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Played by Offline Syndicate [PM] Posts: 27 — Threads: 7
Signos: 50
Dusk Court Soldier
Male [He/his/him] // 7 [Year 498 Winter] // 16.2 hh // Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 11 // Active Magic: N/A // Bonded: N/A
#1


IN MY PREVIOUS LIFE I WAS A TWO-WINGED SPARROW SITTING ON THE UNROTTED FENCE, SINGING TO THE WALNUT SAPLINGS. OR MAYBE I WAS SALTWATER CURLED IN WARM MURMURS AROUND THE LIMESTONE  CALICLES OF LIVE CORAL REEFS. OR MAYBE I WAS AN IRIS-BUSH, MY HANDS HONEY-BEE-LOUD, MY LAUGHTER BLUE AS UNSPILLED BLOOD, OR HAVE I ALWAYS BEEN THIS SHAPE OF BODY-STRIVING-FOR, THIS MAN DESTINED TO ACHE? I WORRY I AM ORPHIC NOW ONLY IN THE SENSE THAT I'M LOOKING BACK? NO, SOMEWHERE IN ME THERE MUST BE A FLIGHT AND CHURN AND BURSTING OPEN.

There is an alabaster stallion standing in the center of the courtyard. The market-goers swarm around him standing still and statuesque at their center. He is the rock around which the river breaks. In the distance there is a fountain which, beneath the quiet murmur of constant conversation and movement, whispers like a dream. Lyr listens mostly to that sound, but every so often his ears flick toward the conversation as it streams around him, but his eyes remained fixated on a single object of fascination:

It is the brilliant banner, stretched across the stucco archway announcing the entrance of the market. The silk is as crimson as his eyes; and woven at its center is a golden sun sigil, catching metallically in the afternoon light. 

Lyr is there longer than necessary; until the sun dips from center-sky, down toward the horizon. The detached part of his mind acknowledges the frivolous excess; the rational part of him understands he wastes his time by standing so religiously beneath Solis's banner. Perhaps it is because there is still a remnant of him that, from his father’s ecclesiastical teachings, clings to the idea of a deity. He moves only when Vespera takes the sky, into the emptying market-place, beyond, beyond. 

Lyr finds himself in a small garden, full of cacti and a single palm tree. Lyr takes note of the Solis statue in the far corner, overseeing the garden. There is a small fountain, and stucco walls, and if not for the eyes of that statue which follow him… he would find it quite peaceful. The fact he does not irritates him.

As it is, Lyr cannot rest. He paces to and fro, and nearly returns to the tavern at the end of the street where he is staying… but the banner still burns in his mind, and lionesque he stalks across the soft dirt until his eye-level with the statue. It continues to glower at him; all raging pride and aggression.

He turns, and nearly leaves—

There is a pause no longer than a heartbeat. 

Then, Lyr lashes out with a hind leg. The kick collides solidly with the statue, and he feels the reverberations into his hips. The pain is acute and ephemeral; the statue falls slow, slow, slow, and then cracks loudly against the stucco bricks. 

The sun has left the sky; dusk’s soft fingers reach across it, dark blue and indigo. Lyr is looking at the sky as he exits the garden, nearly lackadaisical, and begins to walk toward the tavern where he is staying. Within him there is something brooding larger than the sea; something dark and fathomless; unnamable at least, to him.

It is rage; seething, disdainful, and consuming. Lyr is full of it.

@Efphion || "Speech."
Coding by Avis. 
i know i am damned for the pyre
no matter how bright you glow when you call for me
CREDITS






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Efphion
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#2




Swallow cities to feel alive...


He does not know it yet, but he has been closely watched from the moment he set foot in Solterra. It is not the stucco buildings that echo the staccato footfalls upon the stone that watches him. It is not the bright sun that casts shadows his shadow from his pastel pelt as it sinks closer to the horizon that watches him. It is a storm of ash and rage that watches the man who does not move. He is a mountain in the market square, he is the stone that the river avoids. She watches from the peak of another mountain. She watches, and she ponders his presence. When he moves, when he breathes, she dogs him like a shadow. There is nothing beautiful about the man who is made of lavender and rose. Not when he leaves a trail of waste for the Solterrans to clean up after him. His presence whispers omens into the sky, into her ear. She feels distrust, and it is made worse when he stains her tongue black. The statue of Solis topples when he exerts his force upon it. The maiden of ash, who is made from the wrath of the Sun, appears behind the fallen statue. She stands in the garden as the stone scatters across the ground, it collides with her feet. Her gaze is slow as it travels up from ruin made by this man. Her rage boils, her dam begins to splinter as she watches him dare walk away from her.

"Does it please you to desecrate sacred idols in the heart of the court that worships them?" Her voice is a poisoned barb, and her words taste like acid. They pour from her mouth, wrapped with a thick ichor. It is the ichor of hatred. Black, vile. It is the taste of comfort, and it rolls from her tongue with obvious familiarity. "You are not inconspicuous. You have no right." She seethes through clenched teeth to the man that is made from fields of lavender and blooming lilacs. Her gaze flits to the cracked sculpture, it is a fleeting glance. It stirs her rage further, it fuels her. The dam bursts. Effy stalks towards him, her steps lurch awkwardly from her previously still stature. There is war in her eyes and wrath in her heart. "Careless. What has Solis done to you to warrant such compassionless behavior? What do you believe has Solterra done?" She lets the vile ichor pour from her throat. It bubbles in her throat, it is uncomfortable. Her vocal cords constrict in response to the rage building inside her.

She is a ceaseless force of wrath, but he does not know this yet. Effy has been asleep until now. She would choke the life from his eyes full of rage. She recognizes the emotion in his eyes that are made of fire. It is like looking in a mirror. They stand at odds, but neither towers over the other. The faithful and the faithless.
 


Words: 501 | Notes: :') sorry for the delay. I hope this is alright. | Tags: @Lyr



... Spit them out when I'm satisfied







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