ADDITIONAL INFO BONUS MATERIAL Celestia: Fables and Lore

[Reverie]

A Thread for Extra content from Celestia​

 

[wanderingcoder]

Location: nowhere. | Tag: aelvaris ~ the tale of lady alexandra i.
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I gazed at the flickering candlelight as I laid on my side. It was night; a night so silent that I could have assumed it was the calm before the storm. There was a lack of chatter, a lack of steel hitting steel—I was starting to question whether the person behind me was truly planning on going to war. I was getting restless.

A hand fell at my hip, and I could not help but let out a small startle. I craned my head, and there he was. The silhouette of a man. I could see his features as the light flickered over his face. He was quite handsome—in fact, I felt he was wasted on me. A chiseled jaw, with only the barest stubble of facial hair, had always been his charm. I was sure the ladies would have been all over him were it not for him having constantly set his honey-glazed eyes on me.

"Lady Alexandra, you look restless." His voice brought me shivers, a slight baritone that felt just right. It was soft, yet I knew that if my ears were settled on his muscular chest, it would lull me to sleep. I turned to him—his hand stayed right where it was, caressing the fabric of my dress until I faced him. A soft giggle slipped past my lips. I put my soft, delicate hand on his cheek. I rubbed my thumb under his eye as I admired the man laid in front of me.

"I feel quite nervous as of late." I was surprised at my tone—I hadn't yet betrayed myself. My gaze settled on the cleft on his chin. I wanted to press a finger down that dimple. "What if…" I paused, hesitating on whether I should continue my thought. "What if it was a bad idea, I mean I could try—"

The man gently put a finger at my lips. He shushed me, reassured me. "We have tried everything we could to make him accept our union. As long as I do not have the title, I am powerless." He was not looking at me anymore; his eyes—such a beautiful honey—were distant, absent. He then looked back into mine. "This is all for you, lady Alexandra." He cupped my chin and brought his face closer.

I turned on my back, and his hand slid off until it hit the soft bedding. "It is starting to feel as if I was about to lose you." I stared at the ceiling, my hands settling on my chest. I took a deep breath, and I helped myself up. "I am afraid to lose you, my liege… I do not know what I would do without you." My voice trembled as I turned to him. "If only I hadn't been promised to another man, we would have been together already!"

He smiled gently. Oh, how graced was I to have been in the company of such a hunk of a man. A part of myself wanted to laugh—laugh at how lucky I was to be here.

"You may call me by my name," He cupped my cheek and brought me closer. He kissed my forehead. It was an innocent kiss, a reassuring one. One not born out of lust, but out of love. "I have always told you that, didn't I?"

I averted my gaze from his—I resisted the urge to wipe the moisture his lips left on my forehead. "I cannot allow myself to call you by your name yet, my liege. We cannot be together until we make Father agree." I crumpled my dress under my hands. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. "I do not want to shatter my hopes. Losing you would break me, my liege." I stared back at the flickering candlelight. "Please allow me to maintain the charade of a young woman that has not yet fallen in love with a man out of her reach."

I could sense him nod from the corner of my eye. "I will allow it… for now." His voice was firm, commanding. He turned to face me. "However, in exchange, allow me to claim your lips…"

I fought the sliest of grins, and I presented my lips. Only this once—I was sure he had been longing to claim them for weeks. I contained myself. He pressed his lips on mine, and as I responded back, I felt his hand wander down my back. I shivered under his touch—it was gentle, yet firm. I placed a hand on his chest, and as he was about to travel down my body, I gently pushed him back. I bent my leg, and extended our distance further with a press of a foot on his torso. I could see his eyes wander, going up my bare leg, thirsting for more. His eyes settled near my inner thigh, yet he could not see anything.

"Don't… Remember our promise." As I was about to lower my leg, he grabbed my foot and brought it to his lips. He kissed my toes, one by one, and finished with the sole. I giggled—it was tickling me. "Stop that! You don't know where I've stepped in!"

"Any step you take is a blessing to the earth." He set his honey-brown eyes into mine and kissed my foot one last time before gently placing it back on the bed. He rose and got out of the bed. He slipped on a white linen shirt. "I will take a walk down the barracks and go back to my tent. Please go to sleep, lady Alexandra." And with that, my precious liege lifted the curtains of my abode and walked out into the dark. I walked out and peeked outside, watching him become smaller as he walked away. He then left my gaze.

I closed the curtains behind me, and I threw myself on the bed. I smashed my face in a pillow. I couldn't take it anymore. My body trembled as I tried to contain myself. Spreading from my shoulders, my stomach, down to my feet. A muffled sound escaped my body until I started laughing mirthfully in the pillow.

"HAHAHAHAHAHA!" I was kicking my feet as I couldn't contain myself. I flipped to my back, and continued laughing on my pillow. "Any step you take is a blessing to the earth!" I deepened my voice in pure mockery. "That was SO lame!" Oh, that was funny—forget funny, it's hilarious! I was pissing myself over here! My face left the soft cushion as my laughter died. I wiped the tears away and placed the pillow on my lap.

"That felt good." Satisfyingly good, in fact. My expression turned neutral for a moment, but another bout of laughter came. "Oooh, that horndog! Don't think I didn't notice you staring up at my dress. Hahahaha!"

I eventually quieted down, laid on my back and sighed. "Haven't laughed that hard since the council election." That was a good one, too.

But still! The foot kissing? I had no idea whether to consider it hot or gross. Before the kiss, I would have considered it gross—but after it? Probably still gross on a certain level, yet it had some charm to it. I chalked it up to the man being handsome and went on with my thoughts. Anyway— Contain yourself, Aelvaris. You are a wonderful goddess, and nothing can break your will. Those who believe otherwise are dogshit.

I turned on my side, and went back to staring absentmindedly at the candle. The wax had melted off considerably, and it was better to snuff it out to light it on a better day. It might be the last time, however.

After all, another war was happening. Two men, both pining for me, lady Alexandra. Not the real one—the actual Alexandra died somewhere before I took her place. She might even have gotten past our beautiful song meister.

Now that the pieces had been set, let there be another legend. The legend of lady Alexandra who just could not decide between two men, at the cost of losing them both.

