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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


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    Halloweenfest 2018 - Part One
    #1
    Double, double toil and trouble!

    The words echo across all of Beqanna with no discernible source. Somewhere, skeletal hands are stirring a bubbling cauldron while a dry cackle fills the air. The undead spirit retrieves a pinch of cockroach scales from a shallow bowl and sprinkles them into his potion as it hisses with the new addition. A sudden fog, impossibly thick, rolls in and lowers visibility to mere inches so they have no choice but to focus only on him. He’s a very jealous spirit who demands their undivided attention, you see. The setting sun turns the pale gray fog a rich orange and the smell of pumpkin spice lattes fills the air.

    I’ve brought a challenge to all you dears, one that requires you face your fears! Don’t you dare cower, don’t avert your eyes, for if you succeed, you will earn your prize.

    Candy wrappers crinkle underfoot as he shuffles toward the shelf where his other ingredients are located. Cheap plastic skeletons hang from the trees around him and sway in the breeze as an autumn chill settles in. Jack plucks a tiny vial from his shelf and returns to his smoking cauldron as he giggles to himself, forgetting that they can all hear him. Delicately, he uncorks the glass bottle and adds a single drop of the thin fluid. (He forgets what the contents actually are but they give him cool voice effects.)

    Show me your very best disguise and search for the place victory lies. Bring me your best trick or bring me a treat! Tonight I’m the one that you must defeat.

    The jagged smile across his pumpkin head carves a little farther across his face for a moment while the candle inside burns a bit brighter. He knows that they cannot resist a good game so he’s certain they will come. All he has to do is wait.



    Jack O’Lantern is the son of a leprechaun, judging by his name the spirit of Halloween and he’s come to dare the inhabitants of Beqanna to capture him. For our first scene, he’d like you to pick a Halloween costume! Whether it’s materials from your surroundings, a cheap Party City costume, or an extravagant get up, pick something that your character might like. Then, pick your hunting grounds somewhere in Beqanna that you believe Jack is hiding. (There is no wrong answer so choose where ever you feel is spookiest.) Describe your costume and searching your chosen setting in detail, keeping in mind what trick or treat you might use to lure him for scene two.

    RULES:
    - One entry per player.
    - Entrant may not have more than one space worth of traits.
    - Deadlines for each scene will be the following Saturday at 11:59pm CT, making this quest last five weeks altogether. This round (round one) will end on September 29th.
    - You may NOT edit your post for any reason. If you feel you absolutely must edit your post, send me a quick message to explain why so I don’t think you’re cheating.
    - You may use your existing traits and abilities as desired.
    - Each entrant may use a 1-hour extension once throughout the quest.
    - Defects given out will be temporary, unless you would like it to be permanent.
    - You will be judged based on your creativity, adherence to rules, and readability.
    - Word count limit for each scene will be 2,000 words.
    - Failure to adhere to the rules will result in disqualification.

    Jack O'Lantern
    O! Ghostly friend, thy hair's on end! What fearful fate do you portend?
    Reply
    #2
    This song that I have made to tell of you,
    "Made out of a mouthful of air,"
    Who but I will ever sing it,
    Who will know who made it,
    Or for whom it was made?

    -  -  -  -  

    This isn't the sort of thing she usually does.

    But this world has changed while she was not looking, and she knows that she must change too- something within her is far too stubborn to be lost to time. She does not want to be just a small forgotten part of history, a name in a very, very long list of names. Not while she's still alive.

    So with a sigh that whistles through gritted teeth, the mare prepares herself.

    North is clever, not creative. She'll solve a riddle in no time and debate you until you cry, but deciding what costume to make, much less making it??... she hasn't the faintest idea of where to start. But the silver bay is also no good at being idle, so she begins by bathing in the river near where it meets the sea.

    As she steps into the cool water, she ponders what costume to wear, and how to make it. The problem, in conjunction with the aforementioned lack of creativity, is that North has never been afraid of tangible things. She can't exactly dress up as unrequited love, being alone, or fire. Well maybe fire, but then we come back to the creativity problem. She splashes in the river and watches the mud float lazily downstream into the ocean with a small frown.

    Eventually her eyes come to rest on the gentle ocean waves, and that is when the memories start to trickle back. The ocean... North has always been drawn to it. She has always adored questions with no answers, and the sea, to her, is the ultimate mystery. Her mother used to tell her stories to scare her away from it, tales of kelpies and sirens and monsters that had the unintended effect of piquing her boundless curiosity. This is the costume she will dawn, something not at all scary for her but surely for someone- why else would her mother think these stories would have the intended effect?

    North begins. She drapes long strings of seaweed over herself, layer by layer, until her warm brown coat is all but covered in green. She combs the beach for accessories. Sand dollars, sea shells, the bones of starfish, all are carefully woven into mane and tail. And pearls.

    Oh, of course there are pearls.

