𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔱𝔣𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔫

within  a  matter  of  days,  the  commander  of  the  night  court  had  prepared  for  the  worst  in  these  eerie  lands.  one  would  be  foolish  not  to,  given  what  the  lands  of  dusk  have  demonstrated  itself  to  be.  a  land  that  truly  belonged  to  the  feral  beasts  that  claimed  the  skies  above,  and  a  land  that  had  returned  their  foresaken  abilities  within  a  matter  of  days.  very  easily,  it  could  be  attributed  to  their  dark  deity,  that  it  had  stolen  them  and  somehow  her  lands  returned  it.  in  a  strange  turn  of  events,  not  one  bit  of  it  made  sense  to  the  daemati  and  this  was  not  a  feeling  he  was  accustomed  to  and  he  despised  every  bit  of  it.  failure  had  never  been  a  part  of  the  greys,  but  since  they've  all  been  hauled  into  the  capital,  he  felt  far  too  much  of  it  then  he  cared  for  and  could  control  very  little  of  it.

the  returning  of  his  daemati  abilities  had  certainly  somewhat  stabilized  his  moods,  moods  that  no  other  than  siara,  or  perhaps  kerim  was  privy  to.  he  had  utilized  every  bit  since  it's  return,  slipping  in  and  out  of  minds  to  find  anything  note  worthy  but  as  he  expected  with  the  king's  newfound  abilities  and  confidence,  it  had  left  all  of  prythian  stumped  and  the  dusk  fae  entirely  puzzled  and  both  sides  -  beyond  unsettled.  revealing  to  his  high  lord  of  what  he  found,  only  feasible  in  mind  was  a  careful  task  of  revealing  without  him  inquiring  to  kalore  how  he'd  come  to  certain  knowledge.  an  ability  he  did  not  make  lord  ihsahn  privy  to.  his  relationship  with  the  high  lord  of  night  was  nothing  sort  of  endless  facades  from  kalore's  end,  and  some  days,  the  daemati  would  find  exhausting.  the  sensible  and  logical  side  certainly  understood  that  the  sins  of  the  father  were  not  sins  of  the  son,  but  kalore  had  not  claimed  himself  to  be  perfect.  superior,  certainly,  but  no  close  to  perfect  not  when  one's  entirely  being  was  fragmented  and  haunted.

but now, in this maddening gyre where things are steadily falling apart and coming together in unsettling succession, that paranoia can no longer be ignored. that gut sense that kalore is misleading him, keeping truths hidden, working in the shadows a level deeper than a trusted commander ought to be — there was a time when ihsahn remained willingly ignorant, had no choice but to dismiss his basic instinct. that era had grown wings and taken flight, fading into obscurity beyond mountainous vestiges. ihsahn knows that if they are going to move forward as a court, all suspicions and doubts will need to be brought to light lest they fester and eat their beloved court alive from the inside out.

that is the last thing ihsahn will allow to happen on his watch. not now that there is so much at stake. not now that he is ready to lead.

❝ i suspect that's been your plan all along, ❞ he speaks frankly, circling around the round table that separates them. ❝ though your target may have changed. ❞ he stops to watch how his words affect the commander, a hand splaying out upon the oak of the tabletop. quickly, he continues. ❝ kalore, i'm not a fool. whether you choose to tell me the whole of it or not, i won't do my court the injustice of not acting on my instinct any longer. i know there is something you're hiding from me, and if we are to move forward with this plan of yours, with any plan of yours, i will need to know the whole of it and your true intentions. i must be able to trust my commander, and more than that, you have to find a way to trust in me as your high lord. the circumstances of my ascension would give anyone pause, but i am here, now. i am fully invested in the sovereignty of the night court, because i know what's at stake if it is lost. you must know that by now. ❞

he stops to try and read kalore's face, eyes narrowed, discerning, attempting to solve the great enigma that he is. ❝ this court owes you a great deal — as do i, for everything you've done during my time of transition. i do not take lightly that you carried a great burden for my family and for all of our people. you have done well, acted honorably, and i am in your debt for it. but i will not abide secrets, as i know you would not were you in my precarious position. ❞

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔤𝔥 𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 had found he had a generous nature, hidden beneath the layers of armored scale most illyrians developed, and taylan had been the first to bring this trait out in him. learning he had a younger sister had first simply stirred warmth in his chest, a desire to protect and dote, foreign but inborn — and it manifested wholly when he'd finally met her acquaintance & spent time getting to know her. she was kind, graceful, elegant and yet humble — everything that would drive an older brother to fits the moment he found out another male was interested in courting her.

it's just that, along with all of the other alarm bells going off in his head, that brings him to her door now.

it was just how it goes with the fae.