I snuffed the candle with a pinch, and went to sleep. I could not wait for tomorrow to come.​

credits

 

[sele]

Summer scorched bleak white – bleached bones, desiccated herbage. War crashed, bonds razed. It was a season of mourning. Parched to famine, it seemed only violence, depravity, and ruin kept any real foothold.

Nonetheless, steadfast fingers turned and widdled a partially sculpted piece of oak. Rosfyr could see the neck of an instrument dormant there, and he was patient to coax it out at the guiding edge of his tools. In another piece he'd taken from the deeper forest, he could see the body of a lute, though its parts were a little more scattered throughout. He'd find them, though, and bring the pieces together.

Shavings fell against his right palm's branding scar – healed just enough by now for him to better resume his crafts. While it wasn't in mind at that somber moment – he was thinking of Laal, so beleaguered under the need for so many death hymns – there were times that Rosfyr wondered if he'd ever fully recover from the damage his creator had done to him. Sifts of wood curls spiraled through his fingers, easing away over the disfigurement, onward toward the warm earth below.

Although the arid season was oppressive, Rosfyr was born of flame and vision – he enjoyed the warmth on his skin. Sometimes, a breeze reminded him of distant things – of times yet to come. Their world surely could not forever remain the mourning season. His hand could not forever limit the artisan's ambitions.

Days swelled into days, carving crags into exposed riverbeds. He'd not been able to distinguish the wildfires on the distant horizon as natural or yet another battlefield. He didn't dwell. He continued to coax the soul of the instrument ever gently upward, giving form to the wood that'd never come from nature on its own. Little by little, day into day, personality quietly emerged – nonetheless still largely contained within the eggshell of the unrefined wood. But it was there, and Rosfyr welcomed those first signs.

"What is your name?" He'd tenderly murmured one evening as his labors drew nearer to a close. His work yet lacked strings or embellishments, though he'd drafted ideas for these throughout the process. He heard no answer, but that was alright. In time, it'd whisper to him.

By night, Rosfyr collected blue and purple larkspurs. His sister placed a candle in a window to ensure he could find his way home when he strayed to farther meadows. The world was full of uncertainty.

With time, he braided strands of gold with floral threads. He was careful to make them strong – they had to endure their purpose. With all of the turmoil in the world, with all of the battles, Laal had to attend to so many deaths, some bearing a particular ache to the Sibling-Gods, too.

So he wove the strings with tenderness, too. Gold spiraled variegated indigo, gradually, eventually, becoming as one within each string. In time, he strummed the lute he'd helped call to life by the work of his hands, and the chord whispered a note to him.

Tharros.

|| Setting: Celestia | Character: Rosfyr. | Tag: @Reverie's Laal. | Music: Two Souls ||​

 

[Asmodeus]

Location: Thereafter. | Tag: Gorhart
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She wakes, she knows not where.

A dripping and a drowning time. Behemoth torn, trades all his whites for red. From forest to mount, his carcass stretched. Titan bones jutting out of blood-dark mud. The only sound: his falling pieces. As sodden meat gone sliding through an hourglass. Drip, drip and spatter.

An oil slick waste where forests smolder. The animals are one - mixed into a writhing palette. They struggle in the pools, to haul their bodies over crater edge and scorched bed, past blackened stump and molten glass. They wear his filth, the lambs untold from lions. Slow-crawling. Trembling to stand.

Among them, she rises. A stag's skull fetched from fetid ink. The antlers grow. Bone-built within a scrape, she pulls great swaths of skin to either shoulder, dressing in her father's hide. White fur to line the insides, while outwards shows his gore.

A maiden's mouth beneath the maw. Clenching, presses meat through its teeth. A dozen strings and shreds caught between the molars. Tonguing each renews that telling taste: Father's blood and excrement. Father's vitals.

No more than this, her corpse-world offers. It is a haze. A scream. The blackness of before.

In this unknowing, knowing only that she forgot herself, and scurried to the feast.

Now more cry out for succor. The beasts that all come limping, and infants caked in flesh. All drooping ears and matted tails, broken bones and crusted eyes. A whining, mewling flock to encircle her. She spreads her arms to caress them.

She wakes, she knows not where.

"Gather round, my darlings."

credits

 

[sele]

Phantom fingers wisped back in recoil at realizing their intangibility. The will in others could make her whole – or less than a shadow. Diaphanous gold silhouetted the spider-curl of those digits before they nested against Hupomone's sternum.

Reflection stood statuesque with milky eyes set on nothing in particular.

To so wholly give up as her mother had was against Hupomone's nature; but there she remained, steadfast, haunting unbeknownst to the haunted. If ever a glint of willpower scintillated again within Reflection, her daughter would seize upon the cinder and breathe what life she could into it.

Some part of her awareness always lingered in Reflection's garden. And some parts farflung, abroad, warming into the willpower of travelers, warriors, diplomats, and thieves. Hupomone wore many gowns – as varied as there were lives and purposes – though she herself remained steadily the same soul.

Her skirts wafted in the weft of silt and sweat whilst warriors fought in their funeral games to honor their dead. Her bodice chased in rich reds – of blood, of royalty, of sacrifice – blending murder, scheme, and peity like crimson cloud-shadows across her form. Scorn for others were her bangles; scorn for herself were her earrings. Heroic drive lay as an auric diadem upon her brow. Wherever will drove perseverance, Hupomone was with them. As long as there was tenacity in the world, so, too, would there be Hupomone.

Though since the Elder battles, she did not take the nourishment from mortals for granted – she could be torn apart like any of the others whose viscera still clung in violent shades across earth and sky and the places unseen.

Foresight was dead. Reflection – dormant. Where did they all now go from here? She was endurance – steadfastness for the journey – but where, in this unstable ruin, did their road now lead? Hupomone would haunt that path for as long as at least one mortal consciously persisted forward. Though the mortal world – as much as the domain of the gods – had become something alien and precarious. They'd done it to themselves. It'd been done to them, too.

And with those who'd fallen, the landscape in both heart and soil alike had been altered. There were divine tasks left to fallow, and others that'd darkened by war scars. There were mortals who disavowed the gods, and others who simply went quiet.