    She starts in the morning and does not feel finished until the sun begins to fall. As the day draws to an end, she feels... well, absolutely ridiculous. Her mane and tail are heavy and gleaming with what one could impolitely call sea trash. Every few steps something falls from her outfit- usually a pearl, as there are hundreds of them halfheartedly balanced in her thick creamy-white hair. And that damned seaweed strewn across her back. It smells horrible, attracts all manner of sand flies, and trails behind her like a grotesque wedding dress. She feels like an abomination, but supposes that is the point of this all anyway.

    Now comes the fun part. She really hadn't spent much time thinking about where to look for this hollow pumpkin with holes in it. North is no longer familiar with this land, so her options are limited. There are only a few places that have remained the same for as long as she's known Beqanna: the field, the meadow, and the beach. The answer seems obvious to her. The beach is where men come to die. If there is a creepier place in Beqanna, she does not need to ever go there. And anyway, where else would a sea monster be found?

    She sashays down the coast (any movement other than sashaying is rendered impossible by her seaweed train) until she hears the crack of bone underfoot.

    Her sharp grin glows in the twilight, veiled in pearls. She has arrived.

    North is blessed with a pragmatic view of most things, including death. As much as she'd rather not be here, it does not bother her to step on someone's dead father, son, lover, etc. As she walks, peering under dead bodies for that damn pumpkin, she thinks absent-mindedly of her own dead friends and lovers. "Is that you Artemus?" She mutters drily to a skull half-buried in the sand. It seems to smile at her under the rising moon's light. "If you could see me now. Dressed in fucking seaweed." Her tone is deadpan, but she finds herself grinning, and then before she knows it she is giggling, then outright laughing. Belly-aching, teary-eyed laughter.

    And just like that, the joke doesn't seem funny anymore. When the sound of her laughter fades she begins to feel unwelcome here, in this hallowed ground. "I'd kill to have you here," she admits to herself, to his ghost, and then she places a single hoof on the mocking skull and she steps down gently until it is buried in the sand.

    Personal business taken care of, she continues on the search. She is methodical, as is her nature, sweeping across the beach parallel to the ocean and slowly working her way from the water's edge inland.

    As she walks, she begins to hum a soft, haunting tune. Soon, when the night draws even darker, she will put words to it.

    She has not forgotten about the tricks and treats.

    -  -  -  -  -
    N O R T H
    Reply
    #3
    (Here they are, with the tall grass that touches their bellies, with the sunsets
    and the rivers and the hazels all behind them.)

    “Double, double, toil and trouble!”

    The words seem out of place when she’s sleeping peacefully among the wildflowers. The evening is quiet and calm, and the words cut through the tranquility as though they are a serrated blade. At first she’s only dreaming, and her dark eyelashes flutter quietly against the tops of her cheeks. Because the words have come from no discernable source she must have decided that they only live inside her head, perhaps next to the stolen memories she kept neatly tucked away in the back, because she does not stir.

    She looks so peaceful while she dreams.
    There is no war over who, or what, she is. She just exists.

    And then the sunlit fog rolls in. It blankets her completely, and an immediate cold settles into her bones amongst the marrow. When she wakes it’s with a start, her heart slamming against her ribs (lub dub, lub dub, lub dub). She moves to find her legs, because years of running cannot be forgotten overnight, because instinct is buried deep, because her mother would have wanted her to - because. But her legs are not the same ones she’d fallen asleep with. They’re fragile, and pale pink. There are two instead of four - she teeters for a few moments before she can find her balance; they feel fresh, and new, and weak.

    (Here they are, weak in the
    knees, still not able to look each other in the eyes because the beauty is
    overwhelming.)

    And then the voice rings out through the fog again:

    “I’ve brought a challenge to all you dears, one that requires you face your fears! Don’t you dare cower, don’t avert your eyes, for if you succeed, you will earn your prize.Show me your very best disguise and search for the place victory lies. Bring me your best trick or bring me a treat! Tonight I’m the one that you must defeat.”

    There are parts of her that want to run - the parts of her that she does not own, the parts of her that are someone else entirely; those parts, they shudder and quake, they know of magic and they fear it. She would be wise to listen to those pieces of herself, but she doesn’t. Instead, she moves forwards into the fog in her new, strange body. Maybe it’s her only choice. Maybe it’s to prove to herself that she is still somewhere inside. That she isn’t completely a shell, a lie.

    (Here they are, years from then, and Cordis still reminds her
    of mermaids.)

    The fog is thick, and white. It’s blinding, but little by little it reveals the shapes and sounds of the things that haunt her as she finds the meadow - a winding river, a lonely hazel tree, a shoreline red with blood. Suddenly the world is full of omens. She doesn’t know she’s following a trail of ash and devastation. In the distance she can see a light; a beacon. It cuts through the fog enough for her to follow it deep into the meadow, and when at last she is upon it she can see that it is not a light at all, but rather the last glimmer of sunset against the side of a neat, white pearl.

    Because there, haphazardly thrown through the branches of a hazel tree she stands before is just the type of outfit to fit her new body.

