Her restless heart had once more cast her to the roads, back to the fundamental wanderings of a lost soul. Her curiosity had taken her here; to Delumine, Dawn Court, in the same way a moth is drawn effortlessly, dangerously, to a flame. There was not a better time to be there, the Black Doe would come to find, for the Autumnal Soltice was alive and tantalizing, tempting and pleasing. It was unlike anything she'd seen before, except for perhaps the Night Markets back... 'Home'. She still doesn't know the meaning of that word. She doesn't know if she ever will.
Slipping in like a shadow to the forest, making to the festivities was hardly a task. There's many things - too many things - to focus on, overwhelming and all-encompassing. Lighting the trees and enlivening the expanse of Viride with life, pulsing and awing. It's easy to find but difficult to regain her bearings, and before long she is reeling away from the activity, further and further away. Then the sounds are morphing into voices; soothing, calling, pulling voices that take her from the noise until it is only a murmur, din in the background. Instead, a slightly more defined voice replaces it and begins to whisper and kiss at her soft ears. Illuminated by the lantern's orange-glow, she turns to the side, then to another direction, the sinking feeling of longing aching so much in her chest she can hardly handle it. She can't even remember what that voice said to her, but oh how she wants to know; they have settled a heavy stone in the pit of her gut, a pining in her ribcage that seems exemplified by the fact that this always had been a constant, dull ache - but now, somehow, she wants for so much more.
Do you hear them?
Her entire body tenses as a shadow emerges from the undergrowth. It was the first time she'd ever seen someone captivate the same energy as she; even as the glow of a sun casts toward her, his brilliant orange eyes having the very same effect. Dark gray eyes meet his own with similar intensity, though her surprise is still worn on the way she holds herself. No matter how much his own glowing warmth felt welcoming (not so unlike the lanterns lit around them), it takes more than usual time for her to relax to the idea that this stranger had just peeled from the undergrowth, as though he had been here this entire time; as though he was simply waiting for a reason to make his presence known.
She knows what he speaks of. A slow nod offers him her answer; she can hear them, as raw and real as a deep wound cuts into her skin. It felt like they were exposing her, bit by bit, moment by moment, unfurling the thin of her skin until she was bare.
But what could they possibly find? Even she doesn't know what lies beyond... But she wants to. She wants to know where everything she encompasses came from. Wants to know where her dark fur comes from, wants to know what all this longing and searching is for. She wants, needs, desires, longs to know. Could these voices give her this answer? Is she a fool to hope?
Doe looks around, through the trees, into the undergrowth as though searching for it. Looking for some type of direction, some way. The stranger's voice fills in the background again, and what comes is something that resonates with her so much more than she likes.
They're only the voices of the lost. Some say they only sing to those who are also lost.
Tears threaten to sting her eyes. She knows she is lost - that's never been a question in her life. But these voices... Could they somehow be connected to her? Could they actually, truly understand? Gods, if there was any way that she has found understanding in such an unlikely place-
I suppose you've come for the festival path? Whether or not you believe the stories, you can't walk these woods without feeling the presence of something ancient and beautiful dwelling in the roots. Of course, not everything beneath this canopy is beautiful.
Perhaps you will learn what else haunts this forest tonight.
"Show me." The words come out in a terribly desperate way. Soft, yearning, wanting. She quite nearly begs, and the words fall at their hooves. Pleading and soft, feather-light and paper-thin. "Show me. Please."
She doesn't care if he's 'crazy'. She doesn't care if this is all a farce. She doesn't care if all she'll find are those stupid, beautiful violets - she just knows she needs to find something here, even if it's nothing. She has been captivated completely and totally into this trail without even taking a single step into it yet. She has become a victim to the callings and they needed only to speak soft nothings to her for her to fall.
But she wants to follow those lost voices. She wants to know what answers they can give her. She wants to know if there is a purpose in her life.
If there is a meaning for all this hunger.
She takes a step after the golden, yellow light. And another. And another.
Until the forest wraps around her and she is drawn further away from the light and into the totality of the wild.
