of scrolls, diagrams and hardback novels. Elchanan has never been too enthusiastic a student, but even he is unwillingly awed by the sheer volume of information.

He realizes, somewhat miserably, that even his homeland must have a story written about it here.

One of the little fox-things runs past him. Or tries to - Elchanan abruptly extends a limb into its path, and, as planned, it stops, though not without a hearty glare from its position crouched against the floor. Ugly thing, he mumbles to himself almost inaudibly, and then, to it, with a fakely cheerful smile, he asks, Where are your international scrolls?

It whips a tail toward a hallway to their right, and as soon as Elchanan turns to look, tears away and into the nearest tunnel.

Rat, he says dismissively, watching it flatten itself into the hole and disappear. A Deluminian overhears and gives him bitter side-eye.

Elchanan merely shrugs, and slinks in what might be the right direction.
@Septimus <3
credits


Reply
Septimus — Dawn Court Scholar Signos: 140
▶ Played by Jeanne [PM] Posts: 9 — Threads: 4
▶ Male [he/him/his] Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 10
▶ 5 [Year 498 Fall] Active Magic: N/A
▶ 17.3 hh Bonded: N/A
#2
THREW STONES AT THE STARS
BUT THE WHOLE SKY FELL


Delumine’s library is magnificent.

Compared to most enclosed spaces, Septimus finds it wonderfully tolerable. The roots and trunks and branches that make up the structure (rather than unpleasant, suffocating walls) retain the impression of the forest, even as the shelves and halls come into view. It is one of the larger libraries that he has encountered in his travels, though certainly not the largest, and, as he strides among the shelves, he is grateful for the time he has spent learning to navigate, for the maze-like halls and precariously organized shelves are practically a wild place in and of themselves.

He has, nevertheless, almost managed to get his bearings, in the few weeks that he has been in Delumine. He tilts his head at a group of scholars as they pass, and they greet him in turn; he didn’t expect to be joining anything while he was in this land of Novus, and he already feels the urge to get out of Dawn and continue to wander the rest of Novus, but he is forcing himself to acclimate and settle for a time, to come to know the people who live in the sunrise court. (It makes him fidget.) Nevertheless, without his magic, he is trapped in Novus for the foreseeable future. He is going to have to live normally - mortally - for a while.

The strange little fox-creatures that live in the library scatter around his hooves, and he bends to look one in its almond-brown eyes. It chirps at him. They’re clever little things, though, for the life of him, Septimus can’t figure out how he’s been here for weeks and failed to discover what the natives call them. The little fox flattens his ears to his skull and hisses towards the end of the hall, clearly agitated, and scampers a few feet away. It looks over its shoulder, fur standing on end, as though it is asking him to follow it.

He doesn’t know what’s upset the helper – a book out of place, perhaps – but trots behind it anyways. It scampers down to the end of the hall and turns a corner, then sits up on its hindquarters, staring down another hallway. Septimus follows it, then, when he stands just behind the little creature, he follows its stare.

Wandering the shelves is a lovely golden man, interrupted by hints of white (he realizes, after a moment, that it is actually blue) – he is slender and graceful and smaller than Septimus, with locks as pretty a cream as much of the rest of him. A pair of wings that put Septimus in mind of an especially pale bluebird sprout from his shoulders, and somehow the color is flattering. The little fox narrows his eyes at the man, and then he bounds off again. Septimus wonders what the man has done to upset it.

He approaches regardless.

“Are you looking for something, friend?” In spite of the pleasant smile that curves the dark corners of his lips, there is an edge to Septimus’s voice. 





@Elchanan ||<3

"Speech!" 





@


AND RARELY, IF THE WOOD ACCEPTS THE BLADE WITHOUT CONDITIONS
the two pieces keep their balance in spite of the blow


please tag Septimus! contact is encouraged, short of violence



Reply
Elchanan — Night Court Scholar Signos: 100
▶ Played by RB [pm] Posts: 6 — Threads: 3
▶ Male [He/Him/His] Hth: 13 — Atk: 7 — Exp: 10
▶ 6 [Year 497 Spring] Active Magic: Charmspeak
▶ 15 hh Bonded: N/A
#3
Elchanan
TELL THE TRUTH AND RUN


The ground is not marble but dappled. It is light and dark and light again. No luxurious tile, just the easy, beautiful pattern of sun shining through the moving leaves - and though Elchanan is no wilderness explorer, he smiles at it, surprisingly warmed by the sight. There is some humble beauty to finding something he simply cannot find in the sky, though he will always belong to it.  