    There is a crown, woven from the stripped down branches of that same tree, only with pearls strung randomly between the thinner branches (the same pearl that brought her here is on this very crown). She holds it gingerly, turns it in her hands once before setting it onto her head. The top is barely anything, crafted from hazel leaves with wildflowers sewn through, and the bottom a long skirt of glittering sequin scales dotted with pearls while the ends flared out like the fins of a fish. It isn’t warm, heavy furs, but it’s notably warmer than nothing. She dresses, quickly, and finally steps into the rivers shallows to stoop down and peer at her reflection where the water is still.

    (Here they are, years from then, and she still reminds her of
    beacons, of lightning.)

    She is devastatingly human, with the same wild, dark eyes. Her hair is long, and wavy - gold, of course - and her lips resemble bright, pink cherries. She reaches out to touch the reflection and only sees the water rippling out from the tips of her outstretched fingers.

    “A mermaid,” she says to herself, considering the memories.
    “Of course.”

    (Here they are, years from then, and she still reminds
    her of all the things she once held close to her breast, of all the things that she once held.)
    Reply
    #4
    Her mind was already a thing of nightmares.

    They had lessoned, but they were still there. Most nights she simply awoke in a cold sweat, her heart hammering and her white-rimmed eyes grasping for anything that could anchor her to reality. It was rare for her nightmares to startle her into the mindless dead run that they used to, but it happened on occasion.

    Such as tonight.

    The last thing she remembered was dozing off as she stood over her sleeping yearling daughter, Chryseis, safely within their Hyaline home. The night air was cool, but the hum of the insects and the wind as it whispered through the mountains had slowly lulled her to sleep. Her mind slowly went black, and she was content to float in the nothingness of it all.

    It was the burning of her lungs that causes her to wake.

    Sweat has formed white flecks along her neck and flanks, the sound of rapid hoof beats echoing through the valley, and she can feel the ache in her legs begging her to slow down. Trees flash past her, her solid black form nothing but a shadow racing through the darkness. It isn’t until she begins to fully wake and take in her surroundings that she realizes she has no idea where she is. A heavy fog has rolled in, making it difficult to see; especially when the land was unfamiliar. Gradually, she begins to slow, but it is the sound of the disembodied voice that causes her to slam to a stop. Her sides heaving she spins around, dark brown eyes darting desperately to try and find the source of the voice. ”Who are you?” Her voice is like glass shattering in a silent room, and she wonders briefly if the voice had been part of her nightmare. She closes her eyes, focusing as well as she could, but when she opens them again she realizes this was all terribly real.

    Tonight I am the one you must defeat. She didn’t know what that meant, but she had a sinking feeling she wasn’t making it home tonight. Cautiously, she steps forward, surveying the area. A disguise? What was that suppose to mean? Her eyes sweep the area, slowly scanning the trees, the brush, the rocks...and what was that over there? With her black head lowered she steps forward, for there, just barely peeking out from under a particular thick pile of brush, were items that she had never seen in Beqanna before. The first item appeared to be a black cloak of some sort; using her to teeth to grasp the cloak and toss it over her back, making sure her head slid through so that it fit across her body like a sheet would on a stabled horse. She isn’t too impressed with this, seeing as how she was black and the cloak was black. But there on the ground was a long, crimson and gold striped scarf, which she could only assume was to be wrapped around her neck. There were two items left. A large pair of glasses, that she had no idea how she would possibly get to stay on her equine head. And then the last item; which she almost mistook for a holly stick. It wasn’t until she lowered her head to examine the glasses more closely that she realizes the stick almost seems to be specifically molded. It was smooth, and just a little less than a foot long. Deciding that she could do without the glasses, she picks up the peculiar stick. In the branches above, a snowy white owl hoots softly at her.

    Now, how was she suppose to find him?

    She doesn’t think she has ever seen pumpkins in Beqanna, but she is sure they like to grow some place with rich soil, sunlight, and a water source. The meadow? She is still so new, that she does not know many places well, but it was worth a shot. With her cape billowing behind her, she strikes off away from the mountains, and she begins her journey towards one of the more popular gathering places.

    They are still in the midst of night when she arrives, or at least, she arrives at some sort of meadow. Trees flank the outskirt, and somewhere she can hear the trickling of a stream. The fog from the mountain seems to have settled across the whole land, and seeing in front of her is difficult. It would have been much easier if she could have just scanned her surroundings well into the distance, but instead she was going to have to search the meadow inch by inch.

    Also, why was this owl following her?



    Hi you’re welcome.
    Reply
    #5

    Ilma
    And there's a lesson waiting to be learned
    the firestarters always get the burns
    and the good guys never get the girl

    Today has been not too different from many other days; Hyaline is relatively peaceful even though her mind is still searching for ideas, concerning contracts, and wondering about why Valdis had gone with Lepis even though Ilma had specifically said that Lepis was only allowed out under guidance of an adult but well, the girl had been returned by Wolfbane the next day. She shook her head about that – from now on she supposed that if a deal was still to be made, it’d be better if she let Solace and Wolfbane do the negotiating. Clearly Ilma and Lepis weren’t going to work it out any time soon.

