Soleil Facan

Queen || F || 83

M: Apprentices (Ind.), Astraea, Other
~

Sol released an exasperated groan as her mate, Lumïre, asked if she was alright for the 100^th time within the last 3 hours. She understood his worries, this being her first pregnancy, but his hovering was wearing her already little patience thin. She loved him, she truly did. But if she didn’t get away from him for a few minutes she was going to kill him. Or try to at least. The pregnancy had taken its toll on her body, her belly large and swollen causing her to waddle when she walked.

“Moon of mine, go enjoy the festival. For my sake and sanity, please,” though her words were soft, her gaze wasn’t. And Lumïre knew what that gaze meant. He left with a quick kiss on her cheek and a whispered apology, heading for his friends. She sighed after he left, relieved that she hadn’t killed her mate. Lumïre managed to bring out her more soft, gentler side but he sure loved to test its limits.

She waddled over to the food, craving something light and sweet to combat the heat. While the fires were beautiful and helped to create the ambiance of the festival, they sure added more heat to the already warm evening. She grabbed a handful of berries, finding that the fruit was the most consistent food item she had been craving so far. Some say that meant she was expecting a little girl, but Sol paid it no mind. She’d be grateful to the gods if the baby was healthy and strong. That’s all she wanted.

Thinking of the gods, she wandered over to the other offerings retrieving a small star-shaped woodcarving from a small bag on her hip and added it to the other offerings. She always had a small bag on hand, a habit of being a Gatherer. The carving was decorated with a few feathers attached with twine. Its purpose was to ask for the safety of the apprentices on their trails, especially the young heir. After saying a prayer, she left, heading straight for the Chiefs Mate and her close friend.

Sol wished to be there for the woman who had been such a close friend. Astraea still stood strong despite the sacrifice of her mate. And Sol couldn’t imagine the inner thoughts of her best friend regarding her youngest going off on the trials. She easily found the female, waddling over with a few extra berries in hand.

“Astraea, have you eaten something yet?” She asked as she held out her hand, a little worry filtering through her words. If her mate saw her now, he’d grin like a knowing fool. She only showed her care for a handful of people, and Astraea was one of them. She’d never admit it out loud, but she saw her as a best friend. And would probably be bored out of her mind if she didn’t have her daily quips with her.

Sarolta Cimmerian | Apprentice | Mentions: Aelion

Indirectly: Akith’ki, Kethryll'ia

Sarolta erupted with laughter as Aelion took her challenge, her feline smile growing more wicked by the second. Her breath remained steady as she moved in perfect sync with him, her eyes locked onto his with an intensity that only fueled the dance. She could sense the tension radiating from him, the way his every step was laden with a determination to maintain control, to keep the carefully constructed walls around him intact. But Sarolta knew better. She always had. This was a battle of wills, a challenge where neither of them would back down. And she reveled in every second of it, savoring the subtle power play between them.

As the rhythm of the drums pulsed through the air, vibrating through their bodies, Sarolta leaned in closer, her movements becoming more deliberate, calculated. Her sharp eyes, glittering with a predatory glint, searched for the cracks in his armor, the slightest hint that he might be faltering under the pressure. The dance wasn’t just about movement; it was about control, and she was determined to see how far she could push him before he would inevitably break. Every brush of her hand against his, every step that brought her closer, was a test, a silent question of how much he could take.

When Aelion finally released her hand, Sarolta didn’t immediately step back. Instead, she let the moment linger, her gaze locked onto his with an unwavering intensity. She noticed the way he curled that loose strand of her hair around his finger, a small, almost tender gesture that contrasted sharply with his otherwise stoic demeanor. For a fleeting second, she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes—an emotion, a crack in his carefully maintained mask—but then it was gone, replaced by the same unreadable expression he always wore. His voice, low and detached, carried the weight of underlying tension that didn’t escape her notice.

She didn’t respond right away, instead watching as he turned and began to walk away, his retreat more deliberate than she had expected. Her lips curled into a small, knowing smile. Aelion might think he could walk away from her, but Sarolta wasn’t so easily dismissed. She watched his retreating figure, her mind already turning over the next move in their unspoken game. She knew him too well, knew that he would likely seek solace in her cousin Esen or Syllivanna, perhaps to calm the storm that their encounter had undoubtedly stirred within him. But that wouldn’t change anything. Whatever this was between them was far from over, and Sarolta was already anticipating their next encounter.

As she stood there, the rhythmic beats of the drums still echoing in the night, Sarolta could feel the eyes of the crowd on her and Aelion. With a final glance in his direction, she turned back to the crowd, her hand instinctively finding the hilt of the new dagger her Aunt Alvaerelle had given her. The dagger was stunning, its hilt had a delicate seashell that dangled with each movement, and ancient warrior writing, engraved into the blade, promised protection and safety. And as she traced the intricate designs on the dagger with her fingers, Sarolta couldn’t help but smile as she settled into a table near the warriors, mead in hand. Her eyes found Akith’ki standing beside the heir, Kethryll'ia. Oddly enough, Kethryll'ia was Saro’s ex. While the two had little in common, it seemed their taste in men overlapped at times, whether Kethryll'ia was ready to admit it or not. She hid her smile behind her mug but her eyes never left the two young men.

