I think that of all the places in Novus, the most magic is to be found in the forests of Delumine. I met a birch tree there once. There were birds nested in his branches, lichen sprawling up his neck. He called me a little tree, and it was one of my proudest moments.
I did not believe I would ever see him again, but that did not stop me from looking. The evening of the festival, as everyone else gathered around the lights and the meadow and the river (the safety in numbers almost tangible, like a blanket) I turned away from the crowds and followed my heart into the forest which so enchanted me.
I knew it could be dangerous– that went unspoken anywhere darkness and shadow lingered so thickly. But I also felt an indescribable sense of comfort beneath all those heavy boughs. I had the feeling the trees were old friends, or maybe family, and like old friends they would have my back if I ran into trouble. I had Furfur with me, too, quiet and slick as sunset, and with him by my side I felt untouchable.
When the voices started, I just thought it was my magic. Dead roots and stones and dried-out leaves sometimes talked to me, if they had something they really wanted said. These voices were a little… different. They had a pull to them that was almost physical. I attributed it to the forest magic until the grey stranger stepped forward and began to speak.
Furfur growled as the stallion stepped into the warmth of the lantern’s glow. His golden eyes reminded me of the sun peeking over the horizon at first light. I said nothing, only listened intently to his words, and when he melted back into the shadows I stepped forward down the vacant path.
I’m not sure how long I walked. Time was strange there, in the quiet stillness of the forest. But at some point there was a crack as a branch snapped underfoot behind me. I whirled around with alarm. “Who’s there?” The twist of my horn was lowered and pointed at the darkness, and in that moment I felt no fear at all. I was seized by a sense of utter calm. Perhaps it was the influence of the tall trees; I imagined their roots sinking deep into the earth and imagined myself doing the same, grounding myself into a world with more strength and age and wisdom than I could imagine.
His brace of antlers still rise proud and impressive atop his poll, even as fall presses her fingers upon them, weakening their roots, turning their gilt-gold dark with well seasoned age. The tines hold the Ivy and flowers that loop through them. The woodland drapes the brace with leaves and woodland trinkets;; a forest crown. Even as emerald darkness blooms in the deep loveliness of the forest, the boy does not tremble but walks like a king amidst his kingdom.
He listens as Nature’s hand pushes him this way and that, directing her son closer and closer toward the new, strange magic and the moonlight child who stands amidst it. He listens to the woodland speak, but not in the way the Denocte girl does. To Leonidas, the woodland is rustling whispers and chirping song. The orphan boy moves as if he knows every inch of Delumine, and maybe he does... How long has he been a boy alone, lost and wandering the wilds of Novus? Loneliness has begun to fit snug across his growing body, he wears it as a wild fur, shot through with the bright of meadow flowers and the sharp weapons of sticks and stones.
Leonidas has become a wild boy, a feral king of woods and meadows. His kingdom knows no bounds. All of Novus is his.
This night, with the steadiness of creeping ivy, the woodland rustling slowly grows into voices calling. They speak and he turns to better hear them. Shyly, they quieten as he moves, like the timid fox that hides when spotted. Unperturbed, the boy meanders, following the trail of voices, until a glimpse of silver ahead has him gravitating faster toward the girl and a ghostly man with a golden sun and sunrise eyes.
The boy falls still as the great cathedral trees that stand around him. His nape arches as the man’s strange gaze settles upon him. His teeth part to reveal small, blunt teeth gleaming milk-white in the forest light. It is a snarl befitting a lion, not a stag. Leonidas is not just a woodland king but a boy of Time and a lion of sunlight. His feathers and mane drip gold like the ichor that once ran in his father’s veins.
The feral boy watches as the man disappears. He steps forward to follow and the woodland, surprisingly, betrays him. The snap of a twig cracks through the forest and the whispering voices suddenly fall silent. The girl turns and she seems so desperately familiar in Leonidas’ gaze. A ghostly memory blooms within his mind, but its colour, its scent is off, like a flower out of season, lost to the blizzarding trials of winter. The boy forgets a girl called Avesta and their fight for a fortress of ruins.