He blinks contentedly at the the fox as it skitters away, the movement of its paws warping the pattern of light underneath.

After the briefest, watchful pause, Elchanan turns down the hall. He walks slow and untroubled, strides collected, tail swishing absentmindedly against his haunches, and for the first time in a long time is totally quiet, content to do nothing more than observe: the shining dark wood of the shelves, the spines of so many leather-bound books turned out from the walls, decorative rugs gilded with lavishly dyed fabric, piles of pillows, stacks of quills. Something almost like admiration shines in the priests’ dark eyes. He is, for the most part, not so easily impressed by petty mortal accomplishments, but this is something - different, if only for the way it is overwhelming.

Elchanan’s staff drags lazily behind him. It leaves a little furrow, the sharp end breaking a line into the hard ground. The weight of it in his telekinetic grasp is as comforting as a childhood blanket. He reaches out to ruffle an egg-shell blue feather against a particularly pretty embossed title, debating whether to take it off the shelf, and eventually decides against it. There are more important scrolls to be unfurled.

He wonders if, in this corner of the world, his homeland has been given a name. He wonders who would know.

A pitter-patter sounds on the dirt behind him, and Elchanan turns his head over a narrow shoulder just as the question comes: Are you looking for something, friend?

The priest stops short. At once his whole face changes: his expression brightens, a charming smile breaks over his lips, his hazel eyes narrow into something sly and clever as he turns in a neat circle to face the stranger. And ah, what a handsome stranger he is — ! Tall, dark and lean with thick lashes and a forest-green gaze partially obscured by a pair of clear spectacles. A neat blaze and snip interrupt the otherwise perfect hazel of his skin. It reminds Elchanan of the white markings on his own face, though the stranger’s are less creepily exact than his.

Indeed. His answer is almost wry. Elchanan is not shy about meeting the man’s green eyes, and when he does it is with a significant and yet utterly shameless measure of interest. He blinks with measured slowness: with him, with those thick, dark lashes and too-intense gaze, the movement is almost salacious. (Only almost.)  International scrolls. Walk me?

The magic does not leach into his voice, not yet. He’s sure they’ll get along fine without it.

@Septimus <3
credits


Reply
Septimus — Dawn Court Scholar Signos: 140
▶ Played by Jeanne [PM] Posts: 9 — Threads: 4
▶ Male [he/him/his] Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 10
▶ 5 [Year 498 Fall] Active Magic: N/A
▶ 17.3 hh Bonded: N/A
#4
THE FOREST HIDES STRANGE CREATURES


When the man turns to look at him, it is with a sly, knowing smile that reminds Septimus instinctively of the wildling creatures that haunt the forest where he grew up. “Indeed,” he says, but Septimus is mostly distracted by the way that those eyes (hazel, now that he is looking at them, and dark, and knowing) creep the length of his face, then settle, very deliberately, on his bright green eyes. They linger there shamelessly - Septimus almost expects him to start batting his lashes. (He wouldn’t mind it if he did. It would probably make for an appealing sight; they’re long and thick and strikingly dark compared to the rest of him.)

The disgruntled young fox lingers vividly in the back of his mind as he meets his stare, which is familiar enough in some indiscernible way to leave Septimus with a distinct afterthought of caution, caution, something his mother would always warn him to keep in mind when he interacted with the strange folk he found in the depths of the woods. But they are not in the woods, there is no tangible reason to expect that the man in front of him is particularly strange (and he would have to be incredibly strange for Septimus to think him so), and he has never been known for his caution.

“International scrolls. Walk me?”