They hated the Night court for having powerful rulers for millennia & millennia on end, plus their own reputation did not help them, but it was all made in an effort to keep the other courts from ruining perhaps the only slice of goodness still left in the world - Velaris. Kabir was threatening Velaris, not just the rest of Prythian, but the only pure thing left in this blood soaked, war torn courts.

If she could help her cousin fight, she would. She will. Perhaps in the only way she knows how - by just being his support, his unwavering crutch. She was no general, no spy, no true tactician - but she was his scholar & an such she has had access to a majority of archives & old texts, & she could, no would, find a way to help him.

The bite in his words said enough & Alara sits down on a darkly coloured couch & pats an empty spot beside her. Pouring two glasses of whiskey - a habit she had picked up in this new court, even if she wasn't the one for alcohol before, now she found it a helpful ally.

"Sit, Ihs. We will come up with something, I promise, but your pacing around will only give me a vertigo." she offered a gentle smile, then softly sighed.

"Many things weight on your mind & they weight on mine, too. Let's think of something tangible & then we can share it in our next meeting with the rest of our court."

ihsahn sighs, accepting alara's gift of calm as if it's a warm breeze moving over him.

❝ i know i'm not an easy one to talk down from the high tower, ❞ he says, his voice the growl of iron stoking through bits of ember and ash. ❝ but you have a talent for persuading me, cousin. ❞ in the compliment is also an admission he might not make to others, even seraphina, knowing it would not do to worry her when azrael requires so much of her attention. alara, on the other hand, has tended his feral manners since his arrival as crowned ruler of the night court, coaxing him from a stray beast to a high ruler in manner and approach over the years, and for that he is eternally grateful.

❝ vertigo, ❞ he echoes dubiously, taking a seat beside her and eying the glass of bourbon she's poured from him. a mischievous eyebrow lifts, a sign that, already, his hackles have lowered a bit. ❝ i'm no scholar, but i promise you, whiskey won't help either. ❞ his high tolerance leaves him reaching for the proffered glass, and he takes a deep drink.

❝ there is nothing tangible, ❞ he argues, though he understands her meaning. ❝ the only thing i know for certain is that we — our people — have to be unified in our approach. if we aren't, the night court will fall to whatever insanity is currently puppeteering that boy king. that means everything we are — our family, velaris ... ❞ ihsahn shakes his head as if it will chase away his cynical thoughts. the fire's light dances in his eyes. ❝ i will not lose it. not when i've only just found it. ❞ not when i've just found myself.

his eyes flick to hers. ❝ i refuse, alara. ❞

his eyes narrow and he feels his wings instinctively attempt to retract, under the scrutiny of the man beneath him, but it only worsens the tear — tangled roots snag and clotted dirt rain down on them. a wince. ❝ i didn’t think, ❞ he hisses. ❝ i just reacted — wasn’t much time to deliberate, you know. ❞

roman. roman is grateful, and he wants to help. vast’s eyes soften slightly, but before he can respond, the thunder of the dragon overhead grows closer once more.

overhead, vast hears the gargantuan felling trees in its pursuit of them, each one hitting closer to their cave. his eyes widen, his heart hammers, and his breath stalls painfully in his lungs. the limbs that hold fast to the fae beneath him tighten, rigidly, and he finds himself sending up a prayer to the despondent mother — the one he’s cursed so often before — knowing he’s a hypocrite and fool for doing so. his fingers are buried deep in the soft plumage of the peregryn’s wings, eyes locked on the gaze of the fae beneath him, as he hears the drake make its final rounds. the thought crosses his mind that his last moments might be spent tangled up with this stranger, but hope finds him as the dragon draws away again. he can make out the sound of it scooping up its kill, and then there is a storm of clattering branches, dust and bramble, in its wake as it takes flight. blessedly moving on to another location.

vast feels himself wilt then, all the tension in his body melting so quickly that his forehead momentarily presses to roman’s — roman, the fae whose life he saved — and his eyes close briefly. they are safe. they’ve survived an encounter with a dragon, somehow, by whatever sliver of grace remained for him in the mother’s estimation.  whether it’s the thrill of having survived or the absurdity of their current situation, vast finds himself chuckling as he lifts his head. ❝ the dark mother couldn’t reach me, so she sent me you, ❞ he breathes as the laugh disperses and sanity returns. ❝ let’s get the hell out of here. ❞

