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Played by Offline sid [PM] Posts: 168 — Threads: 28
Signos: 410
Dawn Court Regent
Male [He/Him/His] // 6 [Year 497 Winter] // 16 hh // Hth: 35 — Atk: 25 — Exp: 63 // Active Magic: Nature Spirit // Bonded: Odet (Stellar's Jay)
#1




The library was quiet. But not in the way Ipomoea was used to.

It was as if the building were holding its breath, as if it had not taken a proper breath in years. It made him all but agraid to breathe himself, lest he disturb some great and slumbering giant. There’s an imagined danger in the air, like he’s standing in a church that’s lost all pretense of holiness.

He feels half a ghost, slipping between rows of crumbling bookshelves as dust motes swim in his wake. All around him he can hear the papery whisper of pages turning, the scrape of a book being pulled free from a shelf, the creak of a loose floorboard as someone stepped upon it. Each sound was painfully loud, silence stretching between each disturbance.

The library is willing itself away, he can’t help but think. If he blinked it might vanish forever, a pocket of space folding upon itself and collapsing into obscurity, like a book who’s main character wants only to disappear from their own story.

He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised - there were not many scholarly Denoctians, at least from those he had met thus far. It was part of why he was drawn to the southern court to begin with: their passion for life, their willingness to not just read about something, but to go see it for themselves, to take life by its horns and wrangle with the gods themselves.

He has a lot to learn from them, he knows, he knows. It was why he was here in the first place, to join in their crusade, their war, their life. Ipomoea had always been called to their fast-paced frenzy, their bonfire smoke filling his soul and his heart dancing in time with their music. It was such a stark contrast to his own life, back in Delumine, and a highly intoxicating one. Now that he was here, he wasn’t quite sure he ever wanted to leave.

Perhaps he could bring a piece of Denocte home with him; he would certainly try, after all. Their passion and community, even if only a small sliver of it, would breathe fresh life into the dusty halls of his Court.

But for now he wanders the library corridors, few that they may be in comparison to the Dawn Court library. His eyes rove over countless titles, pausing every few steps to brush a speck of dirt almost lovingly from another cover.

So it was with surprise that he turned a corner to see an antlered man - with all manner of jewels and trinkets hanging from each tine - browsing the shelves similar.

“Oh, hello,” his voice breaks the silence, and it feels wrong amidst the hush of the room.



And then, because he can’t bear to let them lapse back into silence, lest that silence go on indefinitely, “It's been so quiet in here, I thought I was alone.” But his laugh hints that he doesn't mind the company, not in the slightest.





we are here
to laugh
at the odds
and live our lives
so well
that
death will tremble
to take us




@Septimus ! fast post to get us started
hope this is alright <3
”here am i!“





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Played by Offline Jeanne [PM] Posts: 24 — Threads: 8
Signos: 55
Dawn Court Scholar
Male [he/him/his] // 5 [Year 498 Fall] // 17.3 hh // Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 16 // Active Magic: N/A // Bonded: N/A
#2

BE BOLD, BE BOLD
BUT NOT TOO BOLD



He’d been searching the library for what felt like hours.

Septimus is a researcher, but he is not the type to spend most of his time among the shelves; he preferred field research to what could be found in books, and it was far more effective for his studies besides. However, under the circumstances, he didn’t have many other options. He knew nothing about this Novus or its people, beyond what little he’d picked up from the citizens of Denocte and members of the Scarab (who were hardly the most trustworthy sources of information that he could find), and, because he knew nothing, he didn’t even know where to start looking for his magic. So, although it was hardly his favorite subject, he was presently neck-deep in the history section, devouring all the information on this strange island – continent? He couldn’t figure out how it was positioned in space, from the maps, which never seemed to extend too far into the sea – that he could find.

According to the locals, magic was a blessing – a gift from the gods. Septimus isn’t sure that he can believe that. It would require the gods to be entities, for one, and it would require them to interact with mortals. He had travelled to many lands which boasted of physical gods, in his once-immortal wanderings, but he had never encountered any of them for himself; perhaps it was because he was no worshipper, or perhaps it was simply a matter of luck, but, without any evidence to prove that they existed, Septimus could not believe in them. Particularly given what Novus’s gods seemed to represent – time, day, night, dawn, and dusk certainly existed outside of Novus. (Though they did not exist in the forest.) If they were truly sovereign over such elements, surely their existence – and their worship – should not be restricted to Novus; however, he’d heard no whispers of their names in his travels, unless, like some religious figures he’d encountered before, they wore a different name in other lands…

It doesn’t matter, though it is suspicious that this land – of physical, magic-giving gods – was the one to strip him of his fae-blooded birthright.

Septimus is staring down blankly at a page in a history textbook on Terrastella, his eyes darting the words without really processing them, when he becomes aware of the sound of movement behind him. “Oh, hello,” comes a soft voice, interrupting a silence that Septimus hadn’t been aware of until it was broken. He turns, and he finds himself looking at a smaller man – he is a mottled patchwork of mahogany and white, lean and somewhat effeminate, and winged, but only on the front ankles. What catches Septimus’s attention is his eyes; he thinks that he’d call them a rather vibrant shade of pink.

“Hello,” he responds, quietly. Septimus isn’t sure if he should say anymore; for all he can discern, the winged fellow’s greeting might have been just that, rather than an invitation to further conversation.

…so it relieves him when he initiates conversation instead. “It’s been so quiet in here, I thought I was alone.” A gentle laugh – Septimus decides that he is a friendly fellow. He has that kind of face, and that kind of bearing.

“I’ve been engrossed,” Septimus admits, examining the book spread out in front of him. “I’d never even heard of Novus until I…narrowly avoided a fall directly into the Terminus. Minor miscalculation with a transportation spell,-“ He’d forgotten a period. “-disastrous consequences. I’m just trying to get my bearings.” He offers up a friendly smile of his own, though he does not let his lips curl far enough to show his pointed teeth, for fear of unnerving his newfound companion; some horses, he’s discovered, do not take well to his more wolfish characteristics. “I’m Septimus – and who might you be?”




@Ipomoea || <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

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