The unicorn child lowers her horn and it cuts the air with moonlight. Leonidas feels the itch of memory again as if is her horn carving moonlight into his sun-bright soul. The boy of sun and the girl of moon meet each other without a gram of fear within their souls. They neither have anything to fear - even in a wood of strange magic and lost spirits. Or so their young hearts think.
Her question, who is there? hangs in the air. Regal Leonidas steps out from where the deep dark veils the earthy tone of his skin. He moves toward her through moonlight and the gilding light of the sun. He does not lower his crown of antlers to meet the sword of her horn. Rather his tines point up at the star-strung sky. The emerald darkness breathes him in as he drinks in the silver of her body. Boldly, he moves to her side and tips his chin at the sun the stranger left behind.
“Leonidas,” he says his name as if it might be the only thing of himself he truly remembers. The orb bathes his face in sunlight, brightening his gold, leonine eyes. The scent of her skin is full of city scents and his lips wrinkle in distaste. Yet he will not hold it against her. The boy turns, elven and slim toward the orb, “The forest is different tonight.” He breathes and the magic is metallic across his tongue. “The voices said I was lost like them. But i do not know what they mean… Are you lost too?”
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
A boy quietly emerged from the shadows. He was kind of godlike. (I say kind of because I am loath to compliment any boy.) Part of this was his appearance-- the golden antlers, the heavy wings-- but mostly it was the way he walked like a prince, like a king. Like a god. He moved with a confidence I would personally not grow into for a while.
My instinct was to marvel at this beautiful boy, but I leaned away from my sense of awe. I distrusted it, for I had the stupid, heavy, foreboding sense that everything good would be taken from me, and everything beautiful could be ruined, and distance was the kindest gift I could give to anything I admired.
Maybe I should have asked myself why I strove so hard to be kind.
But back then I didn’t. Maybe I couldn’t-- Maybe you have to go a certain distance before you can look back and see how foolish was the path you chose. (I hope when you look back, whoever you are and however far you’ve come, you will have the grace to laugh at yourself.)
His antlers, tipped so gracefully up to the thick canopy, reminded me of a prayer. I wasn’t taught how to pray, and I was never interested in learning, but still I was struck by that thought. I lifted my head from it’s aggressive (defensive) stance, and I did not smile but I still softened ever so slightly. I want it to be very clear, I only softened-- I did not melt.
When he stepped forward I stepped back. And when I saw the subtle lines of his frown, the barest wrinkling of his lips, I frowned too. I failed to see (or smell) what might make me such unpleasant company. (Only I was able to berate myself my awkwardness, my great silences, my sad eyes) “Aspara.” I said briefly, trying my hardest to convey in the three syllables of my name that I was not impressed by this pretty stranger, no siree.
When he said “the forest is different tonight” I glanced into its depths as if to confirm. But I already knew, I already felt the difference too, and I nodded shortly in agreement. The only thing that bothered me is I could not tell if it was a good difference or a bad one.
“I’m not lost.” Well, I did not know exactly where I was, but that was not the same as being lost-- right? “They said the same thing to me too,” I admitted after a heartbeat’s consideration. “What do you think it all means?”
Then there was another rustle of leaves underfoot, and again I turned to face the sound with the dangerous twist of my horn. But it was only-- and maybe, here, my memories are blurred, faulty, but this is what they are-- it was only a group of fireflies.
I smiled as they danced closer, illuminating me and Leo in their beautiful glow. (How I would love to glow like that! To carry such light)And then they formed the shape of a horse and they diverged into the darkness of the forest, which only seemed that much darker for the light of their glow. I took a step off the path before I remembered the strange man who said not to stray too far from the trail. I bit my lip, an ugly gesture I know, and glanced to the boy. I felt as though circumstances bound us, at least for the moment. And though I normally might have asked “should we follow them?” I was still quite bothered by his beauty and his split-second frown. I did not want to consult him. More importantly, I did not want him to think I wanted to consult him.
