OPEN SIGNUPS Maeblood

[Asmodeus]

CHAPTER 1
___________________

The Feast of Aithenge
___________________

In which the Heowers pursue their machinations, arrayed as muses, monsters and mysteries in the Forest of Maeblood.
A certain calm before the storms to come.
Certain seeds, both planted and scattered.​

She was starting to giggle.



Across the stone reached vines of feverwood, blackberry and rose. And though their thorns pricked her flesh, their tendrils tickled more. She laughed as her ankles were ensnared and her body pulled taut upon the rock. Laying there might have grazed her - might have bruised her limbs - had the crest not been worn smooth by weathering, and by the countless adorations before this one.

Two decades had passed since the Aithenstone fell. And though a thousand more had followed, spreading carnage with the End Rain, the faithful had clung to this particular meteor shard above all others. They had swept the ashes from its nooks, cut back the trees and hauled the corpses from the clearing. They had preserved the impact site, and named it the Heart of Aithenge. The center of His miraculous forest... where all were, and will be, saved.

"A carnival!"

the girl exclaimed.

"Yet flesh returned - not put away!"

"Why is she laughing?"

Lord Trewdust barked. The man strode four steps from his carriage to arrive like a stick in the mud - standing in his coat where a dozen women knelt in rags. Around him, Aithenge cultists passed torches to one another, soaking them in oil, while others nicked their flesh with charms of wolf teeth. Still more were spreadeagled in the mud, laughing like the girl atop the meteor as their mushroom tea hit.

When one of them bared her breasts, Trewdust turned away. He was something like the stone before him - a dark lump with head worn smooth by the years, and stubble sprouting like grass. He directed his gaze to the circle of crones who huddled, coughing, in the shadow of the rock.

One pair of pearl-white eyes stared back.

"A tithe to the Southcrier, lord. The season yet be hers, though Solstice draws us wide on the great ellipse."

Above them, the Anointed Girl arched. Blood might have rushed to her head, had it not been warded off by rime. A crust of ice, brackish-dark with plague, had formed on the rock's north side. Now it spread to cover her brow, to clog her eyes, and fuse her hair with the stone. Her giggles turned to gasps.

"The sickened roam... dead three nights, ere they fall!"

"What was that?"

Lord Trewdust cried. He pointed to the girl but glared at the crone, expecting her to speak for her younger charges.

"Was that a prophecy? What did it mean?"

The woman gathered up her rags to rise. Between the creaking of her bones, the wheeze in her lungs and the keening of her chuckle, Trewdust imagined a half-broken marionette shuffling towards him.

"Patience, lord. On the morrow is the Feast of Aithenge. A day, no more, to adore the Forest Father... afore the seasons snatch us deep. Thence to the rage and jealousy of His whelps."

She stopped when the noble recoiled. Then raised a hand so deformed by bone-breaks and ganglion cysts that each finger jutted in a different direction.

"The Barrow Gods. Vexed they are that we remain. Vexed they are that we yet love Him. And nowhere more than here - the Stone of Aithenge - do we feel their eyes on us. Their furious gaze."

Trewdust backtracked further, picking his way past the wallowing urchins. He bumped his carriage, where his horses fretted, and where his footmen blocked the crone from coming closer. He trusted these thugs well enough. While too fearful to approach the Aithenstone, they were not above pummeling an old woman.

"So, patience, kind lord."

the crone grinned between the shoulders of Trewdust's guards.

"From Rime North to Coiling South; from Scarred East to Fallen West; our adoration is beheld. And all shall have their say."

There was a cry from the rock. The Anointed Girl's hand burst into flames. On each eastward finger, blood-red fire spat motes of starlight. She flailed, while horror glowed on the faces of Trewdust and his men. They all but leapt aboard the carriage as the horses reeled.

"Red churches rise like boils!"

the girl howled.

"...dotted stars... joined into a city!"

Trewdust was frozen. He watched the girl's other hand crumble, flesh puckering grey before it broke apart. Each finger fell to dust and was scattered in the west wind.

"...a grimoire! Passed from hand to hand. To read is to forget!"

The other cultists had risen. They spun with burning torches while their sister thrashed. Some bled; others vomited. The eldest struck poses with crooked limbs.

He could take no more. Trewdust mounted the carriage, and hung on its side while bellowing at his footmen. But they were too busy wrangling the horses. The noble signaled... shouted... screamed...

Then realized the silence.

In the clearing behind him, the cultists were still and quiet in the mud. At their center, atop the Aithenstone, the girl was motionless too. She sat with knees bent and hands looped. One stained white by ashes; one stained black by grime. Both hands very much intact.

Icy water dripped from her hair as she met the noble's gaze.

"No more feasts after this one. Not for us."

A chill ran up his spine. Trewdust scrambled into his carriage. But when he turned to slam the door it struck the crone, whose body loomed like a spider, half inside the cabin. Her leprous hand seized his wrist.

"The girl will lose her first-born, lord. Such is the toll. The Adoration asks a price..."

Trewdust grew paler as he watched her. He thrust his other hand into his waistcoat pocket, scooped the coins that nestled there, and flung them at the woman.

"I wasn't here!"

She receded through the doorway, and Trewdust slammed it shut before the carriage lurched away. He did not dare look back. Beyond the rear window, the crones gathered coins in the roadway while the younger cultists danced by firelight. Those who held the torches skipped around the Aithenstone before parting in all directions: entering the tree lines to north, south, east and west. Bound to every corner of the forest, where farms and villages were preparing for the Feast of Aithenge.

"I wasn't here..."

