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Played by Offline Darkrise [PM] Posts: 41 — Threads: 13
Signos: 70
Night Court Soldier
Female [She / Her / Hers] // 9 [Year 496 Fall] // 16 hh // Hth: 9 — Atk: 11 — Exp: 12 // Active Magic: Shapeshifting // Bonded: N/A

Having decided Novus was as good a place as any to settle for now, Castalla was intent upon exploring as much of it as possible. It had been a few days since the scarred rogue left the Night Court realm, skirting around the Arma mountains as much as possible. With the land well and truly in the colourful grip of autumn the mountains would be nearly as treacherous as it would were it between the icy claws of winter- without her full magic the shifter did not wish to risk her neck needlessly. Instead the Wolf had crossed a series of open fields, the grass flattened and the ground trodden as though a war had once raged upon its expanse. Castalla could have almost heard ghostly cries of battles, the grunts and crashes of combat. But it had remained empty, open and exposed beneath the frosty air. A few elk had wandered across her path, but many turned tail the moment they had set eyes upon her. Though she walked in the skin of prey, there was no denying the air of a predator that lingered in the scars across her pelt and the shadows in her eyes. Had she wanted, the assassin could have walked with the hesitant, the wide-eyed wonder of one who had not seen the darkness she’d witnessed. She could have been anyone, such was the nature of her training. In silk she could be a princess, in rags a simple street-urchin, a soldier clothed in armour or an entertainer with a wandering band. Her skills were both a blessing and a curse, being able to walk seen yet unseen. But few rarely, truly, saw her. An odd feeling of loneliness had overcome her then, an all-consuming tidal wave that had washed away as swiftly as it had come. Since Skender’s death, Castalla had spent much of her days, her weeks and months, alone. And since then, even the moonlit caverns of Nightfall’s fortress had not felt like home, as though their beauty had been ephemeral, momentary. Or perhaps it was her that had changed, a ghost of her former self wandering the caves in silence. Castalla had left the Bellum steppe then, turning south to where open fields gave way to rising trees and reaching roots.


Sunset had been and gone, darkness descending like a foreboding blanket over Novus. But to Castalla, the shadows were her friends, her cloak and her mask. The night was a cloudless one, the stars gleaming merrily amidst the darkness, yet for all the silence f the midnight expanse, the swamp was a booming orchestra of sounds. The chirp of crickets and the croak of frogs arose with the thick scent of stagnant water and musty grass. Castalla was beginning to wonder what on earth had possessed her to take the swamp path, her hooves squelching uncomfortably with every step. It was not to say that the princess would not get her hands dirty- she’d emerged from battles coated head to toe in mud and gore without a care for her appearance- but the way the odour clung to the strands of her damp hair, the locks beginning to curl in the humidity, she longed for a bath. A grimace marred her otherwise alluring features, frustration evident from the clipped motions of her trot to the gleam in her ice-blue eyes. Was there an end to this gods-forsaken marsh?

You are a weapon; and weapons don't weap

@Sparrow <3


Played by Offline Sparrow [PM] Posts: 98 — Threads: 17
Signos: 420
Dusk Court Regent
Female [She/Her/Hers] // Immortal [Year 496 Summer] // 16.1 hh // Hth: 22 — Atk: 18 — Exp: 36 // Active Magic: Pyromancy // Bonded: Solaris (Phoenix)

your social skills resemble arson

Having served as Warden of Terrastella for so many years, Israfel found that even with her promotion to Regent, the desire to patrol had not waned. Then again, why would it? Not only had these patrols been hammered into her brain on a regular schedule since her arrival into Novus years ago, it was only right to want to continue to patrol and guard their borders, to keep her home safe.

Even if it included the damnable swamp.

Unable to get any of the Halcyon away from their duties this time around to go trudge through the muck of Tinea, Israfel bitched but departed the city to go drench herself in bog water in the name of ‘protecting the land she loved’. Someone had to do it. At least if she did it herself she knew the patrol would be done right.

Solaris glided through the crisp night air a few paces ahead, her body lit up in burning flames to illuminate their surroundings and chase away the darkness. The Phoenix’s piercing lavender eyes cut through the obscured scenery, skimming the shadows that danced within the trees and winding pathways upon peat moss and through stagnant water. The steady croak of toads and chirp of early winter insects echoed lazily through the otherwise quiet evening, but Solaris knew that any manner of creature could hide amidst a place like this.