I also did not particularly want to go into the dark forest alone. In fact I had a fairly bad feeling about this. If I was alone I would have listened to it; but I wasn’t and it made me reckless. Like I had something to prove with my bravery. So I ducked forward to press my muzzle to the boy’s shoulder. It was less of a kiss and more of a boyish shove. Close as we were I could taste his wildness, and I was struck by a sense I would not understand later the next day, as I poured through my own memories. Longing.
“Let’s follow them,” I said in an eager tone that left no room for argument. I stepped off the path and into the forest, guided by the gentle light of the fireflies.
The filly looks away from him as he steps closer. There is a wariness in her gaze. If he knew the reason she turns from him (because foreboding fills her body with a sense that all she loves might be lost) then he go to her and whisper in her ear. He would warn her to listen to that small tremor of anxiety. For losing everything can happen so frighteningly easily. Loss comes with a deft blow that leaves one reeling.
Yet, maybe he wouldn’t whisper that in her ear. Maybe he would say nothing at all because he does not remember yet what he has lost. Leonidas would look at her with the same wariness as she watches him and he would listen to his own small voice of foreboding that sees shadows in his memories and grief, so much grief. The shadows only have names now. The shadows mean nothing to a boy at all. He has grown too much since his family left him. He has spent more time alone that he has within his parents’ and sister’s embrace.
In the end, Leonidas does not know why she looks away from him and he does not think to wonder why. Instead, as she turns from him, he moves closer, closer. He steps neatly over root and furrow. The leaves barely rustle as the boy steps over and through them. The language of the woodland is in his blood, his soul. He knows how to walk in a way that is as quiet as a gentle breath.
Finally she lifts her head, until her horn tips up and away from him. His own muzzle draws in toward his chest. Young, forming muscle swells at his crest - still so much growing to do and yet, so much is already done. He has had to grow fast and Time magic is upon his side. All of Leonidas is early and fast. Bulbs set for spring, suddenly burst through the ground at his feet, blooming into flower, coaxed into premature life by his magic. Leonidas thinks nothing of it. Things have always been blooming and dying prematurely around him. When he concentrates he can twist the magic to his will and find food in deepest winter when no plant wishes to blossom at all.
Aspara, the girl returns. Something within him aches as he looks at her, her body similar to his. And the sound of her name. That is what makes him hurt. Her voice, young like his, young like a girl, like… nothing. There is nothing, just a name, just Aster. Apsara, like Aster. He exhales and that empty part of him feels so suddenly like a chasm again. Apsara’s eyes are lovely and wide and sad. He likes her eyes. They feel like a part of him.
He is not lost. ‘Me either, Apsara,’ He tries out her name upon his tongue. Hers might be the first name within his mouth since his family were lost. The boy-king wants to say her name again, it feels nice to hold a name there between lips and tongue. But he doesn’t, she is already looking away, stepping away, taking with her the scents of the city.
Leonidas moves to follow her but fireflies bloom out of the shadows. They dance together. Apsara stops in wonderment, a smile slips across her lips. The forest-boy would have thought nothing of the fireflies, he had seen enough of them, even over his short life. They get in his way and in his hair the moment twilight comes. No amount of swatting would get rid of them. Such is the life of a wild wood boy. But tonight is different. The way these fireflies move, the way the flutter of their wings stirs magic in the air. The way a girl is here, watching them with a smile upon her lips, awe pressing her teeth into her lip. He stares.
And he does not look away.
The fireflies morph, they arrange themselves into a horse, small and slight and beautiful. It drifts off the path upon which the children stand and away into the dark of the welcoming midnight wood. Something about Aspara is different when they go. She lunges forward and yet pauses. She looks back toward Leonidas, it is a strange effort to pull his gaze from her face. She makes it easier though as she shoots suddenly for him. Her muzzle presses roughly into his shoulder and -
Oh!
