What little light escaped over the dunes had seemed to stain Damascus in a wondrous shade fold gold as he approached the final building in his search. All the other courts had been searched high and low, their castled raided and peaked through and through. If he was to find the relic surely it would be here in the land of the sun.
His footsteps remained urgent yet not with haste as he pawed gently over the sand, so softly in fact that hardly a trace was left upon it before it was swept away by the peachy dusk winds. His monolithic tail, however, was easily caught among the fray and it's own trail was easily distinguished from the one made by the shallow pitter-pattering if his hooves. As it slid behind him, heavy as a snow sled, it brushed the surface off the sand and revealed anything that might hide underneath.
Soon sheltered 'neath the shadow of the Day Courts goliath structure, the colt gazed through his starry eyes with a peculiar awe as he observed it and how it stood among the grassy dunes without any signs of sinking below or crumbling against the wind. How he wished he was that strong.
" WORKED HER WAY THROUGH A CHEAP PACK OF CIGARETTES, HARD LIQUOR MIXED WITH A BIT OF INTELLECT "
It's been quite a while since Bexley was this close to the ocean. It doesn't call to her in the way she knows it does to others; she's more of a forest girl, a mountain, maybe, to stand on top of and be seen by everyone. The sea is unpredictable, and Bexley much prefers to be the only wild card in any given room. No matter. She's here, and it's not as awful as it could be, because the sun is shining to save her from freezing her ass off, and it doesn't stink quite as much as she expected, probably because she's keeping a smart distance from the actual shore. Instead she perches on a nearby collection of rocks as far as she can stay from the actual sand and water. Still, salt flecks her auburn eyelashes, and she can feel it turning the fat white curls of her mane and tail to probably twice their expected size.
Just her luck, turning up here. Her instantly forgotten homeland a fast-but-dangerous cross over beaches many miles down. It was difficult, sure, but quicker than anything else, and if Bexley can be credited with two things, they're impatience and overconfidence. She grins to herself just a little. Impatient, overconfident, and ready for anything. She hasn’t heard much about Novus - just that it’s been recently resettled, translation, rife with opportunity - but regardless of what it’s really like, Bexley has an unshakeable confidence that within the next two years she’s going to be well known. Celebrity status, household name famous. What else is she made for? With this body and the strange, unshakeable, thirst for recognition just barely contained inside of it?
Bexley knows. It doesn’t matter where she is, who she meets, what drama will inevitably follow her around. Doesn’t matter that the water all around her is incessantly cold and loud and that she’s on her own now, really on her own for the first time in her life - at that the chain around her neck seems to tingle - Bexley is here and she’s real, and she’s going to make good on all the promises she’s told herself.
@Reichenbach this is SO ROUGH i'm sorry but <333 and thank you this table is beautiful i love the gif!
It was a long, treacherous path to the peak of Veneror, where Reichenbach placed his small bundle of sacrifices once a month. He knew the path well, though it changed almost as constantly as the weather - knew where to place his neat, hard hooves and where not to place his weight. He was so used to the chill of the mountain by now that he had almost stopped feeling the cold - almost. Not tonight. He'd settled in one of the little granite nooks of the mountain, shielded carefully from the wild winds that had been known to whisk horses away into nothingness. His camp was small and simple, pressed against the mountain behind him even as a merry fire crackled before him. Veneror Peak was one of the hardest places to get a fire going - he'd figured as much as a teen, angry and shivering while clutching his small bundle of alpine forget-me-nots and a bunch of honey soaked bluestems, his gifts to Calligo.
The memory curled like smoke within him, bringing a small, amused smile to grace his velveteen lips. He had had to learn too much too quickly as a child, a rushed education on life and how to survive and yet... he felt almost thankful for that experience. It had brought him this serenity, this purpose. The stars above him twinkled distantly, the night sky burning with cold and distance as he watched them mindlessly, a balm to soothe the other memories that lingered insidiously in the back of his mind, pressing at him with cold fingers. Reich glanced back to the flames, casting the planes of his rough boned face crimson and orange, the flames echoing in the depths of his abyssal silver eyes. His piety was something that he had learned, too.
Each month he set off toward and through the Arma Mountains, gathering tributes - flowers, pretty stones, honey... He gathered it all and created a beautiful bundle of precious things for Calligo, entwining his own hair so that she would know it was from him. Then he trekked the treacherous path to the very peak of Veneror and placed his offering at the ancient temple, sometimes setting it alight if he still had the resources. His offering was tucked neatly beside him now, a woven mix of breastweed and forget-me-not as well as some dried jasmine he had to travel out of Novus to buy from merchants. Intwined in the pretty mix was some of his ebony hair, centred around a lovely piece of quartz he had found within the mountains. He was close enough that by tomorrow he would reach the peak - and thus begin his descent once again. The wind whistled past, though the Night Court warrior's little nook was quiet and still, a little slice of peace amongst the warring of the world around him.
@Noxia agh not my best but I wanted to get something up for them!