​

 

[silven]

As the ritual concluded and the girl's life drained away, Isell had emerged from the shadows of the ancient forest, a silent specter unseen by the revelers. The cloak fluttered around them, the black roses adorning it seeming to wilt and die with each step closer to the clearing. The skeletal figure took in the scene without emotion. The girl's laughter had stopped, replaced by a chilling silence that hung over the Heart of Aithenge like a shroud.
The air grew colder around them.
Isell hovers close, studying the scene with wonder. The crone's words echoed in their mind, the mention of a grimoire and the price to be paid for adoration. Disturbed, a bony hand extends to materialize a black rose in their hand, an uncomfortable shift made them pause. They felt ... something. Not pity, not fear. Just acknowledgement.

"The price of faith," a murmur to itself. It's voice a faint echo as black fluid oozes from its mouth The flesh of the veil is lifted to reveal pools of darkness. Just two small dots as pupils. The skeletal hand unfurls from the black rose, the petals crumbling into dust.

"Clinging to hope when the world around rejects them." The skeleton mused. Without another word, the skeletal figure vanishes into black mist, it left behind a single withered rose that fluttered to the ground. A silent echo of its presence that lingered in the cold, still air.

 

[Peacey]

"Oh please! You must come to the festival, you would so adore it more than I think you expect!" A child, one that is on the cusp of being seen as a woman now held the hands of her host as she exclaimed such promises. "You've only recently come to this region have you not? What perfect timing! I can show you some of the best places to get food before everyone else takes it all! At least consider going!" The excitement in this young lady was affections, so much so that a gentle laugh escaped the host who sat across from her, now finding her hand captured.

"The Feast, I've heard many things about it," Tessa hummed in response as she let her hand be held while nibbling on a treat laid out before her. "But I can't say parties are my thing, maybe it's best that I remain here and await to see if others need shelter after such festivities?" She asked, taking slight amusement in the lost look of her guest, clearly disappointed by such an answer.

"Stay in your cottage? No! You can stay within your walls any day any time! Why must you choose to do so these coming days as well? Please? You must see at least some of it. My mother and I make some of the best pies during these times and we've perfected the recipe even more since last year!"

"Are you attempting to bribe me with food?"

"Mayhaps? If such things appeal to you?" A flutter of the lashes.

Another laugh, one that sent a surge of joy through her guest finding herself rather pleased she got Tessa to be in a notably good mood.

"If it were only for food I would have to deny the invitation, I have plenty here as it stands…but" A pause as she saw the disappoint only grow. "But, I have a feeling the coming days may be interesting and it will be in my best interest to be closer to this festival rather than further."

There was a moment of silence as her guest tilted her head in mild confusion by these words. "Did you see something?"

Tessa's eyes were now on her empty tea mug, the loose leaves scattered along the bottom. Did she see something…? A valid question but not one she would answer directly, not when there was quite a bit still unknown. There's no point in speaking ill fates into existence when there was no time frame given. "I did~ I see that someone may meet a lovely young man who may whisk them away during the height of the festivities."

A gasp from the girl as her eyes went wide and she stood up, practically slamming her hands on the table. "Was it me?! Please say it was! That means-" Stopping her words as Tessa put a finger over her mouth and smiled.

"No need to rush, remember my readings aren't always accurate…but, I believe you should wear your red dress during the feast, and don on several daisies. You would look too adorable to be ignored."

A squeal as the girl clasped her hands over Tessa's her eyes glimmering in hope and anticipation. "What amazing news! Thank you my lady! Oh this will be an amazing feast! Doubly so if you do attend!"

"I will, it's quite difficult to continually deny you when you're so certain. Maybe you have the potential for fortune telling?"

"You jest, if I could see such things then my mother wouldn't threaten my hide for forgetting everything I tend to misplace…."

Another gentle laugh, a squeeze of the hand as she tilted her head to the side.

"Talent takes time to grow, don't discard the idea. But for now, you should run off and get ready. Don't want your future lover to get distracted by another now do we?"

With this the girl would nod vigorously before getting up and thanking Tessa for the umpteenth time. With a vigorously wave, Tessa would give an easy one in return before shutting the door to her home.

With her guest now gone, Tessa was left to her own devices. Slipping away from the door she quietly went about cleaning the mess that was left behind as she hummed a soft tune, her mind idling on the topic of The Feast. An event she has been to before, but normally remained on the outskirts rather than attempting to join in. Not because she despised the idea of the fun, but simply it didn't feel welcoming to her. Or maybe, it was because it was during those moments of merriment she found herself missing the city of her god.

During moments where the community comes together were times she found herself most wishing she were back there instead of here. It was felt off, but alas she wasn't going to abandon her duties simply because she was a tad homesick. Such feelings can be tossed out the window once there was plenty other things to distract her.

One effective thing to distract her was a warning she had the previous night. A vision, unclear (as they sadly tended to be) but disturbing enough to cause her mild worry. Yet try as she might, she was unable to look back on that vision for more details. All she can do is watch, wait and brace. Granted if opportunity presents itself she would act if need be. But, will she have to?

The flames in the fire place flickered, moving in an unnatural pattern as Tessa remained in deep thought. Her concerns and anxieties being displayed against the earth as the flames became wild, lapping at the edges and threatening to singe the carpet that was a distance from them. If she hadn't shaken her head to snap out of her thoughts, the flames may have caused damage. There was nothing she could do in the moment. With luck, more visions will come to help guide her to the best path.

Taking the last plate and setting it up, she withdrew from her sink as she now made her way up the wooden and engraved steps. She needed to place these worries away. What better way to push off these needless concerns than to dress up and get ready for The Feast~

 

[Esprit]

No matter which way they went, the howls kept getting closer.

