here is magic in the darkness, building a ribbon of light which intrigues Mephsito as she soars high above the river. It glows with an otherworldly manner, piquing her curiosity as she dips lower – low enough to hear the voices which reach to the heavens in song. Murmuring quietly with intrigue, she follows the light and sound, mirroring the river’s path with each sweep of her wings, until at last she finds a quiet glade where she can investigate the glow on her own. Her eyes are bright with wonder, lips parted with a whisper as she speculates on the source. What are you? Her voice is low and quiet, even as a single firefly leaves the others to land upon her cheek, as she closes her eyes with a purr of satisfaction.
Humming quietly, the warg loses her sense of guardedness, letting nature’s magical moment wash over her. All around her, there is light and marvel, and Mephsito allows herself full immersion into the experience.
Her voice is husky and dark, soothing as a summer rain on a hot and sticky day. She sings of an old country, where lovers pine for one another and grief draw them back from being lost again. It is a song she’s known forever – a song from her homeland, a place she’d given very little thought as she’d grown up and away from it. But on nights like tonight where the moon is full and bright, where fireflies dance along her skin, she allows herself to be a young girl once more – lively and filled with hope.
“Aren’t you a lovely thing?” She murmurs to the firefly who fluttered at her cheek, turning into the pulsing wings with a wispy smile. “My grandmother used to tell me stories as a girl – that those who wished on a firefly’s light were sure to find their way.” Her voice grows quieter still, barely audible against the night. “I’ve done my share of searching – I could really use a wish right now…”
She turns then, voices vying in her mind – the eyes of night creatures who spy on intrusions, informing her that one grew closer. With a glance, Mephisto can see him hidden in the shadows, and an explanation hurries across her lips. “Don’t tell them you saw me wishing – I’m far too old for such follies.”
She welcomes the stranger’s presence, sighing whimsically as she stares at the midnight moon. “Still, it seems a night for magic… perhaps a night where wishes might come true.”
A dreamer’s sentiment from a pragmatist – it was a magical night, indeed.
On my body, the grace of shadows and in my heart: all Hells
The sound of singing, of laughing and dancing is what draws him to the river first. He sees the way light gleams, moving like thin torches through the trees and out along the river banks. Children sing lullabies and girls and boys and fireflies dance and dance and dance.
He is not at home here. The warrior stands strange and ill-at ease. I am not made for dancing He had said, not once but twice when he has been asked. His eyes follow along the river current, half expecting, half hoping to see the crimson gaze of Boudika rising leonine from the river. He looks and half expects to see Elena dancing gold amidst the dancing fireflies. His heart is beating a little faster. He is sorry neither of them are here, even if it might mean they would lure him into dance - one gentle, the other feral.
Tenebrae turns from his hopes, his wishes and wends his way along the river bank. His shadows are not gentle, not here, not now. He is a banished man. He is a monk made for war, for battle. He has been made soft. He feels the desires of his heart, they way it beats with longing. The Disciple moves through the soft light, the gentle wings of fireflies, the undulating dance - something like revelry- of the gathered horses. The songs cut themselves across the blades his shadows make, the starlight splinters as it falls upon the spears of his darkness.
The monk is dark and sharp and wicked and sorrowful. His shadows cut a path through the crowds and songs quieten as he passes by. He walks on and on along the banks until he reaches a girl whose fireflies are different. Her gaze is different. She hums and yet all the life upon Delumine’s banks seem to gravitate to her.
A wish gathers itself upon her lips. She sighs whimsically, her chin tipped up, ready for the wish to tumble from her tongue, finding life amidst the fireflies. It might be like a prayer, it is similar, a hope, a desire put into words, given to another being. Tenebrae blinks and the flies dance within the starwhite glow of his moon sigils. “I did not hear what your wish was.” The monk murmurs watching the path of a lighted string of fireflies. His voice is warm whiskey warmed over a candle, ready to set the world ablaze with just one kiss of the candle’s flame, “I have heard many wishes on my way along the banks. Do you think the fireflies can really grant our wishes? Or is that reserved for our gods alone?” Slowly he moves his gaze from the fireflies, to let it tangle in the dark of the mysterious girl’s. His skull tilts, his shadows prowl as panthers. His magic possesses the night. A tendril of darkness softens, it weaves around the fireflies’ light and he wonders if he could make a wish upon the magic of these fireflies and just how faithless that would make him.