    Then, there was the whole ordeal of Svedka returning, and she still had to figure out all which that entails. But now, she is distracted by a voice, calling her and several others together. Double double toil and trouble! Which means absolutely nothing to her other than that it is potentially threatening her home, so she follows the sound to a foggy scene. The white mare recognizes a black from her own kingdom – Briseis – but that’s about all she really sees until they are scattered again with the weirdest of tasks. A challenge to face their fears? She muses. The idea scares her, but – she’s been through so many weird things already, with Llowell, and Svedka, and this whole stealing ordeal – what worse can this Jack do to her? And so she tells herself to be brave, and who knows, this time she may actually earn something, unlike when she miserably failed in the Beqanna Games (she doesn’t remember the human abduction, and she should be glad about that).

    The weirdo figure tasks them to disguise themselves. As what, she wonders. She’s friggin’ white all over! And then a good trick, or a treat. To defeat him? Maybe the treats are to distract him. Tricks too, probably. She cocks her head at his appearance, the candies that surround him, he must be in for something sweet. Oh, but she knows some sweet things.

    He seems to like creepy fog and skeletons and pumpkins. All that is put together in her head rather quickly. She doesn’t need to hunt. She only needs to lie down and wait.

    But she’s not dressed for the occasion yet; she moves from the strange scene, back to Hyaline; finds the materials she needs quickly in the mountains. She considers the caves near the sea; at night, they’re slippery, foggy, and dark. Then she wrinkles her nose. And full of stinking bird and fish residues and fairies know what else. She can’t stay there. Besides, it may ruin her disguise. For what that’s worth.

    She treks along the river at night and disappears into the forests of Taiga. With all it’s history, that place should be creepy enough for the weird figure to come by, she thinks. She finds some mud in a creek and smears it over her face, surrounding her eyes not unlike a giant panda face. She washes the dirt off her hooves and, with the fading sunset, lets go of the glowing wings on her back.

    She finds a moonlit clearing, and some bushes nearby to wait in. She’s brought the sweet things that she’ll need, and she’s waiting, soundless, motionless.

    Not so very unlike a ghost.

    and shooting stars cannot fix the world
    Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
    Robert Jordan, Wheel of Time
    Reply
    #6

    Decimate


    "Double, double toil and trouble!"

    Like the most redundant gong of a bell, it sounded through the land, reverberating through his ears, over and over and over again. Pounding in his head. So damn irritating. And grating. Much like his clenched teeth would be had he been old enough to have any. Which he'd of course use to silence this fool that wouldn't shut the hell up.

    "I’ve brought a challenge to all you dears, one that requires you face your fears! Don’t you dare cower, don’t avert your eyes, for if you succeed, you will earn your prize."

    He rolled his bright eyes and kept walking, shook his small head. He didn't have any fears. And he wasn't playing some stupid game. He had enough pushing about that from his little sister. And anyway, everything should fear him, didn't the guy know that? No? Well, Decimate could teach him. Gladly. Although...

    Well, he wasn't opposed to prizes.
    Whatever that even meant.

    And what the hell was up with the lights? Did it make the guy feel all special to shove a fog in his face like that and make the world go dark? Yeah, real impressed. He was born in the shadows of hell. He'd never be afraid of the dark. Let him come here for real, and Deci would bite his damn face off. Or kick it in, at least, since the lack of teeth thing. Then who'd be left in the dark, huh?

    “Show me your very best disguise and search for the place victory lies. Bring me your best trick or bring me a treat! Tonight I’m the one that you must defeat.”

    Defeating was easy enough, and a dark grin twisted his mouth, malice shadowing his young eyes. The disguise, too, his sister had volunteered herself to do. Insisted, really, despite his sharp, violent protests. No matter how he attacked though, she only went incorporeal, a ghost literally, and her punishment went unfulfilled. It was the most infuriating thing about her yet. And really, just to shut her up, he finally allowed her to have her way.

    This time.
    But he would find a way to break her.

    Now, here he was. A dragon, she had said. Glittering and shimmering, his body was a metallic sort of rusty gold and vibrant green. How she created the mixture that she'd smeared over his perfectly indigo skin was beyond his knowledge. Atria had mysterious ways, at times. Which were also annoying. He preferred to know absolutely everything she did, everywhere she went, anyone she spoke to. She must've thought he was just as possessive and controlling as a dragon.

    Well, he'd punish her for that too.

    The paste felt comfortable, though. It made his eyes stand out, she'd told him softly, a little proudly, like they might be glowing. And she'd fashioned wings from a litter of branches, twigs, and fallen leaves. He couldn't stretch them out like real wings, of course, but they were settled quite neatly over his back and sides, shielding his ribs just like a baby dragon's wings might.

    Fine, he sort of liked her description of it. He was elegant, but yet terrifying, striking fear in the pitiful hearts of those that would see him. Just like his sire did.

    He'd like that very much, their fear.
    He wanted to see it, taste it. Smell it in the air.

    Although, a dragon, a demon. They could be the same thing, right? Possibly. And well did he know where he came from, the son of the Dark God. He knew it the day he was born, when Carnage himself came down to Beqanna, appeared before them and named his son. Cursed him, perhaps. Decimate. What he was destined to do in the deadliest ways, the most traumatic ways. Decimate a civilization, decimate a person's body, even. Or their minds, emotions. He wanted to deliver the most wicked mayhem that would make his sire a semblance of proud, which was hard to achieve when a God likely didn't feel pride.