And so they ran, crashing through the brittle underbrush, ducking under fallen trees and sprinting across clearings. They ran, stumbling over gnarled roots and earthen knolls. They ran, gasping for air, panicked breaths billowing around their heads in the predawn chill. They ran, abandoning the fruits of their labor, leaving a trail of crushed berries and trampled mushrooms in their tracks. They ran, trying not to think about what was lurking in the shadows behind.

They ran until they could run no further, leaden limbs dragging over the uneven ground. The girl spotted a low thicket and pulled her brother toward it, raising an arm to shield his eyes from the dense brambles. There they crouched, each bleeding from a dozen scratches and cuts, gulping down precious air and peering nervously through the branches.

For a time there was nothing, and their hopes soared. But just as a relieved smile was about to break out on the girl's face, the boy spotted a dark shape slinking closer to the thicket. He frantically shook his sister's shoulder and pointed with a trembling finger. She saw it too, and in unison they clamped their hands over their mouths to stifle the rising dread.

Before long, a second shape joined the first; then a third, and a fourth. They prowled closer to the siblings' hiding place, their noses twitching ever so slightly. Beads of blood dripped from sharp thorns. Soon, the pursuers were close enough that the children could make out their thick pelts matted with bone dust, their jagged teeth glistening with drool, their yellow eyes seething with ravenous intent. As the pack encircled their prey, the girl squeezed her eyes shut, whispering a desperate prayer to the Forest Father.

It was not Aithenge that answered.

From the west, an unnatural wind swept through the forest, ruffling the wolves' fur and rattling the branches. The animals shrank back, their snarls turning into whimpers. The girl opened her eyes and saw another shape looming just beyond the thicket, a figure that had not been there moments ago.

"They are starving,"

said the figure indifferently, her voice slicing through the silence.

"Your village hunters have scoured this part of the forest for days, picking its bones clean to sustain today's feast."

As she spoke, the wolves kept backing away from her, their ears trembling and tails drooping. The siblings gawked at this peculiar sight, huddling awkwardly in the brambles, uncertain whether to stay or flee. The figure stepped nearer.

"Their hunger has made them sharper; more vicious, more alert, more cunning,"

she continued. The wind started to pick up, howling through the trees, shaking the thicket with its intensity. The children shivered.

"Remember this lesson - contentment makes us dull, makes us foolish. The Father does not deserve your worship."

Soon, the figure stood close enough that they could make out her ragged black robes, her dark eyes burning with inhuman fervor, her pale arm reaching through the thorns.

"Only in abnegation are we awake. Only through sacrifice do we see! Narrow is the path to wisdom..."

Dead branches crackled and snapped, contorting like cadaverous hands poised to seize them in an inescapable grip.

"...And only the famished may walk upon it!"

Just as the figure began to enter the thicket, a sliver of sunlight peeked over the horizon, illuminating the children's frightened faces. She paused and looked down at them. The girl stared back at her, wide-eyed, while the boy hiccuped in terror. Neither of them knew what an "abnegation" was; both were too afraid to ask.

The wind slowed to a gentle breeze, and Emeria lowered her hand.

"He is angry this day,"

she whispered. The Heower stepped back, dry brambles crumbling to dust around her. She turned and pointed to the east.

"Run home, little sheep,"

she said, her voice once again flat and unfeeling. The siblings didn't need to be told twice; together they bolted out of the desiccated thicket, their fatigue forgotten, running back to the village as fast as their legs could carry them.

As she watched the children leave, one of the wolves came up to her, whining plaintively. Emeria lightly stroked the animal's head in response.

"Patience,"

she said.

"This feast belongs to humans, to the fading dregs of Aithenge. Let them celebrate their departed god today."

She turned to walk deeper into the forest, her form receding into the shadows of Maeblood.

"But fret not: the seasons turn, and soon the time for your harvest - our harvest - will arrive."

 

[DANAsaur]

The Drowned Saint

Liriel knew she did not belong here.

The Feast of Aithenge was not for her Creator. It belonged to a dead god. Liriel did not understand why the villagers worshiped a god who neither heard their prayers nor appreciated their songs.

And yet, the mist parted for her as she walked, curling around her ankles like riverweed grasping for something already lost. The air was thick with the weight of devotion, of hunger for something deeper, something more terrible.

The waters had been still when she rose, black and glistening beneath the waning moon. Her tattered robes clung to her body, heavy with water and dripping as she stepped onto damp earth. Her tangled hair was littered with algae and the drowned leaves trailed behind her.

She moved through the clearing. The villagers did not see her. They were lost in their dance and drunk on fervor.

Liriel did not belong here, but she understood. So, she watched.

The prophecy spilled from the anointed girl's lips, trembling with its own weight.

"The sickened roam... dead three nights, ere they fall."

A small smile ghosted across Liriel's lips. Not one of amusement nor pity, but of recognition. The words were true. They always were.

"Pity," Liriel murmured as she stepped closer to the anointed girl, her bare feet soundless against the damp ground. Her cold fingers grazed the girl's cheek gently. "My Creator will find you useful, but it's not your time yet."

But this one would wait. Liriel had not been called here for her.

"But it is yours."

Her gaze lifted. Beyond the anointed girl, the firelight caught on something small and trembling. A boy, thin and pale, his breath ragged, his skin glistening with fever. He stared at her through wide, glassy eyes, not with fear but with knowing.

They had met before. She had heard his prayers in the dark. She had seen the offerings he left on the riverbank: smooth stones and flowers scattered like whispered pleas. She had heard him call her name in his sleep.