It is the first time he has been touched. Her muzzle is warm and soft though firm as she shoves him forward. Leonidas reacts as if she is lightning. It is startling, a touch after so long. His ears fall toward his skull as he leaps back, shying away less like a god and more like a deer. Wary, yet regal the boy skitters back wary. He huffs and his eyes blow wide, wide with alarm. His shoulder twitches, twitches, twitches, the skin reeling, his nerves electric.
If she saw the way he spooked and shied from her, it is not clear for she orders him, Lets follow them, and promptly disappears into the brush. “Aspara!” Leo cries after her. In his shock, in his reeling, he forgets how her name feels for a second time between tooth and tongue.
The boy king leaps nimbly into the brush after her. It is easy to hear where she goes for the way she clatters through the shrubbery. Leonidas follows, casting out his own command, ‘Wait for me!” It is not often a king is ordered by a stranger and he has not been subject to anyone in too, too long. Catching up with her, his long legs cover the ground easily, even in the darkness. A smile slips across his lips. A golden tine tips to tap against the elegant spiral of her horn. It rings like a bell and is a kind of touch he is much more comfortable with.
Through the forest they run and all the boy can think about his how his shoulder feels different and how he might like fireflies after all.
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
I cannot understate the power of friendships born in wild places. Among the trees, and the earth, and the bone-deep shadows; in many ways I think our fate was sealed that day.
Like I said earlier-- looking back on that evening, most of my memories seem to have blurred together. Everything happened so quickly, and so strangely, and there was of course an unusual magic afoot. Despite all that, I remember a few things with extreme clarity...
One and two: I remember the flower that bloomed suddenly before him, and the way he hardly noticed it. Then I remember the way he reacted when I touched him. It was like... it was like he had been burned. To be honest, it hurt my feelings. “Oh” I felt a flush rise in my cheeks, unbidden and unwanted but there nonetheless. I felt ugly, untouchable-- and I knew, I knew my self-worth should not be determined by some random, wild boy! But it was, and it hurt and so it became a relief of sorts to turn away to the darkness of the forest and plunge myself into it, as though I could be unravelled so easily and return to the beautiful mystery from which we all are born.
Three: The way he said my name. I looked behind me then, surprise and concern twisted across my brow. Me? He could have simply said “wait!” but he didn’t, he said my name. My name. It was strange to hear it on a boy’s tongue. The sound of it made me hesitate, yet I also wanted to laugh-- for it was said with a kind of indignance, like he wasn’t used to someone else making the decisions. This pleased me immensely for pride was and has always been (for whatever reason-- we needn’t explore it now) an enemy of mine. And as I looked back to him with that expression of dumbfounded surprise (the unimpressed rise of my brow suggested “why don’t you just keep up?”) I was struck by the expression on his face. That smile, wild as my sister’s-- I felt my own lips instinctively tug upward in response.
Four: At some point among the chaos as we burst through the forest came the tap-tap of our horns gently knocking as we ran in stride-- and as that sound coursed down into my bones I had the distinct feeling that we were bound, for better or for worse, for the rest of our lives.
Whatever may become of us, Leo, I swear to you it was born in that moment, with the forest as our witness.
Five: The clearing.
The particular image of that clearing, and the shifting shapes of the fireflies which led us to it, will forever be burned into my mind. In particular the way they formed the shape of a filly. At first I thought they were mirroring me, for she (excuse me, for I cannot help but to refer to the group of fireflies, in that form, as “she”) had my horn. My mother’s horn. But the lights gathered thickly in an all too familiar band around her neck.
It was Avesta.
My stomach clenched. “You’re not really here.” My voice was probably lacking in conviction, because she was there. It was so clearly my sister, in the form of a three dimensional constellation of fireflies. She trotted in place and beckoned to me and my heart twisted painfully in my chest with the keen awareness of everything I did not have.
“Leonidas?” I found myself reaching out to touch him again, although in a way that was very different from the first. I shuffled over to press my shoulder to his and this time there was something gentle, maybe even pleading, about my touch. I needed reassurance that I was not seeing and hearing things, that I was not alone. I did not fully trust the fireflies, as much as they captivated me. Some instinct drove me to have a vague feeling of defensiveness, and this time I listened to it. “It’s a trick, right?”
