Our Whole Story's in Lands and Bones - [OPEN RP, DROP IN]

[Khooey]

A dark, pitch black foot collapsed the last pile of snow on the property. The warmer weather had hollowed it out; making it's shell mostly a fragile of ice and dirt that brought it’s ruiner a tentative giggle.

Khooey rolled her eyes, honestly a bit disappointed that she missed the brunt of winter in Redpointe thanks to her new duties and allegiances. Other than the brief weeks she’d spent on the grounds helping the agency with the job Sophonax had been hired for, she’d been in Lu’rae and all around the world. It was exciting but without the comfort of snow, clear skies, cold air and the picturesque, twin white rocky peaks of Søren and Krieger.

In place of snow there were flowers blooming all over the grounds: tiny violets, bluebells, chrysanthemums, daisies, poppies and more. Spring was here (though every Redpointe citizen knew that there was two weeks of beauty before another surprise blizzard) and so was the equinox. The old indigenous to the area left behind a few things before moving on whether voluntarily or forcefully: the tradition of dressing up as masked forest sprites, a celebration of the equinox, symbolism of a red moon, or, the ‘Bloodwine Moon’ bringing in fertility and animal death for sustaining the populace. The sprites were meant to represent the beings that ferried the souls of all creatures to the other side— and sometimes humans as well. Like most old lore they were both exalted and feared.

’What do you think of this o— pay attention!’ this from Rose, brown as a nut in a white sports bra, tights and smearing equally pale paint all over her skin for an ashen look. She held a Venetian mask out for Khooey to look at with wide silver eyes and her gasoline-puddle hair wrenched into a severe bun at the apex of her skull. The mask was pretty but hastily painted and she could see a lot of the gold flecked paisley design under the low effort job.

’Y’ need more’n one layer, Rosey-Posey’ Slim black fingers seized the mask and the Djinn looked it over before seizing one of the many spray-paint cans at her feet in order to add more white; dodging children dressed each uniformly in every color of the rainbow with similar masks: red, green, yellow, orange and even a pink and purple masked spride ran wild over  the lands; sometimes knocking over some of the traditional northern burning-log grills that Khooey had set up herself. Only Sophonax; calm and serene as usual and now dressed as the Beldamm, or queen forest sprite, seemed to be keeping them under control. Only she wore more than two shades; white dipped in red ombre style fabric with a flat, wide brimmed white hat with silver bells dangling from every inch.

Everyone had been invited to the Equinox celebration, what few natives still chose to live around the Søren mining outpost had come down offering oxen, preserved winter fruit and plenty of fresh lingon and cloudberries for all to enjoy. Many deeper south Sanctumites had even received word by mouth; free to enjoy the tongue-in-cheek rituals and the banishment of winter. Those attuned with magic understood that a lot of power was held in the far north and the celebration wasn’t something they should miss— it was a bit like refilling their reserves and paying a sort of vague homage to the universe’s nature which gave them their abilities. That is, if they knew about the old lore in the first place.

’Y’ two, go’ne an’ do a partial take down o’ the wards. Folks’ gonna drop in soon. Cain’t have ‘em locked out. ‘Spectin’ ya little boyfrien’ t’ join us, little ifrit?’’ This from Sophonax who’d quite suddenly appeared behind the pair; holding up their layered bundles of cloth costumes in case the girls, Rose and Khooey, were under the impression she was going to send them out in underwear and a little body paint. Under all her own white and red fabric and bells she smiled at their matching groans before turning toward the enormous house and vanishing into it.

Immediately, they slipped on the tattered, layered fabric— Rose in pure white and Khooey in black; both bundles coming to their knees and framing the painted bells around their ankles;  festooned with strips of mink fur to match the respective themes. Forest sprites indeed! Where Rose wore pale rabbit ears atop her white hood and mask, Khooey had simply wrung black bells around her natural horns. Two Equus Helios mounts waited at the gates to the sprawling greenscape around the compound and the two girls, tinkling with bells, boarded their beasts and took off into the coniferous forest surrounding the lands.

Out in the lands, for once, visitors would be able to pass into the Redpointe compound without the wards blocking them. Alas, there weren’t silver and white ornaments hung in the pines for miles without reason! while it presented a certain danger to leave the grounds partially open this was an open gesture of goodwill to all who had passed through or even heard of the establishment and the family of quiet, introverted, hard working people who called it home.