The torchlight flickered. Somewhere deep in the forest, the revelry of the feast continued. Laughter and wailing blended into a hymn of madness. But here, it was suddenly quiet.

The mother's head snapped up at Liriel's approach, her breath sharp and her hands trembling as she shielded the boy behind her.

"What are you doing?" the mother screeched in terror.

Liriel had seen this too many times before.

Predictable. Always the same. Familiar. But still, a flicker of something. Pity, perhaps. A strange, quiet pull. She did not know why, but this grief, this desperation, felt familiar. An echo of something lost in time. But that was not important now.

"I am here to answer your prayers," Liriel murmured, her eyes still focused on the child. "Did you not pray for his suffering to end?"

"I-" The mother looked away, unable to speak. The child, albeit weak, took this opportunity to run towards Liriel.

The child's knees buckled. Before he could fall, Liriel caught him, cradling him in her arms.

"What a brave child," Liriel murmured, her voice the hush of the tide. "Have you been waiting for me?"

The boy's lips parted, but no words came. He was too weak. Too sick. But words weren't needed. Liriel saw it in his fevered eyes. The pain. The desperation. The quiet surrender.

And this made her smile.

"Rest, my dear." Liriel hugged him close, humming a lullaby in his ear. The sickness unraveled from his body, coiling within her instead. A grimace flickered across her features, but only for a moment.

The boy sighed, relief softening his limbs before his chest fell still.

One final breath. One final moment of suffering. Then, he was gone.

"No... No!" The mother lunged, her hands outstretched, grasping at empty air. A choked sob tore from her throat, raw and broken, as she collapsed onto the damp earth. Her fingers clawed at the mud, at the fabric of her own dress, at anything she could hold onto. But there was nothing. There was only the absence where her son had been.

She screamed. A sound that split through the quiet, through the madness of the feast, through the night itself. It was the kind of grief that hollowed out a soul, that left nothing behind but a wound too deep to ever close.

She beat her fists against the ground. "Give him back! Please, please, I'll do anything-" Her voice cracked, splintering into gasps. "He's all I have!"

Liriel watched her with the same quiet curiosity she had always held for the grieving. A sadness too deep for words, a suffering that would never heal. And yet, deep within her, something stirred. An echo of something she could not quite grasp.

She tilted her head, before smiling.

"Why do you cry?" she asked, her voice soft "Isn't this what you wanted?"

Then, she stepped into the river, the child still in her arms. "You will see him again. Blessed be to Northrot."

The water embraced her like an old lover, drawing her into its depths

And she was gone.

 

[MiharuAya]

Rasma​

With the carnival in full swing, everything was finally falling into place. The clearing was filled with large tents, with colorful lanterns hanging from strings attached from one to another in a dazzling array of lights. Each space was filled with delicious delights, spiritous liquors, and salacious games. As the crowd gathered, the air was filled with wanton laughter and aphrodisiacal aromas. It was intoxicating.

"Please, have your fill." Rasma encouraged as he weaved his way through the tents. "After all, tonight is a night of celebration." His words were smooth like honey, dripping with amorous intention.

Rasma was all too pleased as he watched his prey's inhibitions deteriorate. He had set everything up perfectly; the inspiration for devilish deeds was there, and the inebriants would soon embolden them. Now, he just needed to take his pick of the delectable offerings.

A smirk formed on his lips as Rasma spotted a group of handsome youths. "How fortuitous." While he made his way over, he brought a jug."Please, let me refill your cups. I've heard it's bad luck to let them go empty on such an auspicious night," He joked, pouring the wine into their cups with willful disregard to the top.

While the group began to chat, Rasma began using his charms to will them over. Though, it wasn't difficult. Even so, the flirting fueled Rasma's ego. Everything had gone so well; surely Mother would be pleased.

 

[Peacey]

The eruption of cheers, and woops filled the carnival as in the center of it all there was a competition that was getting the crowd all wound up. Many watched as the spotlight was focused on several people sitting around a table, each with a mug in hand and many more scattered around them. The energy was intoxicating, the excitement that was all over seemed like electricity as the onlookers were shouting out bets and trying to get a better view of what was happening. And who could blame them? This is a fierce competition.

"20 coins on the big one!! No way the welp out drinks him!"

"You kiddin!? Seen im already take three of these mugs without a wince! I'm going all in on the lank!"

"Ya both crazy! Never seen a woman put away this much! If anyone going to take it all it's her!"

Three individuals were left in the center of this crowd, with two others now being hauled off after being unable to hold their liquor. Now there was a middle age man, massive in size, a patchy beard and matching hair who was laughing up a storm. A hearty woman who easily wiped her mouth with her apron, as she now took off a rather nice hat. A grin on her face as she showed no intention of backing down, not when she's vanquished quite a number to get this far. The last person a young man with clothes that stood out from the rest of the group, dark green if not black hair that was adorned with varying flowers. He was smirking confidently as he leaned back and looked over at the crowd.

He was practically feeding off the energy as he rather suddenly stood up, grabbing the next mug of ale and without any hesitation or waiting for his opponents he chugged the entire thing in a matter of a few gulps. Beating out the woman, though just barely. With a burp and a loud sigh he held the empty mug in the air with a victorious pose. "That the best we got!? I want to get drunk tonight!" he shouted out as the older man was struggling to get through that mug. "Tonight is for celebration of the fallen god! For some fun! For some company and of course for some drink! Let it flow! And give us another round!!"

The crowd was cheering even louder, though some groaned as the older man had tapped out unable to keep up with the last two.