    There were rules, though.
    He would only take away by a tenth.
    Leave them in their agony, unfulfilled.

    And it would be delightful.

    The malicious light in his eyes shined brighter, and he began searching for this creature with untold promises. Deci would defeat him, perhaps violently, and then take his prize. He'd leave this place and show his sister, since she refused to die. And his mother, who he hadn't bothered to try killing. A waste of effort, he was sure. He'd already seen how she healed when he would lash out. The cuts on her always sealed themselves back up.

    So he'd find this beast and then return to show them. It was the Beach that he searched. This was where his life began, in this fitting place where they all went to die. Of course this taunting thing with a dark sort of game would be found here. Where else could be better suited? Nowhere. This was the place of death. The place of his victory.

    Though he couldn't see far enough in front of him to follow hoof prints, or any kind of prints, he pressed forward regardless, with his head held high and the galaxies over his legs flickering in breaks through the thick fog. His little nostrils pulled in every scent, still learning to analyze them accurately. There were certainly new aromas here tonight. Smoke was not one he knew, but one he would be very eager to learn.

    He would find this thing and destroy it.
    Lure it out however he must.
    Become a new sort of Reckoning.

    But first, he had to get to it.

    can the killer in me tame the fire in you?

    I am sick of the chase but I'm hungry for blood

    Reply
    #7
    “Double, double toil and trouble!”

    Slowly her head rises, ears swirling around as a pair of dark eyes roam the field around her. The words had been a faint echo, but loud enough to be heard. It sends a shiver down her spine, even flicking her ears back for a moment. Around her, a layer of thick fog rises, reaching as high as her knees. Faolin is not given the chance ponder over it any longer, as the creepy voice sounds again. It would be a lie to say she is not curious, spooked, but curious.

    The crinkling sound is even fainter than the echo of his voice, but a thousand time more creepier. Her ears twist, and orbs are still trying to locate him. She sees nothing. Nothing but the gentle glow of the land covered by a thick layer of mist, as dusk sets in. Oh, of course she does not see him. What would be the fun in that?

    But a disguise… With a frown the bay mare scans her surroundings, in a different way then she had done when she had been looking for the source of the voice. Now she looks for the details. Branches, leaves, perhaps even flowers or bushes or trees. But the meadow does not offer her anything special. The forest might prove to be a better place to search for a fancy get up.

    It is hard to say if it is the spookiness of the meadow, or her enthusiasm to compete, that drives her trot. Faolin reaches the forest in no time, but the sun has already set. It’s last rays coloring the sky in pretty orangey, pink, and yellow shades. But is not enough to lighten the forest. The tall trees are looming silhouettes, and the further she goes, the darker and more eerie it becomes. Faolin’s pace has slowed down, now placing one tentative hoof in front of the other. The forest has been her home for a long while now, but the mysterious fog surely changes the whole feel. Plus, it takes her a little longer to recognize where she exactly is.

    Once she reaches the little clearing to which she refers as her ‘front yard’, she stops. Her elegant head rises, dark eyes glancing around – because she swears someone is looking at her from the shadows – before she turns to the left. Just past the shallow stream is the entrance to her home, strategically hidden by some bushes. Within the safe walls of her home, the bounce finds its way back into Faolin’s step. Both her ears are now pinned forward, and she is eager to reach her closet. “What to wear.. what to wear..” she mumbles to herself, eyes roaming whatever outfit she has gathered over the years.

    Should she go as a zombie? Torn clothes, make up that makes her face look like it’s decaying, and all she had to do was walk like a drunk and clumsy mindless beast. But “no,” she tells herself. “I need something more creative..” But what? A party bunny? Or a pirate perhaps? The killer clown is always an option too, but none call to Faolin. It is not like she wants to look better, or more special, or more unique than everybody else, but she does want to pick something that shows her effort, all without being a show of. But in all reality, who cares? “It is not as if any of them know me.”

    And thus her decision lands on an over the top and probably quite obvious choice: an Día de Muertos inspired costume. “Make-up first,” she decides, knowing damn well that moving around while wearing a corset is close to impossible. Her dark face is soon covered in a layer of black paint, then the center is painted over with a pale ivory blue. Her eyes are covered with black circles, which are surrounded by smaller circles to create some kind of flower pattern. Between her nostrils there is another black figure, an upside down heart. Lips are all white, except for the black lines that come from the corners and reach till her cheek. Small horizontal stripes crosses the line of her lips, in a way to represent her teeth. After all she is supposed to look dead.

    But, not only like the death, she makes sure she still looks quite feminine too. Circles and flowers finish her paint job, just as the bright orange and yellow flower that is tucked right behind her ear in an elaborate braid.