’Our whole story’s in lands and bones. Come one, come all...’ repeated of Rose-- and old adage concerning the holiday-- bringing her horse Radaghast to a half a mile from the gates behind them and Vierge, for the one in black, stopped aside them. She didnt sound particularly welcoming actually. Wary, rather, and Khooey could tell her brows were knit behind the plain white mask.

’Got another one of y’ bad feelin’s?’ Said the Djinn to the Nepenthe, her own mouth screwed up as she’d had a similar feeling wash over her as soon as they opened a space in the wards.

’Yes. Yes, I do.’ said Rose, her slightly too-large irises obscured by the girl squinting against the late morning sunlight. The tree cover was thick, but, that light which snuck in came in powerful beams that dappled the forest path.

After, the two of them didn’t speak much; both their minds on what could feasibly go wrong
and Khooey, specifically, fighting a constant fearful return to the well known citizens of Ill Fortune.

[Fenris]

The Primoris Ultonis had been gone for quite a while, or so it seemed. It had been a long-time since he had set foot on the "hallowed ground" of Red-Pointe. He was not wearing his cloak or his uniform, he was in simpler garb, something more common in the surroundings of Red-Point. He mused on how he had originally hated his uniform, but had become accustomed to it, even incorporating aspects of it into his survival. He no longer felt like the person he had been, nor did he know the thing he had become. All he knew was it was long past due he embraced the beast again, followed the flow of nature, it had lead him here.

He had a small knapsack slung over his shoulder, a small cylindrical leather duffel bag, containing his uniform and a few other things, though there was perhaps something in that sack that was a bit more precarious than the others. He wondered if Sophonax could do anything with it. He picked up the presence of the flow, the winds spoke to him of things that had been, things that were, and things that might be. The land guided him with familiarity born of his instincts. They told him that it was a special occasion, and yet such things seemed to be so fleeting, and so numerous he wondered if they even mattered beyond a superficial level, and yet in practical terms he realized that the people who had come gave it meaning. Was this because they knew this was a shift in time, or had they simply given more significance to the occasion than it merited? In the end it did not matter, not much seemed to in the realms he called home.

He moved like a silhouette, just another traveler amidst the pilgrims, despite his musings he knew that there was some significance in the Equinox, he felt it beyond shadow, an immaterial thing that only a certain person could notice, and only something else could comprehend. The words spoken held meaning to him, but perhaps not the meaning Rose or her fore-bearers had intended them to have. His golden gaze drifted to the familiar obsidian form of his former legatus, a small smile coming to his lips which emphasized long sharpened canines. A fleeting gesture that seemed to remain in a hint even after its end. His gait slow, a hand moving to adjust a lock of tinted hair from his eyes as he approached her, though no words were said.

[Drustan]

A throaty growl rumbled in the chest cavity of the near crimson Redpointe charger saddled between Drustan’s legs, ending in a sharp snort and shake of its head, jostling the flames of its mane in the passing breeze.  “We’ve arrived,” Drustan announced in lackluster awe of the mountain-bound Redpointe estate, betraying the subtle amazement he felt beholding the ranch’s picturesque scenery, touched gracefully by the saccharine hand of Spring.  

Atop an overhanging cliff located to the north, Drustan beheld the lands he’d associated with monstrous mounts and obsidian skinned women as if it were a magical place, and in many respects it was.  Vermillion eyes pierced the veil that warded the place from outsiders, waiting patiently for some sign that it’d dissipated for he and his Redpointe born steed.  In the meantime, he was satisfied to simply absorb what he could of the region’s beauty.  

Drustan was at the ranch in order to pay his respects and partake in the Spring equinox festivities.  Heralding spring was good for Redpointe—it likely spelled the coming of a new stock of Redpointe stallions.  Satisfied beyond words by his own mount, who had at some point become like an overbearing older sister in his travels, paying homage to the Redpointer’s pagan holidays seemed appropriate, and the humble thing to do. Celesinian’s, in particular those of Dra’sin stock, didn’t often conceive of humbling themselves before anyone.  It spoke to the human elements still present within the Primoris, even as those aspects of himself eroded—months ago, the sea in Drustan’s aqua eyes had evaporated, leaving in its wake molten pits that shined even in darkness.  But it wasn’t all bad; Drustan had amused himself with the notion that he and his horse were more keenly linked now that their eyes matched, making her role as his sister more readily apparent.  