Poppy turned her head slightly confused momentarily by his response to her question. But then it clicked. Her cheeks burned hot, her eyes going wide at the realization of what she had just asked him. "OH, I didn't mean take off things, I mean if you want to take things off, I meant you said take of the edge or something and I just, That was not what I was trying to, oh, I. just you see." She rambled, her brain scrambling as she stared at him, his lips, his wings.

her gaze tracks the fae's moves, saying nothing as she disappears the plant into the leather of her satchel. if they thought it would make a better home for it than a frostbitten window sill, then who was lavinia to keep it from thriving. but, if they were winnowed away in the night once more, then it was back at square one once more. abandoned once again.

watch, the voice said. watch. lavinia's eyes flicker upward. coal eyes sparking with an ember of interest. for once, her stomach settles.

but she also finds she speaks truth before she realizes it, as if subconsciously funneling from the contents of a cauldron over-full. ❝ is that what you want? ❞ she asks, lifting her chin and studying the priestess down the bridge of her nose. ❝ to be chosen? touched by the mother and granted special knowledge? ❞ morrigan closes the gap between them, leaning forward so that she's only a hairsbreadth away, then whispers: ❝ be careful what you wish for, priestess. ❞

hope turned to despair. despair turned to hatred, to wrath.

But, the Illyrian had a point - she could've behaved better, been better... but it wasn't her. She wasn't a soft, pretty thing with a mortal's heartbeat & their weak minds. She was no weak thing, her mind as impenetrable as a fortress made of the indestructible ore that entombed the misty soul of the Cauldron.

"Perhaps I am both. Choice & fate are so often intertwined, imperceptible one from another." she replied with a shrug, but the eerie smile danced upon her lips.

& then her grin grew. & then the eyes paled further.

"It is both. The Cauldron took my mortal heart, so I took it's immortal soul. A fair price it paid. & it seemed willing to give it up to me. Perhaps I played right into it's... feet." she laughed, then continued, "Or perhaps it knew me better than I knew my mortal self & hollowed out what had been empty to begin with."

"The Cauldron is paradox in itself. Empty & full, cold & so, so, so infernal. One cannot put the sensation of it to words, though not many were given opportunity to try, either." beside herself, there had been four more in the entire, somewhat recent history of Prythian that had been successfully made.

Vivian grinned wider. He mentioned of the fae whose name she had purposely forgotten the moment she held his severed head aloft in her hand.

"He was a foolish think & if you know that much of my history, then you know how his ended."

He speaks of hell. Of infernal things that he only thinks he can perceive. But, he had never been Made - he had never experience the kind of death & rebirth, & the pain! such mind altering pain that she had felt when her entire self had been shattered into pieces & forged again, forged into something sharp, & brutal, & cruel, & wrathful.

but the eerie smile remains.

"There is a worse hell than acceptance of one's fate, boy. Worse hell than the steadiness of character, the predictability of one's own emotion & action. The one true Hell you will never get to taste, not in the way I tasted it."

not in the way it had cleaved her into so many halves she did not know if any part of her had remained as it had once been, so so very long ago.

vyros watches her as she speaks. it’s as if her mouth doesn’t even move. she is a suggestion, but still somehow as solid as moonstone. white as marble. how strange. how intriguing.

❝ i’ve read there is not one missing note in the cauldron’s song. an argument for predestination that all that is and will be is already written and whole, from the perspective of the cauldron. it challenges the idea of choice, doesn’t it? perhaps we are all fools, believing we have the ability to change ourselves, change our future, the future of the realm. i can’t say i prescribe to the idea, but maybe i’m too self-absorbed to simply acknowledge that as truth. it takes a lot of willingness and selflessness to be an observer of one’s self. i know no perfect being who can do that, always. all it takes is the right circumstance, and we are forced back into believing the stories we tell ourselves about who we are and what role we must play. would it all play out the same if we were to sit back and watch from above the battleground, from where the mother sits? ❞

her explanation of the cauldron matches his own understanding, but words and expressions are limiting. he leans forward, wrenching rough hands around the bowl of his pipe. ❝ would you ever trust another soul enough to show them? let them inside your mind to see what you saw, what the cauldron showed you? ❞ it’s a dangerous question, but they have been treading dangerous hypotheticals all evening. if she had felt his brush against the shields of her mind, she would know that he is asking her to show him. but he leaves it unspoken yet.

❝ but you loved him, did you not? ❞ he presses the subject, carefully, eyes narrowed and searching. he means no harm, but it is his nature to want to understand. perhaps his own ego’s method of making sense of the world around him. a seeker until the end, plagued with a will to know, and without the faculties to truly see.

she wondered how he'd fare.