Though along an unseen pilgrim road, Hupomone felt the pull of the faithful's determination, wreathed through a murmured prayer. She had a new destination toward the mountains.

|| Tag: N/A || Mention: N/A || Location: Reflection's Garden || Music: Love Me Instead ||​

 

[sele]

Green shadows drooped dark lethargy down steep, verdant hills. A storm hung low, concealing the crowns of cliffs and all of their jagged secrets. Yet, no rain fell. To some, that atmosphere was the long, uncertain mourning of a sailor's wife watching the horizon. To others, it was the the serenity of a world holding its breath. To a lone figure standing on the cold shoreline, toes comfortably tilled into sand, the mood was the bittersweet memory of faraway and familiar places, lost to battle. Unspilt storms – leaving the earth dry and the sky gray – tended yet to have the power to drench the soul in somber reminiscence. She held a lingering thought about the deceased Iola. Anris's wife. Aesika's mother.

She could no longer see the dull-gray of her seaside, but she felt the weight of it in pressure, humidity, and the sound of it all. The air smelled – tasted – of a less saline moisture. Clear days brought a briny flavor on favorable breezes. The air tasted of weather – it had the clean flavor of fog, of ozone with the subtle threat that the pungent hint of chlorine added in the undertow. Surely at any point now the clouds would spill through and chase a gale. Sometimes, she wondered if a friend cupped the rain in their hands to keep it from pelting her at those moments when she more somberly enjoyed the seaside.

A few last pillars of sunlight speared through the edge of the storm in the distance when Estenia turned toward home. Though, she could not enjoy the visual pleasure of that distant light's slant into that Thallasan-darkening sea anyway. She had a stew that'd been slow-cooking for hours now over her fire. She always made more than she'd need for only herself or Rosfyr – though he was away to barter for supplies he required. One never knew when a hungry stranger might wander up to their threshold.

Though Estenia and Rosfyr had made their homestead within sight of the shoreline, up on the sturdy stone of higher ground, torrential storms hadn't yet truly attempted to tear their shelter apart. They had set themselves within sight of an old forest, too; its shadows veiled down from boughs to roots. The wild dark existed there, filled with ominous myth. But the woodland provided supplies; so, too, did the sea. Runoff from the cliff's foothills made their farmland fertile, even if wolves sometimes tracked for prey there.

Of course, the siblings had invested incredible care into Thistle Gate, their home. As Estenia eased open the garden latch, she passed through an atmosphere aromatic with herbs. When she opened her door, warmth welcomed her in like family cheerily hustling her away from the developing night. Light washed her in color and safety. Familiarity enfolded her in contentment.

Though before the evening grew too late, Estenia filled a wooden bowl with her rabbit and potato stew and returned to her doorstep. In that hazy daydream between comfort and night, she stooped to set the bowl on a flagstone. As night's chill tightened her skin, Estenia nodded toward the darkness with a fondness, then turned back inside, locking the door behind her once she was safely sheltered again.

|| Mentions: @Reverie 's Anris, @Grumpy 's Sonder, @Asmodeus 's Gorhart, my Rosfyr ||
|| Location: Thistle Gate homestead. ||​

 

[wanderingcoder]

Location: nowhere. | Tag: aelvaris ~ the tale of lady alexandra ii.
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When that fated tomorrow came, the sound of steel hitting steel, steel hitting flesh, and flesh hitting steel greeted me as I arrived on the battlefield. It was as if I had my own personal fanfare. All my senses had been greeted—the smell of blood spilling from the wounds, the sound of peons dying as they cry to return home, the sight of a man slicing the head off of one who may have once drank with him, the taste of dust that flew in the wind, and the touch of the dagger I took from a nearby dead body. I giggled softly, and hummed.

Was this music mine? Was I actually an artist? How wonderful—opportunities like these were few. I took a deep breath. Contain yourself, Aelvaris, for you are still lady Alexandra. Your role in this story is almost over.

I eventually reached the two men after walking through half-dead soldiers. All I could see around me was despair—despair of so many lives had been taken for a conflict that should not have happened.

The man I called 'my liege' was on the ground. He had lost an arm—I abstained from looking for it. Have some restraint. His beautiful eyes were marred with blood, and the victorious man before him was about to strike him down.

"Stop!" I cried, unable to witness this massacre any longer. "Stop this!"

"Lady Alexandra!" Both men exclaimed as they turned at the sound of my voice. I turned away, and my shoulders shook. My eyes had welled with tears, and I could taste the salt as they slid down my face.

"My lord! Please stop this nonsense!" I ran at the victorious man. He dropped his blade and spread his arms to welcome my body onto his. The armour was cold, yet I knew behind that wall of steel lived a hot, beating heart.

My liege, who had been seeing this from a few meters away, voiced his confusion. "Lady Alexandra… What is the meaning of this?"

"I have won, lady Alexandra." My lord swept a bloody hand through my golden locks. I abstained from backing away in disgust. Contain yourself, lady Alexandra. "Now your father will have no choice but to accept of our uni—"

My lord could not finish his loving sentence, for he was interrupted by a dagger to the back. "Oh no, my lord," My voice was monotone. It was so sad. "You spoke too much." I pulled the dagger back, and he fell breathlessly on the ground. I nudged the body with a kick—he was dead. I gave him another one with more strength to it—he had pissed me off. Or rather, I had pissed myself off. "You should have stayed silent!" Kick. Kick. "There was no need to be so dramatic!" Kick. Kick. Why did I tell both of them the same story? The contradiction was bound to happen! I grasped at my face dramatically—I forgot my hands were bloodied. Oh, Aelvaris! Your beauty is eternal, and you are a wonderful goddess!

"What…? Why are you acting like this…?" I stopped kicking at a dead husk of a body. Right. The man I once called my liege.

"Still alive, I see." I wiped my bloody hands on my dress—again with the blood! "Good. I needed someone to vent to." I thought I would give him a present, so I traded my dagger for his rival's sword. I did not care much for holding it correctly, so I just dragged the tip as I approached my liege. I did not care at all about what aura I projected to the man anymore. I was getting him a trophy. There was one thing that annoyed me right now, however.