Now it was just him and the woman who was having the time of her life. Matching his pace she would stand up grabbing two mugs. Shoving one into his chest before she knocked her head back and began to gulp it down as though it were water.

With a bright laugh he would not hesitate to the do the same. This time they finished at the exact same time, and tossed away their mugs. For a moment they glared at one another before letting out a roar of laughter. Be it from the drink getting to their heads, or simply because the entire situation called for such mirth. None the less their laugh filled the crowd as the swung an arm over the other's shoulder.

"Never has drink tasted so perfect!" Desire shouted out reaching down to grab the next mug.

"For a runt ya got one hell of a gut! But I aint losing to a lanky man like ya!" The woman shouted with uproarious laughter as she snatched her next round. "Day I lose to ya is the day all the drinks in this blasted forest turns sour!"

The crowd was cheering and shouting for them to drink, bets were placed and they were all certain that neither would be able to keep this up for much longer. They had already downed an impressive (maybe even concerning) amount of mugs of this fine ale. Either they would need to stop soon for their health and safety….or the carnival may very well run out of such fine drinks.

"AAHAHAA!! Maybe you should win then! If all the drinks turn sour how are we ever going to enjoy another night like tonight!?" He barked, his arm still over his shoulder as though these two were long time companions- However, they only met about fifteen minutes ago. With a glint in his eyes he would down this mug as well.

He knew full well that if he desired he likely could go on through the night, but where was the fun in an easy win~? If she could remain standing after this one, then he already decided he would call it there and accept defeat. As any normal man with his body would've been down and out a drink or two ago. Alas, he is not normal and is able to indulge more so than most (he still has his limits, but it certainly wouldn't be fun to expect a human to reach them).

Several gulps, before he would turn his mug upside down showing he drank it all, his eyes glancing to his partner who was taking a few seconds longer than before. Yet she would finish it off and with a loud if not victorious burp she would turn her mug upside down and show that it practically dry. A twinkle in her eye, she wasn't going to go down and she meant every word of it.

Desire knew defeat, and he wasn't one to be sore about it. She reached the benchmark he set up, and now it was time to put on a show. After all he didn't want to discredit her efforts by making it seem he was handing her the win.

A hiccup, a leg slightly giving out as he put more weight onto her as she helped keep him steady. Another bout of laughter as he hung his head to the side before trying to shake it as if that would help keep him standing. "ANOTHER ANOTHER!" He shouted his words now starting to slur as he kept his weight on her, following a few more hiccups. "The drinks! Ano Hic Another round! If the drinks stop flo-flowin then the party will end! We shall not have that happen on our watch!!"

He went to move away, to get off the table but with a stumble he almost fell face first if not for the woman's quick action to grab him by the back of his magnificent coat. He would be limp for a few seconds before laughing, followed by the rest of the crowd joining in. Some jeering, others cheering, others laughing with him the merriment was at such a height that Desire found it far more intoxicating than any drink.

The woman, grinning as she helped steady him to the ground without causing injury. "I think this is my win lank!" Her words had a slur to them as well, but she was maintaining her balance far better. "If ya take another round ya won't remember the party! May think ya missed it upon waking and attempt to get yaself into another drinkin game! Last we want is for ya to go six feet cause you drank half the ale in all of Toll!"

Using the table now for support, Desire stumbled slightly before giving a sloppy bow. "How considerate of a drinki-Dri- hic drinkng partner! It seems I have no choice but to give in to such kindness hic"

"We have a winner!" The announcer for this competition shouted out raising the woman's hand high in the air giving the crowd plenty of reason to celebrate or despair depending on what side they had bet on.

Desire didn't hear the rest of the commentary as he stumbled out of the group, his steps uneasy as he bumped into a few people every now and then. Adjusting his coat, pushing back some of his hair as two flowers fell out (Leaving three still tangled), he hiccuped before continuing on his way. The end of a party competition was the worst, as it would make way for boredom…maybe he should've gone another round or two? With a glance back at where he was from, he could see the celebration and merriment and it made it clear he made the right choice to not push further. He would've adored being the center of attention~ But, there was plenty of time in the future to have all eyes on him~ The night was still young.

Speaking of young.

As he stumbled past another group, his eyes fell upon a familiar person who was in part responsible for the festivities at hand. His 'sibling.' Referring to him as such brought a bad taste to the back of his throat, something he pushed to the side as he strolled over to the group that currently had Rasma's attention.

"Why are you all over here the festivities are deeper in, surely you don't plan to spend the night in the shadows of celebration rather than in the eye of it~?" A chuckle, followed by a hiccup, a show of drunkenness from his unstable movements. "Or is my brother of such entertainment that the rest of the carnival holds no interest~?" Now moving to lean against Rasma, a playful smirk on his lips as he eyed the wine that the guest had and what was being held by his partial sibling. A snort, with an eye roll. Using wine to get the barriers down? Where was the fun in that?

"Not that I can blame you, for a child he is quite a fun one~ Though how I wish he knew how to party with a crowd instead of hiding away~" Another hiccup, a lean forward as that playful smile remained though it had a mischievous glint. "But brother, should you not be entertaining yourself over in the kids section, they've got quite the number of games that would suit someone of your young age~ Pray tell you haven't attempted to drink have you? How our parents (as if they shared any parent outside of the Southcrier) would despair if you become a drunkard well before you reach adulthood-" This is nothing new coming from Desire when he spoke to Rasama, especially so during moments of boredom and he wished either to be entertained or prevent something from occurring. In this particular mater it was anyone's guess as to why he decided to butt into this gathering.
@MiharuAya

 

[Asmodeus]

"Don't worry. They'll like it."