he turns to the monk, not smiling and not offering a greeting, but simply acknowledging his presence. There is a stillness between them, peaceful and raw, and she dips her head in greeting as the firefly on her cheek lifts forward and toward him, fluttering and blinking just beyond his grasp. “If I shared my wish, it wouldn’t come true… isn’t that what they say about wishes?” Whether it was or wasn’t, she didn’t feel comfortable baring her soul to this stranger, with lostness in his demeanor and longing in his eyes. Stepping closer to him, she draws in the scent of him – wild and dark.
“Your magic is curious…” She toys with his darkness, nudging it and watching the way it bended across the curves of the riverbank. Mephisto didn’t trust magic – or at least she had a healthy respect for it. She could not know if the darkness was friendly or not, but its wielder seemed unthreatening enough. “I cannot know if wishes come true… but it’s a lovely sort of thought. The only certainty I’ve found, is that what you put into life is what you take away from it. I cannot rely on our gods, any more than I can rely on wishes in the night.” A harsh sentiment, but a truism as far as she was concerned. Mephisto had never been one to believe.
She had known gods, yes… many, many gods. But they had power only over their small slices of the world: air, dark, fire. They ruled a specific land, a specific people – but in her travels, Mephisto had discovered different names being whispered in prayers. There had never been one to rule them all. In her mind, that was the problem… for if a god were truly the answer, would they not be all-knowing, all-powerful, and a god for the world?
Her blasphemy would not be appreciated by Terrestella, but she Mephisto knew she wasn’t alone in her faithlessness. Still, she would not have spoken in a manner so cavalier to her herd-mates. There were those who were pious and believing, and she would not fault them for their faith – she simply wouldn’t join in it. This stranger was different though. He seemed too lost in his own contemplation to worry about the unfaithfulness of a Terrestellan. She doubted it would even phase him.
“I am Mephisto of the Dusk Court. Where did you learn this?” she gestures to his darkness, not revealing her own magics. For they were something she’d yet to understand. Perhaps by knowing how Tenebrae had gained his magic, she might be given some guidance on how to control her own.
On my body, the grace of shadows and in my heart: all Hells
The firefly wish lifts from her cheek, its wings beating the air as it hovers just before him. The mare’s words are upon the air, they buoy the firefly’s wings. Tenebrae watches the small creature, its tiny firelight and the way its glow beats back the darkness. “I am not sure… I have never made a wish before.” The monk confesses lightly, considering the firefly before him. “I have always laid my hopes before Caligo, in prayer.” Slowly he moves his gaze from the insect to where the woman steps a little closer. He smiles, “But i hope your dream comes true for you.”
His darkness ripples as she bumps it with her nose. It disperses and reforms, like smoke from a bonfire. She calls his magic curious and he chuckles lightly, “Is it?” Tenebrae thinks that all magic might be curious. He has never seen any that is similar, each one is different, unique, dangerous and beautiful in its own way.
Her next words intrigue him and slowly Tenebrae turns his attention to her, “Maybe.” He says pensively, “but to lay all of our expectations on god and to not work for anything ourselves is to become lazy. A relationship is a two way road. Those who take and take and expect only to ever receive, only ever destroy their relationships… Maybe wishes are the same as prayer and having a relationship with a god… You can ask, of course, but you have to work to achieve your desire too. You have to give something back.”
She gives him her name. “It is nice to meet you Mephisto. My name is Tenebrae and my darkness -” He watches the way it dances across her skin, “- was bestowed upon me by Caligo. I am a Disciple in her Night Order. We all control shadows in this manner.”
Slowly his gaze trails over her midnight skin and the soft blue of her feathers. “I do not think you are originally from here. The smell of your skin.. You have foreign scents upon you. Where are you from originally?’