"Say, my liege…" I kicked his sword away and crouched half a meter away from him. "Why did you make me walk with the sun in my eyes like that?" I spat. "I thought you loved me."

"You are not lady Alexandra…" I raised my eyebrows at the man's words. Did he realize who I was? "What did you do to her? Where is my Alexandra? Who are you?"

I stared blankly at him. "Pu—" My hand went to my mouth. My shoulders shook. Contain! Contain! "Puhu—" I couldn't take it anymore! "Pfff—" I was steaming, steaming! Laughter exploded from my whole body as I shook. "HAA~HAHAHAHAHA!!!"

The contrast between the usual Alexandra and I must have been too much for him to comprehend, for he stayed silent as I went into hysterics. It must feel surreal to have the one who you thought was your lover acting like this. To be fair, whatever appeal I had to him must have poofed away after seeing how twisted my face was.

"Lady Alexandra died before you even remembered her!" I exclaimed between bouts of laughter. "Listen, listen— Pfff— Hahaha!! Oh, Aelvaris, contain yourself!"

I took a while to stop laughing, and my abdomen was starting to ache. I was going sore from laughing too much! I am getting a full body workout over here! I wiped away the tears and finally started to act like the proper lady I was.

"Are you still alive, my liege?" He was barely breathing. That was good enough for me. "So~ You two dummies once met lady Alexandra at the market. She was lovestruck at first glance, how youthful, how beautiful!" I cupped my face and fidgeted. The memories were still fresh. "Oh, how she yearned for love! A lovely young woman falling for—not one, but two men that were out of her reach! Hey, listen!" I prodded the man's face with my bare foot. He was still alive! "You were wanting this foot, right? Here it iiiis~" I shoved it harder in his cheek, and then pushed it down an eye. "Any step I take is a blessing, you told me that!" I cackled heartfully. He wasn't even looking at me anymore, what a bummer. I kicked him in his beautiful chiseled jaw and went on with my story.

"So— Ears out, dummy! You did not even notice her! She even talked to you a few weeks later. You did not even deign to remember your precious lady Alexandra! Neither did ole deadbutt over there, either. Both of you dismissed her like a servant!" I remember the pain, the despair, the hatred, the sadness! It filled my heart and soul with a need to poke the serpent's nest. I had been fully connected to Alexandra at that moment. "Anyway— she died some time later. I don't care how and why, by the way. What's insulting is that she died before I could even do anything with her! Are you...?" I prodded the man again, who now looked at me properly. I could see the hate. Ecstatic! I may have connected to Alexandra too much. "All right, so here I am, playing footsie with your face. Do you understand the lesson here, my liege? TALK!" I kicked him again at his silence. He spat at me. I sneered as I struck again. "TAAALK!!!"

"A lesson… ? You have tricked us into destroying each other."

"Yes, but that is not the point!" I crossed my arms over my chest. "At least learn something before you croak, my liege!"

"..." He was really thinking hard. I could see the cogs turning in his pain-addled brain. "I should have remembered her…" I sighed. I got up, and went over him. If there was a view to enjoy, he definitely wasn't enjoying it at the time. I took a deep breath.

"DO! NOT! GO! TO! WAR! FOR! A! WOMAAAN!" I stomped him multiple times in the face as I spelled out the lesson. That last stomp was satisfying. I moved away from the man. I crouched and picked up my gift. "Hey, foot lover. You okay down there?" He groaned. "Although you were a teeerrible student, I have a gift for you." I presented the sword. His eyes changed. Fear! "Look! It's what's his face's sword! I am sure you remember how it felt when it tore through your arm." I looked around. "Where is it, anyway? Whatever." I quickly went on to more important things. I trotted back to whatever his name was—never cared—and rose my present. I pointed the tip at the man's heart. I was not hiding my glee, like, at all… and why was I still angry? "You received a gift from Aelvaris, how lucky! Now, now, grab your present! Here it—"

I dropped it. A genuine accident, I swear.

Now, there was a thing called gravity, and it did not help me at all. I grabbed the sword back from wherever it got stuck in. He was, sadly, still alive. How enduring. That was enough for me to go back to my senses. I sighed. "I really am cruel, aren't I? May the Gods watch over you." I bit my lip. "And when they consume you, may it be painless. Have a safe trip."

With these parting words, I pushed down in his heart. I soon vanished and went back to the other world.

I would really enjoy a tea party.​

credits

 

[Asmodeus]

Location: Thistle Gate. | Tag: Gorhart, @sele's Estenia, @sele's Rosfyr
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"They will not love you as I do."

Warm spatters hit the pathway. Lumps of meat: dark isles among the stains that spread and steam that shuddered. The man had jerked so violently, he feared it was his insides. For did his belly not ache? And his limbs not cramp? And had his bowels not emptied at the sound of that voice?

What noise that followed was his own. Whimpering breaths, pushed and pulled as he realized a shadow. It stood behind him, two steps from where his left earlobe had cracked clean off. Perhaps she had picked up that frostbitten flesh, and carried it as she followed him up the path to the cottage.

"You spill; I spill. Have we an accord, My Darling?"

Her claws glinted. Beautiful as calf legs, stretching newborn in moonlight. Hideous as crabs, dragged up to bleaching graves. The man nodded, then could not stop his head from moving. It trembled, twitched and assented. Nevermore would he deny her.

The man lifted the bowl of stew, careful not to spill another drop. He passed it into his blind spot - to that oblivion behind his left ear where the monster stood. Rabbit and root vegetables; herbs and broth. The bowl was warm in his palm, until her fingers slid over his, and severed him from the heat.

He imagined it would feel like this, were she to lift his heart from his thorax.

"Where were we?" she asked. Her voice was Matron and Mother, a softness practiced over infant deathbeds. "Oh yes. Love. You will not find it here..."

The cottage was ahead of him. Twelve steps before its strong oak door, and windows shuttered to the coming storm. Reminders of a face, gilded in orange hearth-glow. Flower baskets twisted in its eaves, while fresh-hung sage and lavender beckoned.