Auvorer turned her head. Then lowered it. A child had appeared beside her in the tree line. One of the whelps from the festival tents beyond. He held a stick with a candied apple on it. Most of the honey had dripped on his wrist or been smeared on his face. But it seemed to compliment the dirt on his clothes.

". . ."

When the Heower did not respond, the boy raised a sticky finger. "Your costume. They'll like it."

Auvorer was holding a deer carcass, her right hand hooked inside its guts. Much like the child's apple, her snack was dripping, splashing stains on her emerald robe. Likewise, one side of her stag skull was gore-flecked. But it was the side turned away from the boy. She almost revealed it when she followed his gaze to a group of young men, drinking by the tents.

Rasma and Desire: passing a jug as they caroused with farmhands, minstrels and pages. A half-dozen beautiful specimens, shedding their inhibitions.

Auvorer had been watching them so intently that Apple Boy had gotten the drop on her.

"You should go talk to them."

"Sweet of you to say, Little One."

Her voice was mother and mistress; noble and nymph.

"But when beasts abound, it is but the young and the foolish who make approach."

The irony was lost on the peasant child. Auvorer's antler scraped the bower as she leaned over him.

"My trappings would not please them. And you, like them, shall grow to loathe me. As is your part."

If Apple Boy noticed, in his peripheral vision, the grisly shadow of the deer carcass, dripping and festering, he made no show of it. His wide stare flitted between the woman's comely lips and cavernous eye-sockets. Then he sucked on his apple for a long time. "But that's what Feasts are for," he concluded. "To make us all get along."

There was a smile beneath the skull. One that a nun might wear to a witch-burning.

"A telling word, Child. Verily are we made to coexist in this forest. For rabbits will chew the hinges of their cage, if you do not give them carrots."

There was a wet thump as the deer fell to the ground.

"A boy like you died today,"

Auvorer told him.

"By the Aithenstone. The anointed waif scarce had finished her ravings when stupor possessed her. Visions of skeletons bearing roses. Visions of maidens rising from the stream. They say a sickly boy was taken - carried off beneath the water while his mother screamed."

Apple Boy's eyes only widened as he watched her dripping arm. She had taken something from the deer before it dropped. It's plump, red heart. She speared it on one branch of her antlers, like a candied apple. Then took the boy's hand in hers.

"Beauty. Wit. Intention. These things are not sufficient to guard you, Child. In a world of monsters, one must seize powers most hideous."

Auvorer traced a sigil on his palm, the deer blood glistening in a circle cut by triangular glyphs.

"When the blood dries, follow the circle counter-clockwise with your smallest finger, and press your nail to the northern glyph - here - then here. Do this with malice. And weather what agony you shall bear, and what shall be borne from you."

She tugged his arm to make him look at her.

"A striking force - like to being kicked by a horse. Like how your father died."

The boy did not question how she knew that. Nor did he speak again. When Auvorer was finished, he turned and departed, drifting between the tents and groups of feast-goers. They might have been ghosts for all he cared. For his eyes were only for the symbols now daubed on his hand.

It was a day he would remember, ever more. And just as he drew that symbol, time and time again, so too would he sketch the likeness of the woman in the trees, with bloody hands and crowning antlers. The gift-giver in his fevered dreams.

Auvorer watched him leave. But soon enough took to staring again at Rasma and Desire.

She would watch them just a little longer.

Location: Near Toll and the Aithenstone - - Tags: Rasma | Desire - - Music: Loyalty, only to me

credits

 

[MiharuAya]

Aridam​

As the Feast began, the energy of the crowds of humans was electric. While Aridam stepped out of the darkness of the forest, he listened quietly to the people's joyous laughter and cheerful chatting. It was so innocent. Each face was beaming, living in the moment and untroubled by future possibilities.

Yet they didn't know that the eyes of evil lay upon them in the dark.

While some patrons wore elaborate traditional costumes, others wore their best silks and satins. On the other hand, Aridam simply wore a white cotton shirt with buttons down the chest and a black aged leather jacket. It was plain for a celebration, but he wasn't looking to stand out.

The delicious smell of the various foods wafted through the air as Aridam wandered through the crowds. As he passed a stand grilling meat over an open flame, the sizzling caught the man's attention. "One, please." He ordered, handing his coins over. Although Aridam doesn't usually participate in the Feast, he couldn't deny this impulsivity.

As the man handed Aridam the fist-sized turkey leg, he smiled and said, "Have a good Feast." Aridam simply took the food and responded, "Yeah, yeah. Blessed be the Gods, or whatever." He shrugged, walking away and leaving the cook in a state of confusion.

Aridam sat on a bench and began to eat his food, watching the carefree festivities with a vacant expression. Although his face was mostly unreadable, his eyes sparkled with a hint of curiosity and envy. It was a feeling that even he hadn't fully identified within himself, nor did he understand. Yet, as he gazes at the humans, he can't help but wonder what it must be like to live such a simple life.

The Hoewers respite was short-lived, as a child soon approached him. "What do you want?" Aridam questioned, raising an eyebrow towards the boy. Obviously, he wasn't pleased by this interruption, but his usual antisocial attitude wasn't enough to scare them off.

"Would you like to buy some beads? I made them myself." The little boy offered, holding out a fistful of necklaces made of different colored clay. Aridam scowled momentarily, "Do I look like someone who wears jewelry?" He questioned, his voice sharp.

The boy frowned, and Aridam thought he had finally persuaded the boy to give up and leave. But, instead, he replied, "You could always give it to someone. Like a friend or someone you like."

