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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 - in one corner lies strong desire
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
#1
Antiope
acting on your best behavior
turn your back on Mother Nature

She stands out from the crowd because she walks like she is otherworldly. She walks like her skin is trying too hard to contain the lioness in her bones, like everything inside her is rising and rising and rising like some tidal wave, threatening to consume.

She stands out from the crowd because of the blood red strung across her throat and the ocean blue of her eyes and the heavy, double heads axe strapped just behind her shoulder. She looks like a warrior wearing a goddess' skin, or maybe just a goddess of war. And, the gods perhaps had made her beautiful to hide the killer beneath, knowing the most beautiful things are the most deceiving.

Can they see it, the equines passing her by on the streets? The thing inside her that hungers and screams and yearns for blood. Antiope doesn't know how to make it be quiet, for it has always been a part of her. A part of her that until recently, had been satiated. A part that, until recently, she had put aside in favor of something better. But the gods had taken that from her, too, and she had taken everything from them.

Antiope is a powder keg, she is a starving beast, she is just waiting for something to set all the things inside her ablaze. Waiting to catch the scent of blood in the air so that she can follow it down, down, down to the darkest parts of the world. She doesn't know how to be like these equines who look at her unsurely as she stands in the square and passes the mouths of alleyways.

She doesn't know how to be tamed, how to stand and breath and just be. She has only ever known violence and death, has only ever known the things that the gods made her to be. And when she thought she had finally found something else, it had not been meant for her. Would she ever be meant for this life?

Antiope, who does not sleep because she is too restless. Who does not fight despite the singing in her veins, who does not stand and breathe and be. Antiope, who is too much and too big for this skin and this world, stops in middle of the markets and wonders what it would be like to unleash the lioness inside her onto these equines, like she so willingly would have—once.

"Speaking."
credits


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





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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
WE WERE HUNGRY BEFORE WE WERE BORN--


If you wander enough worlds, you learn to recognize a predator, no matter what sort of skin it wears.

In this case – from where he stands leaned against the wall of one of the shops in the market, watching the crowd with hooded eyes –, the predator is her. It is late at night, and the markets are alive with a throng of bodies, with dance and song and drunken laughter; the citizens of the darkling nation seem to be fond of revelry, even in the prelude to disaster. He is old enough (and, in spite of his youthful features, Septimus is very old) to recognize the tension that lines these star-spangled, incense-thick streets, the bright stroke of fear behind the glass-drunk eyes of the passerby. The ash-smoke and flame of volcanoes. The heavy brew of war like a growl of thunder on the edge of the horizon. He wonders if Denocte is always like this, so full of smile and song, or if it is only that desperate need to deny, deny, deny.

But. That is irrelevant.

What is relevant is the woman who stands in the center of the market square and watches the passerby. What is relevant is the neat curve of her neck, the dark tiger-stripes that interrupt the white of her coat, which is likely stark under the light of the sun, rather than the moon. What is relevant is that slip of violent red that curls like a noose around her throat, as though it has just been slit; what is relevant is her collar of teeth. And maybe those wild, burning blue eyes, visible even from some distance for the way that they catch in the gleam of wrought-iron lanterns. She is not drunk. She is not reveling. In fact, she seems deadly serious.

(And nothing, he thinks, that wears a necklace of teeth is a thing of peace.)

But Septimus has teeth of his own, jaws made to snap and tear – he does not stand apart from the crowd, but, in spite of his rather imposing stature, with great antlers and wings, moves within it. What lies beneath his skin is a thousand years (or two, or three; he loses track) of shape-shifting, of movement between spaces. He is never in one place for long, and he is certainly never one thing. He brushes shoulders with passerby, and they do not know that he is a witch-blooded thing who’s seen more centuries than he can count, and he does not know what they are either. One thing he does know: the woman who is wearing a collar like spilt blood is restless. He is restless, too, discontent among these walls, among these pretty, glittering things. Maybe that is what leads him to her, to part the crowd like a serpent slips through the grass and draw close to her side, close and close until he is sure that she can hear her over the overwhelming sound of the marketplace.

A low, easy smile rests across his dark lips, pulled just high enough to reveal the sharp curves of his canines. “Are you hunting something, Miss Tiger?” He inquires, with a curious arch of his brow, leaf-bright green eyes heavy with some indiscernible meaning.

He doesn’t sleep well within these walls, either.




@Antiope || <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
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
#3
Antiope
acting on your best behavior
turn your back on Mother Nature

For a moment Antiope considers what these equines would make of her if she pulled her axe from its place just behind her shoulder and set it ablaze. She wonders what they would think if she suddenly started to draw upon the hungry magic in her veins that would make her stronger, faster, that would make her eyes glow.

What would they call her?

God? Devil? Perhaps they might think her a prophet or saint. A savior. But Antiope is none of these things, even if at times she has felt like all of them. After her creation, worshipped by the people, on the battlefield. In her non-death. When she killed her creators.

And when the boy of earth and leaves sidles up to her, her sea blue eyes turn toward him and she realizes something. She had seen him, standing there, leaning up against the market stall, but had looked past him. She would not look past him again, Antiope thinks, as he speaks and the points of his sharp teeth catch in the light.

"I am hunting for an old friend," she says but she doesn't elaborate on what friend. She thinks of certainty and assuredness, of satiation and reprieve. Of rest. What Antiope does not think about is Rezar, nor her daughter, for they were much more than friends and now they are only memories.

The markets are too loud and buzzing and buzzing and the lioness in her bones is rearing her head with eagle-sharp eyes, and everything inside Antiope is too big for this place. It pushes against her skin and presses against her ribs and she wonders if the antlered man at her side can sense it, if he can see it.

Why should she deny the hunting, if it is so obvious. Why should she deny the predator living in her skin. "And you? Is there something you wish to see hunted?" Her eyes glimmer in the firelight and her skin, it glows and glows under the dancing of the flames. Is it obvious then, too, that something other is inside of her?

"Speaking."
credits


@Septimus <3
[Image: 13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png]
a war is calling
the tides are turned





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