Ravae Quintana || Female || 123 || Gatherer || M: Clan Members (Ind)

Ravae stood off to the side of the celebrating crowd as festivities carried on, keeping to the center while being far enough away to go unnoticed by most. A gorgeous gown adorned her body, a shade of a lovely mint green. Golden embodiment lined its fabric, forming the shape of leaves and flowers across her form. Her blonde hair was in its usual fixture, a braid with loose loops accompanied by dried herbs and fresh flowers between the strands. Her usual comb was missing, having been deemed unfit for the event. Her belts were noticeably vacant as well, though her boot-like shoes did remain.

Clanmates chatted and laughed around her, filling the air with a bubbly atmosphere. A masterful thrumbing of rhythmic drumming rumbled through the camp, spurring many to follow its beat and dance along. Others merely joined in with their own heart beat. A lively and joyous scene for certain, but one she couldn’t bring herself to care all that much. Her bluebell eyes stared down at the half empty cup in her grasp, half lidded in disinterest. She was off prancing in the clouds once more, gaze almost glossed over due to their in-focus. Her mind was much too busy mulling on her daydreams to care about most of the happenings around her, the strikes of the percussion instrument falling on deaf ears as she honed in on nothing but the inner imagery of her thoughts.

Whips of green foliage rushing by, her legs reliably taking her across a minor “dent” in the ground, hair flying behind her as her breath keeps up with her pace. In the distance, the lingering visage of old ruins approaches – her next stop in her daily gathering drip and a promise of treasure, however small. The very things she wished were painting the scene in front of her new. Instead, she was to be here, stationary in a known and crowded environment (and not a new or deserted land). It was not that the party itself was tasteless in any way. The drinks were quenching – not to mention heavenly – and the food smelled delectably scrumptious. It was difficult not to go back for more. Though not greatly invested in it, the few quips she heard from passing conversations had managed to make her giggle from time to time – even if they weren’t particularly amusing. It was just… the whole thing didn’t sit right with her.

Apprentices readying themselves to risk life and limb for tradition. The loss of chief and the previous shaman for the “greater good,” leaving loved ones to mourn their departure while others cheered. In her eyes, they were celebrating death. The loss of another. Not life nor any good thing. Should they really be uplifting this? This need for sacrifice? It twisted her stomach into knots in ways she couldn’t even begin to describe, an unsettling tingling sensation rising within her stomach and chest… Or perhaps that was the wine talking. She swore she got one of the lighter ones too…

With a sigh she draws her eyes up from the red liquid and looks about, her head keeping a semi-bowed position. Perhaps she should find someone to talk to? It was better than stewing in her own thoughts at least… if she could even prevent herself from slipping back into them once more that is.

“Timah,” he greeted. “Not dancing tonight?” He appreciated her approach, the way she eased into conversation without demanding too much. As she straightened up and brushed off her dress, he found himself grateful for her. When she asked if he was okay, mentioning the trials as a potential cause for his unease, Aelion hesitated. He could have easily deflected, taken the out she offered, but Timah wasn’t someone he felt the need to shield himself from. Still, he wasn’t about to delve into what had just transpired with Sarolta.

“Yeah, just thinking,” he replied, his tone carefully neutral. “The trials are on my mind, sure, but nothing I can’t handle.” He shrugged and paused, glancing at her. Hesitating for a moment, he released a small sigh. “They’re weighing on me more than I expected,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair before focusing the conversation onto her.

“Nervous? You?” His voice softened a touch with genuine curiosity. “I figured you’d be the calmest one here.” Nudging her shoulder with his own with amusement, he had begun tap his fingers along his sides lightly before folding his arms together, forcing himself to remain still. For a brief moment, his eyes scanned the crowd, falling upon Zinniah, his aunt. Perking up slightly, he made a mental note to find her later. If there was anybody he could speak to, it was her. And Elariel, of course, but the man seemed busy enough as it was. It would be best to leave him alone.

He had to admit, her suggestion of a flower crown or beads broke him out of his thoughts, making him huff out a short breath that was almost a chuckle. “A flower crown? I’m not so sure that I’m the flower crown type,” he replied, a bit of the tension easing out of his posture. “But I suppose if anyone could convince me to wear one, it’d be you.”

He shook his head slightly, as if trying to dislodge the weight of his thoughts. “What about you?” he asked, turning the conversation back to her. “You said you’re nervous about the trials—what’s on your mind?”

Elariel Quercus

Warrior aka Mother Hen | Mentions: Catori and Koa

Indirectly: Cyrus, Alvaerelle

Elariel finished his rhythm on the drum, letting the final beat resonate through the air before rising to his feet, allowing another member to take his place. The warmth of the mead still lingered, creating a pleasant haze around his thoughts, though his senses remained sharp. He scanned the crowd once more, his eyes catching sight of Catori, the Clan’s Lieutenant, standing near the edge of the gathering alongside Koa, another respected warrior. Deciding to join them, he made his way over, the heat of the nearby fires brushing against his skin as he moved.