Avesta lifted her head in protest. She reared up and pawed at the sky, indignant. In the flesh she had been barely contained, but the fireflies that shaped her were not so restricted. They surged outward in an angry wave, then coalesced once more in the shape of a girl.
I laughed, partly in disbelief and partly in awe, and when I turned to Leonidas our faces were both alight in the precious glow of lost sisters. “Right?”
I didn't want to, but for some reason I trusted him.
FOR THE BIRDS WHO OWN NOTHING--
THE REASON THEY CAN FLY
@Leonidas @Official Dawn Account Aspara is undecided if they should stay or go, she's trusting Leo with the choice <3
The ring of their horns touching is the sound of their lives binding. He feels the song of it through his body replacing the places where her look of sorrow etched itself across his bones and twined with the fibers of his muscles. The boy has never seen a look like the one that darkened Aspara’s lovely eyes (in the same way the sea does beneath a mournful fog). Except… except for once. The way Aspara looked back at him was an echo of his mother’s agony as her magic broke and locked parents in one world and offspring in another.
Maybe that is why he called after the child when she runs from him (with that darkening hurt in her eyes). Maybe a part of him remembers that dreadful day that made him an orphan and then, eventually, just a boy without his twin. And maybe he fears it. Leonidas, wild boy of the woodland, empty of love, fears hurt for he has been cut deep. Sometimes he looks to the trees and thinks he knows how deep his pain runs. It is as deep as their great roots. He digs down within himself and has remained alive by the nutrients of his own soul.
So maybe that is why he cries after her, ehr name upon his tongue as if her leaving into the brush is as indefinite as forever. And maybe that is why he does not flinch when their meeting of antler tine and twisted horn resonates its song deep into their bound bones. Maybe it feels something like belonging for a boy who has not belonged in so very long.
Apsara crashes through the forest and Leonidas has never heard such a racket. Yet he does not care as he runs swift as a stag beside the unicorn girl. His golden eyes are lit by the butter-bright glow of the guiding fireflies. He swings his head as the small swarm slows. The boy’s gilded antlers cut a twisting arc through the air. Exhilaration courses through him, he is high upon it. Their mixed breaths puff into the air, alive, together, alive, together the clearing seems to echo with the rasp of their lungs.
But all turns so strange and so eerie. The smile slips from Aspara’s lips, stolen by a firefly girl with a band about her throat. Leonidas has a name for her Avesta. But it is not Avesta that he sees, not like Aspara. The fireflies make him see someone entirely different. A mirrored image of himself but finer, slim as his sister once was. He knows it is her, he knows who the fireflies sculpt for him.
Leonidas.
His name trembles in the air and for a moment it sounded like the firefly girl spoke. Until Aspara’s shoulder touches his. Warm, pleading, desperate is her touch; like a cat curling into his body. He flinches, on instinct and yet, he knows Aspara sees something different yet equally strange and unnerving. His name is still sung by the woodland. It reminds him of when he has been a boy called Leonidas, when he has heard his name spoken many times in just a day. It has been months, his name a strange thing upon another’s tongue. It barely feels like he owns it anymore. His name could be just an overgrown garden, once loved, now changed beyond recognition. But he knows its location, he is reminded of what he once was. A boy loved by parents and a sister.
Slim and silver Aspara trembles against his side. He wants to step away, he wants to get back to the comfort of knowing only the touch of the wood and the wild breeze and hot sun. But he doesn’t, he turns in a way he used to, before, when he was a boy loved, and presses his lips to her cheek. It is a lingering press, as he had seen his shadow parents do so many times before.
When he pulls away the boy turns to look upon the fireflies. His lips twist like a lion and he growls soft as a cat, “It is a trick.” His sister is not here and has not been for a very long time. The wild wood boy stares at the strange magic and knows that he should never trust a firefly again. Leonidas steps forward brave as any forest king should be. He lunges, his antlers twisting to cut into the fireflies.