It's taken awhile to reach the the oasis that lies in what I now call my homeland. I'm most definitely exhausted as fuck. I've been traveling for so long now (days? weeks?) that my body barely can function. Or at least, that's the feeling that overwhelms me. I'm sure my body could hold out a little longer if I asked it to, but let's not. I reach the lowest pool of the oasis, and stop at the edge. I stand there staring at my reflection beyond the ripples, my mind full of dust. I'm sure if you peeked inside you'd see tumbleweed passing by. I try to summon thought after a moment, but the gears are slow to move (creaking, rusty, needing oil). My knees bend, body crumpling to the ground, only softened by the depth of the sand around me.
I dip my nose into the water, and it seems to awaken thought within me. I have not found the relic - only a small red stone that I have kept with me since I was with Weir at the Dusk Court. Perhaps there is no relic, and it was all talk. Perhaps it is still out there, or maybe someone else found it. Either way, I am not in possession, and therefore cannot use it to barter with the Gods for them to bring Damaris to me. Tears threaten to break again on to my face, as they had when I first arrived in Novus. But they won't come - I'm too exhausted. The setting sun warms me, not to overheating, but enough to make me warm on the sand. A languished sigh slips out. I don't know what I can do but hope and wait. I lay my head down on the sand and close my eyes, hoping that a moment of rest will clear the sadness, clear the murky mire of thoughts, and bring some sort of relief to my exhausted mind, soul, body.
FOR ARCHIVAL PURPOSES FOR PREVIOUS EXP CLAIMS ONLY; NO NEW CONTENT CAN BE CREATED USING THE IDEA OF THE ISLAND (OR ANY PREVIOUS ITERATIONS).
12/01/19 - as ever-changing as a heart
The island, once believed lost forever to the sea has returned.
Yet from the first moment it reappeared it's obvious that something is horribly (or wonderfully) wrong with it. It follows none of the rules that have always been true on this mortal plane. Not a single one of them.
Everything about the island seems more endless dream than reality. Mountains appear out of sand. A tree is a pine one moment and a birch the next. In the space between heartbeats snow might turn to sun and the rainbow following it might turn to ink and rain down in colorful masterpieces across the horses below. Both time and normalcy have no place on this ever-changing piece of Novus.
Is it an adventure in the wondrous or is it terrifying?
Welcome to a new element of world-building in Novus. This bit of island, first discovered in the SWP of 504 Spring, has reappeared in the IC world. It is a land that will be changing each season. Some reincarnations of it will be normal landscapes that you might see in real life. Others will be totally strange and push the realm of the real and the surreal into something 'more'. Enjoy and let your muses run wild!
YOU CAN EARN +2 EXP EACH SEASON
For each 'new' landscape of the island you will be able to earn the +2 EXP for an IC event each time you post 4 posts using the seasonal landscape. You can claim it for each season-- this is not a one time use bonus.
Also keep an eye out for some @'Random Event' fun happening on this board. <3
12/01/19 - and a veil shall be withdrawn
The island did not love the icy blue-dark of the sea. It wanted sun, and sand, and life. It wanted the blue sky stretching above it like an endless crown. It wanted, it, wanted---
It wanted to not be broken (or at least to be something less than completely broken).
So the leviathan rose from the depth in waves of snowy froth. The mountain peaks of it brushed up against the belly of that sky-crown in a gentle coo that sounded like hello, hello, hello. What sand had been washed away by the furious sea was replaced with dead-gross knolls and peaked piles of snow that looked like piled up bones from where the ocean wind roared through it. The sun rising low over it turned everything diamond-bright and virgin.
No the island did not love the dark sea at all. When given the choice of something other than time it loved the sky and it welcomed, like all pure new worlds, the touch of life as it returned.
All the birds that appeared on the island settled in bare-boned branches with their throats full of songs. Did you miss us?, they sang as the snow fell on their proud feathers. Always the island would whisper back in the muted way of snow falling on pines:yes, yes, yes.
Prairie deer heard the song too. The last winter elk who had made his home among the doe knew the song in the marrow of his bones and he led his harem across the bridge. Snow reached up to their hocks and still they followed their elk across the sea. Even when a winter storm made the waves leap furiously at the walls of the bridge they followed him. To them that last elk, the god-made beast, was more than just made He was god.
And when the first horse decided to follow them not a single one looked back afraid of the beasts behind them.
On they went until the bridge faded into the shore and the shore into the small piles of snow cut by the wind. Their footprints made delicate maps in the snow and the winter elk's crown started to frost with crystals that chimed a song each time he moved (and it might have sounded like that bird-song). Each step deeper into the island dulled their sandy coats until they all blended into the snow. Only the darkness of their eyes was visible by the time they molded into the snow-covered stones.
Perhaps to the first horses to follow that seemed the strangest thing: the way the deer vanished into the snow. Surely it was stranger than an island refusing to love the sea. Perhaps they think nothing is strange anymore in this land risen from something more than one of their gods with a bridge made of frosted lava and holly. Perhaps they thought--
Perhaps--
But then the first shimmering ball of light appeared, flickering like a small star brought low by the winter storm (the one that's already dissolving out across the mainland). The first horses looked closer, wondering at the way the small star seemed to be singing a solemn poem more ancient than any book in all the libraries of Novus.
