It was late noon, and the day’s sky had finally begun to darkle.
Precious hours robbed from twilight had made this the lengthiest day of spring yet, and those that followed would grow steadily longer still.
In times immemorial, man had waged war on the sun for such conspiracy: But Luxus had never seemed so powerful as he did now, reinforced by his scions, the false prophets of day.
The Dawn Star was sitting proudly upon the distant sierras, cresting the hoary peaks of the horizon, when the first of Noctua Company arrived.
Their orders had been clear: They were to make their way to the Darkling Domains, a land where the daylight skies were deep and purple, and the outsiders were regarded as eldritch.
Their goal was the small valley town of Vuoto, where they were to rendezvous at an unsuspecting café in the plaza and discuss their first venture together… a journey for knowledge, deep into The Nocturne.
Corvus Tenesilia found the café quite quaint, in its own way: The Dappled Haunt was, after all, very telling of Darkling architecture in general, a prison which had been vacated and remodelled following the installation of the Darkling Domain’s current, democratic government.
Once, political prisoners had been tortured here: now they made the best tea in Vuoto and served scones that were only a little stale.
It was made mostly from large slabs of grey stone and slate, but wooden beams supported much of the structure, all of which was standard for the kingdom.
He’d been seated at a table beneath a wooden gazebo out front, on which was a plaque which read “reserved.”
Corvus cocked his head as he read it. The Aurora Empire was most likely the most materially wealthy of all the kingdoms, so why was it they’d been given such a simple meeting space?
He placed two fingers to his temple, “What do you think, Li? A little cheap, isn’t it?”, his eyes darted to the shadow he threw across the table, having turned his back to the sun.
It was motionless, and deep like ink.
“You’re right,” Corvus nodded, “I suppose one doesn’t get rich without frugality, do they?”
A moment’s quiet.
“And it is a lovely café, I agree. Then again, we've always felt more at home in the Darkling Domains, haven’t we?”, he chuckled softly.
Then he lapsed into silence, and craned his head skywards.
His hair moved uncomfortably at the gesture, but he didn't seem to pay it much mind.
The sky was pregnant with a darkening boysenberry, and the first of its fledgling stars were beginning to twinkle distantly through the hastening eventide.
“I wonder what sort of people would want to block out the night, Li,” he murmured thoughtfully to himself, “I can’t imagine a world without those first dozen stars. Maybe I’m just a romantic.”
He met eyes with his unwavering shade.
“I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”
Precious hours robbed from twilight had made this the lengthiest day of spring yet, and those that followed would grow steadily longer still.
In times immemorial, man had waged war on the sun for such conspiracy: But Luxus had never seemed so powerful as he did now, reinforced by his scions, the false prophets of day.
The Dawn Star was sitting proudly upon the distant sierras, cresting the hoary peaks of the horizon, when the first of Noctua Company arrived.
Their orders had been clear: They were to make their way to the Darkling Domains, a land where the daylight skies were deep and purple, and the outsiders were regarded as eldritch.
Their goal was the small valley town of Vuoto, where they were to rendezvous at an unsuspecting café in the plaza and discuss their first venture together… a journey for knowledge, deep into The Nocturne.
Corvus Tenesilia found the café quite quaint, in its own way: The Dappled Haunt was, after all, very telling of Darkling architecture in general, a prison which had been vacated and remodelled following the installation of the Darkling Domain’s current, democratic government.
Once, political prisoners had been tortured here: now they made the best tea in Vuoto and served scones that were only a little stale.
It was made mostly from large slabs of grey stone and slate, but wooden beams supported much of the structure, all of which was standard for the kingdom.
He’d been seated at a table beneath a wooden gazebo out front, on which was a plaque which read “reserved.”
Corvus cocked his head as he read it. The Aurora Empire was most likely the most materially wealthy of all the kingdoms, so why was it they’d been given such a simple meeting space?
He placed two fingers to his temple, “What do you think, Li? A little cheap, isn’t it?”, his eyes darted to the shadow he threw across the table, having turned his back to the sun.
It was motionless, and deep like ink.
“You’re right,” Corvus nodded, “I suppose one doesn’t get rich without frugality, do they?”
A moment’s quiet.
“And it is a lovely café, I agree. Then again, we've always felt more at home in the Darkling Domains, haven’t we?”, he chuckled softly.
Then he lapsed into silence, and craned his head skywards.
His hair moved uncomfortably at the gesture, but he didn't seem to pay it much mind.
The sky was pregnant with a darkening boysenberry, and the first of its fledgling stars were beginning to twinkle distantly through the hastening eventide.
“I wonder what sort of people would want to block out the night, Li,” he murmured thoughtfully to himself, “I can’t imagine a world without those first dozen stars. Maybe I’m just a romantic.”
He met eyes with his unwavering shade.
“I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”