He straightened his simple attire—a sleeveless dark leather tunic, softened by years of use. A wide, braided belt around his waist held pouches and a sheathed dagger, while sturdy pants tucked into scuffed knee-high boots completed his look. Leather bracers wrapped his forearms, each bearing scars that matched the glowing red markings on his face. His hair was pulled back from his face, though a few strands had fallen loose.

As he approached, his gaze shifted to Cyrus, who was engaged in conversation with Alvaerelle. A tightness gripped Elariel's chest at the sight, the tension manifesting in the way his hand tightened around the mug he still held. The history between him and Cyrus was complicated, marred by loss and unspoken words. The sight of the two speaking together brought a wave of conflicting emotions, but Elariel pushed them down, focusing instead on the camaraderie that awaited him.

When he reached Catori and Koa, he offered them a nod in greeting. Without a word, he settled beside Catori, his broad shoulder bumping against hers in a gesture of familiar, easy friendship. Though they weren’t particularly close, Elariel admired Catori’s leadership and trusted her wholeheartedly to help lead the Clan. Her presence was steadying, a constant reminder that they were all in this together, despite the individual burdens each carried.

As he caught the end of Koa's statement about good behavior going out the window for tonight, Elariel couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s true,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Seems like everyone’s letting loose tonight. It’s probably for the best.” He took in the scene before them. The young warriors danced with unbridled energy, the weight of their impending trials still held at bay by the celebration.

Elariel glanced at Catori, his head tilting slightly as a playful smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You clean up quite nicely, Lieutenant,” he remarked, his tone light with a touch of teasing. “It’s a rare occasion when you’re not covered in dirt and sweat.”

He then shifted his gaze to Koa, the smile widening just a bit. “Same goes for you,” he added, his tone equally teasing.

Cornaith Iliven

Catori Thirle | Lieutenant | Mentions:

Koa, Elariel, Cornaith (Dir.) Syllivanna, vague apprentices (Indir.)

The younger woman kept her smile in place at Koa’s reply, even growing slightly wider, drawing a laugh from her throat eventually. Watching as the taller warrior drew in a mouthful of ale, he certainly looked like he was enjoying himself. “I will rephrase,” Catori chuckled. “I hope you’re not making a fool out of yourself.” She mused, leaning to draw a cup of deep red wine from the table, favouring the rich fruity flavour over the weaker tasting ale and mead. She drew the sanguine liquid to her lips and savoured the taste, the smell pulling its way deep into her lungs, aniseed and spice pleasing her brain. About to speak again, Catori was stopped in the tracks by the approach of Elariel, quickly followed up by Cornaith’s sudden arrival. Her eyes swiftly took in the fact the younger man’s paint was smeared over his torso, clearly by amorous interactions.

Her body was knocked by Elariel as he took up residence beside her, her eyebrows furrowing playfully, she pushed her shoulder back into his after he had settled into his seat. Careful not to spill her precious wine in the process, she leaned back, one hand supporting her weight behind her while the other brought the cup to her lips again. Her eyes were scanning for Syllivanna when she let out a quick burst of laughter, her eyes flickering back towards Cornaith, catching his charming expression. Rolling her eyes gently, she returned the taunt. “By the looks of it, you have had the taste of a few other things tonight.” Catori’s laugh almost came out as a snort, using her wine holding hand to gesture towards his torso, lips curling into a grin. “I don’t want to know who your paramore was tonight.” She lilted before drawing in the scent of her wine again, downing another delicious sip.

Bringing her humour back under control, she nodded gently towards Elariel. “I hope they enjoy themselves tonight, and from tomorrow they’ll be struggling for a while.” The lieutenant hummed quietly, a glaze of thought taking over her eyes as she began to seek out Syllivanna again. She wanted to see if her mini-me was enjoying herself, and to see if she was ready for what was to come. Catori’s chest rose as she drew in a deep breath, the scent of fire the most prominent, quickly followed by that of her companions, she hated to think about the terrifying first few nights the apprentices would have. Especially that first trial, on her own trials they had lost more than half of those that were sent out. Two of which they lost in the first trial. The memory tainted her expression, her eyes falling to the floor. Catori remembered each of them, she vowed they wouldn’t be forgotten, even if it was only in her own memory.

Elariel’s soothing voice drew her out of her own mind, her eyes widening for a moment in surprise, quickly trying to hide it before she looked at the experienced warrior. She had to take a moment to work out what he had just said to her, when it registered, the lieutenant gave out a breathy laugh. “Thank you, it is the only thing I have not covered in dirt.” She tossed back, bringing her playful smile back to her full lips, glancing down at herself before up towards him again. “If you’re not careful I’ll have to get dirt on it to teach you lot a lesson tonight if you act up.” Catori joked, her eyes sparkling again, the blackness surrounding her pupils only slightly lightened by the bright fire in front of them.

“Mm, I agree.” Catori drew her attention to the scarred man, keeping her smile in place, fire tainting the green of her eyes.She knew the pair of flirtatious warriors were always prepared to tease them back, perhaps Cornaith more so, but Koa had a slightly kinder veil.