- Posting Speed
- One post per week
- Online Availability
- 5-11 EST weekdays, anytime weekends.
- Writing Levels
- Give-No-Fucks
- Adept
- Advanced
- Douche
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Female
- Genres
- Superhero, urban fantasy, space opera, crime thriller, supernatural
Chrys awoke in the only place, they said, that still knew beauty.
She awoke surrounded by tatami mats and trees that hung from the ceiling, or that interloped into the room through open windows, offering up their lush fruit as tribute for the privilege. The fruit's purple skin caught the light in the most perfect of ways, its skin an almost translucent sheen that turned into a mirror in the morning. She could see her dull, hazel eyes reflected off the skin of the fruit, her narrow, sunken features, and the pristine emptiness of her bald head - she kept her hair (or lack thereof) in the manner of the Old Ways, of the esoteric monks who did not allow their hairs to grow, whether it be for modesty or discipline.
This was Oasis, home to the Order, the Replenishers, and the last beacon of the world. So they said. She was Chrys, an apprentice, who would embark on a journey today with one other.
With a quick kip-up, she left the safe abode of her wooden bed, deftly snagging a peppermint leaf with which to chew and freshen her breath with, as well as the purple fruit from the tree that reached into her room - that would be for breakfast, later. Outside her room was the community of the Oasis, Replenishers and Apprentice Replenishers, as well as the poor, sickly, famished and sometimes deformed beings that sought sanctuary from awaited out there - in the world without trees or fruit.
She looked upon the far horizon, and shuddered - an involuntary motion, at this point - at the foreboding burning orange of it all.
A shrill shriek sounded, delivered from the twelve-layered reed flute. The Elder called for them.
She awoke surrounded by tatami mats and trees that hung from the ceiling, or that interloped into the room through open windows, offering up their lush fruit as tribute for the privilege. The fruit's purple skin caught the light in the most perfect of ways, its skin an almost translucent sheen that turned into a mirror in the morning. She could see her dull, hazel eyes reflected off the skin of the fruit, her narrow, sunken features, and the pristine emptiness of her bald head - she kept her hair (or lack thereof) in the manner of the Old Ways, of the esoteric monks who did not allow their hairs to grow, whether it be for modesty or discipline.
This was Oasis, home to the Order, the Replenishers, and the last beacon of the world. So they said. She was Chrys, an apprentice, who would embark on a journey today with one other.
With a quick kip-up, she left the safe abode of her wooden bed, deftly snagging a peppermint leaf with which to chew and freshen her breath with, as well as the purple fruit from the tree that reached into her room - that would be for breakfast, later. Outside her room was the community of the Oasis, Replenishers and Apprentice Replenishers, as well as the poor, sickly, famished and sometimes deformed beings that sought sanctuary from awaited out there - in the world without trees or fruit.
She looked upon the far horizon, and shuddered - an involuntary motion, at this point - at the foreboding burning orange of it all.
A shrill shriek sounded, delivered from the twelve-layered reed flute. The Elder called for them.