You don’t know it yet, but this is my story. It’s not always pretty, and it’s not always nice, but it’s the only one I have. I’m not even certain you will want to hear, but I am going to tell it anyway. I hope you will learn as much from it as I did.
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In a distant land, a chime stirs the breeze. It is so soft that it could be easily mistaken for the sound of wind rustling through the leaves and branches of the forests. So easily dismissed that most would never even notice.
Those who do, well, those are the ones who, deep in their hearts, still believe the fairy stories of old could be true. The ones who know magic is more than what they see before their eyes. Even the jaded ones, they still have that kernel of hope kept alive. That tiny spark that allows them to turn their head when the think they may have heard a sound, but aren’t quite sure.
And when they do, out of the corner of their eye, they might see a flickering light. So small and ephemeral that one would almost question if it had been real. But the longer one stares, the more intensely that light seems to flicker.
Perhaps some would choose to ignore it.
Others though, they might follow. Their curiosity might get the better of them, and would feel the need to discover from where the light had come. It always seems though, that the moment you get close enough, it flits away. Skittering beyond your reach to appear further in the distance. A tantalizingly impossible trail for those with bravery in their hearts and a lingering belief in ancient, childish magics.
Until, finally, the trail ends as mysteriously as it had appeared. And there, just before those daringly intrigued individuals, a door stands. Looming and dark, surrounded by vines, and not nearly so inviting as one might hope.
Do you dare cross the threshold?
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Hello, and welcome to this story. In this introductory round, the rules are simple.
You have three days to respond. This round will expire Monday, September 23rd at Midnight Central Standard Time.
Please tell me about your character’s experience finding the door and how they come to the decision to cross the threshold.
There will be no eliminations this round.
This quest is intended to be thought-provoking and will focus more on creative thinking and responses than writing ability. Be clever, be unique, be silly, but most importantly, have fun! And don’t worry so much about perfect sentences and grammar. We sure won’t
Assailant -- Year 226
"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
[open quest] will you dance with us? ROUND I
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09-20-2019, 01:01 PM
09-20-2019, 03:05 PM
09-20-2019, 03:15 PM
Demetyr
Stars paint the night sky. Vibrant and beautiful, they dance in ethereal delight as the young filly stands in awe of their beauty. Never before had she seen such a wonder. It is breath-taking, truly. Alone in the night, her eyes scan throught the wilderness, searching - though, for what, she is unsure. For most of her life the pale hued creature had been on the hunt for her life's purpose. She is young yet, however, and does not quite understand that she has many more years ahead of her. Though she refused to acknowledge such a thing, there was a sense of urgency - one that she could not explain even if she wanted to. Glancing around herself, starlight dances upon the blush of her coat creating a halo effect upon her. She is beautiful and the flowers entwined upon her close themselves up in their slumber. Springtime incarnate, she is a contradiction amongst the slowly waning snow. Something lingering on the edges of her peripherals quickly catches her attention. Turning her olive eyes in consideration of it, she is given a moment's pause. There, flickering close to the ground, a dim light sits as if it is waiting for something. It flickers and pulses and Demetyr's heart pounds hard in her chest. Nostril's flare as her mind attempts to wrap itself around what it is that she is seeing. Its as if a star had fallen from the heavens and now called out to her. The longer her eyes remain still upon it, the brighter its glow seems to grow - soon, the young filly realizes that it is meant for her. One hoof moves forward, followed by another until her body is drawing nearer to the single orb of light. Just as she is almost upon it, the light fades completely and Demetyr is forced to stop - her bewilderment quickly giving way to disappointment. The feeling is short-lived as, a second later, it is reborn several lengths ahead of her. It is leading her. A broad smile spreads across the filly's face as she continued forward, far less hesitant than before. The next time the light dies she continues - always keeping her eyes peeled for wherever it might be reborn. This pattern continues until Demetyr has wandered an impressive distance away from where she had intended to spend her night. Surrounded by trees she is only aware of one thing, the light - that is, until, it is no more. Halting, Demetyr snorts, confused as she glances around only to see a door. A centurion lost among the thick of trees. It is an old door with cracks in its wood and vines claiming its frame as their home. For a moment, the filly is tempted to turn back to where she had come from. Instead, however, she feels a pull forward and, before she can reconsider, she finds herself crossing into the unknown.