One of the first horses to follow the elk called it a wandering spirit. The next called it nothing more than a bird tainted by whatever magic ruled this island risen from the sea. The third smiled at the small ball of light and when he said “hello” the ball of light answered back.
And that was the moment the horses of Novus discovered fairies and how each looked like a hundred different creatures all at once.
This is the first transformation of the island. For 504 winter, the island will appear as a snow-dusted fairy glen. There are birch and pine forests almost covered in snow. Small hills run through the middle of the land (small enough that a fairy might still call them a mountain). And those fairies are as numerous on the island as the snow-birds are.
To each horse a fairy might look different. It could be a ball of light, a small bird, some combination of the known and unknown. We want you to be as creative as you feel like being (just not human imagery please). <3
YOU CAN EARN +2 EXP EACH SEASON
This landscape will change on January 31st, 2020. All threads started after that date will not count towards the +2 EXP for the 504 island IC Event. Remember in order to claim for it you need 4 posts in a thread started during the time frame of the event.
Also keep an eye out for some @'Random Event' fun happening on this board. <3
02/02/20 - to show the space between sleeping and waking
This time, the island did not cast the equines off like a sea serpent tossing them into the waves. This time the transition was almost-peaceful, gentle ever; as if magic as wild as this could ever allow peace to exist on its soil. But we should all know better by now than to expect the island to be kind.
Perhaps some of those left on the island were sleeping during it, or perhaps those on the bridge missed the way it changed from snow to ice to glass underhoof, the way it crackled with each step yet refused to break through. But those were awake, and watching, and listening would tell of the way all the fairies dropped from the sky at once, and how their light sounded like music as it faded into the cold night. And the dust they crumbled into was golden, and fine, and softer than any silk a royal could buy. But that too was carried away by the wind, the wind that swept across the island and seemed to carry away all the fairy rings and the birds and the deer. It stripped away the land until it was nothing more than hills and snow and trees, and horses too naive to leave.
And then, the hills began to tremble.
And then, the trees began to grow, and twist, and shake the snow from their branches like they couldn’t bear to stand hunched beneath it for a second longer. They shed their bark for something new and pale, and leaves as red as the setting sun sprouted like fire along their boughs. The hills lowered themselves upon the ground as if to admit defeat, only to rise again as mountains a moment later. All at once the snow began to slide away into the waiting waters, and grass that was purple, and red, and yellow, and brilliant began to spring forth, patterning the ground in a mosaic of colors so deep, the average horse could walk amongst it and only their head would show to betray their presence. And as the rest of the color began to flow back into the landscape, it became all too clear that something had already begun to go wrong in the island’s transmutation. Because the color leached back in haphazardly, without a care for what used to be green, or blue, or red, or any other color; the river flowed in shades of violet and the rocks lining its bed were green.
Perhaps the flowers with petals that were shaped as suns and comets and colored like the stars came next; or maybe it was the way the mountains pulled up their roots and lifted themselves into the sky, and waterfalls tumbled down like tears from their cheeks. The animals came next - if they could be called animals. They came as ghosts, shaped like half-formed deer and birds and wolves that sprint like feral things through the treetops. All the island seems to echo with their howls and their laughter and their sing-song calls, like the dead have learned how to sing the song of the living.
It was only when the transformation was complete that the first horse looked up and realized how small they felt, and how large the island had suddenly seemed to grow.
And who can really say who was the first to try and use their magic in this strange, new world - and yet they all somehow know to try the same only at their own caution. Because here on the island fire becomes ice, and a healing touch leaves rot in its wake.
Some will say it was spring that forced the island to change its skin yet again, but others know it is only the magic of the place that keeps it from being any one thing for too long.
This is the second transformation of the island. For 505 spring, the island will seem to have been tipped upside-down. The trees are smaller than the horses, the grass rises above their heads, even the colors appear to have swapped themselves freely for another. The island as a whole will seem massive, far bigger than either of the previous renditions; perhaps the horses have all been reduced in size, or perhaps the island is playing one more trick on us all. But what is maybe the most surprising is that the magic of the island has affected the magic of the horses - no matter what magic your character has, it will be reversed in threads on this island.
You can be as creative as you want and take artistic liberties with this landscape. Perhaps for your horse everything is almost-right, and just wrong enough to be unnerving; or perhaps everything is utterly strange and unfamiliar, and they must let go of all they thought they knew to navigate the land. When in doubt, you can dm @sid or @nestle to bounce ideas.
YOU CAN EARN +2 EXP EACH SEASON
This landscape will change on March 31st, 2020. All threads started after that date will not count towards the +2 EXP for the 504 island IC Event. Remember in order to claim for it you need 4 posts in a thread started during the time frame of the event. Threads that have not been active since November have been archived - DM staff if you would like to revive them!
Also keep an eye out for some @'Random Event' fun happening on this board. <3
04/02/20 - a tingling in the spine, a catch in the voice, a faint sensation,
It starts with a settling of fog over the island.
The fog, at first, seems just like another boulder of mist rolling in from the sea at dawn. The silence it brings with it, well that's to be expected. The birds are the first to fall silent, their songs swallowed up into nothing by way of a single, collective inhale. There is song -- and then there is silence. It's that simple, surely nothing to be worried about.