She also wondered if he might be the first person outside of Dusk to actually meet a dragon - & a red drake, for one. So, when he spoke of insults & dragons, Liu Yan could not prevent a light chuckle to escape her lips. "That is exactly what a dragon is." she kept chuckling, then added ; "Well, a red dragon, that is. They all vary in character & colour, but the shared trait still remains that of stubbornness."

except maybe white or gold dragons, but they were deemed too wise to be bothered with trivialities. Though, she can't guarantee they were quick to change their opinion. If anything, the dragons only ever trusted their own kin & perhaps their bonded riders.

well that's just rude. Erinya adds to her monologue.

Refraining from entertaining her dragon's remark, Yanyan pursed her lips in thought as he kept talking. He was troubled, that much she could see. Whether it was a real trouble or simply the lack of proper perspective was yet to be determined. Still, she could see the weight of unspoken things, perhaps even dark things, dragging his shoulder like an iron laced cloak.

they all had their inner demons.

"if it is any consolation, dragons don't care about social pleasantries, which is why they remain... secluded. Lest one of them picks a fight because of the way someone breathes. I think as far as Erinya's opinion goes, you just might evade her flames." she offered another chuckle, then nodded.

"In truth, that is how most of us currently feel. It is only fortunate we did end up speaking the same language, but having this many outsider fae flocking to a single place... something is about to catch fire. It doesn't matter when, it's inevitable. Someone on the either side of this unseen barrier we've been secluded in, would say something that sparks a flame of misunderstanding & malice, & we might easily end up on the receiving end of the inferno, simply because we did not exist until recently." she hummed.

But, she chuckled & offered a secret of her own.

"I am very partial to sweets, candied fruits & fruits in general. I think I can find cherries, though I have to warn you, they taste a bit differently when stewed over dragon flames. Their fire had a very... sweet quality to it. I don't quite know how to describe it."

❝ how long have you been bonded to erinya? how was the bond established.. the trust? ❞ it occurs to him, only then, that the depths of the bond are unknown to him. does erinya hear their conversation? feel her rider’s emotions? sense their nearness? the rush of questions is refreshing, this new subject, overpowering the darkness that usually looms at the edges of his mind. it’s a pleasant distraction from his usual stasis. 

❝ i’ll keep my breathing in check, ❞ he half-heartedly jests. the more he learns about the beasts, the more he relates — social convention is grating to him. an unnecessary construct of the ego, a series of compensations and justifications layered over to explain away natural behaviors. vast is the first to admit, his brain isn’t wired for it, and so he plays the weapon. they have a use for him in that regard, and so he remains in play, regardless of his sharp edges and deathly aim. 

❝ i don’t fear the inferno, ❞ he says quietly, considering her words in his introspective way. ❝ it will come, and we will either put our self-righteous bullshit aside and survive it, or we’ll perish deservedly. i’m just tired of waiting — let it fall apart. i want to see where i measure up against it. in the end. ❞ he realizes he’s forgotten himself, and his cheeks of pallid olive flush slightly. he keeps his eyes trained ahead, aware he’s let slip one of his darker thoughts. one that’s not to be uttered, to see the light of day. once more, he blames it on the contents of his half-empty flask.

pointed ears perk at the mention of cherries roasted over a dragon’s fire. ❝ maybe erinya will have mercy on me and let me try some, one day. ❞ he looses a breathy chuckle, looking back to the woman who walks alongside him. ❝ if i survive first impressions. ❞

vyros doesn't frequent taverns anymore, though he enjoys them, finding them a natural common ground. and now, he finds himself in search of answers in all the little hollows and pockets where rebellions and gossip are born. his own motive is a many-tiered thing: to keep his high lady and the winter court safe, the highest priority, but a longing to see court independence out from under the boot of gaea another. his own rebellious and idealist heart is still a living thing.

the other general acknowledges him, and he moves toward her table from where he'd been sat at the bar, carrying with him a dusk court ale. it's too pale for his tastes, but he drinks it, all the same. ❝ i imagine you've been followed by stares & whispers for days now. ❞ he takes the chair across from her, his large form draping over almost half the table. ❝ i don't envy you, but it paints a different picture ..to find the king's general here drinking away the hours after the moves he's made. ❞ the question is in his eyes, but he doesn't yet ask it: were you aware of his plans? are you a pawn in his game or a more powerful player?