As you begin the pathway, the forest around you seems to come alive. There are birds of every size and shape flitting from branch to branch overhead, vibrant blue butterflies dancing around your hooves, rustlings in the nearby bushes. Perhaps you are familiar with the woods, and they seem peaceful to you; or perhaps every creak of the branches makes your senses jump, and every shadow dancing just out of sight has your skin crawling.
Or perhaps it feels as though the forest is watching you. Maybe the woodland animals are not the only things alive here.
Regardless, as you venture further into the forest, the festival noises are replaced entirely with the sounds of flora and fauna, and the glow of the lanterns placed along the pathway is greater than what little sunlight manages to break through the canopy. It feels intimate here, and whether you came with company or alone, you begin to feel acutely aware of how alone you are walking in the woods.
It is not long before the rustling in the leaves grows louder, and another set of footsteps begin to echo your’s. But when you turn to look, only the empty forest path greets your eyes. The trees shiver, the light in the nearest lantern begins to waver; and from the shadows, a new light begins to shine as a thousand fireflies wander down the trail.
For a moment, they seem to form the outline of another horse. But when you blink the image slips away, and the fireflies swarm together. They drift near to you, almost shyly, cautiously; the wind seems to be holding its breath, waiting, waiting. The fireflies reach out to you like an old friend, their light falling across your face. And then as one they turn, gathering once more into the likeness of a horse. And without turning, without caring for the old man’s warning, they step off the forest path and into the forest. Without the warm glow of the lanterns, they make their own light weaving between the trees, casting strange rays of light that seem to linger too long in the darkness, reaching back to you.
As if beckoning to you to follow.
To continue the quest, you must reply to this thread with your character's choice. There is no word limit, and you can be as creative with the prompt as you'd like! In this round, it seems as though a horde of fireflies are trying to show your character something...
Choices: stay on the path, or follow the fireflies
The forest is so much more alive the deeper she steps into the expanse of flora and fauna. She is completely and totally ensnared inside the dark forest, lit now only by lanterns and fireflies along the path. There is nothing but the greenwood, and nothing matters except for this and this sole, longing purpose she has right now. It leads her ever forward.
Her eyes search for something, something she cannot find in the birds, the butterflies that flutter at her legs, but rather in the shadows and the rustling of leaves, bushes. The dark space between the lines; the forest, the movements of things she swears are there. It's as though it's playing a game (whatever it is) with her; a coy, tantalizing game. I want to find you, she pleads in her mind, please, let me find you.
Her pace picks up. Not out of fear, but out of desperation. She's pulled out of her usual, collected senses as it drowns in the sea of her absorption. If she is being watched, let them show themselves to her! Each moment she is stripped a little more bare for these whispers. Each moment she gets more and more desperate. Raw. Reeling. She can be played as a fool in this one's palm for all she cares; so long as she finds the end of this path. So long as she finds something that will give her any kind of understanding.
When she finally hears those rustlings and movement take the form of a second set of footsteps, her heart thuds fast against her chest. Her pace slows, chained to this unknown entity. But whenever she stops to look, to find them, silence fills what was once a sound so close behind her, around her. "Where are you?" She wants to believe it was the stranger at the clearing, but she knows that's not true. She'd lost his light to the fireflies and lanterns long ago. But she's glad she's alone, here; she wants to move on with reckless abandon. Wants to move at her own pace. Had there been another soul with her, she would have left them long ago.
And as if an answer is revealing itself to her, the forest seems to darken with the flickering lantern lights. The shadows start to whisper again. The fireflies that just faintly form the shape of a horse and then disperse catch her utmost attention. Surely...
She doesn't think on it long. She takes this evidence for what it is and could be; a sign, a request.
Dark eyes stray from the path and follow the lights deeper into the forest. Each time a light twinkles against her eye, she is hit with a momentary memory. Too-short and still unknown to her, she takes a half step back in contemplation. She smells blood, but she knows that smell. But then she smells lavender. Sweet and iron, a strangely... Homely feeling. The soft voices of her memory seem to coalesce with the faint whispers of the forest. She wavers, only a moment, before breaking from the safety of the trail and deeper into the forest. Her heart beats her onward. Onward. Onward. Toward the fireflies, heeding their call.