He tilts his head so that his dark hair falls across his features in an appealingly disheveled manner, the shimmering trinkets on his antlers clinking and catching in the light, though his emerald-green eyes never leave the man’s own. Two can play at that game – in spite of his youthful appearance, Septimus has lived far too long to be demure or oblivious, and he’s never been one to shy away from obvious interest. (And, if asked, Septimus could easily call this stranger beautiful, with his petite, graceful, and perhaps avian physique. He isn’t sure about the little fox that brought him to his side, yet, but there will be time enough to discern what that was all about. For now…)

For now, he lets his lashes flutter low across his bright green eyes, watching him through the clear lens of his spectacles, and then turns away, glancing towards the branching hallways leading deeper and deeper into the libraries.

“International scrolls, then. Are you looking for anything in particular?” The words drip off his tongue warmly, smooth and lilting as silk. He supposes that they can take the long way, while they’re at it. (Just to discern if this man is as unsavory as the library helpers would have him believe, of course.) That smile remains curved across his features, but it tugs up, just revealing the sharp points of canine teeth before he turns and brushes past the golden man and into the next hall, moving close enough to him in the process to allow the feathers of his great, dark wings to brush against his pale side. “I’m Septimus. And who might you be?”






@Elchanan ||<3

"Speech!" 





@


AND RARELY, IF THE WOOD ACCEPTS THE BLADE WITHOUT CONDITIONS
the two pieces keep their balance in spite of the blow


please tag Septimus! contact is encouraged, short of violence



Reply
Elchanan — Night Court Scholar Signos: 100
▶ Played by RB [pm] Posts: 6 — Threads: 3
▶ Male [He/Him/His] Hth: 13 — Atk: 7 — Exp: 10
▶ 6 [Year 497 Spring] Active Magic: Charmspeak
▶ 15 hh Bonded: N/A
#5
Elchanan
TELL THE TRUTH AND RUN

Elchanan is pleasantly surprised that the stranger meets his eyes so easily. Even through the thin glass of his spectacles his gaze is lovely and intense, and the archpriest’s smile deepens when Septimus tilts his head. Pretty boy —! They are opposite in ways that Elchanan finds ludicrously attractive — how tall he is, how perfectly lean, all the places he is dark where Elchanan is not. The clink of those bright green jewels against the smooth and perfect web of his antlers.

(Were Elchanan less self-assured, he might be jealous of the trinkets. As it is, he wonders if there is any way to distract Septimus enough that he could steal them for himself.)

The stranger turns, and Elchanan watches with a subtle tilt of his head, the little smile still on his pink lips. The sun streams down, coats the two of them in a warm kind of glitter: it turns the perfect ochre of Septimus’ hair to something brighter, softer, glints off the emerald that shines from his antlers, highlights the razor-sharp edge of his cheekbone. He wonders briefly what it would be like to see the future, then realizes he shouldn’t care. (Elchanan has never been one for love, or commitment, but neither of those things matter at the moment it is just the two of them here in the library, close enough to kiss, and that is all that is worthy of thought for now.) 

“Yes.” Elchanan offers nothing more in the way of explanation, just smiles. (It has always kept him out of trouble.) He is not sure he could explain what he is looking for even if he wanted to, and why waste time pretending he does? He watches the curve of the stranger’s lips, and for a brief moment it seems as though his teeth are sharp, like a faerie’s, like a wolf’s - he can’t help blinking in surprise — no, it must be simply a trick of the light. A moment, like many, where Elchanan’s want overtakes his realism. Anyway, the potential sharpness of Septimus’ teeth is nothing compared to the very real electricity of his wingtips brushing Septimus’ side, light as a breeze, hot as a fire.

He tries (sort of) to suppress a sudden, wolfish smirk. And fails entirely. It won’t matter. 

The hallways stretch out in front of them, dappled alternatively in light and dark, in empty and dirt. Elchanan is suddenly glad they are the only people to be found in this particular stretch of the atrium: “Septimus,” he repeats with a practiced air of casualty, and pretends not to notice the way his shoulder bumps against Septimus’, then his hip, as they fall into an easy, almost-matched step. “Pretty name for a pretty boy.” His dark gaze slips sideways to meet Septimus’ again. “I’m Elchanan. Nice to meet you - “

And turns his gaze back toward the passage ahead of them, as if utterly unconcerned with how the conversation proceeds. Though that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

@Septimus <3
credits


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