Twelve steps, and he would be back inside the borders of the village.

"...Not as you did with me."

The stew bowl thudded against the monster's overbite. Her stag skull began where the maiden's nose ended. Neither helm nor mask. The Gorhart was a vision of beast and woman, frozen in the act of devouring one another.

"So simple was our love. The wolves still miss you, Darling. Those nights you ran together, beneath my canopy. The meals you shared. What more did they ask of you but a mouthful of your kills? What more could vex you when you curled in your dens? My dear, sweet boy! We were a family."

Thistle Gate wavered. He closed his eyes so the cottage would remain. Not dissolve in his tears, nor hurtle from him as the Gorhart snatched him back to the tree line.

The monster slurped the rabbit stew. "But you are unhappy." Her silhouette studied the cottage. "You crave old troubles. Those awkward moments. Nuances and nuisances. Oh, My Love... By hearth-light's glow, you would sit and agonize with other men. And call it Home."

He curled into his excrement, the warm bed from which his legs could not rise. Naked but for the rags he had fled in, when they drove him from the village. Body pale and lattice-scarred, his ribs like rictus grins beneath the skin. He answered her in whimpers. It was their language, after all. As snarls were to the wolves.

"You broke the boy's bansuri," Gorhart reminded him. "Does it fill you now: how terrible that was?"

He shielded his head, split elbows like bloody eyes, to implore the cottage before him. "I'm sorry!"

Gorhart licked the stew bowl's rim. "I know, My Love. I have ensured it, have I not?"

What was soft and soporific now shed its skin. Her stag teeth grazed his scalp, the weight of her maxilla pressed upon his skull. From base to temple, the indent of her bite. And in his frostbitten ear, her scalding tongue. Her carrion breath.

"H A V E I N O T ?"

In that screech his scream was swallowed. As was his answer. Fearing she had not heard it, he nodded again. Deeper and deeper as her teeth retracted from where they had broken his skin. Gorhart straightened, leaving scars and spittle as a keepsake. Then she dropped the empty bowl beside him.

"Bring ellowood to the craftsman. Gather flowers for the blind girl. A grove is set aside for you, until the wolves next wake."

Silence followed, and the meadows stirred beyond the treeline. The storm was drawing closer. He would have to get inside soon.

Inside...

He had thought it without thinking.

"We'll miss you," Gorhart told him.

The man lowered his arms, lifted his head, and looked over his shoulder. Into the deep, dark night.

credits

 

[Grumpy]

Those Destined To Be Drowned
Location: Beneath | Tag: Nyke, by @Reverie ​

Once upon a time, in the age before God turned upon Elder God, a girl was drowned.

Not by accident, but by design. An especially cruel machination of fate, for she had long feared the dark spaces beneath the waves. Ever since she, as a young child, had gazed down from the side of her father's fishing boat and felt terror grip her chest at the sheer endlessness of it all, she had sworn she would never take to the open seas again.

Yet fate is cruel. The prospects around her small fishing village were worsening by the season. Men began to whisper that their lands were cursed by the Gods, and that the only recourse was to find pastures more prosperous. The whispers grew louder. Her father listened. And so it was that the girl found herself on a ship bound for new lands alongside her family, desperately trying to ignore the fear eating away at her.

Their journey began well, strong winds bearing forth the settler fleet in good time. Sailors offered prayers of thanks to Nyka, the Lord of Red Skies. The girl's siblings teased her mercilessly for her terror. Her father assured her that all was well, that she would be laughing at herself when she stepped off the ship's gangplank on the other side.

Yet fate is cruel. Soon the settler fleet was becalmed. Ships floated like corpses amidst the silent waters. Passengers despaired as their supplies began to run thin. Sailors offered desperate prayers to Nyka for salvation.

Nyka was no longer listening.

But I was.

My coming was heralded by the swelling of waves around the listing ships, and their crews gave themselves over to premature celebration. Their cheers died when they saw the shapes in the water, streaks of white and black set against a greater blackness that had begun to circle the vessels. Not approaching. Not attacking. Waiting. The passengers began to panic, milling like startled livestock. The swell of waves became a surge. The ships rocked violently beneath a darkening sky. Lost to their terror, none of the other passengers beheld the vast form rising from the ocean below.

None save the girl, huddled against the aft of her ship.

Only she beheld me, as I began my sacred work.

I was the ocean's fury, and no creation of man could stand against such a tide. I shattered masts and splintered decks. I ripped through sails as though they were paper-thin flesh. With grasping hands, with writhing tentacles, I snatched and plucked. I drowned. Sailors and passengers alike, young and old, I commended down into the depths of the ocean's heart where they might sate Mother Leviathan's hunger for a time. I was terrible, and I was resplendent.

Watching from the last of the ships, as those destined to be drowned wailed and writhed around her, something strange came over the girl. Her gaze met mine, and I felt the moment when it happened. The moment she saw past the terror, to the savage beauty of the work. Standing as the ship came apart around her, staring up at me as I descended for the killing blow, I felt it then. Her dread had become rapture. Her fear had become faith.

In that moment, I loved her.

And so I defied fate.

The rest of the drowned I commended to the depths, as was my sacred duty. But the girl I kept. The girl I made my own. It is her face that I now wear, when I breach the water. Her body that conveys me forth when I walk the surface. Black coral protruding from where her eyes once sat. A sickly bioluminescence emanating from her mouth. She no longer needs such a form.

For she has been reborn, in the cold womb of the ocean.

Once upon a time a girl was drowned, and she was my first betrayal. My initial act of defiance against the will of my Mother.

I could not then know where it would end.

 

[sele]

A long exhale pushed away a whisper of tension.

That living breath entangled itself within a stray breeze – one that fell low through the red, wrinkled fabric of Reflection's poppy-blooming skirts. They'd gathered about her statuesque ankles, those intrusive flowers. One by one, they'd winked awake into the collective imagery of spilt pomegranate seeds. They bore no sweetness, however. Only a soothing numbness. Something funerary congregating up about the living.