    “This will do” she murmurs approving, nodding to herself before turning to her closet. Het costume exists of lace mostly. The dark type. Like a veil it is pinned on the back of her head, just behind her ears into the braid along her crest. It covers both sides of her neck, and covers her crest all the way to her withers. Her costume ends not there. More fine black lace covers her bay body. It’s draped along her back, across he flanks and flows freely over her hindquarters, swaying gently with each and every of her steps. One glance in the mirror is enough to tell Faolin how it shows off her curves.

    Inspired by death, but still elegant and beautiful without the gore.

    With a flick of her tail she leaves the little cave that has become her home. Faolin does not bother to bring a treat, or think of a trick. Isn’t she herself the most tasty treat around? That, at least, she tells herself. Though she walks with confidence, setting for the looming pinewood forest, she secretly is everything but.

    Soon the forest thins, and Faolin can hear the river that separates the forest from Taiga rush. By now the sky has turned completely dark, and it is no longer one pair of eyes that spy upon her, but multiple. She tries best she can to ignore them, and simply refuses to let her pace falter. No hesitation. Let them believe she does not fear them, she does. Or perhaps she can let it show through after all, play the damsel in distress.

    Cold air nips at her heels as she leaves the river behind her. Some parts of her skirt are soaked too, but the bay woman ignores the feeling. A charming smile lies on her lips as she makes her way into the Taigan forest. The trees are taller and their trunks even bigger. They’ve always made her feel very small. A quick glance across her shoulder, then a smile tugs at the corners of her painted lips. “Jack, oh Jack, come out, come out, wherever you are~” she calls out, chanting softly and repeating the sentence quite a few times. “You’ve invited me to play, but doesn’t it take two? Come out, and play with me.”

    Why would she need tricks, or treats, to lure the Jack O’Lantern out? She could play his game just fine too.



    Click for make up.
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    #8
    God, Diz was such a sucker for Halloween. The costumes, the makeup, the ridiculous parties, the general spookiness - she’d always loved a good scare, something to send shivers up her spine, get the adrenaline coursing through her veins. It was her favorite holiday, and she couldn’t help but go all out.

    This year, she’d talked a friend into helping her out with some body paint and makeup all dead with a touch of blue and stitched together, with the most ridiculously oversized sad-haunted-hopeful eyes. She’d bribed an old co-worker with a hand for sewing to make her a nice, quality ragged patchwork dress, and tracked herself down the perfect long dark red Sally hair. She’d even taken the time to make Sally’s black flower, listening to the Nightmare Before Christmas soundtrack while getting her craft on.

    Too bad her Jack was nowhere to be found.

    Kinda hard to keep hoping after almost a year without a sight of him, kinda hard to believe he’d meant it anymore when he’d promised to come back to her whenever he could. She’d seen love in his eyes that last time, she knew she had.

    Maybe that was why. He wasn’t exactly the settle down and be happy type.

    Sighing, she ran a hand through her temporary hair, fussed with it a little more, did a last touch up of her makeup. Fuck it. Tonight wasn’t about that gorgeous bastard Dov. Tonight was about having fun, getting drunk, and dancing with some friends.

    She was sure as fuck dragging Arrya out too, after the hell of a week she’d had. Poor bitch had only so much as kissed three guys, and after that dumpster fire of a breakup it was Dizzy’s goal to double that number tonight. Or hell, at least add one to it. Even if she had to throw back a shot of Patron and do it herself.

    There. Ready. She gave a spin, looking at herself in the mirror and grinning at the effect. She made a damn fine Sally, if she did say so herself. Grabbed her little purse with some cash, her ID, and a couple of other little props. Slipped on some sexy heels, grabbed her keys, and headed out to go pick up her girl and drag her out for a fun damn night if it killed them both.

    The second she walked out the door though a thick fog rolled in, turning orange and smelling of...pumpkin spice latte? The hell?

    Dizzy took a few cautious steps forward, frowning a little as the concrete under her feet changed. The smell of pine and rich, dark forest washed over her, and the fog faded back out, losing its orange color and its weird pumpkin spice scent. Perplexed, Dizzy kept walking, heels sinking into ground thickly blanketed in pine needles. Maybe she was dreaming? Probably dreaming, yeah, this was definitely a thing that only happened in dreams.

    Okay. She could handle a dream.

    Deep breath in, let it slowly out, and she looked around at the towering redwood trees, far wider around than she could reach. A voice in the back of her head whispered Taiga, which I mean made no sense at all. She didn’t remember much about grade school science, but she was pretty sure taigas were like snow forests or some shit? Like a step south from arctic tundras? Whatever, she could roll with it, dreams didn’t always have to make sense.

    And hey, if it was a dream, she didn’t have to worry about needing to find her way back to some random spot in the middle of a forest, right? So she kept on walking, searching for gods knew what. The forest was appropriately spooky as fuck, wind rustling through the trees making her shiver, old burn scars on some of the trees, some like old lava flows? that the land had begun to reclaim with greenery. Hell, it felt haunted somehow, like she could almost hear the faintest echoes of screaming.

    Well. Worked for her, and she kept on searching, though she wasn't entirely sure what for. The dream would probably tell her eventually, huh? Fair enough.
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    #9
    He lays in bed when the words reach him.