Aridam felt defeated. With a long sigh, he reached into his pocket. "Fine, I'll take one."

The boy grinned, "Great!" As the boy held out his hand for Aridam to pick which neckless he wanted, the man froze. Behind his eyes, flashes of images filled his mind. They were of the boy sitting next to the bed of an older women. Perhaps his mother? She appeared very sick, pale, and skinny. And he was crying.

Just as quickly as the vision started, it ended, and Aridam was left questioning what it all meant. He started at the boy, a strange feeling building in the pit of his stomach. "Actually, give me all the ones in your hands there." He said, pulling out more coins—another impulsivity he couldn't deny.

"Really? Thank you so much, sir!" The boy exclaimed, his eyes opening wide as he took the money. Aridam grumbled, taking the beads from the boy. As the boy waved goodbye, Aridam peered down at his purchase, unsure why he made such a rash decision. With a relenting sigh, he slid the fist full of necklaces around his neck.

It seemed that the boy had told all his friends about the gracious man on the bench because soon Aridam was swarmed by other children looking to sell their handmade goods. Soon, he was covered with trinkets, jewelry, and other customary items. Though, he still wore the same ornery expression.

 

[Grumpy]

Location: The Woods, between Toll and the Aethenstone | Tag: Aridam by @MiharuAya ​

---

Night was falling. Even without the setting of the sun, he could sense it. He could hear it on the air, in the subtle shift of the forest's ambience. As birds settled, as the insects receded. As the dark, skulking things that kept to the gloom emerged now that their time had come once again. He knew them all, these sounds and smells, like the grooves and dents in his armour. They had become part of the ritual of his vigil, the rhythm of his daily routine. They had become an asset, a sound cue to warn him of disturbances and danger should they arise. The forest was never silent, and those with patience could learn to utilise that.

Baelith was many things, but above all else he was patient.

The Maeblood was unsettled tonight, but that was to be expected. Within the trees the fires had emerged once again, like tiny pinpricks of light set into a vast expanse of gloom and green. Bonfires and torches, the glow of hearths. Gatherings. Festivals. Merry makings. A thanksgiving to the Forest Father who had given everything that this sanctuary might first grow... and a celebration that his warped scions had not yet found a way to bring about it's demise.

Baelith closed his eyes and pictured what the birds sweeping in from above might see, peering down on where he stood. There, near the heart of the forest, they might see lights bright enough to rival any others emerging from the forest canopy. A shard of civilisation stretching out across the river flowing from frozen north to mouldering south, and a testament to human ingenuity. Unable to build wide, the people here had built tall; this was a settlement stacked atop itself, forged of ladders and smaller bridges interconnecting like a spider's web. Only at it's centre was a square of open ground left undisturbed and devoid of construction, as though the buildings themselves were granting a respectful distance to the spot where the town's unnatural protector stood watch. The Heower whose task had given Toll it's name.

The sun had begun it's final descent. With a precision that could rival the deranged mechanisms forged in Eastreck's workshops, Baelith stirred. The hunched giant stretched upwards like some mouldering statue coming to life, slung his sword over one shoulder, and began to walk. Long, purposeful strides that carried him along Toll's length and out onto the paths leading beyond the settlement that had grown around him. On this night, of all nights, he liked to range further. To walk the forest trails out west towards the Aithenstone, where the true revelries were taking place. He told himself that it was a precaution, a ward against those who might use the celebrations to try and bypass his crossing. An excuse so paper thin it would dissolve at the flimsiest of challenges, but none of the people walking the paths tonight thought to do so. Many of them were his people - residents of Toll, heading out to take part in the Feast of Aithenge. They waved and called out to the towering figure in armour striding past them. Some of the older ones even stood to the side of the path and bowed as he came by, a reverence that still made him deeply uncomfortable.

They were all his people tonight. And all of them needed protecting from the other entities emerging from the darkness.

He could smell them on the air, as he approached the festival sight. His kindred left a particular note that he was always ready to pick up on. The Feast always drew them in, barrow wolves mingling amidst the flock, just as it inevitably drew upon him in turn. Standing on the edge of the clearing, he inhaled more deeply. Trying to pick out their individual scents. One called out from nearby, and Baelith's eyes flitted to a bench near the perimeter. He smelled cinders and ashes, blackened charcoals that still threatened to erupt into flames without warning. Eastreck's creation, of course, surrounded by a flock of children that only just now were beginning to dissipate. Beneath his helm, Baelith frowned. Little good ever came when Heower turned their attentions upon children.

Striding the edge of the clearing, Baelith emerged from the gloom behind Aridam. Heavy footsteps, the clicking of rusted chainmail against ramshackle plate, announced his presence even before he set his weapon down into the soil before him. A gargantuan sword, taller than any man, battered and rundown just like the giant that wielded it yet still holding it's edge. He drew in a long breath before speaking. When he did his voice was soft, far too soft to emanate from so hulking and ungainly a figure.
"Drawn like moths to a candle," Baelith observed as the children slipped back towards the celebrations. His helmet turned, gazing down upon Aridam, his tone floating nebulously between greeting and warning.

"Know that the children are of Toll. Do not let that candle's fire spread."

 

[DANAsaur]

The Drowned Saint

As Liriel drifted through the veins of the land beneath the darkened sky, she listened to the whispers of the river with eyes half-lidded, feeling the pull of something at the edges of her awareness. She could hear the secrets of the Feast above, the humans' laughter, their ignorance. She listened. She always listened.

The river spoke in tongues of dripping blood, of symbols carved into flesh, of a child wide-eyed and trembling. Of a boy marked by something beyond his understanding.

Auvorer.