@Mephisto <3
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07-20-2020, 12:57 PM - This post was last modified: 12-03-2020, 11:05 AM by Tenebrae
here is an easiness about Mephisto – there always was. She speaks eloquently, though with a simple manner which portrays her stark honesty. For the Pegasus was honest to a fault, a straight shooter and a pragmatist. She nods to his words, understanding that he was one of the pious and not judging him for it… for in her many travels, she had met all sorts of believers. He didn’t seem preachy, so it didn’t bother her in the least when he mentions his magic as a gift. The mare simply quirks an eyebrow, noting that he must be one of Caligo’s chosen to be given such a blessing (or a curse).
“No, I am not from here.” The original story of where she’d come from was one she seldom shared, for Mephisto’s origin was far from a typical upbringing. Instead, she remembers the place where she first felt a sense of belonging. “I came to Novus from a place called the Rift – a place ruled by magic and shifting time, where nothing was truly what it seemed.” It was a strange and wonderous place, one which took some getting used to, and one which Mephisto gave up all hope at truly understanding. How can you explain phenomenon beyond the mortal plane? Some things could only be attributed to old magic, ruled by no god or man.
“My land was called the Winter Court – a place of beauty and wild nature… but it is gone now, lost to the magic.” She blinks in the firefly-lit darkness, a hint of sadness to her voice as she remembers the faces of those who she had called family, wondering where they had ended up when the magic tore their world apart. Some had found their way here, or at least their descendants had… others though, seemed as lost as their destroyed land.
“What other curiosities has your goddess granted to her disciples?” She seemed a generous goddess, at least – much moreso than Vespera, who Mephisto knew admittedly little about.
On my body, the grace of shadows and in my heart: all Hells
Her description of her homeland intrigues him. It seems like Novus and yet… not. She comes from a place called the Winter Court. Tenebrae feels the chill of such a place. It blows cold and wicked along his spine. Tendrils of frigid magic skip across the lacerations that lie across his spine. Winter is coming in Novus. The trees are growing scarce of leaf, their twisted, undulating limbs stripped of colour like clothes. Their bodies are naked, the knots of their trunks exposed. Winter will come, adorning them in frost, but for now they grow red and gold and then fall into barren nakedness as the ground gathers their leaves.
The Disciple considers Mephisto, the blues of her, that quiet, dark knowing within her gaze. He has seen a land built of magic and how magic ruled over it, changing its face with every season. Tenebrae no longer knows if the island is at the whim of the gods or if a new, stranger magic lays its hands upon it, twisting and morphing it at leisure. “Was your homeland anything like the island off Terminus Sea?” He asks of her, lightly curiously. Mephisto mentions no gods in her homeland - just a place ruled by magic and time. Could time be its own master? The shadow stallion has only ever known Tempus to rule over time - the idea that time alone can rule… What would Tenebrae do, be there, in a land without gods? He thinks of Boudika’s question. If you were not a monk, Tenebrae, what would you be? He has no eloquent answer. He flounders over such questions. He is too young, too narrow minded. His world has been filled up upon Caligo and duty and religion. There is little of himself left to dream of anything else.
What other curiosities has your goddess granted to her disciples? Mephisto asks of him. Tenebrae turns his starlight gaze to her. Fireflies illuminate along her cheeks, begging for more wishes, even as she asks to know more about him and his brothers. What else does she give him? He knows how he should answer, but all of those replies, given so easily by his brothers, feel as bland and cloying as dust upon his tongue.
“Do you miss your old home and its lack of gods?” He dares to ask. He dares to wonder what a world might be without gods. Would he ever leave the monkhood? What would his life be without it - what if he was never born to a goddess - what then? Who would he be?
What other curiosities has your goddess granted to her disciples? Tenebrae blinks, slowly, the starlight of his eyes glowing wicked bright. He smiles, shadows breathe over his lips, they make stark the lack of humour there. Tenebrae’s look is pained with its darkness. He does not have the answers he should. Boudika stripped him of them first and then Elena. They have left him with nothing of himself lefts to give to Caligo. Or so it feels.
He breathes an honesty comes from him, it gathers like darkness and spills from his lips like an ominous, consuming monster, “I do not know.”