    "Double, double, toil and trouble."

    It's all he can do not to roll his damn eyes. He doesn't care where they came from, didn't matter. Nothing much mattered to him right now. Except his two precious girls, currently cuddled together in a pallet next to his mattress. He sighs as he looks at them, grateful for the fact they didn't want to be away from him right now.

    Never before had he felt so... not himself. He barely slept since his discussion with Dizzy. Oh, his dear sweet sister. Her heart ached for another. The one he'd brought into their lives. Him. This is his own fault. But the fucker had been gone for over a year now, and still she yearns for him. Still, the bastard remains gone. Part of him wants to find him. For her, but really also for him too. The beast in his head rattles its chains, snarling in the darkness of its cage at the idea. Zor wants to break his face. That handsome face that had drawn them both in. Both of them. But it's his own fault she has pulled away now. For bringing them together. But that bastard is the reason she wants him so bad. And he's still gone.

    His hands clench into fists and his breath comes slow, the creature in his mind becoming more restless by the day. He manages it, most of the time. Able to ignore the fangs and claws, the growls and roars. But each night that passes without sleep, the monster grows more restless. He needs to feed it. So long it's been. Depriving them both. But damn if he wasn't just a little bit eager and afraid all at once to find out what would happen should the thing break free. He's getting tired of subduing it. Tired of being the only one to hear it, feel it. But what would it make him do? What terror would it bring on those he loves? Would it know to leave them alone?

    "You should do it, Daddy." A yawn and a smile from his sweet girl, Zoe. He sits up and looks at them, awake and stretching, and tilts his head. "Do what, exactly, love?" The dark-haired girl's eyes are bright when she whispers back, "The challenge. Shh.." Her finger lifts to her lips and they all listen more. Hearing the creepy giggling of the- whatever it is- that's talking.

    “Show me your very best disguise and search for the place victory lies. Bring me your best trick or bring me a treat! Tonight I’m the one that you must defeat.”

    "Baby girl, what do I care about prizes? or treats?" Or defeating some invisible weirdo. Although, he supposes it might be a good distraction. He rubs his eyes and presses them for a moment, against the building ache there from the thing in his head that won't rest. Won't let him rest. Her sweet voice, though, reminds him so much of her mother. His Dizzy. "Do it, Daddy. I bet it'll be fun. We'll help! Won't we, Zynnie?" Oh, lord, those eyes. Those faces. Such power they have over him. He smirks at them from behind squinted lids, shaking his head and sighing in defeat. "Now, what do you have in mind? Can't be wanting to dress me up as something stupid." Gods above, only they could even get him to think about it. He'd do anything for them. "Psh, no, Dad. Something really cool." Those wicked grins of theirs as they whisper to each other and then run to the other room together. The death of him, that's what they would be one day, he is sure. Stretching, he gets out of bed himself, joining them in the living room as they turn on the computer. "Gonna need your credit card, Daddy." Her smile, so deceptively innocent and sweet. Here we go.

    _____

    It took almost a whole week to gather everything and put it all together. They really went all out on him, and it was amazing the things they could find on the internet. He asked how they came up with this idea, and all they would say is that it suits him. He had never thought of it before, but when they explained a little, he was surprised at how it all indeed clicked into place. He didn't know how they saw it, how they knew. Maybe they didn't truly- how could they? But they knew him well enough, were a part of him. And he had to agree they were right. "Just remember not to touch your face, okay?" And he smiles at them, his beautiful girls, as he leaves the house. Prime time for the sun to be setting, casting shadows in all sorts of places.

    On his feet, he moved easily in some kind of black combat boots, metal spikes pointing from the toes. Above that, comfortable black studded pants, and a matching colored silken shirt cover his tanned skin. Nonabrasive material so as not to destroy all their hard work they'd put in. Comfortable too, as light as it is, keeping him warm and cool at the same time. His face and neck are heavily caked in makeup, although he is impressed how natural it looks- like they'd done nothing at all. Except his eyes. Obviously contacts, they are a bright yellow-gold, and fiercely stand out from all the darkness. As he walks, the hooded black cloak they'd found for him sways, the texture of it like wearing shadows. Only every so often, it reveals his hair- dyed ebony- and his ears, which were rimmed with black pointed tips. Like a cat's. He feels so weird in this get up, but it is Halloween after all, and he is sure he won't be the strangest thing anyone will see tonight. His "disguise" really isn't very much of one as it is right now, except for what it all conceals.. but the Halloween spirit or whatever had said to bring trick or treat to him. And what he had up his sleeves? Well, it would see what he had there. Hands adorned with fingerless, black gloves reach up to pull his hood tighter over his head as he treks into the woods to begin his search.

    Far, he walks. Through the trees and the fog that slowly thickens as the sun sets further. He only suspects more that this means he's getting closer. Giant redwoods tower above him, and the fog carries with it the scent of the ocean. Perfectly spooky, the Taiga, although nothing truly scares him. Aside for maybe what lurks within himself, currently pacing and brooding. Okay, and maybe also the thought of losing his girls. And Dizzy. A deep growl for only his ears, and he trudges onward. What little bit of light comes through the branches and needles overhead helps him pick his steps. He doesn't bother to scan around him. The thing would surely show its strange face soon enough. Hands in his pockets of his cloak, he toys with the bits of sweets the girls had sent him off with. Tongue rolls over the mechanism hiding in the roof of his mouth, and a grin spreads slow across his lips.