Hupomone couldn't uproot them. The will was there for it, but the strength was not. Diaphanous red had crept nearer and denser about Reflection the longer she lingered motionless. Unaware, that daughter of the Goliath had summoned a melancholy garden. Perhaps it could honor Foresight, Reflection's battle-slain spouse. No. Hupomone would not accept that her father would have wished to be remembered in stupefacient fragility. He deserved something stark, bright, sharp – thorny for all of his piercing logic. For all of his thoughtful prudence. Something vivid, and something that would prick the hapless hand. Not even Reflection – as she had once been – deserved a floral pyre blooming in opiate red. Though as she was now...

In a way, where Reflection could not directly sense Hupomone's eidolic presence, perhaps she might feel it in subtle moments such as that; even if she did not know that it had been her daughter's exhale that rumored through the poppies.

"Watch the bindweed lest you stumble." Hupomone murmured quiet guidance – seemingly toward no one. Though she was aware of another within her mother's grave garden. Aelvaris had whispered her way into that space – though the rustle of it had sussurrated a subtle signal; like breath to petals.

The bindweed was a more recent invader to Reflection's Garden. Its taproots burrowed deep, taking sturdy hold. Green tangles of leaves crept along lurking vines. Little by little they'd grown nearer to Reflection's low pedestal. Toward her red-poppy skirts.

Aelvaris was a creation of the Goliath – the way Hupomone's mother had been, too, that living statue that now stood before them both.

"Her duties have been neglected." Hupomone coughed on the grainy edges of her attempt at flat statement. The concept she'd spoken went against her own nature – to become listless, to neglect. Reflection's abandoned purpose deserved chastisement. Though her losses? Commiseration. Who knew better than the fatherless offspring?

Alike with the bindweed, and alike with the poppies, Hupomone could not cut Reflection free from torpor's tangle to find a spark of tenacity that day. Someday. One day. It was all she'd need.

Quiet nestled in the boughs between Aelvaris and Hupomone then. They'd faced one another in the past, woven together by contentious whispers, as tendriled from Aelvaris's domain. It'd flowered into something else, though, with time.

Morning glories from bindweed. Long, somber moments in silence; in reverent company.

|| Tag: @wanderingcoder 's Aelvaris || Location: Reflection's Garden || Music: Retrouvailles ||​

 

[Reverie]

Compelled together to Goliath, Anris and Iola knew from the first spark that they had gone too far again. They knew that they were to be punished. Green and gold eyes met, neither speaking the fear they knew. Aenreceli. Long had she been used to torment them, and Anris desired little more than to have his daughter wrapped safely in his arms. He would do anything for her, but he could not allow her confinement to stifle him — to stifle them. Together, as much in an act of defiance as conscious, the two had deposed a human king. A cruel mortal who revelled in suffering, one who had the favour of the Gods for his mass sacrifices. His barbarity eclipsed only by his ambition, Anris tended him frequently, spurring him on and rewarding him for his brutality at the command of the Behemoth — watching with disgust as he betrayed anyone who stood in his way. Anris slew him, and Iola fed him to the Goliath. It was an end neither quick nor kind.

Now they were due their comeuppance, and no human malice compared to that of their creators. Summoned together to the Goliath's throne of a thousand bones strung together with sinew, Anris stood with Iola, their fingers barely touching, before him. Goliath did not need to speak, for that which surrounded him was the undeniable rage of an Elder God wronged. Iola's face reflected the fear Anris felt when he chanced a moment to glance at her. He was prepared to beg for his daughter. This was not the Behemoth, however, and Anris' words had insignificant value. Still, proud as he stood, Anris would belittle himself for Aenreceli. Words he did not know how to speak would leave his lips. However, until he conjured them, they remained a sore at the back of his throat.

The Goliath rose, towering impossibly above them, Anris and Iola only specks beneath him, insects he could crush with ease. Iola's fingers tightened around his, but the storm god did not flinch, even as his neck contorted to look up into the rotting flesh and hollow eyes of Goliath, his back remained straight. She knew, before Anris did, Iola knew.

"COME," Goliath commanded. Iola took a step forward, and with their hands still connected, Anris moved to follow.

"No," Iola whispered, eyes grave as she looked back to him. She was not the vibrant star Anris knew — her face a shroud of despair, her voice small. Anris was prepared to fight, to claw, but she looked like she had already given up. "Let go," she said, tenderly, as her fingers retracted from his skin. His grip tightened.

"No."

Iola took another step forward, and Anris pulled her back. He felt the thrum of his heart in his chest, the rising fear only the Elder Gods had ever inspired in him — and never for his own sake. Her sorrowful gaze turned sympathetic, and she stepped back to him, placing the softest of kisses on his cheek before forcing his hand off of hers. She did not have the chance to move forward of her own accord.

"ENOUGH." The Goliath demanded, a shadowed hand of rot reaching down to pluck Iola from his side. Anris surged forth, made to move against the Goliath. He would summon every storm in his power, every bolt of lightning and every wind, he would not see Iola hurt. But his feet did not move. Behemoth. His God held him in place.

"Take me!" Anris cried out. Please, he thought. "Take me. Punish me instead." The Goliath looked down at him as Iola squirmed in his hand — but it was Behemoth Anris heard.

THIS IS YOUR PUNISHMENT.

No rage or storm or lightning he could summon was enough for Anris to break free of his creator's hold. Powerless, useless. Trapped in place, he could only watch as the Goliath took Iola's hand and foot in either of his own hands.

And Goliath pulled.

Iola screamed. Shrill, at first, and then guttural and wet as she choked on her own blood. Anris knew he called out to her, but whatever words he said were lost to him, blotted out by the sounds of her agony. Goliath twisted and tore, Iola's body contorting and snapping, bones jutting and dark blood dripping down the giant's hands. And then, as the carnage fell limply to either side, the Goliath let go. From far above, the halves of Iola fell to the ground, becoming nothing more than red gore and viscera, spilt on the floor, as they collided with the ground at Goliath's feet.

Anris felt the heat of tears on his cheeks, the burn of it against his skin. He felt, too, the extreme force holding him in place as he longed to rush to what remained of his wife — to the golden quintessence shimmering faintly. He pled with words he was not allowed to speak for it to end there, for her death to be a mortal one. A delusional hope, for hers would be divine. The bright gold which twinkled like stars moved toward him, reaching for him with ethereal fingers. Anris repeated her name like a prayer, the silent calls of her voice still reaching his ears, the echo of a bond no mortal death could break.