09-20-2019, 04:11 PM
I wasn't born into a childhood filled with fairytales and happily ever afters. Whatever capacity my mother had once had for that sort of thing, it had been used up on my brothers. Maybe my sister's death had crushed the last bit of whimsy she'd been capable of.
I'm the youngest, the baby of the family. Traditionally, the one doted on. A little treasure. I can't even imagine what that would have been like. Sure, I had my brothers, eventually. They did their best with me, I suppose. But by the time they interceded, the damage was done. I realized that knights in shining armour were not my lot in life. If I was going to do anything in life, it'd be under my own power, damn anyone else who got in my way. I was learning that not all princesses get happily ever afters handed to them. Some princesses take their stories by force, and I guess that's who get condemned to be called "evil queen" long after their sins fade into legend. I didn't care if others found me evil, or heartless. I don't think I ever will. Playing the villan is much more fun than anything they could find acceptable. My script is the one I write for myself, and it's not one decorated with shining fairies and dewy eyed maidens. That's likely why I ignored the light when I saw it at first. It was there, in the corner of my sight as I grazed the thick grasses filling in the landscape I had begun to settle into. It hadn't been an easy transition, and the last thing I needed was more kingdom nonsense. There was also the niggling idea in the back of my mind that this was it. The onset of my mother's madness come to call. She often saw things that weren't there, called out to long dead horses when she couldn't sleep. This could well be the start of it. Fear gripped my heart as the light stayed in sight, not vanishing like I'd hoped it would. Now I looked at it full on, forgetting my occupation with filling my belly, and instead feeling my old friend anger begin to prick my throat. I would not be intimidated by a glowing whisp of light! "What do you want?" I growled at it, not really expecting any answer. And I didn't really get one. The light just bobbed and shimmered, drifting a few feet away. "Oh, don't be cute." My eyes rolled as the light throbbed in a way I'm sure was meant to be tantalizing. Experimentally, I stepped closer. As predicted, the light bobbed away just as far as I'd closed the gap. Oh boy. It was going to be one of those days. Looking around me, I realized I didn't have any real reason not to follow it. No friends, no family. As usual, I was alone. As usual, no one would miss me. Why not, then? Another step, another annoyingly cute jiggle of light. God's, I really must be crazy. But here we go, off into the wild blue yonder. Just me and a self satisfied ball of pixie dust. And what a merry chase I'm lead. Like, a stupidly long way before I'm ready to give up, but by then it's too late. I haven't got a clue where it's lead me, and even if I flew high enough to orient myself, the sun set a few minutes ago. I wouldn't see a damn thing that could be useful. "You did that on purpose." I groused to it, stepping hesitantly over the now overgrown earth. There's no path to speak of anymore, just the narrow circle of light the whisp casts to guide my way. It could be lead off a cliff and I wouldn't see it coming until it was too late. But there are no cliffs, or deep bogs. No sudden falls or hidden traps. Just eerie silence that I break with ever more nervous comments and the dull hum of magic getting stronger on the air. I hardly notice until the glowwing orb suddenly halts, spinning its ball of light until I stop too. Patiently, it holds position while I look around, and take in the murky midnight view. My eyes are adjusted by now to the dimness, and I can make out the field of spiring stones I've been lead through. It is a hopeless maze, and I get the sick feeling I won't be getting out the same way I came in. An anxious twitch of my wings betrays the sudden return of my earlier fears. This was a stupid, stupid thing to do. Turning to the light, I pin my ears to my head, half expecting ambush now that we've stopped. But before I can fly at it, try to stamp out its insubstantial light, it bobs again, and drifts through a gap between two stones. It doesn't reappear on the other side. Cursing the dark and my own gullibility, I edge nearer to its vanishing point, starting at the stones it slipped between. This is no accidental fall of rock. It is a henge of ancient grey stone, overgrown with lichen and moss, the carefully placed edges softened with age. There might have once been things carved into the surface, but now only faint smudges remain to suggest it, and the hum that's been growing since we arrived now brings a chill to my spine as I become aware of it. This is no mortal place, and I am far out of any depth I thought I had. But my only guide has vanished