When the spectral creatures hunting through the grass stop running and baying at the dying of the night, well that is to be expected too. Wraiths have never loved the dawn, when their forms are made for moonlight and starlight. Perhaps this too is not deserving of worry. Not yet.
But then the roaring of the lilac waterfalls stutters into silence like a heartbeat struggling against death. The echo of them is next to fall as well, and then there is only a hush, hush, hush. This hush is nothing like the sea on the shore, or the night knocking at a window by the top of a leaf. This is oppressive silence. The air grows heavy.
And then the fog starts to darken, and darken, and darken. The world inside the fog turns black. (Outside still looks the same, sunlight and summer fronds and the sea. But inside the fog there is only blackness. Until there is more than blackness….)
That more than blackness starts with a single orb of light. Up close it might seem a small star, hot to the touch if only it would come closer and stop drifting away, away, away. Those brave souls that follow the light might be surprised to feel only that heavy, silent air around them and not a single blade of monstrous grass. Or maybe they only notice the way everything underneath them feels like almost-smooth glass. Or maybe they will only hear the echo of their steps drowning out everything, even their heartbeats.
Maybe they will notice none of this, because that single flickering star has multiplied like a cell. Suddenly there are constellations everywhere and blackness in the places between all this sudden light. There are moons orbiting overhead and comets running between them like snakes. The places between the blackness of the fog are suddenly full of light.
When they walk deeper into the fog (or is it only silent darkness now) there is only cosmic wilderness to be found.
And so like gods, they all walk on.
This is the third transformation of the island. For 505 summer, the island will be surrounded by a heavy barrier of fog. Characters will have to cross through it to gain access to this new version of the island (there can be pain in the crossing, it's totally up to you). The entire island inside the fog is like walking around in space. There are nebulae to walk inside, stars to touch and fly between. There are comets close enough to grab if your character is brave enough. And each step echoes like walking on glass instead of dirt and stone. There seems almost no end to the cosmic wonders that can be found inside the fog wall.
You can be as creative as you want and take artistic liberties with this landscape. Perhaps for your horse everything is more dreamworld than real world; or perhaps everything is utterly strange and unfamiliar, and they must let go of all they thought they knew to navigate the land. When in doubt, you can dm @sid or @nestle to bounce ideas.
YOU CAN EARN +2 EXP EACH SEASON
This landscape will change on May 31st, 2020. All threads started after that date will not count towards the +2 EXP for the 505 island IC Event. Remember in order to claim for it you need 4 posts in a thread started during the time frame of the event. Starting this season (summer 505) any post that is starting during the time frame for the island and completed within 2 months of that start date can receive the +2 EXP.
Also keep an eye out for some @'Random Event' fun happening on this board. <3
08/03/20 - in a beautiful place, alone,
The island is still moving long after the season turns, like a beast that has learned how to be its own master. All those stars are still flickering, still turning, still multiplying and glowing like a thousand flames lighting up the island. And as the first snowflakes turn to teardrops among the stars, those brave souls that have lingered on the island begin to wonder if the island has at last decided what it wants to be. They’re living, they whisper to each other, as they cradle those fiery lights close to their chests.
Until, like a shot to the heart, they aren’t.
The roaring of the stars turns to a scream that shatters the earth. The island stops beating at once, and all those stars fall down, down, down into the blackened earth where they crumble to dust and ash. In the darkness and the silence that remains, there are no gods to be found. Only a heaviness that settles over the island like a stone tied to the bottom of the ocean, weighing heavily across those few brave (or unfortunate) souls that find themselves trapped.
The air grows still.
And cold.
And dagger-sharp.
Has the island sunk in the sea, or swallowed whole by the beasts within it?
And still the darkness reigns.
It is not until the morning when the sun begins to rise in the distance that the answer becomes clear. The dawn breaks over a sea of glass and crystal, left behind by the collapsing stars.
Each sharply-edged surface is a mirror, reflecting back the colors of the morning in all its brilliance. Perhaps some of the mirrors are twisted into arcane shapes, a reminder that they used to be stars -- perhaps some of them still glow like embers pulled from a fire, hanging by a thread onto the magic of the island. Or maybe the first horses to wake up and begin to explore do not even notice the shapes they have become, and think only that the new island looks like the graveyard of the heavens, with snow beginning to settle in the crevices like a bridal veil.
The sunlight breaks itself into dozens of refractions when it touches the strange crystals. And as the horses begin once again to explore, they find the island has become a maze of crystalline mirrors. Everywhere they look is reflection upon reflection, and with each step that they take a thousand versions of themselves (tall and lean, short and stocky, black and white and overly saturated) follow closely.
Or is there another face looking back at them, looking out from their eyes, staring over their shoulder, breathing upon their necks?
This is the fourth transformation of the island. For 505 winter, the island has been transformed into a place of crystal. Some of these crystals are cut into strange shapes and figures; but most are mirrors. Mirrors that show the world as it is, and mirrors that show an alternate reality, all arranged into a maze.
