She had searched, endeavored, danced among flame and blood and treacherous thieves, to stand upon rocky soils far from the Kingdom of her home. An hour ahead of the fleeting breath of her kin, weaving cloven hooves and hard packed anchors, she had attended with meticulous air behind a aflame zephyr of the skies, instructed to follow in it's saving flight to the Sanctuary. It has piqued memories of a fiery companion and obsidian and alabaster skin - a sultan of the Throat with a title of a rapacious and golden-hooved King, a colleague in the ways of the political realm. A warning sign.
The woman had hailed her Kingdom - a Queen of stained claret and rare onyx dancing into the Abyss for a time of unknown length to the girl of Intelligence, a lofty weight of her people upon her shoulders, worry lines forming within ageless brows. She is burdened with upmost importance— her kin treading as lost sheep within the contours of her mind. She has risen from the lowest of ranks, dwelling next to the Empress of Death's side, a haunting melody of destruction and anarchy expanding across familiar homeland that she had known as well as the bones within her own contained flesh. She had seen the deceased rise, the unholy milkiness of their eyes, she had seen the briny sea taken over with the shadows. Glass mechanisms within her chest have cracked and splintered, sharp edges cutting within veins and muscle and the very marrow of her bone, murderous kisses upon her hide. The Nightingale has anesthetized her internal damage; and yet a choir of song remains within her mind, her bones, trembling down her thin flesh in waves. A sickening realization, her stomach jerking with harsh intent within her mortal flesh and it's all her fault. The girl is the cause of the pestilence, the scourge of her loved ones, for she is the affliction and they are the pure. They have been taken from her— as all those whom she holds dear are sent to damnation. The woman to whom Hera had deemed unworthy and yet had produced good fruits; Leto and her childe the flame-marked son, the flame-kissed father with the wings of the birds. The songbird of a girl that had trailed behind the Jester Queen as such young canines tend to stumble behind dutifully their masters. The acidic-blessed mare of carnage and destruction; the succubus of a woman whom she had fought with a bloodthirsty feline to match, the pearly and froth apparel of a forgotten King. Allgemeine.
It was all her fault. She had known the risks of caring, of adorning another with one's affections, and here she stood, leading forth her people alongside her vermillion Queen into the vastness of the Sanctuary, the dim glow of a zephyr their only company. Her Jester Queen had danced into the dangers of the shadowed world, in search of a cure, gifting her a golden feather of the Sultan in her absence, which had been woven roughly next to the crow's feather in tendrils of locks down her flesh.
She should be the one to risk her life. Was she not already doomed to death? A witch would burn upon a stake, and her future was grim and bleak. Curses do not bow before mere children. She had stood powerless in the wake of the destruction that had come upon the brine— a thief to as many of the native weeds of Plaguebearer's enslavement as possible for her to carry with her. She had fled, then, agony striking her with a dull throb in the bosom, sprinkling of diamonds streaming from wet lashes. Useless. When she had called forth for her brethren, she had given him the stash, a soft croak of a voice whispering with startling meekness I'm sorry.
She knew it wasn't nearly enough.
"Mind your step. It's a steep drop." These were the words she had spoken to her kin as she entered the underground lair, the refuge, where names and enemies were forgotten and all one knew was survival.
And now the Nightingale paused, flickering bodies dancing within the candlelight of the superheated glass wall, lids laid low upon a poisonous stare. She's alright. She's fine. She can be okay for them.
But within her core is a raging, burning flame, scorching her with every moment she is here. She is crumbling, a wall against the force of a wrecking ball's power. She's not strong at all.
With a flourish in her step and a solidified gaze (she must be the beacon, she must soothe them, she must be the pillar in which to lean against) and sovereignty in her step, she stills.
And then she speaks, a resounding, dancing hymn of a voice, as soft and as wild as the pitters of rain against a pane of glass.
"For those whom do not know me, I am Circuta. I have been appointed temporary Queen alongside the Empress with the Jester's absence in order to find a cure. And my brethren, this is our destination." There is a lash of a tail against hide, a gentle puff of warm steam from her nostrils. A gleam of damp flesh in the heat of the encased waterfall of a fire behind her. She surveys her people with a calm demeanor, stoic, dome raised high in order to gaze against even the smallest of them.
"Our allies from the Throat have gathered us here on this eve for a reason, and It is my belief that I am aware of this purpose. When this place from the Divine's came to us, some of us danced into it's depths with anticipation of a new and final homeland, a place for which us to call ours and ours alone. And yet, it was not to be. A spirit came to us, a ancient seraph from times forgotten, blessing us with immunity for the last season and telling us of it's strange underground fortress, a place deemed of our own ancestors roots during what she conceived a great storm. She told us of it's many branches, it's roots beneath the surface of our world, a promise of food and shelter should the time come."
