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Post by ThatDenver on Oct 2, 2017 19:57:46 GMT -6
ALEKSEI
Easiest way to notice the approaching autumn were the dark evenings. Gone were the long twilights – darkness fell on the clock, deep and eager to hide the Sun’s people from their god. A few select labor slaves in good standing were walking about Sol District, lighting the streetlamps so the city’s most esteemed citizens would not need to walk in the darkness. The air was still warm, and sky clear. It was a beautiful late evening.
Aleksei had left Cinder Hall at dusk. He was impeccably decorated and groomed as usual, hair tied and subtle hints of make-up around his eyes to make them seem more blue. He was also alone, which was unusual. Ramiro would have joined him, but Aleksei had denied his slave the pleasure. Faiza had a day off for once, and not in the position to argue with him.
He needed to be alone. He always felt lonely, but that was not the same as actually being on your own, alone with silence and gods.
Brisk steps moved the young noble towards Ignis Sanctum. He had calculated that it was more likely to be empty at this time than Fernos, and the noble couldn’t imagine himself considering any Sanctum outside those two. Amadeus’ funeral pyre had burned days earlier. He had not attended, and it made him feel… Guilty, perhaps? In that very moment it had felt too unreal to attend the funeral of yet another family member, and when he had come to the realization that saying goodbye might be nice, it had already been too late.
It was easy enough to come up with excuses for his absences when there was no living family left. None of the Soleil’s that remained had time to ask after him, and Aleksei doubted they even cared. He only had himself to blame for that, but the exercise in pain that they had faced had been too personal to share with another, even if they all were bound by it.
Silently he slipped into the Sanctum. Ears turned curiously, picking up the movements of someone further down the hall. A Sanctum Attendant, probably, judging by the accompanying sound of brush on marble. Otherwise Ignis was silent. Fires burned an eerie white, and the statue of Ignacio, centrally placed, seemed to call for attention.
It had been a while since he was here. Not since… Not since his father had died, he supposed. Come to think of it, he had not been there for Solaris’ funeral either. It had been so sudden.
Death was always so sudden.
He walked up to the shrine, and lit a single stick of incense at Ignacio’s feet. It felt utterly meaningless, but he did it regardless. Aleksei peered up towards the face of the statue, and a profound sadness bloomed in his heart.
Perhaps it was not so good to be alone, after all.
Word count: 481
Post #1
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Post by Deleted on Oct 9, 2017 10:28:45 GMT -6
tyrus
bring yourself to glory
The days had rolled by heavily since Amadeus's passing. Tyrus rang the bells himself that morning, waking the city to a blood-red sunrise and a day that would see another king dead. Everything had been hectic in the Sanctum since, but still laden with the unbearable burden of an early death. The air itself was heavy, clear but stiff, petrified with grief. Tyrus nearly choked on it as he gave speech after speech, struggled to find the words people needed.
At the funeral, Tyrus had told them Ignacio was the author of all things in this kingdom, that he never wrote a word without purpose. He'd seen his declarations fall on deaf ears, saw that no one's eyes could leave the small body on the pyre, covered in flowers and red silk. No one had truly heard the Flamen's eulogy, but he'd obsessed over every letter anyway. What did one say for a dead boy king? What could one say? The phrases were still caught in his throat days later. He could barely get them out when people came to him for solace.
Nearly every equine in Valore had ambled through this Sanctum before the funeral, to place another petal on the pyre, to weep for the city's son. Tyrus remained solemn before the procession, murmuring to the thousands of mourners he was helpless to reassure. Countless ceremonies and sermons later, no sign of the pyre remained on the temple's grounds, but the death lingered.
Tyrus had been Flamen of this Sanctum since his predecessor was lost in the same attack that took the Prince and Princess from this world. Since taking up his grandmother's mantle, he'd held a royal funeral for every year in the role. It was aging him beyond his years. He doubted his suitability for the unimaginable task god had set before him.
He saw the toll it took on his Attendants, too. After the perimeter nighttime fires were lit, he dismissed them all to rest. He could see to the temple himself, thought it had been years since he held a broom. Perhaps some time humbled before Ignacio would bring him some clarity. Perhaps he was just longing for a return to his simpler role as an Attendant, before these great trials of faith. He took his time, cleaning in dim silence, listening to the crackle of white torches and trying to empty his mind.
A gentle disturbance in the temple drew his eyes and his slow hooves toward the altar. A lone worshiper stood before Ignacio's likeness. Flames danced in the reflective curves of Ignacio's face, and drew Tyrus's eyes just as they had the traveler's; the statue never failed to be spectacular in the dramatic gloom of evening. Tyrus leaned the broom quietly against the corridor wall, approached with polite slowness. It was part of his job to recognize the nobles on sight; Aleksei's was a rare but recognizable visage.
"He hasn't forgotten you, your Eminence," Tyrus said, from the edge of the altar's glow. "Though he has likely grieved your absence." There was no judgment in the flamen's gentle tone. He kept his orange eyes on their god. "I'm glad you've come."
530 words | post 1 i didnt proofread this bc im a shithead |
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Post by ThatDenver on Oct 9, 2017 11:28:20 GMT -6
ALEKSEI
He kept watching the statue for any sign on life, or caring, or anything, really. But the beautiful work of art was still, silent and dead. In his staring contest with the artwork, he had failed to notice that the sound of the brush had ceased, as well as the approaching steps. Polite slowness or not, Aleksei was caught completely unawares by the approach of the Flamen, and when the priest spoke, he jumped slightly, only to try and immediately regain his composure, and hide the startled expression behind a suitably stern expression.
Not that there was any real reason to be stern with Tyrus. The Flamen of Ignis was of good breeding, and it showed. Nobility knows nobility, or so Aleksei liked to think. He took a moment to appreciate Tyrus’ attire, stance and manners, seeming almost childishly pleased with it all – like a kid who has just discovered that the stories of their youth rang true. Aleksei had seen Tyrus before of course, but in times like this, there was an odd comfort in something he felt was genuine.
“I have prayed in the comfort of my home”, Aleksei said, his tone much less that of a grown noble, and more that of a needlessly defensive teenager. Tyrus’ tone had held no judgement, but the young noble had already judged himself before entering here. There was a sharp, painful knowledge of missed opportunities and duties ignored.
Of people now gone who had been owed his affection.
“I am sorry I missed the funeral”, he then added, as if it was Tyrus who had been slighted when Aleksei did not attend. Tyrus hadn’t been the one burning, nor was Tyrus family.
He was silent for a moment, merely watching the statue. He had hoped for a quick in and out, unnoticed and unseen by mortals. Now, such a plan felt terribly awkward, and he felt that it would have been rude to leave after being welcomed so, with titles and all.
Rare it was that he heard the title. Aleksei mostly dealt with slaves, whom he did not demand the address of – and with Faiza, who was far too intimately aware of his faults and boons to afford him the title in their home. It was a strange existence for someone who was so proud of his house, and so dreading its looming death.
As they stood there, he felt an increasing need to talk. About something, about anything. About very particular things. Yet something stopped him, something much deeper and more insidious than just sadness – the fear of rejection and betrayal. To open up was to hand the other the tools to your own destruction.
So instead he stood there, polite smile on his face, waiting for Tyrus to make the first move. Aleksei wasn’t quite sure why the Sanctum seemed to make it harder for him to cling to his well-crafted shields and personas.
Perhaps there was some truth to the presence of the gods.
Word count: 498
Post #2
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