With the new changes that spanned Novus, they couldn’t be too careful. Israfel picked her pace cautiously, not even trying to keep the white of her coat clean as she descended into squelching mud that pulled at her hooves with every step, the shit-brown muck nearly swallowing her up to her knees. Determination kept her from becoming stuck, each step powerful and strong, her wings spread wide for balance and flames curling upon every feather. Like her bonded bird of legend, the Regent was aflame, allowing the pyromancy given by her godly father to help slice through the darkness of night.


A frown pulled at the Sun Daughter’s lips as she thought of Denocte. Damnable, terrible Denocte, with their secrets and conniving, mysterious ways, with their whining and moaning and bitching over anything and everything. Ever since the pathetic reign of Reichenbach and his consort Isorath, someone that Israfel herself had once considered an ally and a close friend, the thought of the Night Court had left a bad taste in her mouth. Every venture to their eastern counterpart never helped to soothe her vast dislike for the nation.

It wasn’t that she wanted to dislike them, not at all. While she didn’t understand a whole lot as far as politics or cultures went, the Regent knew that everyone was different. Not everyone had to get along, but with Denocte…

Her frown deepened, brows furrowing and vermilion eyes narrowing as she pushed it from her mind. Now wasn’t the time.

Ivory ears flicked forward as she rallied herself and the fires that surrounded her, expanding the flames and spreading the resulting light even further into the dense foliage around them. Despite winter’s grasp having snared the land of Novus, not even the elements could seem to steal the thick canopy and dense vegetation from the swamp’s claws. What a pity.

’Do you see anything?’ The question was asked mentally, through that special shared bond between equine and mythical avian. Solaris gave no physical indication that she had heard over than a quick glance back over one spread wing.

No. Not yet. But I smell something.

Immediately the Regent was on edge. She knew that Solaris did not mean the stench of decay, the sour smell of stagnant water, or the general earthy ambiance that hung heavily in the air like a poor choice in perfume. It was different. Lighter. Floral.

Incense. Recognition bloomed in her mind within a second, and immediately the Sun Daughter’s ears tipped back to be lost amidst strands of ivory and gold as a growl escaped her throat before she could stop it. The stench of Night Court cut through the filth of the bog, but Solaris’ following curt reminder caused the brief tension in her muscles to loosen.

Be nice, child. You are more than you were a season ago. Remember your place.


Sucking in a deep breath, the ivory dun rolled a sleek, slender shoulder but kept her wings spread out, the flames burning hot and comforting against her skin. She pressed on with Solaris as her guide, but soon enough a pale stain broke through the darkness, the flash of ivory standing out like snow against a backdrop of black.

Slender white legs stuck out at first in the firelights range, catching Israfel’s burning hot gaze. Her eyes roamed upwards upon every nimble curve, cresting thighs, the barrel of a side, up a slender neck until she spotted the pretty face and ice-blue eyes of the mare that did not belong. Not one for stealth, not that it even mattered given the beacon of their shared light from the fire that licked at their bodies, Israfel merely arched a brow and called out, one leg cocked almost casually. Her rose-kissed lips twisted upwards in a knowing grin.

“... A little lost, friend?” Oh, but this stranger wasn’t a friend, pretty little white thing that she was. Not even the ichor of the swamp could mask the stink of Denocte that clung to this pale lady’s hide, and wasn’t that just the most unfortunate thing this week.

Solaris slowed her glide and whirled around, her wings spread wide and beating the air with illuminated wings as she crested around to take rest upon Israfel’s croup with large, sharp talons. The Sun Daughter did not even grimace as those talons dug into her flesh. Her eyes remained locked upon the pale lady in the middle of the swamp, in a land that was not her own. Be nice, Solaris’ reminder echoed in her head, and Israfel inhaled deeply, be nice.

“Can’t say that I’ve seen that pretty face of yours in this swamp before.”

Be nice. Oh, but she could be nice.



Please Tag Israfel in all Replies!