The Primoris had a lot of time to think of these things in his travels.  Even as he drew closer towards becoming one of many expressively monochrome pawns on Mesiphidon’s metaphorical chessboard (just as likely to be literal), he nevertheless lacked the power to rip open the portals others of his ilk were so prone to doing.  He continued to prefer traveling on foot, and with his horse in his company.  It was not simply a monstrous beast upon which he rode into the tides of battle, but rather a creature he’d entrusted with his life, and therefore felt odd without her around.  As such, portals were cast to the wayside, and Drustan typically traveled slower than other Primoris from one locale to another.  Where his travels had taken him was usually visible in what garb and armaments he brought with him, and having come from the snow blasted tundras of the Northern region, Drustan had dressed thickly to compensate for his frostbite prone body.  

Upon entering the warmer climate of the lower mountain, some of the aforementioned garb was abandoned, and tucked into the sacks tied to his mount’s rear.  What he was left with were thick boots, black trousers, a loose wool shirt that amounted to a black smock, and his combat vest worn on top.  He came to the festival in peace, though not without the dwarf-King designed vambraces at his wrists—with but a thought, those protections became weaponized; a secret he still kept to himself.  

After a long while spent simply gazing over the ranch, Drustan was pulled from his reverie by the neighing of his horse, which was less like a whine and more like a bestial roar.  The veil, appearing to Drustan as a coloring filter over Redpointe, had lightened; a fact that had initially escaped his notice, thus the prompting by his mount.  With the path opened to them, the Primoris initiated the continuation of their journey with two clicks from his mouth, and a light kick to the monster’s sides.  

He set off to descend the face of the cliff, using the frightening claws of his horse to pierce and fracture the rock of the cliff, steadying their descent.  Soon they would be upon the ranch’s doorstep, at not simply at the fence of their backyard.  Drustan couldn't be sure if he felt excitement the same way anymore; he couldn't consciously make the separation without being soaked in the blood of his enemies, eyes blazing on the field of some awful war.  What he did know was that he wanted to see Khooey, a woman he'd once called a friend, and little else seemed to burden his thoughts.

[Caden]

With a sigh Caden stepped from Khooey's bedroom after looking at himself in the mirror. The costume she had chosen for him... or lack there of must have been her way of getting delayed revenge on the stunning dress he had her wear to the Nexxian Charity Ball. He had yet to pull the mask over his face, the curved horns of the mask tipped with bells. He shook his head as he looked down at his pants. Shorts really, that had been made of goats fur. Snug fitting and stopped at the knees, which turned down into boots that attempted to imitate hooves.

But otherwise, well, his torso was bare. Minus the body paint Rose had insisted on. Khooey will love it she promised. And well Caden wanted to make Khooey happy, but he wasn't sure how she might take this. Of course Rose was a bit too free with her eyes before she left the room for Caden to get dressed. The Primoris wasn't quite sure exactly what they were celebrating or why everyone needed the costumes. But if it was important to Khooey it was important to him.

Standing there with the mask in his hand, he looked to the two in their Forest Sprite attire which covered far more than he had. And it was still cold out. This... well you picked it out. Is it ok?" It wasn't that Caden was unsure of himself, but he had no idea if he fit the role well enough. 'But... don't you think I'm a touch under dressed?"He'd say to the matron of the establishment; currently looking him over with barely concealed amusement. His brows perked as he shrugged. But he turned exposing a portion of his middle back. 'Sophonax, could you finish this spot though? I'm not a monkey after all."