“They mock us with shadows.” He snarls, darting back, his attempted blow delivered. Electric, he stands beside Aspara. Close, close until their touching is but a hair’s breadth away.
Apsara and Leonidas...their meeting has everything a life needs: magic, wilderness, beauty, mystery, hurt and laughter and fear and… love. It is where the fireflies lead them. To a clearing where if forges itself into two lost twins. But love hurts, Leonidas knows, he feels the ache in his bones and touches a tine to Aspara’s horn. The sound is something like a balm.
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!
If Leonidas wasn’t there, if we didn’t talk about it later, comparing details, filling in the holes in each other’s memories, I would have chalked it all up to a strange dream or stranger magic. But it was real. It happened. The fireflies and the mist changed their shape and the voices grew louder but still not quite distinguishable-- trying to listen was like catching fog. The boy lunged at them but it didn’t have much effect at all- they scattered in an instant, and returned when the instant was past. He returned to me and once again my horn tapped the tine of his antlers, and just as I was about to speak--
The color began to drain from everything.
I looked at Leonidas, the brightest thing in this forest, brighter even than fireflies, and watched the color fade from his skin. Mist took its place, coming in close and clammy, indifferent to the stomp of my feet and the swing of my head to disrupt it. “Thank you,” the voices said, and only as the temperature dropped did it begin to sink in-- the extent of their treachery.
It was simple: The ghostly bodies became tangible flesh, and the opposite was happening to me.
I probably should not have believed the colt when he told us the waters of the Rapax could reverse the curse. The spirits had already tricked us once, why not again? Maybe if I knew how to hold onto my anger better, if I knew how to wield rage as a weapon, I would run down the ghosts-made-flesh and paint for them the full spectrum of corporeal suffering. The mist was rising from the bottom of my hooves so my horn, twisted and deadly, would be the last solid piece of my body. I knew without a doubt that I could catch him.
But where I should have felt anger, I only felt fear. And where violence wanted to spring from me, only compassion flowered. Those words kept ringing through my head: “It has been so long since we last felt the breeze upon our skin...”
If the spirit still held the form of Avesta, I would not have hesitated. There was no force in the world that would have kept me from leaping after her deeper and deeper into the night. But as the mist solidified into a grulla colt, I knew the truth for what it was. Avesta was not here. Avesta was across the sea, and she was going to come back to me. I felt so bad for the spirits. But I was not ready to give up my body. I still had so much to do with my life.
I did not know what Leonidas was thinking or feeling. But I knew what I had to do. We had to get to the Rapax before our bodies were completely gone to mist. “Come on!” I barrelled to the river as fast as my young legs could take me. It’s difficult to describe how exactly I knew where the river was... I guess from an early age I’ve been able to read the landscape like a book. I’ve always known where to find water, food, and shelter, even if the clues weren’t easy to see, or even visible at all. Maybe it was some element of my magic, talking to sticks and stones and underground rivers. Or maybe I just had a sense for it.
We took off in a more or less straight shot; I quickly picked up a deer trail that wove through the trees. It was soon pointless jumping small bushes and fallen logs, as our legs were almost entirely ethereal-- one small benefit, I suppose, to being cursed. I couldn’t tell you how long we ran. A few minutes? A few hours? I was beyond thinking at that point-- you had to be, to run like we did. Tails streaming like banners, shoulders nicked by sticks and brambles. No sound between us but the shared hymn of our panting, for our ghostly legs ate up the distance without actually touching the earth.
When we got to the river I plunged into the water recklessly-- better to have an injured body than none at all-- and I turned to look at Leonidas with wide-eyed fear, waiting for the beautiful, rich browns and golds to return to his skin. I was breathing too hard to speak, so for the first time I prayed, to whoever might be listening: “please work please work please work.”
FOR THE BIRDS WHO OWN NOTHING--
THE REASON THEY CAN FLY