The fireflies bob along ahead of you, leading you further and further away from the beaten trail. And as the trees close in around you, leaves whispering amongst themselves overhead, the lantern-light from the events begin to fade into the background. The shush, shush, shush of the trees start to give way to a murmur of voices, pressing in from the shadows.
The light-horse leading your way breaks into a run.
Through the forest it races, fallen leaves and forest soil shuddering in its wake, shedding fireflies like wishes. More and more fireflies appear, and form more light-horses that crash into the darkness and send the shadows fleeing. And with them, the warnings about the forest melt away when you follow.
But soon the trees fall away, and in the midst of a clearing the light-horses slow and turn to face you. Silver grass waves at you gently in a lingering breeze, waving you closer as a whisper rises from them. Mist weaves around their stalks like slender snakes, and as the fireflies begin to disperse, the mists begin to rise and take their place. A mist-foal framed with fireflies whinnies at you.
It takes a slow step towards you, breath whuffing softly over your face. The magic holding it together trembles.
And then, mist-hooves flashing as it rears, the ghost-foal begins to dance around you. The grass whispers louder and louder, as more mist-horses rise from the earth and join the dance. They whisper to you, dozens of voices that weave and blend together. Some of them whisper your name; or perhaps they repeat phrases of meaning back to you, phrases you hold dear in your heart. Perhaps you recognize the dancing foal, and perhaps it speaks to you kindly as it invites you to play a game of chase.
Or perhaps you see something malevolent in the way all those mist-horses surround you, and in the way their voices start to sound more like a hiss than a whisper.
To continue the quest, you must reply to this thread with your character's choice. There is no word limit, and you can be as creative with the prompt as you'd like! The fireflies have led you to a clearing, where dozens of mist-spirits rise from the silver grass and fog. They press in around you, whispering quietly to you - what are they saying? Are they friends or foes? Are you falling under their trance, or only unsettled by the ghosts?
Choices: double back to the path, or play with the mist-spirits
She dives deep into the abyss of the forest-shadows and low-lit, no-paths. She dives with no regard; she dives without holding her breath.
When her ethereal company suddenly starts running fast ahead of her, she spends no time to think and follows suite. She follows like a chain is connecting them both; like their paths are entwined, like she's finally found something. Someone. She makes no attempt to be quiet, keeps her desperate pace while trying so hard not to lose the horse-form in front of her. Dark eyes set longing and needing as she follows... Ducks her head from a low-hanging branch, winces past as leaves and flowers and vines whip at her face and threaten to slow her down. She can't allow it. She can't let anything slow her down, now.
The forest suddenly opens to a field, and she stops at the cusp of it; suddenly very shy and uncertain of the opening, the way the sky loomed. She didn't have to strain to keep up with the spirit anymore; she can see just beyond the shadows the fields and what waits for her out there.
There are so many. And they are all looking at her.
Her steps are slow and reserved, even as grass and leaves cling to her uncouth pelt, turned up in random places and messy as she pants through a flared nose. She exits the safety of the night shadows of the trees and bushes and into the clearing. The moon is so, so bright, and the stars, and the black of space - it can see everything. Everything.
She enters the fog and watches it grow, then a whinny catches her attention among the light-horses' faces as she studies them. She turns just as the small mist-foal made of smokey moonlight and fireflies approaches her, quiet and slow. Her head bows and she can feel its breath like a cold, gentle breeze. There is something so oddly familiar about them... About... Her?
There is an innocence here that calls to her, no matter if she's wrong to feel that way. Lifting her head back just as the foal rears and begins to dance, she studies then the faces around them as they start to whisper. Faces. Faces she doesn't know yet seem so familiar.
They whisper so many meaningful things. Significant things. Some are distant shouts, but most are soft and inviting and familiar.
Welcome home.
Shakti.