You can be as creative as you want and take artistic liberties with this landscape. Perhaps for your horse sees only reflections of themselves and the sky; perhaps they see a world they long for, or one that gives them nightmares. Is the island beautiful, or a stark reminder that home is safer than an island that sheds its skin at will?
YOU CAN EARN +2 EXP EACH SEASON
This landscape will change on October 1st, 2020. All threads started after that date will not count towards the +2 EXP for the 505 island IC Event. Remember in order to claim for it you need 4 posts in a thread started during the time frame of the event. Starting this season (winter 505) any post that is starting during the time frame for the island and completed within 2 months of that start date can receive the +2 EXP.
Also keep an eye out for some @'Random Event' fun happening on this board. <3
09/30/20 - a creature that raised its dripping mouth from the rimstone pool
The island has risen, and fallen, and grown spores of steel and diamond instead of seed. It has been alive, and full of ghosts, and bloated with monsters braying at the cycle of the mother moon. But the island, that strange broken place caught in a tide that never touches the shore, has never been inside out.
Until it is-- as suddenly as it had risen, and fallen, and sunk into the sea.
The sound it makes as the insides of ore, and loam, and bones buried in the thickets, go belly up is no less terrifying than the crying laments of dead stars falling. There is no light to break up the deafening sound. There is only darkness as the ore rises through the skies like arrows and shadows where the mirrors fold back to reveal a cave.
And then, as the cave crawls free from the mirrors (or is it the mirrors crawling into the cave?), there is a soft sort of light. It starts as a dawn glow, a noon-fall, a twilight gloom that lives only in the cracks between an eyelid and a dream. The light brightens into a pale-bone-sun curling along the cathedral curl of a cave large and massive in a way that suggests only monsters might find religion between the points of stalactites.
Beneath the salted spears, where they fall enough to meet those rising from the floor, there is a castle ringed in a city made of silver, gold, and the glass bones of the stars. The castle and its city is reachable in one way only. There is a bridge as arched as the top of the cave rising above the black abysmal bottom of the island’s insides. It is a glorious sort of bridge made of diamonds, and emeralds, and barnacles that shine like stars.
And glorious it is!
Until you notice that the belly of the bridge is not stone but the curled ribcage of a monster too grotesque and malformed to name.
Those brave enough to cross the bridge, and look up-up-up and never down, might discover the strange layout of the city. They might wonder at the spiral cycle of it that moves inward in patterns twisted as a labyrinth. Some might call it a shell where others see only a noose tightening as they walk. Still some might not wonder at all when the city reveals wonder, after wonder, after wonder, like a tide-pool meeting a meadow in the spring.
There are shops with doors wagging as tongues do in a breeze no mortal can feel. But there are no keepers to be found-- not even in the shop with the weeping walls. The wonders, it would seem, are for the horses to touch and to take. There are no gods here, no wise shamans, no laws to keep them from doing as they please.
So they wander, the horses, through the shops full of wonderful things and they skirt around the one with the weeping wall (and the one behind that that screams). Even here, in the inside out island, they are still in their bellies animals made to run.
And it’s easy to forget that the city is hiding a castle where there are so many discoveries to be made in the trapping circles. But for those that wander (or are lost) long enough the castle waits as ominous and holy as the religion of monsters.
The doors of the castle are as open as the shop doors but they are too heavy to wag and wave in that unfelt breeze. Perhaps that makes the way the netherworld stones shimmer and shine strange. Perhaps it is only the way the glow of the stone follows those who pass through, like eyes might, that makes the door seem strange.
Across the threshold the castle awaits with hallways that tangle upon themselves like veins through a body, and there seems a strange pulse in the walls (not a thrum but a thrash). Rooms peel off of the hallways like leaves (or like chambers). Each room is lovely in the way that dreams are-- warped walls, tide-pool floors, and art that shifts and moves with each blink of an eye. Each might be as easy to linger in as the last.
But for those that do not linger and keep only to the vein-like hallways, with their opal floors and metallic archways, the throne room awaits. And upon the throne the sovereign of the island’s insides waits with their crown of woven tree-trunks upon an opal brow.
Outside, when the light starts to dim on a place hidden between two stalactites, something blinks.
This is the fifth transformation of the island. For 506 spring, the island has been turned inside out. Upon crossing the bridge horses will find themselves in a cave as large as any of the courts. The walls arch high enough that it's near impossible to see the finite edges of them. In the cave, across a bridge, is a city. And in the center of that city there is a castle in which a creature sits upon on a throne.
Be as creative as you want with this setting. Your character can discover a shop full of things that are only defined by the limits of your imagination. The rooms of the castle can appear like anything, be full of anything, hide anything. The creature sitting on the throne can appear in any form. It could be a horse, a dragon, a snake, a monster-- there are no limits to what you can come up with. Maybe it's not a creature at all-- maybe it's only stone.
And what's with the blinking thing?
YOU CAN EARN +2 EXP EACH SEASON
This landscape will change on December 1st, 2020. All threads started after that date will not count towards the 506 Spring island IC Event.
For any thread started during the current season, you will have 2 months from the start date of that thread to get 4 posts in. Like other IC events, you can claim 4 posts across multiple threads as long as they were all completed during the same 2 month period.