The Nightingale gathers herself, allowing a small time for her people to mull over it, and her vermilion to speak if she wished it so. They must gather intel quickly. It is essential for their own survival, and ours.
"We are hereby kept from the diseases and dangers of the outside realm through this holy place. Do not venture to the above world again— unless it is of utmost importance for our own survival, and do not venture away without my or the Empresses' knowledge. The Threshold may be safe; but that is not for me to say. If you wish to journey there, you are taking a risk upon your own life. If you are missing, we will assume you have been given over to the.. monsters that have invaded our Kingdom. The undead walk among the streets and prowl for the soul's of the living— darkness has taken over and diseased our once safe civilizations. This is our only refuge, for all of us, enemies or allies. I would suggest that none of you give insult to those whom we may share the same room with— for you do not know when they may save you from the beast's outside. We are all one, kin, for this short time in which we must gather our forces against this daemon. I know it is hard for us to forget and forgive the trespasses of our foe's; and I merely ask that you do not incite violence whilst we are here in this holy realm." A lull, a pause, a breath, continue.
"Bonds may be broken again if you so wish it after we have returned to the above ground. I do not ask of you to like it, I do not ask of you to like any of those who have wronged you in the past, I do not ask of you any of this. If you are receiving trouble from any of the equines whom shall enter here as well, call upon me or the Empress, and we shall deal with them as suited appropriate with their leaders. Whilst we are taking refuge in this place, I do not mean for us to simply stand idle and allow ourselves to rot as the monster's above beneath this pit. As such, I will relay as much information to you as I can. Your priorities remain as standing.." A sweep across the ranks of her men— a somber tone entering saccharine lyrics.
"Several of our members are missing, perhaps long buried beneath the overwhelming darkness by now. These include three of our most important members: The bounty hunter known as Histe; a general by the name of Arlo, and a young childe by the name of Amara. To whom that do not know of them, the first is a brindle woman with a cat of the mountains at her side, the second a frosted brute, and the fourth a young girl with golden dapples across her bosom. It is to be advised that if you sight any of these, do not approach them. Do not fight them. You will and may turn into one of the undead. We do not understand how these creations work, and I am unwilling to send fit warriors into a battle I am not sure we may rise victorious in. I would like you to report these sightings, if any are found, to the Empress and I, and we shall devise a way to attempt and rescue our brethren if possible. I would warn you that you may see comrades on the field— those whom you would have deemed friend."
Lashes lower to cover violet pearls. Why have you forsaken us, divines?
She opens her gaze once more, resolute, unyielding. What have we done?
"You must remember that these are not the souls of those whom we once loved. They will, and can, if given the option, attack and possibly kill you or worse. We will do all we can, but we cannot assure the safety of all those whom we once knew. Soldiers— I wish for you to attempt and aid our allies in devising a plan of defense against these creations. You are our attack force, you know the battlefield better than any. You are our strength, guard these caverns as if it is essential for yours and others lives, for it may well be. All those beneath the ranks of visionaries and above, if you are interested in the work of those who dwell in the shadows and take up intel, report back to me. It is essential we gather information on these creations, although I do not want any of you to risk your lives in the process if it may be avoided. I would also like you to speak with our allies, to learn as much as possible of the ongoings of this disease and the inner workings of how it enters our bodies. I would wish for you to work with the medic's of our group in their duties - in which I shall state next. Psychologists and those below, I would ask of you to work your hardest in finding a cure of our kinsman. If there are those whom are injured among us or our brothers whom dwell in this Sanctuary as well, aid in their recoveries, but do not strain yourselves too hard. We still do not know what to expect with this coming darkness. Sickness may be a important sign to watch out for— we cannot risk one of our own turning in the midst of this safe place and contaminating it with disease. Any whom can craft— go to our allies, and work with them to find a way to perhaps cage one of these.. beasts. Studying them will aid in a faster recovery."
Her lungs ache. Her throat is dry— and yet during the longest of these lapsing pauses, she calls forth those whom have not been ranked yet.
"If any of you have not been given rank and placement among us, come forth now, and the Empress and I will aid you in your desires."
She concludes her speech before them in a gentle thrum, comforting, a caress against well-used harks. "Do not allow fear to strike you still. We are strong. You are strong, brave, fierce. Together, united as one as we have before in times of hardship, we will make it. I promise you on my life."
-- (Removing those whom have already posted!) @[Eris] @[Ghost] @[Vulture] @[Agrona] @[Cealestis] @[Somnus] @[Elsa] @[Tatum] @[Seiren] @[Kovoden] (Not sure if he's apart of us anymore - I tagged anyways!) @[Amara] (For Amara's companion!)
This is open to any of the Asylum's allies as well. Posting order is a lie (like cake) but try not to trampeed over one another!
Also note some powerplay was needed in order to make the thread, mostly the whole calling them together beforehand thing. If anyone has a problem with something in this thread, feel free to PM me about it and I'll change it!
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