Meree betee... Tumane kya kiya hai?
My little fighter.
Vah samaan nahin hai.
She isn't the same. She might never be.
You idiot!
Fa'ih.
She gasps and tears finally spill like a threaded spool of silk. Her heart beats a thousand times a second it feels like, and she looks upon the dancing child, the dancing light-horses, in a new kind of understanding. They were, intentionally or not, peeling and bringing out a cascade of memories from her. Memories she had been unable to find for... As long as she can remember.
And it is such a large, huge feeling inside of her, she has no idea what to do with it.
So she walks among them. Brushes her fur with their gossamer skin, blinks gentle against the light of their silhouettes among the fog. Familiarizes herself. Welcomes herself into their ranks, into their game.
Without a care nor thought of the trail she'd come from. All there is now is fog and memories and heart-wrenching, bittersweet familiarization.
And in the depths of herself she speaks an intimate, innate truth. Soft, meaningful, personal: "I know you."Keep me here. Let me continue to learn; let me continue to know things I never knew outside of these trees, outside of this fog. Let me belong to this mist and let me belong to you.
She's never wanted for anything more than to simply stay here and nestle within this sense of security she has felt - like no other - like a hearthside.
A shiver seems to run collectively through the spirits, when they realize you are here to stay. They press in eagerly, closer and closer, until their fireflies brush their wings against your skin and mist wraps around your legs. A dozen pairs of glowing eyes stare at you solemnly. And still they whisper.
The ghost foal alone dances through them all, spinning and careening, hooves flashing brightly before disappearing into indistinct mist. Its little hooves never touch the ground, and yet the silver grass bobs and weaves beneath its steps. And the more it dances, the more the forest and the grass and the sky above seems to fade into fog.
They say on this night, the line separating the realm of the spirits and the realm of the living begins to blur. Unbidden, a phrase you don’t remember hearing repeats itself in your mind: when the spirits are allowed to walk in the land of the living for the night, so too can the living become trapped in the spirit world…
The color begins to bleed from the moon.
Little by little, the color is drained from the world surrounding you. Perhaps when you look down, you are surprised to see a once-bright coat reduced to shades of white, and grey, and black.
All around the spirits seem to be changing, solidifying: the mist pulls away from them, and moves to you instead. The edges of your hooves disappear into the mist twining around your body, as your form becomes less corporeal. And then bit by bit, you begin to fade. The voices of the spirits become louder, laughter breaking through the small clearing as one by one, they turn and disappear into the forest. ”Thank you,” they say, in voices that have turned unsettling cold, ”it has been so long since we last felt the breeze upon our skin…” Perhaps it is only now that a pit of dread settles in your belly, watching as the spirits become the living.
The dancing mist-foal, now a grulla colt, is the last to leave. He turns and smiles widely at you, sweeping into a bow. ”It’s not so bad,” he says, as if to console you - but he is already stepping away. ”They say there’s another way back, if you are true in spirit. They say the waters of the Rapax can reverse the curse.” He stops and looks at you from over one shoulder, with a look that is hard to place. Perhaps it is one of sadness, or hope - or perhaps there is only something feral gleaming in his eyes. ”But only if you make it there before you lose your body.” With a laugh, he bounds away. And the mist creeps further up your body, as if to emphasize the little time you have left. And yet you can’t help but feel there is another way, and that the little mist-foal is the key to it...
To continue the quest, you must reply to this thread with your character's choice. There is no word limit, and you can be as creative with the prompt as you'd like! The ghosts have tricked you. The longer you tarried with them, the more the magic was allowed to work: it gave the spirits their bodies back, while stealing your's! Slowly, you are being turned to mist, cursed to live in the spirit realm. Unless, you find a way back... As always, be creative as possible! Is the foal, in his own way, trying to help you, or show kindness? Or has your character lost all hope in them?
Choices: chase after the spirit, or race to the river
Disclaimer: there is no wrong choice here, and effects from this quest will only be as permanent as you desire! This will be your characters final choice in this thread, if you have any concerns or questions, please reach out to @sid!