    Do something. Bring it.
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    #10
    Double, double toil and trouble!

    The words echo within Nerine.

    Otrera blinks a couple of times. Slowly her head rises, tiny ears flickering around as she heard the voice of someone. She isn’t sure why someone would be even speaking when it was clearly her bedtime. Her parents had sent her off to bed, and off she went without complaining into the same place she has always slept.

    But she swears she heard something.

    Her ears swirl around again, swiveling in that direction and then in the opposite direction. The classic champagne girl glances to each of the directions around her. There is obviously no one around here. “I know I heard something,” she mumbles quietly to herself. Her parents would have shaken their head at her, and told her she was only dreaming and needed to get back to bed.

    She probably should get back to sleep, anyway. Not like there was anything from what she could see now. Probably was her imagination anyway.

    Suddenly, out of nowhere, a layer of thick fog rises around her. Instantly the thick fog covers her entire body from where she lays. “AHHH!” She jumps up instantly. Her tiny head rises above the thick fog. Glancing around through the thick fog with honey-hazel eyes she can barely see anything.

    “What is going on here!?” She cries out.

    A shiver runs down her spine instantly. The fog instantly turns to a rich orange and a strange, delicious smell fills her nostrils. There was something definitely going on here! She knew this was not normal.

    The familiar voice speaks again. Otrera sequels with fright at hearing it again. The voice continues though, as if not hearing her own distress that clearly could have brought anyone to where she was. But no one came.

    Otrera listens carefully at the words now, but she’s really confused why anyone would offer her a challenge. There was a lot of things she was afraid of, and this was definitely one of those moments! But she liked hearing that there was a prize.

    “A disguise, a trick or treat, and defeat,” she nods her head.

    Well, it seemed rather easy. She figures she might as well do whatever this challenge was for this stranger, despite the fact she was shaking on the very inside. Otrera was brave though. She didn’t need to fear whatever weird magic this was. Magic was magic, she knew. However, she only knew it to be good. It definitely had not been described as being bad by her parents! And what else did she know? She hasn’t even left Nerine yet!

    “The disguise first,” she reminds herself. That’s the first thing she needs to get before deciding where to go to find this so-called Jack. She isn’t exactly sure what he is. But it didn’t really matter to her right now. It was time to get to business now.

    The little filly decides to look in her surrounding areas. What sort of disguise should she wear? There was a lot of items around her that she could use if she was creative enough. There were leaves, branches, twigs, rocks, dirt, and what else you could muster to find within Nerine. The results were rather endless, but she already knew what she wanted to be—a lion!

    It was not exactly like her father, but she knew about the different types of cats her father had met. She had always liked the idea of a lion. It was her favorite animal she pretended to be when playing with her older sisters and her parents. Pretend was all she could do really. She was not even born with cool abilities like her other siblings! She was just her plain old self, which made her sad sometimes but she tried not to focus on it as much.

    Otrera gathers the necessary items around her. She makes a small pile of leaves of different colors. She grabs a couple of twigs here and there. Once she has the items she begins to put it together. It was rather much easier than she imagined, but someone she made a lion’s mane and got it around her face and behind her ears. She lets out a loud roar to test out the new disguise she is in. Her roar is followed by a soft, child-like laughter. She found the whole thing rather amusing.

    “Now to find this Jack.” Where was she supposed to find him? She has never been out of Nerine. There was a possibility he was out there somewhere, but it was a rather large world from what she has been told. He has to be somewhere scary, she thinks to herself. Where else would some creepy-looking thing be?

    Suddenly she lunges up in the air when a thought comes into her mind. “I know exactly where he could be!” She exclaims with excitement. “The cave! He has to be there!” Otrera then makes her way towards the only cave she knows to be in Nerine. It was the perfect place. Even she was scared to go in there!

    The filly makes her way through the forest of Nerine. It’s getting darker as she prowls forward (she should at least look the part if she is going as a lion). She isn’t exactly sure what she will use to trick or treat Jack outside of the cave. It certainly will come to her she guesses once she sees whatever this Jack wants from her.

    When she catches sight of the cave, she slows down. For a few minutes the filly lingers within a nearby bush, looking over the cave to see if there is any sign of Jack. It is rather ominous since the time she reached the cave it was completely dark. It is only the glow of the moon and stars that light up the entrance of the cave.

    “Alright Jack,” she says loudly bursting through the bush she was hiding in. She stomps her hooves onto the earth floor as she makes her way to the cave entrance. “I know you are in there! Come out! Come out!” Her voice is thick with amusement, but she tries her best to muster a serious, ferocious tone. “Come on Jack! Let’s get this over and done with. I have to be back soon before my parents see that I’m gone!” She lets out a deep roar that a cub would make to indicate her meaning.
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