[Jophiel]

Nostrils flared as Jophiel exhaled, spilling past her slightly parted lips twin tendrils of mint-scented smoke. They twisted and curled in a manner nearly sentient before dissipating, leaving the idle woman to sedately draw upon the pipe settled between unnaturally sharp teeth. The Duchess was generally not a woman of willing company and crowds though she watched the buzz and shuffle of djinn caretakers with casual interest. Inadvertently she’d remained on the property roamed by obsidian woman, her intent to depart the night before a sidetracked theory that hadn’t come to fruition. Curiosity had kept her onsite coupled with sincere invitation by the woman she’d ambushed and while Jophiel was a great many things she was never rude. That was why she’d come beyond the suffocating walls of the guest quarters to settle on a nearby porch, so that in her casual appearance of sweater, slacks, and red ‘leather’ belt she could partake in the festivities without mingling among newcomers cresting the horizon.

Other than the tap of her steel-toed boots as antsy feet shuffled over wood there was little action to break the mediocrity she’d emerged herself in. The excitement and hustle of the djinn and their company was lost upon her—it was nothing more than something that barely crushed her core, stirring her atrocious hungers but not in such a way that drove her to act—the meaning of the event nothing easily understood but the people seemed taken with the culture that bloomed from every corner alongside flower and false notions of a crisp spring. It was a good opportunity to observe and learn, whether she could appropriately mimic the emotion cloying the space was another question all together. Still, in her solitude it seemed unlikely she’d have to bother.

So instead she leaned back, legs pushed forward and body caught on flat palms as she watched a progression of Celesin inhabitations sweep into the space—familiar so far, though she’d seen some of those stoic only faces once. It was a heavy reminder that ultimately Khooey was still a soldier for the empire she was not entirely familiar with---despite being betrothed to a child of it. Perhaps, spilling her information so casually to the djinn should be avoided in the future, no matter how concerning her gaze often appeared. It was certainly something to think on though the time is cut short by a rather simple observation.

That being that Caden had turned into a goat man.

Or was wearing some sort of costume.

Either way it was enough to make her lips twist into slight smile beyond the wood of the elegant churchwarden pipe she utilized, something off and slightly unusual in its mild amusement, as Jophiel was not practiced with expressing her own genuine feelings, but she doubted most would give her a glance let alone realize that she was lazing among them.

So for now she was content to watch, her feet now crossed at the ankles as the ‘herb’ in her pipe burned down to worthless ash and she awaited the arrival of an earlier pulled member of The Collection. After all, she wasn’t allowed to be anywhere alone. It wasn’t like she was a grown woman or anything.

[Sune]

The wind felt good along his scalp. Flying was not his usuall method of travel, but he had spent some time at casa de Garadon, and MAY of taken one of the larger birds for travel. He'd fit it with the usual harness, and now lay his back down upon the spine of the large black bird that was flying towards Redpointe. He'd heard some whispers, that there was a party going on. He couldn't skip out on a party, especially not if it meant some more Redpointe beer. Time passed as his legs were in their stirrups so that he wouldn't simply fall out. He hummed to himself, and every now and again would chance to peer down at the landscape below.

"Well it can't be to bad. May get to see my brother, and maybe get my guns cleaned." There was a low squawk in response. And Sune went into a fit of laughter. "No you can't get your gun cleaned as well. Don't you have a wife for that anyway?" Squawk squawk was the only response he got.

Maybe other people noticed them as they came in. He, or maybe the bird sensed when the wards were lowered. Not that Sune was worried, but the bird may have some trouble. He sat up on his winged ride and held on tight as they went into a dive. Landing near enough to Redpointe that most who were looking around would notice him. He knew where the entrance was. Upon landing he would undo the stirrups, and jump off the large beasts back. Then he would give a loud whistle. The beast shrank from its enormous size back to a the size of a normal crow. The thing jumped into a small flight and landed on his shoulder and started Ka-kawing.

Sune walked towards Redpointe, hands stuffed into his pockets as his light jacket was unbuttoned. He wore slacks and a short sleeved dress shirt. No ties or anything fancy like that. His hair was recently cut, and his facial hair trimmed to look professional, if not slightly scruffy. Of course he was armed. The last time he'd been in Redpointe he'd needed those guns. It's not like he distrusted the ladies here, but better safe then sorry.

Whoever saw him first he'd raise his hand to them in greeting, and as if in mock greeting the bird on his shoulder would do the same. He smiled and called out to the first person he knew and had met before. "Yo, long time no see."