through what I now see is a gateway, and I am running out of options. I can see the stones and scrubby plants beyond the henge, and maybe this is all some bizarre dream, and I'll wake up disoriented and crabby, but none the worsev for the wear. Or maybe this is real, and a challenge, and I will come away from it greater than I entered. Or I could die, I guess. Only one way to find out. Step by step, I hold my breath as the old stones rise over me. I don't come out on the other side. Stories. Stories were rooted to Kha's existance. His mother's sweet voice drifted across his ears once upon a time to tell him of his parents rule. King and Queen of the forbidden dale. Voices of familiar but lost equine drift slowly through darkened, changed forest of new land tell stories of angered fairies ripping magic from their grasps. The mark across his ghostly cheek speaks stories of a lost child amongst chaos, stuck on a plane between the dead and living floating silently. His presence had been caught between lovers and traitors alike telling stories of their lives in quiet whispers. For ages the forgotten ghost boy drifted between stories, often becoming the center of his own. Stories of a child haunting the otherwise uneventful forest. So, when he hears the melodic chime and sees the flickering light blink lazily infront of his bored, dull eyes he does not dismiss it like many would. After all if he could remain as a child after years of adult hood in this dull, translucent form why couldn't other mystical, magical beings exist in a world full of white light. His eyes snap to attention as the light begins to bounce away from him, flickering like a bulb tightened to quickly that it didnt quiet connect with the energy that fueled it. His tail flicks softly at his legs as he moves from his perch for the first time in days. What could it hurt to follow? The closer he seemed to get the farther the light seemed to wander. A distant story of it's own, told through a melody of soft lingering music, lying in its wake. The light seemed to pull him in which only picked at his curiosity more and more. Nothing in all his years had eluded him quiet so easily, especially in his own forest. It left feelings of wonderment, contentment, happiness, sadness, uncertainty, and possibilities crawling through his ghostly nerves. His hooves fell against the earth silently in utter chaos of nerves. Until suddenly the light blinked out of existance. A life there and then gone. Memories flooded his mind as he continued into the vast darkness of heavy tree limbs infront of him. His mothers face, his fathers face, the existance of Beqanna there and then gone, the lone mare upon the shore calling him from existance, the soft face of the girl who existed in the living world, the many faces of those he haunted out of his forest so that he could live in solitude, the face of the only possible friend he could of had had he not grown bored - or maybe scared - and chased her away too. He pulled up short as the door appeared before him, crowned with vines of ghostly darkness. Confusion wrapped around his mind and his eyes grew wide. How could this be? This what not apart of his world! He crushed his eyes against each other as his breathing became unsteady - that is it would of if he actually needed to breath. He forced his ghostly head into the dark, broken wood before him, searching behind the lonely door. Nothing. Darkness. He yanked his head back, his ears pinning to his head. This is not how it would work. If he wanted to know what layed beyond the bouncing white light, and the haunting door he would need to allow himself to accept what was and what is. He closed his eyes one last time, softer this time, and took a slow steady breath allowing himself to feel the earth beneath his hooves and the wood upon his nose. He became one with the living and the door opened slowly as if it had never been closed to begin with, and with out a second hesitation in he went. KHA it doesn't matter what world you live in; it only matters what world lives in you
Some might think it would be quiet in the wilderness where no one but they are passing through, but it is not quiet in the Taiga. The forest is alive with spring, birds trilling and fluttering, claiming their territories and their mates with bright songs and bright feathers. Just as bright is Popinjay, small and laughing and wild, dark eyes shining as she chases the finches as they swoop from tree to tree and tossing her head against the scolding brown wrens. One and a half years is an awkward age, less a child than before, and yet, not nearly an adult, others still begin to have expectations of behavior. It's not as acceptable these days to steal a feather from Lepis' wing, or to lead her little brother on a questionable journey. She should know better. The real problem is that they know better. Every day her companions grow, and grow more serious.