"Spare her!" He cried. Anris would've begged, debased himself, taken any torture to see her live.

Just let her live.

Bloodied fingers raked what was left of Iola into a deceptively gentle hold, pulling her essence into his grasp like a treasured object before it could wander. The Goliath lifted the light to his chin — his jaw falling open to reveal a black, rotten maw, too dark for any of her light to illuminate.

Behemoth.

His final plea. Internal, to his master who held him. Let me go. Anris was answered with silence, and a cruel glee he could taste. He was allowed his rage, and nothing more. The teeth bit down, and he felt her pain as if it was his own. Her final agonies struck him, the twisting of light crushed by impossible force. Chewed, devoured. How loud, how painful, how pitched the sound in his ears. Screams which didn't end. Screams which sickened him, turned his stomach. Louder and louder and louder. And then,

Silence.

"Iola," Anris sobbed out her name. He sounded hoarse, speaking from a broken throat. He felt the ease of the Behemoth's hold on him, and stumbled forward, near falling to the ground as the weight he had used to struggle hit him. The storm god did not care if he appeared distinguished any more, for his pride died with his love. Nothing was left, and in grief, only one thought possessed him.

"GO," the Goliath commanded. Anris obeyed.

Die.

|| @MaryGold 's Aenreceli ||​

 

[Reverie]

"Alaena, my dear," Nyka called as he dropped from the ledge above down to the sharp, black rocks. Despite their wetness, he did not slip, even as he landed on only one foot. He took a fraction of a second to adjust himself before dropping to an even crouch — his hands clasped together in front of him, one cupped over another, steadfast even as he felt the slight of movement. "Alaaaena," he called once more into the depths of the dark cave. He knew she would come. The curious creature could not resist, and Nyka would not enter her cave, for it was not their ritual, and he had not been invited. Minutes passed before he heard it — the faint sound of footsteps behind him.

"Boo!" Came the cry of a high voice. Its bearer manoeuvring around rocks to be in front of him within a second of the call. She was a nymph of seafoam and salt, with pale skin and obsidian eyes. There was a pout on her face — on her soft features — which he imagined stemmed from his lack of surprise. "Boo," she repeated, now as a statement of disappointment.

"You know I can hear you over the ocean," the young god said. And she did, as much as he knew she could hear him. He didn't think she actually wanted to startle him, but her frown remained nevertheless. Alaena crossed her arms in front of her chest. Inky eyes searched him before landing on his hands, which she knew to contain her prize.

"You brought me something?" She asked as if he did not always bring her something. Nyka tilted his head and grinned.

"Watch close," he whispered, and with the finesse of a burglar, he retracted his top hand to reveal a vibrant red woodland bird. A kind he knew she had never seen before. It remained frozen in place, perhaps terrified, as the nymph gasped. She gazed enchantedly upon it, her mouth barely agape. Then, seemingly suddenly aware of its freedom, the bird took to flight from his hands, ascending into cloudy sky above.

"It's gone," Alaena said softly, disappointed. Nyka's grin lingered. His fingers sought the leather satchel at his hip, and from it, he retrieved a single, impossibly red, feather. He held it out to her between two fingers. Dark eyes glistened as they gazed at it. Her hand moved carefully to take the feather into wet fingers, cautious to avoid the soft crimson. Her grin was brilliant, and Nyka knew he'd made the right choice. Without a word, Alaena vanished back into her cave. That was expected. The red-headed god waited for her return. She was absent only a short moment, no doubt taking only enough time to stash the feather somewhere safe and dry. She beamed still when she once again took purchase on the rock next to him.

"Okay, your turn," Nyka said. A hint of mischief claimed her features. She settled herself down onto her rock, low enough for the waves to lick at her legs and feet.

"Alright then," she responded. Alaena clasped her hands together and placed them delicately into her lap. She opened her mouth, and out came her beautiful song, spoken in the words of waves and wind, her voice ethereal and light. Alaena was no siren, but the beautiful melodies she sang could still lead a foolish sailor to his death, and these were dangerous waters. Nyka himself had led many a sailor to their doom upon the rocky coast. That was when he first heard her song. However, this melody was just for him, and he watched her fondly as she sang each note. Sometimes, she urged him to sing along — and sometimes, he did. That day, she did not, and he remained a silent observer with his chin rested on his knuckles, head tilted, sharps ears catching ever note which melded perfectly with the rhythm of the ocean.

|| x ||​

 

[MaryGold]

In the branches of a willow tree, hidden by the swaying ropes of lush green leaves, the young goddess slept. Though the summer heat was warm even in the late night, cool breezes rustled through her hair and against her skin. She slept with ease, her mind at peace, full of old memories that posed themselves as dreams. All until a crooked cackling broke through her slumber.

It was an unpleasant sound, harsh and grating to the ears of not just the goddess, but the birds that built their nests around her, once sleeping sound as they too awoke. Their pools of black eyes looked in the direction of the cackling that came and went, and so when the goddess finally opened her eyes, she looked too. The moving curtain of branches did well to hide what made the noise, but not the large figure in front of them.

Carefully, she lifted her body and shifted into a crouching position. Her bare feet moved soundless as they crossed tree branch to tree branch. Her hands were gentle and silent as she swept away the leaves obscuring her view until she was no longer in the heart of the tree, but facing outward on the largest branch outside the brush. And with her there was the source, a vulture, perched on the tree snickering and merry.

"What makes you laugh so hideously?" She asked the bald bird, head tilting as she looked his large frame up and down.

"That," he answered. His head never turned to address her and his dark eyes stayed fix on what made him so giddy. His large talons wrapped and unwrapped themes from the branch repeatedly in what could only be assumed to be excitement. More than his cackle, it was enough to make her more curious than before. So, she turned her head and looked.