Also keep an eye out for some @'Random Event' fun happening on this board. <3
12/08/20 - all things that live, die
The silver star-river running through the heart of the city one day ceases to flow. That ever present lub dub, lub dub beating beneath the hooves of the horses who lingered too long in the glowing markets leaves only a sigh of silence when it hesitates between the last beat and the one-that-will-never-come. The shop doors wagging like tongues in the breeze no one could feel fall shut at once with a resounding thud that echoes throughout all the city. The weeping ones and the screaming ones beneath them hold their breath -- and wait.
Even the clouds, when those horses look up and up (or is it still down?) seem suddenly lifeless in the sky.
That is when the trembling starts.
It is easy at times to forget that the island is a thing made of magic, a thing wanton to shed its skin and crawl free of its remains. But for those that wander (or are lost) for too long, the reminder comes when the spiraling of the city begins to unwind. Like a thread being unspun it pulls itself apart, curl by fragile curl, stretching itself farther and farther. The only sound it makes as it unwinds is of ore, and loam, and bones crashing into the sea surrounding it. And of footsteps, racing away to safety across the pale arch of the ribcage bridge.
Perhaps it is a blessing then, that the bridge should be the last to fall. Maybe it is the island’s only way of expressing its love for those that come again and again to witness its wonders. Or maybe it is only that the monster whose bones became the bridge was loathe to return to the darkness from which it came.
Whatever the reason, it is forgotten when rib by rib is pulled apart and dropped into the hungry waves. It becomes a distant memory when the island collapses upon itself like a ribbon fallen to the ground, as it sits empty and alone in the sea. As night falls, a sickle moon rises like a scythe over the island.
It is not until the next morning that they see what the island has become again (or rather they hear it, whispered to them in the birdsong heralding the new day, in the waves gently lapping against the shores of the Courts.) There is no bridge this time to guide them into the new world -- but the first horse to step into the Terminus sea did not look back when they began to walk not through the water, but overtop it.
They only looked down, and down, and down at the faces of stone that looked up at them through the water. At the kelp that tangled down their necks like manes, at the fish that schooled around the curls of their horns.
There were boats waiting for those that were less-brave than the first horse, but for every boat that carried a horse from one distant land to the other, there were more who tossed their heads back and laughed with wild abandon as they raced across the water like young-gods. And to each of them the island whispered, and sang, and laughed as it welcomed them back to its waiting shores.
And oh! how different those shores are from the last!
There are no spiraling labyrinths rising to pierce the sky, no shops waiting like jealous dragons hiding away their treasures. There are no exposed bones of the earth crying out their lamentations. A sea of emerald grass that is as soft as silk brushes out a greeting against their legs as they move deeper and deeper into the rugged hills. And sometimes -- those hills followed after them.
There are faces carved in the hills, and bodies rising from the stones. Statues watch as the first horses explore the new land (and whisper to one another about how strange these horses seem, how different from them they are.) The braver statues follow along behind them like stray dogs, freezing each time those mortals eyes turn back to address them.
But perhaps, if you are patient enough, if you were to stand quietly beside them long enough to hear the earth breathing --
Perhaps too you might hear those statues begin to whisper to you their stories.
This is the sixth transformation of the island. For 506 summer, the island has become a land of rugged hills. The emerald grass is as soft as silk, and stones dot the landscape like fallen stars. A multitude of statues of all shapes and sizes rise from the stones -- each with a face. If you are watchful, you may see a statue blink, or turn its head to whisper to its companions, or stand up and follow after an unsuspecting horse. If you are quiet, you may hear the stories they have to say.
Be as creative as you want with this setting. The statues can look however you like, and they can tell whatever stories you choose! Perhaps it is a legend, or a child's story; perhaps it is the story of their own life, of their carving, of how and why they became turned to stone. Maybe they are all heroes and villains immortalized forever on the island. Maybe your character thinks nothing of the statues, and is thankful only for a(n almost) normal season.
YOU CAN EARN +2 EXP EACH SEASON
This landscape will change on February 1st, 2021. All threads started after that date will not count towards the 506 Summer island IC Event.
For any thread started during the current season, you will have 2 months from the start date of that thread to get 4 posts in. Like other IC events, you can claim 4 posts across multiple threads as long as they were all completed during the same 2 month period.
Also keep an eye out for some @'Random Event' fun happening on this board. <3
THE FOREST IS ALIVE WITH BRACKEN GRISTLE AND GREEN CANYONS COLORED A DUSTY MALLARD LIKE MINI SHAPES OF HIM. LITTLE BITS OF GNOME PASTURE AND WILD PEONY-THINGS GROW ON HER FLANKS; A VERITABLE VINEYARD CARVED NATURAL, PROTECTED FROM STORM, AND FEELING, IN MEANDERING LITTLE, SUN-GUIDED SNAKE TAILS, ACROSS THE WOODLAND FLOOR . . .
AND SOMEWHERE, THE SENSE OF ENTS WATCHING.