[Sophonax]

The Matron turned away from the girls just as they groaned; having to dodge a few more small colorful little wards skittering about the green space in front of the house. It was the first time in months anyone had seen the Ranch compound without it being buried in snow; which was a reason for the house’s basement being elevated and cement masked with hardwood. Life and weather was hard in the borders between the mainland and the true deep north: the Taiga; a lush band where they claimed their home that kept the endless, cold white.

Speaking of li’l boyfriends, Sophonax entered the house and removed the bejeweled and bell covered hat on one of the nut brown suede couches and closed the door behind her. A pass through the kitchen rewarded the Sila with two small glass of spiced, honeyed whiskey before she made her way up one of the sets of stairs where she knew a struggle was taking place. Not a scuffle or someone who needed help, but, Mr. Big Bad Primoris of the Celesin Empire currently standing in the largest guest room wearing hairy goat pants with no shirt, funny boots and, for once, wild auburn hair not arranged to look as expensive as possible.

’Look right silly wit’out th’ paint, kennit?’ she’d say; unable to stifle a smile while passing him one of the glasses of sweet smelling spirits. Without her hat Sophonax would no doubt eerily resemble a certain desert nation empress whilst dressed all in distressed white fabric and no hat nor a hint of plaid— and with good reason that few were privy to. She was just as small with pure white hair that bore one bright, almost obnoxiously wide red streak leading from either of her temples. Both of her eyes were crimson and the faintest hint of crow’s feet framed them and were the only feature that marred the illusion of agelessness. Too bad they were a preference meant to put the innocence of man at ease.

’Reason I picked t’out were in th’ old tales a Satyr were th’ only one went an’ escaped th’  whiles an’ traps of th’ sprites. S’real symbolic.’ Sophonax, casual of course and not meaning anything sexual (she’d come off matronly if anything) would seize the little ten of pale green, spagnum heavy body paint that would go on sheer. It would only give Caden the slightest grass green tinge and yet the spagnum,  or glitter, would render him quite shimmer. Unless he protested she’d start with spreading it on his back; briefly mumbling something about him being warm enough to spark a campfire. ’Used t’ tell Khooey an’ rose tales o’ th’ satyr when they were wee bairns. Th’ new little un’s, the gals? Khooey tell ‘em th’ stories now. She’s real good to ‘em. An’ son, we done all seen ourselves shirtless men. This s’a ranch, kennit? Turn ‘round f’ me.’

After completion the Sila stood back from him and narrowed her eyes at her handywork before nodding with obvious satisfaction— before seizing another glob of the spagnum paint on a lark, smearing it between her hands and using it to reach up, with a little bit of a struggle, to tuft and dust his hair with it. Now it was perfect.

’Y’ gonna treat ‘at little girl right, entcha? Last boy wounded ‘er a bit. ‘Fore that she was innocent, save for what Ignis did. Lucky ‘er daddy ain’ ‘ere for th’ moment. Y’know he don’ favor Celesin or Mesiphidon much. But if I think y’ good for ‘er y’ let me handle ‘im, sweet thing.’ After dropping that she gave him a wink and swatted his backside with a big smile on her face. ’Now c’mon out ‘ere an’ let these kids see ye’.

[Illyah]

Had felt the pull of power calling her and needed only submit before letting it pull her along the lines and among this new place. With a snort she'd step form the guesthouse after Jophiel, She was unchanged in terms of dress wearing that same style of tailored suit, hands slid into the pockets of her gray slacks. There was a look of cool interest as she watched the others arriving, right before turning away from them to nod to her empress in a show of quick respect. Outwardly she kept that mask of cool indifference, but under it was a mild trepidation, and perhaps annoyance at being so far from their lands. More so while unarmed as she currently seemed to be. She watched as nostrils flared taking in the scents of the area, the assorted smells of various people, and races mingling as she stepped past the servants to make her way closer to Jophiel. Muted she moved as Jophiel's shadow, a ghost at her back as her role for this party would demand it of her.


Head shifted, a glance tossed to the man in costume as half livestock her lips twisting into a grin that seemed more predatory than amused. The look was fleeting of course as she'd return her focus to the task of trailing after her goddess . Perhaps she'd seek to actually enjoy her time away from paperwork and keeping a city from stumbling into anarchy.

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