@Mephisto <3
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08-27-2020, 05:14 AM - This post was last modified: 12-03-2020, 11:05 AM by Tenebrae
id she miss her homeland? “Yes”. Her answer was stark and open, and for a moment the pegasus’ resolve chinks a bit. There is something raw and vulnerable in her with the admission, for she did miss the wild lands, the faces of those who she’d considered family, and at times, even the magic that twisted and stole their land away. “I cannot say that I truly belong here in Novus, not yet anyway…” Her mind drifts quickly toward Marisol and the vow she’d taken to protect Terrestella as one of the Halcyon. It was a duty she took seriously, certainly – but she did not feel the same sense of family as she’d once had.
“The island seems very like my homeland – different scenery, yes… but it has the same bite to the air – the same hum of magic.” The Rift had been something of a darker place though, a land where the magic was allowed to run wild without a master. Perhaps that was the difference. Maybe Tempus had learned to harness its power, or at least direct the bulk of it away from his Novus lands. There were times that Mephisto wondered if the island had brought her here, creating some sort of wormhole in time for her to travel to Novus. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing which had happened, she knew – and yet the idea still seemed a bit far-fetched for her rational mind to comprehend.
“In a land with no gods, each becomes their own master – there are no excuses for your successes or failures. Too often, I find others will blame or praise their gods for the work of man. I cannot know if the lore is true, as I’ve never seen Vespera show her face in Terrestella… there are those who claim she has, though.” Even if she did, Mephisto wouldn’t be one to blindly follow… for she had come from a place far from here, so she knew there was more to the world than just what Novus could show. If the gods would show her their value, perhaps she would honor them with her worship – but for now Mephisto would simply continue as she always had, reliant on only herself.
On my body, the grace of shadows and in my heart: all Hells
Tenebrae smiles slightly. It is a small and sad thing, the shadows blooming along his lips. They reach out for Mephisto too, cool in the autumnal night, yet warm with their gesture. “I think it takes a while to truly belong anywhere.” The monk knows how it took him months as a child to adapt to the strange way of life within Denocte.
“Really?” The Disciple asks, surprise hanging from every syllable. By her account Novus seems a milder place - or at least it had in his mind when she described the wilder magic of her homeland. However, the more he thinks, the more he feels that strange creeping magic of the island. Just because it had not reached across the water to the mainland, did not mean that feral magic did not exist within Novus.
When she talks of Vespera, of Terrastella, Tenebrae only listens. His lips do not twitch with humour. He waits until he has finished, watches the fireflies as they seem to drink up every wish from her cheeks as if they were tears. “The gods exist,” Tenebrae says, assured. “I have seen Caligo.” But that was a long, long time ago. He has not seen her for so long. SHe seems almost quiet. The monk knows his faith should be stronger. Yet her silence rattles him, sometimes. “No one should expect anything of a god but love anyway.” Tenebrae is quiet for a moment, thoughts filling his mind on the infallibility and impassibility of the gods. They were deep questions, ones his brothers agonised over nearly all their lives. They were questions he could not begin to grapple with tonight. They were too large for the fragility of this firefly night. Suddenly weary he sighs, “It was good to meet you, Mephisto. I hope we can meet again soon and i hope that your wish, whatever it was, finds some place in reality for you.”
With that the monk turns, his shadows gathering against his silver sigils as he presses on, through the firefly glow and out into the dark wilds of the trees beyond.
e seemed so certain, this monk with his faith. For a moment, Mephisto is lost with her wandering thoughts as she considered (not for the first time) the possibility of gods. While he claimed to have seen Caligo, it didn’t make things any more real for her, she decided. A pragmatist to a fault, she would need to see with her own eyes to believe… and to believe more than just the existence of gods but their worthiness, she would need to see more than just a face. She would need to see by their actions that they cared for the mortals, or else, why would she waste her time with worship.
Still though, the Pegasus plays her cards close her chest, simply offering a smile and a nod to his assurances, filing them away to ponder at another time. “The pleasure was mine,” she murmured in agreement, watching his retreating form for only a moment, before turning back toward Terrestella, with more to ponder on than the simple wishes she’d asked by the fireflies’ light.