The scars run wild on him, in patchwork pieces clung dry to his muscle- he's a gogoltexture with ten years of history, the richest of his prime visibly mapped out as starry-web-shapes that wink out, pale, on his skin in the nascent dew light. The morning is all sweet and sylvan and made of soft rose, searching busy the thorned tips of things to catch on, and blink white from, settling temporarily on some smooth stone or patch of cotton grass growing thick along the copse with mountain grouse, chicks, and bounding seas of hare.
He has on him no notes or parchment papers to prove that he's here to teach, just an invisible memory bank alive with medical melody. If anything, his student's first task would be finding him, he (partially) jokes to himself, waiting beside a creekbed.
THE MOST FORGIVING TUTOR WAS WHERE NATURE RAN THICKEST, AND WILD, THERE, IN RICH AND RAW FLAVORS OF PUPPYGRASS AND FLOWERBEDS COMPOSED OF COLOR-CODED MEDICINE.
HE KNEW VERY LITTLE OF THE YOUTH NETWORKED INTO HIS CIRCLES, HOW EXPANSIVE (OR LACKING) HER EXPERIENCE WAS, BUT HE WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT HER MIND WAS ABLE, AND WILLING, AND FOR THAT- THAT WAS ENOUGH FOR HIM, REALLY, TO GET HIM TRAVELING FROM HIS HOMELAND TO THE SOFTER FREELANDS.
WE HAVE DREAMS, YOU AND I. AND THEY'RE NOT LEAVING, NO, NOT UNTIL THE DAYS ARE GONEBY. WHERE'RE YOU RUNNING TO? WE'RE HEADED THIS WAY, FAR FROM PLACES WARM AND COMFORTING. THERE'S TOO MUCH TO KNOW, TOO MUCH TO FEAR, HOPING FOR BETTER DAYS, SOFTER WAYS. I'M LAMPLIGHT FADING, AND YOU'RE TWISTING CANDLEFLAME: WE'RE BURNING BRIGHT, AND GUTTERING FAR TOO QUICKLY- BUT NEVER PUT OUT BY RAIN. IF YOU'RE HOPING TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE, NEVER FORGET THAT WE START TODAY.
The stars seemed to whisper to her on this night; the air bitterly cold and yet sweet in her lungs. Nimue was either brave or incredibly stupid -- braving the unstable rocky stairs up the summit of Veneror not once, but twice in recent nights. She had half a thought to turn around, but that was not the way she liked to do things. The mare was determined and stubborn almost to a fault. Her hooves beat the natural stone stairs upward in soft, surefooted clicks. With her good eye, she saw her way forward, careful not to slip on the unsteady path. Nimue laughed internally to herself -- surely enough, if her visits to the Peak became a habit, if she were truly blind in both eyes, the mare could still find her way up the mountain.
But tonight was not one for lighthearted jokes. The mare had only returned for one purpose, and one that she had never lowered herself to do before. Before she was mortal, before she was a she even -- Nimue recalled watching over many worlds and timelines across the continuum of space and time. Past, present, future.. they existed altogether and not at all. If she closed her eyes, and tried her hardest, even then, she could not See like she once had before. When she was immortal, she was every living, breathing thing and something separate at the same time. Oh, how she yearned for it once more. Being mortal had it's consequences, and she was determined to be over paying her due debts. She would not beg the gods, but maybe... negotiate, if they deign to heed her words at all.
As she travelled higher still, the air thinning as she ascended, Nimue recalled the first four years of her mortal life in the Old World. She had once called a place called the Winter Court "home," or as much a home as she could, as she had never had one before. With her knowledge of other worlds and different existing places, Nimue was aware that there were many gods. She had never prayed to them, or spoke to them. When she was timeless, she was simply made of space and stars -- stories had once called her a god. Growing up as a youngling in Winter, she was taught that the goddess Glacies was her deity. However, the feeling had never sat well with her when the crones of her herd told her she should be thankful. Now, in the New World, coincidently there were even newborn gods. In her home in Dawn, her deity was the god Oriens, although she had never spoken to him in prayer before.
Even now, she was still respectful. How could she not be? She wouldn't lie to herself if she wasn't also angry. At the gods, the universe... she did not know who had decided to punish her for her acts. How could one not eventually get too attached to a timeline? To someone living? She asked herself this everyday since she was "born" in this physical world. The mare shook her head, her forelock falling out of her eyes. No, she did not know. But like always, Nimue pined for knowledge and answers with an insatiable thirst.
She had reached the peak's highest point now. The mare stopped, eyes to the stars. She could almost touch them, they were so clear as they glimmered across the inky night sky. Here, she felt closest to how she had existed before. Taking a deep breath, she turned, walking with careful steps to the clearing. She could not deny it was beautiful -- stone carved perfectly out of the mountain's summit, columns of smooth rock spiraling to the ceiling of the aclove. Thick moss and ivy wove around the stone, impossible to think about how the flora could thrive on a cold peak. Stopping at it's center, Nimue marveled at the cathedral of the gods. She swore the air vibrated differently here, unlike anything she had ever felt while living in a mortal, living tomb.
Unsure of herself, but purposefully, the rosy mare kneeled with one slender leg bent underneath her. Her single horn nearly kissed the ground, hovering just a centimeter over the stone floor. She would not beg. Negotiate. Ask, for if you don't ask, you will not receive answers. "I wish to feel the presence of the gods, old and new and wise. Let it be known of my intentions and graces, my thirst for knowledge and understanding. I am yours."