Played by Offline Darkrise [PM] Posts: 41 — Threads: 13
Signos: 70
Night Court Soldier
Female [She / Her / Hers] // 9 [Year 496 Fall] // 16 hh // Hth: 9 — Atk: 11 — Exp: 12 // Active Magic: Shapeshifting // Bonded: N/A

Coming from a land where she was hunted because of the blood that ran through her veins- doubly so thanks to being both a princess and a rather notorious assassin- Castalla was slow to trust anyone. She was suspicious still of her fellow Denoctians, keeping much to herself though remaining polite in conversation, if a little hesitant to shed light on her history. As of yet, she found no cause to believe shapeshifters were hunted in Novus, but that did not mean she would be welcome should the citizens of any court learn about her abilities. Magic seemed rife within the land- celebrated and revered- but the same could be said of her homeland. It is an honour, until it’s a shackle. That was the very essence of magic in Alanaris. Those blessed with abilities to manipulate things like fire and earth- elementals they were called- were safe, blessed. Witches, Elves, Seelies, even their crossbreed offspring, Fae, all lived in tenuous harmony with the mortals. But shifters and mermaids? Deemed monsters because of their likeness to werewolves and sirens. The definition, the objective yet wholly inaccurate classification with which her society decided who would be hunted and who would be free, it was cruel but so engrained that many took it as a sport. Perhaps she should not have left, perhaps she should have stayed, continued her mantle as the White Wolf, taken down tyrants like Oranus. But where had that got her? She had suffered unspeakable malice, tortured both physically and mentally, and yet the regime had remained. Granted, Alanaris was free of an evil king but it had changed nothing for her people.

Was Novus in the grip of such tempestuous politics? Did peace hang upon a precipice, thrust ever close to the edge by acts of attrition? Perhaps it was foolish of Castalla to wander beyond the realm of the Night Court without first learning of relations with the other kingdoms. The rogue knew at least that she was not restricted from walking the borders between the lands, or so she had gathered from the careful observation of her new herd-mates. Though undeniably cunning, caution was hardly the assassin’s strong suit, if tensions were arisen among the different courts, she did not fear walking the land of another. Call it reckless, call it prideful, but the Wolf knew her own skill, unless an army ambushed her she did not doubt her ability to evade death or capture. One did not go through the kind of training she spent years undergoing to not be able to protect themselves.

With the stale area remaining uncomfortably still and much of her vision obscured by the dense foliage, Castalla did not notice the flaming mare as early as she might have liked. Nevertheless a flash of light accompanied by the call of a distinctly feminine voice drew her attention away from the mud surrounding her legs. Intrigued, though on alert, she twists her form as elegantly as one can whilst caked in sludge from the elbows down to face the other. Flames greet her vision, twirling and dancing on an absent breeze, framing a pair of strong wings. The woman is swathed in pale fur like she, equally tainted by the marshland’s paint, but where Castalla’s eyes are icy blue, hers are a piercing red. A smile pulls the corners of the other’s lips upward, an unreadable one that Castalla can’t help but wonder what is conceal behind. The assassin allows a smirk to curve her own lips, eyes glinting from beneath dark lashes. Castalla does not know the courts’ scents readily enough to discern the mare’s place of abode, but she recognises the Pegasus to be no Night Court citizen. The flames engulfing the frame of her wings reminds the Wolf one an elemental Elf she had met on occasion, a fiery creature by the name of Nova Ignicia who’s hair danced with fire and who could conjure wings of flame.

The woman’s use of the word ‘friend’ did not go amiss on the White Wolf and faint amusement flickers within the cold depths of her sapphire eyes. There was a grey line between enemy and friend, Castalla quite often found herself admiring those that would inevitably betray her. The ferocity with which this mare carried herself and the knowing grin upon her rose-tinted lips was certainly something the Wolf could respect.

“Oh I would not say lost,” she begins, her voice indulgently demure as she inclines her head and smiles- she would never admit to being lost even if she were, such weakness was not allowed. “I may not know what lays beyond this infernal bog, but I know how to retrace my steps.” Clearly the other woman was familiar with the swamp, no matter how much she stood out from the dull foliage around them. For a moment her attention is diverted from the flaming woman to the bird that alights upon her ivory rump, a creature often depicted in legend. Castalla herself had come across only one other phoenix in her life time, rare as they were, and couldn’t help but tip her head to one side and admire the bird with restrained curiousity.

“Can’t say I’ve seen my pretty face in any swamp before,” her eyes gleam with the playful quip as she returns them to the Pegasus. “I wouldn’t say you look at home in all this mud either, but I gather you are from around here?”

she didn't need a weapon at all; not when she was born one

@Israfel <3


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