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    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


    [open quest]  if you go down in the woods today...
    #11
    Again and again, she finds herself here. One violet eye awakens to darkness - which, in and of itself is not unusual (the nights are fitful in Tephra,) but there's a flavor on the air that tastes too familiar. Something decidedly not pomegranate-y.

    She wakes, as she does so often, at the edge of something, and the bright red of her beating heart, lit by the glowing blades of her bones, twists and thuds in her breast. It keens softly for a sense of peace and of comfort that it has never known even as it tugs her into that horrid darkness.

    Sintra barely warrants a costume, but something foreign clasps tight around her face, something flat and leathery covering the bare hole of the eye the vulture stole. A red sash ties itself around her waist with a dull-bladed sword tucked against her flank and a too-large, too-itchy beard wraps beneath her chin and swings in the breeze. There's a tri-corner hat with a jolly roger brand and, finally - and seemingly from nowhere - a brightly colored parrot settles itself on her withers, its sharp nails digging her heat-shimmer skin.

    More bemused than bewildered, the little roan flicks a worried ear back and steps into the forest. The trees seem to bend around her, their fingers grasping at her mane and her tail and running across her skin as if to test it; as if perhaps she is as soap-bubble fragile as she appears. Every step is accompanied by the parrot's merry noise and inane commentary.

    "RAWK! HELLO! WHERE'S THE RUM? RAWK! *microwave beep* HELLO! WALK THE PLANK! *cat meow fart noise*"
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    #12
    The yearling is heavy for her age, thick-bodied and well-muscled, and the black wings at her sides only accentuate the bulk of her, but they are useful for covering her half-blazed face when she sleeps. She sleeps soundly and is rarely disturbed (who would wake a sleeping bear?) so it is not without a little confusion that she loses her grip on sleep and finds herself pondering an odd patch of the woods.

    She rises with particular care. Beechbone knows well her own strength and the damage caused by a recklessly placed hoof. The girl wears caution across her face, but none of it is for the dangers of the woods at night, only for the worry that she will step on something small and soft, something that will die beneath her horrible, large hooves in a terrible instant. There are no animals around, though, the woodland beasts are wiser than the shadowy figures she can see of other horses milling among the trees. The mice are all well away from here.

    (A hundred times a day she wishes to be smaller, lighter, less accidentally powerful. What she wouldn't do to not wear her power so obviously, so heavily, upon her body. What she wouldn't give to be a mouse instead.)

    As if hearing her silent desire, the forest wraps itself around her, gifting her the costume she wished for so desperately. A grey and pink fleece onesie sits baggily upon her, its long pink tail hanging limp. The glued-on whiskers itch and the teeth make her lisp, but something is missing.

    No ears?

    The earless mouse squints into the shadows as she enters the forest until she sees an opalescent mare donning mouse ears - and only mouse ears.

    "Ethcuthe me," she says to @Rare, her voice hushed and as careful as her steps, "I think you are wearing part of my cothtume."
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    #13

    Under the blanket of darkness he woke, eyes snapping open as the riddle funnelled through his ears. And as the voice spoke his body acted. A strange sensation pulsing through him as he moved without much thought, rolling from his side and rising stiffly, setting off into the darkest part of night. He trudged through the trees with a purpose though he knew not what it was. It was like his limbs had a mind of their own, his mind trapped in his own pathetic body, but Etojo didn't feel afraid. Not yet.

    He paused. His hooves no longer marching him forward. Before him, breaking the darkness, the moonlight illuminated something in the branches, marking a darker deepness to the forest. He peered at them, eyes narrow with suspicion.

    There were things dangling from the branches. Ridiculous things, monstrous things, silly and pathetic things. But then one in particular caught his eye. It was him. Dangling from the branches, sides split from the belly, fluttering eerily in the midnight breeze. It was him as he was before, normal and unchanged. A handsome beast, fiery chestnut, with ordinary brown eyes. Etojo stared at it, and as if sensing his choice (though Etojo hadn't thought to choose anything), within a blink, the costume released from the branches and flew towards him. His body stuck still unable to react. The sheet of his former self gobbled him headfirst, slithering down his neck, snapping the twigs of his mane. Etojo clenched his teeth to strangle out his groan of pain. The costume pressed into his back and wrapped about his belly. It became him, and he became him… no longer leafed, ugly nor emaciated. Etojo became magnificently normal. Well, almost. What was left of his pathetic twig of a mane had pierced through the material.

    Beyond the costumes still dangling the dark forest thrummed with a strange pull. Etojo waited.
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