Well, Owin has always been serious. It is harder to lead them along, though, to convince them to join her, racing madly through the woodland, chasing fog and fey, and so more and more, Popinjay is alone among the trees and the ferns. She does not fret, however, not here among the songbirds raucously celebrating the passing of another wicked, grey, winter. The smiling light filters golden and green between the bristling needles of redwood and larch, inciting a riot of squealing and bucking across a glowing glen, and as she charges through it, insects chirp and buzz and drift into the air, sparking bright and sharp in the haze. But, oh! What was that? A soft chime catches her ear, faint and alluring, unlike the dry buzz of disturbed click-beetles. No, it is almost like the ringing of hard hooves on the ironstone that gathers in some of the low valleys, almost, and yet... The youth slows and turns, head high and small ears curling forward. Her black forelock is almost long enough to cover the broad star across her brow and fall messily into her eyes, but she blinks it away. She blinks and sees one golden spark flit away on an unlikely path, deeper, darker, one that leads away from sunshine, yet it shimmers still, inexplicably. Popinjay does not think, but follows, heart alight. It is a tantalizing chase into the core of the wilderness, to places even she does not often stray. The birds here are quieter, shyer, they don't flaunt or fly but keep to the undergrowth, shadows within shadows, flickering. The woodthrush is here, and the black-throated warblers whisper their lazy calls. Here there is a sense of silence, of solemnity, laughter fades her from throat but not from the gleam of her eye, not from that part of her heart that loves anything that is mischievous and sly. Even here the filly does not feel out of place. She, too, is a shadow among shadows, her soft baby coat having shed out almost black, a cape of starless night sky blanketing the bright cherry bay of her belly and flanks. Light flickers around the corner, calling, and as she has ever done, the yearling presses on into the black cavern of Taiga's heart. The sound of water dripping slowly echoes around her, droplets splashing on stone, dripping from leaf to leaf, trickling down darkened trunks. The ground is soft and smells strongly of earth and slow decay, her hooves sink deep into it, squelching softly, the liquid welling in each hoofprint tannic and opaque. There is no light here, the taunting, flickering, thing she followed is gone and before her, a doorway, foreboding and wrapping in vines. The mouth of a cave? Has that always been there? Would she have any way of knowing? It looks as though it has existed for eons, and no light shows beyond its threshold, not a sound, not a scent. It could go anywhere. It could contain anything. But Popinjay never hesitates. A door once orphaned her. A door once brought her here, to a world where magic was real and possible, where things still existed to be discovered. She hadn't hesitated then and she doesn't hesitate now.
09-21-2019, 10:42 AM
i have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night aedan Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission
09-21-2019, 04:22 PM
09-22-2019, 04:55 PM
She doesn’t fully understand the wildness that creeps in her veins. She knows that Tephra feels small, even with that great, looming volcano that always glows on the horizon. She knows she had been born during turmoil and chaos, when the land was shrouded in darkness and the air was full of smoke and fire. She had felt adrenaline before she ever felt safety, she had known war before she ever knew peace. Everything after that had seemed so...quiet. Tame, almost. The strange tightness that coils in her chest is incomprehensible to her. Freshly turned two years old she was just beginning to finally shed the softness of her childhood, and with the sharp angles of adolescence also came with it a restlessness that was all the more potent. She moves through the forest without much purpose, and the sounds of the birds and the leaves that rustle in the breeze are muted into background noise. When she first hears the chime, it almost seems imaginary. It takes her a moment to realize that it was real, and slowly, she comes to a stop. Her ears swivel, and she tilts her head as though it might better allow her to pinpoint where the sound is coming from. From the corner of her eye she sees a flicker of light, and she can feel her heart jump in excitement. She follows it, trying her best to match the light’s flitting and erratic movements that wind her through trees and brush. Branches pull at her black mane as she leaps nimbly over fallen logs, but no matter how fast she moves the light continues to dart just out of her reach. By the time she comes face to face with the nearly hidden doorway she is breathless and looking every bit the feral girl she was – leaves and debris clinging to her mane, various new scrapes fresh and bright on her black and white coat. But her vivid pink eyes are vibrant and glittering with the thrill of the chase, even though the light was nowhere to be found. Instead she was faced with the shadowy door, caressed in ivy that snakes and tangles around its frame. She feels no hesitation when she steps through. | ||
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