---
OOC: This post is taking place on a completely separate night on the Peak than Nim's activities in Off the garden path. The events in this thread take place after the other thread! This one is open to anyone, however be advised: Nimue is mentally/emotionally vulnerable as this is a worship thread. Thanks for reading c:
"You'll see green alligators and long-necked geese,
Some humpty-backed camels and some chimpanzees,
Some cats and rats and elephants, but sure as you're born,
You're never gonna see no Unicorn."
I feel it. I don't have to think about it I just know that it's REAL. This is the end of the relic quest - I've been EVERYWHERE. Okay maybe not everywhere but it sure as fuck feels like everywhere. Now I haven't searched this prairie, I haven't scoured the earth but fuck it I'm here. The cool spring sun just barely warms my body and I feel wonderful. The prairie is full of greenery, hills, grass. I fall to the ground, not caring who sees my ungraceful descent. I stuff my mouth with grass, enjoying the meal that is like a big damn congratulations. I'm far from the home I've placed myself in. It's deliciously sweet, sinfully sweet. I don't care that I have another long journey to return home. I'll get there eventually. There's no rush, at least not that I'm aware of, and right now I'm enjoying being horizontal. A laugh - a real laugh - passes through tainted ivories, and I rub my horns and forehead against the ground, scoring it and raising worms to the surface. HA!
I glance at the hill and wonder to myself what exactly I'm going to do. Roll down it. That's what I'm gonna do. I tuck my short, thick legs in toward my belly, and begin to spin. The hills are a lazy slope and I don't roll fast - which is good because I don't want to encourage any nausea. Over and over I roll, until I finally reach the bottom of a long, beautiful slope. I let my legs splay out and continue to lie there in the sun. It's great. Perhaps in this moment this is the happiest I've been, the happiest I could be under the circumstances. I'll savor it while I can, thank you very much.
"There was green alligators and long-necked geese,
Some humpty-backed camels and some chimpanzees,
Noah cried, "Close the doors 'cause the rain is pourin',
And we just can't wait for no Unicorns.""
My wearied body barely made it down from the mountains I kid you not. After my meeting with the pretty mare, I rested some more, then journeyed further south. Reaching an appropriate, Rosti-approved altitude once more, I'm moving much more slowly than I once had. A deep inhale.. and exhale.. my eyes closed to rest my mind. So much hunting, so much not relic. I open my eyes. A lake? A BIG ASS lake. I step forward with a little more energy, curiosity driving me onward. My steps are less careful, and I almost tumble face first to the ground. Last second I catch myself and walk forward a little more slowly. I stop at the edge and stare into what looks like a giant ass mirror. I stare for a moment, not really seeing anything. I lie down with a heaving groan just on the edge of the water, and glance out over the still water in the dawn. The rising sun is slow to reach my body, but the cool air feels comfortable. Will the relic be here in the banks? Out across the water? Underneath the water? There's no way that I could possibly search underneath the water. Do I look like a mermaid? I've nearly given up on ever finding the relic. I've lost count of the places I've been, the things I've seen. Who knows if I'll ever succeed in this damn quest.
"Old Noah was there to answer the call,
He finished up making the Ark just as the rain started fallin',
He marched in the animals two by two
And he called out as they went through,
"Hey, Lord: I've got yer....
Green alligators and long-necked geese,
Some humpty-backed camels and some chimpanzees,
Some cats and rats and elephants, but Lord, I'm so forlorn,
I just can't see no Unicorn.""
Hooves step soundly but cautiously along the terrain. The canyons that I've stumbled upon, having left the oasis, are wonderful, impressive monuments, statues of the Gods. But in the cool darkness (for of course it is night time when I happen to be traversing some place I could stumble and kill myself), I must take care. Nothing has stuck out to me as a relic here besides the rocks that are all over the canyon, just like the cliffs in Terrastella. The chill of the night (still somewhat like the desert I'd just come from) makes me shiver as I pick my way along. I think that perhaps it would be better to rest here tonight before trying to make my way down the steep and treacherous canyon ledges. I see more mountains to the south and know that it will be difficult to move that direction. If I had wings perhaps, it might be easier.
I glance around, wondering if perhaps there will be a good place to shelter for the night. That canyon's only offering is an outcrop - down a ledge to an overhang. Luckily the path down seems traveled and I find it easier to get a grip as I descend. Heavy body settles onto the ground with a groan as I shelter myself for the evening (though from what?). A big yawn, and I lie there on my side, wondering what will become of me, of Damaris... my past as it relates to my future. A sadness falls over me like a heavy cloak, but I don't move to free myself. What can be done but to forge ahead, beg forgiveness for my sins, and pray (if I can bother myself to do so) that it will get better. Someday I'll find Damaris, I just don't know when....
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![[Image: ezgif_2_3c38189a9b_by_arrakis93-dbdp4j8.gif]](http://orig12.deviantart.net/cefa/f/2017/173/7/b/ezgif_2_3c38189a9b_by_arrakis93-dbdp4j8.gif)
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