Hello, Guest! Register

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.

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 - is this a graveyard or a garden;
Asterion — Dusk Court Sovereign Signos: 1,435
▶ Played by Griffin [PM] Posts: 328 — Threads: 34
▶ Male [He/Him/His] Hth: 42 — Atk: 38 — Exp: 87
▶ 7 [Year 496 Winter] Active Magic: Water Manipulation
▶ 16 hh Bonded: Cirrus (Pallas's Gull)
I want to be with those who know secret things
or else alone

Asterion does not notice what’s happening behind him until the dragon rises up out of the sea. 

At first he thinks it’s a summoning of his own magic, as the water stirs in a frenzy and foam froths up from some great creature beneath. But as soon as the head and the arc of wings breach the surface his heart holds in his throat in awe (in a little fear) and something in him rises as the dragon does from the sea. Oh, he is glad Fable is not the same dragon as the last that ruled over Denocte. There is something terrible about that beauty, and about the power just as present in each gleaming scale and inch of membrane iridescent with water. 

But right now Fable means hope. And when he turns at last from that growing mountain of ash to see the unicorn giving wings to each clam and crab he wants to pledge himself to her, to say I knew you would not be broken. Instead the Dusk King says none of these things; he only greets her smile with a deep nod and a look as black and fierce as her own. There is a rainstorm at her back, now, sweeping in from over both of their courts, but the only moisture in the air is still the mist from the waves as they dash themselves against the beach.

He does not ask her what hells she has traveled through to be here, or how she had escaped from Raum. This beach was no place for his own guilt, or the shame of his inaction; and anyway, perhaps none of the before matters, for here they stand now. Instead he goes to her, as Cirrus’ wingtips flash in the faltering sun and she calls the other birds away. Asterion touches his muzzle to hers with all the care and caution of a wild thing, and is glad her skin does not smell of smoke. 

Still the water keeps its distance from them both, still a swell of waves waits to answer his will. His lungs follow the rhythm of the water and his heart drums at the cage of his ribs, the least steady part of him. “I have always felt braver beside a unicorn,” he says at last, and turns his gaze back on the black cloud before them. 

Perhaps the wind would shift, and blow all that death out toward the open sea. Perhaps there would be no monster, no ruin at all, and what they face is only chance and weather. Asterion hopes so. 

But he is glad to stand beside her nonetheless. 


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)
Isra and the golden fury

It's the moment that he touches her, as if she is a wild-thing or perhaps a real unicorn, that she knows their cities will be safe. Asterion's touch is a hook and he's catching each bit of her, that holds in it the sea, through the gills. The magic under her skin hums and surges. It boils and rages every bit as fiercely as that distant disaster. Her skin is too tight. Each of her bones are starting to feel like tools of resurrection instead of joints and cages.

Isra feels alive and furious.

Fable wonders if they could sink into the center of the volcano and grow flowers instead of death. Could his unicorn make gold instead of magma?

Isra feels like she could remake the world.

She brushes her nose against his shoulder and inhales salt and sand instead of stardust. There are no stars on her lips, but she still looks him in the eye and her voice becomes the whisper of a new blade. “And I have always dreamed of being brave besides the stars.” Each of her eyes reflects the wall of seawater around them back at him. Something in her chest crashes through her veins like the sea against rocks that are refusing to move.

When she looks back at the exploding wall of soot above the waves her heart sings for destruction. But her stories never told her how to kill a volcano, only how to forge weapons out of silk and make grave-dirt out of evil. She does not know how to fight the earth. But she turns a sea-slug drying out in the sand into a butterfly and wonders if she can turn horses to thunderbirds.

“Do you think the wind will turn?” Isra says and she does not sound as afraid as she should be. Once she would have cried, now she only thinks of all the ways in which she has become a weapon.

“If I told you I'm trying to save the world, would you believe me?”



Forum Jump:

Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)