There in the dark, a light glowed and flickered. The light was large and danced around in its one space. Fire. Around it gathered large men drinking from their skins and chewing on their dried and roasted meats. They were filthy and hairy creatures, but they were not what caused the vulture such joy. In a space a little further away from the light sat a group of many others, women, men, children. They were smaller than the men who sat round the fire, weaker, and milder in temper, heads hung, skin covered in dirt, purple bruises, and dried blood. Some coughed and hacked, others shivered and cried.

Most odd, however, was the braided rope tied around their ankles and wrists. For some, it included their necks too. But that wasn't what the vulture looked at, she found what his gaze watched intently last. It was a child, further away from the group, separated from them. It laid on the grass floor coughing every few moments, exhausted and silent otherwise. It was sick.

"I have not fed on human flash in so long. They'll have to leave it behind soon, and then I shall feast." The vulture cackled once again, nearly flapping his wings at the oh so merry thought.

"You're a horrible beast," she frowned. "No family would leave their child behind. I'm afraid you'll not eat human very soon at all."

This time the bird did look at her. "Oh. I know you." His voice dropped to a knowing whisper. "You're the little God, Anrecie, dropped here in our place not long ago. There's so much you know not of humans." He laughed again.

"Aenreceli," she corrected, her voice firm. "Tell me, why would they leave him behind?"

"Because he's sick, and it costs more to heal him than they'd get for selling him."

"Sell him?"

The vulture's amusement only grew. "Yes! Humans sell each other. They make wonderful slaves and pets." He laughed again, sounding more malevolent than before. "It's their nature."

"To be owned as a possession is no one's nature." Aenreceli hissed, and a gust of wind rustled through the trees, whistling in the air and spooking the humans below. "I'll see to it that you feast on human flesh tonight, tomorrow and the many days after."

The goddess dropped from the tree, her wings spread just enough to make her final step descend into a floating one. When her feet touched the wild floor, she was swift in her run to the child's side. In the blink of an eye, she was in front of him, kneeling with a finger pressed into her lips. His eyes though tired, held the light of curiosity, but too weak to speak or say anything more. He was but a helpless creature, no older than she was the day Behemoth took her away from her own.

Clenched in his small hands was a mask made of animal fur and skin. It made the face of a rabbit, and its long ears made its spirit all the more evident. Noticing her curiosity, he extended it to her. She accepted. "Rest," she whispered to the child. He closed his little eyes, and as she hoped, he continued to breathe.

Nimble fingers were quick in finding the knots that bound him, and they were even quicker in undoing them. The boy could only watch wordlessly, the only thing coming out of his mouth after was a ragged cough. Aenreceli placed her hand against his chest and felt the quiet through of his heartbeat. "Endure." She said, "Hupumone help him persevere." she prayed.

Just as he would push through, so would she. Aenreceli grabbed hold of the string attached to the mask, pulled it back like that of a powerful bowstring, and placed the mask on her face. Plans would be foiled tonight.

Her feet moved quickly as she skittered across the grass, using the shadows to hide her form. But as she came closer toward the light, the captured mortals noticed her. Many were spooked by her immortal form, but they followed commands well when raised a finger to the mouth of her mask. Some nodded, others lowered their heads in her presence.

The men around the fire roared with laughter and chatter of what they'd make with their live "goods", disgusting plans. They were completely unaware of retribution nigh. Aenreceli opened her wings and flapped them as she raised her hands. She could upon every wind that would head her call, large or small, and they answered.

The winds ripped around them, blowing through the forest, producing unholy monstrous noises, shaking the leaves. The men nor their captives had time to stay terrified before the evil amongst them were being knocked over and thrown onto the grounds. Her winds circled around their life, creating a large and hot cyclone of fire.

"Hear me!" Her voice boomed as her wings lifted her from the ground, the small birds that once slept flew to her side like a cloud. They rose above the mortals, her large springs spread and cast an engulfing shadow over them. "Under my skies, no one shall bound the innocent. No one shall treat them tool's or animals, and if you ever try again, you shall become the animal. That is the promise of Aenreceli."

They cried and sniveled and bowed their heads and bodies, shaking with fear in the presence of the divine, or perhaps to them a monster. "Go!" She commanded, and they did. They ran, and they ran until they could no longer be seen.

Aenreceli lowered herself to the floor and sighed, out of breath, and with that the winds became soft breezes there were no more. Her power depleted for now, she looked to her avarice companions and asked for their assistance. They flew to the shaking mortals still tied and untied their bindings, tearing the rope with their beaks and talons until it was loose and slid off their damaged skin.

The goddess walked to the boy who had found the strength to sit up in her time away from him, and when she kneeled in front of him, he found the strength to speak too. "Thank you," he said with a tiny voice.

Aenreceli smiled behind her mask. She scooped him up into her arms. "these are just the things a goddess like myself should do, sweet child." She carried him over to the rest of his group and placed him into the arms of a tall man amongst them.

A cacophony of praise and gratitude swiftly followed one after another. There were quite a bit of tears, but Aenreceli laughed gently and patted their shoulders. "Now, now, there's no time to waste. You need shelter, and he needs healing." she brushed away the brown curls from the child's eyes.

"Do not doubt the gods help." Aenreceli thought carefully. Her parents had told her of their kin and their duties and abilities. So had the magic beasts and nymphs of the hollow she once lived in. "Ask Nyka for assistance in your passage to the nearest village or city. Estenia would never turn away hospitality, and.." she plucked a feather from her wing and wrapped it around the fingers of her child. "Ask Iola for her help. Mention her daughter, Aenreceli."

The Gods Iola and Anris could never find her, Behemoth and Goliath had made sure of that. But they could find those who had met her. And they could help them.

She looked at the child and said, "I shall keep this face for now, so when you're older and we meet again, you'll have something to recognize me by." And then he grinned wide and joyously.

"Now be on your way," she shooed the mortals. "I have so much sleep to catch up on."

Though she stood there, watching them until they were but small dots in her line of vision. She lifted the mask from her face and turned to the vulture in the tree who scowled and snarled. "No mortal meat for you, I'm afraid." She feigned sympathy with great theatrics.

The large bird scoffed and flew away.

|| ᴛᴀɢ: @sele 's Hupomone & Estenia, @Reverie 's Nyka and Anris ||​