it  was  rare  for  desmera  to  be  so  wrapped  up  in  her  thoughts  that  she  wasn't  paying  attention  to  the  world  around  her,  but  it'd  been  happening  more  often  than  not  as  of  late.  the  high  lady  of  winter  hated  it,  and  the  only  thing  that  seemed  to  help  clear  her  mind  even  a  fraction  was  running.  it  also  helped  that  she'd  been  too  busy  to  do  anything  physical  as  of  late,  running  was  good  for  her.  des  had  been  lucky  enough  to  procure  leggings  and  a  tighter  fitting  top,  shedding  her  normal  dresses  in  favor  of  something  practical  for  this  exercise.  as  the  high  lady  nears  the  forests  surrounding  the  outside  of  the  dusk  court  she  pauses,  leaning  down  pressing  her  hands  onto  her  knees  and  controlling  her  breathing.  

boots crush wintry-cold loam beneath as he moves closer to her. it's good to see her out of the trappings of a high ruler and back into garb that's less constricting, less punishing to a body born to move. she's a warrior, like him, at heart. she is a cold moon that sheds light in shadow with a strike of twin blades. beautiful, distant, unreachable. and her soft, elusive blue light might grace him, but even his formidable strength could not pin it down. resignation. he knows his place as a member of her inner circle, the general of her armies, not the captor of her heart.

celeste did not manage to come up with her conclusions as she felt the warmth of another's touch. her instinct was to stop it and pull away, but it had been a shockingly long time since the last time that someone had dared to touch her like that. she couldn't recall a time where someone attempted to save her either. she always did that herself.

the peregryn did not turn her back on the wolf until they had created enough of a distance to have a chance of running away from it, but it seemed like her new company had made a deadly shot as the wolf slowly slacked. " stop, " she hissed quietly and forcefully pulled her hand out of the stranger's after joining her to run farther away from the scene. " why did you have to shoot it ? " unless it had attacked them, celeste wouldn't have made such an impulsive decision. she was not in her home territory, she was in a court where a lot was still unknown and it was too easy to make a wrong move and screw something up. celeste's eyes found morrigan's fiery hues as they started slowing down and she observed her once again. her opposite. "i'm not going anywhere with you unless you tell me what you are, " her commander's tone slipped out.

when the white woman jerks away from her, morrigan halts her descent through the thickets and brambles, her posture low and ready for another attack — ready to bolt, to disappear in the sheltering embrace of a foreign wood that, in time, she could coax to answer her call. it's abrupt, the fork in her mind set by another. ❝ it was too late, ❞ she whispers back hoarsely, eyes rising to the trees when a flock of birds takes flight at the sound of their argument blooming. ❝ you give a wolf an inch, and he'll take your hide. but not before calling his brothers to join the feast. ❞ dark brows furrow mid-forehead; it's taxing to her, the task of pulling the obvious bones out of the moment, cleaning them off, laying them out for another to read.

morrigan's spine straightens, and her arms lower to her side, as the pant of her breath slowly evens out. the sound of the winged fae's voice is a harsh bite, but it's as if it rolls down morrigan’s body like clots of dirt in the rain. her body and mind respond to it in a way that's too noticeable to her, too ..visceral. a pang that echoes endlessly. it's as if the woman has snatched her by the hair at the nape of her neck, but morrigan only relaxes into the hold like a young feline. still, her focus holds.

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 : OPEN, 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 : some library

he’s idling near a table of quills when he hears the chirp of the girl breaking the stodgy silence. a welcome diversion from the current task, he steps between her & the obstacle she's identifed — a clueless man with dull eyes and an even duller wit; it seems to the lightsinger whatever books the man has read has given him no hints.

rook plucks the sought treasure from the dusty shelf, then turns to level oceanic eyes on the man. there’s an unspoken and playful challenge proffered, but it’s answered with a quick retreat by the fool caught in his crosshairs.

the knowledge of it has eaten at him for days, and yet it's only now he's given the chance to tell the one soul he trusts beyond all-else, the only one he'll dare breathe word of it. but there's more to the secret, a truth he's been burning to tell, and yet somehow, it all doesn't come spilling out all out once.

as kerim approaches, vast continues his steady work.

CLOSED ⟳ @n1ghtsongs , @sparkledcrowns , @vivianvaldemar , @courtfallen ( not a group thread ! )

with the return of the winterborn illyrian's daemati powers, he began to tactfully pry, to peel back at the layers and see into the veiled minds of those in the dusk court, but it proved to be a fruitless trespass, a waste of energy. for now, he paces, his mind reaching, a loose string of fateful thread uncoiling in his belly and guiding him forward — the purpose unknown, until the silhouette of his once-friend takes shape. vyros snorts. kalore would be in a warded-off place such as this, down a dark corridor where one should not go unless uninvited. it makes vyros chuckle at the absurdity of finding him here, at knowing his wayward patrol ended in this particular commander's presence. that they were both endlessly seeking, hounds chasing their tails.