Liriel rose and stepped out where the waters grew shallow, releasing the fevered child into the river's embrace. The current pulled him away without protest, slow and unrelenting. She did not watch for long. Instead, she turned to the reeds, where the festival lights bled gold into the dark.

There, her dear sister stood, watching a boy with a candied apple walk away. The child's steps were slow and deliberate, as though he carried something far heavier than the trinkets of the Feast. His palm was still wet with blood.

Liriel blinked. Slowly. Thoughtfully.

Another child marked. Another fledgling claimed by the dark.

Liriel smiled.

Auvorer was generous tonight. Almost inspiring. But Liriel knew her sister would never be satisfied. Auvorer hungered in a way she never had.

Liriel found Auvorer to be driven by instinct, by the call of something restless, something wanting. Always seeking. Always choosing. Perhaps that is why Liriel found Auvorer's gaze focused on Rasma and Desire instead of the boy.

Liriel followed her eyes.

There with the people was Rasma. He was in his element, weaving through the tents like a serpent through tall grass, slipping between the intoxicated and the willing, his voice smooth as dark honey.

She understood what he was doing and yet, she did not understand him. She did not understand the hunger, the effort, and the need to take. Liriel had never needed such things. She had never coaxed, never convinced. She only waited.

Her gaze lingered on Rasma.

He was drowning, she thought, though not in any river she knew. He was drowning in his own yearning.

Ah, how exhausting it must be.

Her gaze flickered to Desire.

Liriel watched as he did not merely partake in indulgence. He was the definition of indulgence. He did not whisper or lure like Rasma. Desire was a beacon of hunger that others could not help but flock to. He played with mortals as if their adoration was his birthright, basking in the attention that bent the night around him. Liriel knew Desire had already won long before the contest began. Not in drink nor in gold, but in the attention given to him. In the way, their laughter carried his name.

Liriel knew Desire lived for these nights. But mornings always came.

And when morning comes, what would remain of him then? How pitiful.

At last, Liriel moved toward her kin, her steps soundless on the damp earth. The scent of blood was thick in the air, mingling with the distant sweetness of spiced wine and roasted meat. She glanced at the dead deer left by her sister but did not flinch. She never did.

Her voice was little more than a ripple in the quiet, a breath against the stillness.

"Blessed be Northrot, dear sister," Liriel murmured, tilting her head, voice barely more than a ripple in the quiet. She studied Auvorer with the same quiet detachment she reserved for all things inevitable. "Are you enjoying the festivities? Or is it the feast that is enjoying you?"

---

Location: Near Toll and the Aithenstone
Tags: Auvorer (@Asmodeus), Rasma, Desire

 

[MiharuAya]

Rasma​

@Peacey​

Rasma was in his natural element as he conversed with the growing group of enticing youth. The androgynous man seemed to sparkle under the moonlight as if its luminance cast a spotlight on him. His voice was friendly and calming to the senses. While his body moved with an intrinsic seductiveness. It hardly took any effort at all before they were nearly eating out of the palms of his hands.

However, the moment that he heard Desire's voice, it was like hearing nails on a chalkboard. A frown quickly formed on Rasma's lips, spoiling his face with unnatural wrinkles. But, he soon masked his obvious displeasure, plastering a fake smile on his face. "Oh, brother. How nice of you to have joined us." His voice was sweet, though it was dripping with sarcasm.

"Not all of us have such ostentatious personalities as you, brother. Some of us like to indulge and remember it in the morning." As Rasma eyed his brother, it was clear as day that the man was drunk. From the way he slurred his words to his incontrollable hiccups to his swaying body. It was pathetic. When he suddenly leaned onto Rasma, he had to restrain the impulse to shove him off.

While the taunting was nothing new, Desire still managed to get under his skin. It was like Desire knew exactly what bothered him, which buttons to press to make Rasma react. "My poor brother…you indeed must have drunk too much," Rasma spoke mockingly, a smirk pulling at his lips. "I'm sure many here can attest that I am plenty a man. And, while it's none of your business what goes past my lips, I'll tell you this: I could never become a drunkard like you."

 

[MiharuAya]

Aridam​

@Grumpy​

Just as the night began to quiet down, Aridam only had a moment of peace before he sensed a heavy, looming presence approaching. The sounds of metal chainmail clinking against itself reverberated through the air as heavy footsteps crushed the foliage under the resounding weight of the being. Even before the knight spoke, Aridam could guess who it was.

As Aridam continued to observe the festival, he huffed at Baelith's words. "You worry too much. I am simply here to enjoy the festival." Aridam said reassuringly, finally turning to the other and peering up with a cheeky grin.

Aridam knew how protective Bealith was, especially of the children. Perhaps he had a right to be wary of his appearance at the festival. In the past Aridam certainly would have used the day to his advantage. But, for now, he truthfully just wanted to experience it without any ulterior motives.

"Besides, do I look like a threat?" He said as he gestured to the abundant handmade jewelry and traditional festival trinkets he wore. "Your kids from Toll are absolute sharks," Aridam joked dramatically. The man casually stood, "Here, take some." He offered, holding out some of the colorful beaded necklaces up for the knight.

"Anyway, what brings you so far away from your precious bridge? Don't you have travelers to penny pinch?" He asked, eyeing the massive sword that sat in the grass. It wasn't often that Bealith left his spot on the bridge, so Aridam wondered if it was simply for the festival, or if he had another purpose.

 

[Esprit]

The Old Tower was haunted.

At least, that was what the locals in Luftbergh always insisted. It stood about half a day's walk from town, near the western edge of Maeblood: a weathered watchtower that had long ago guarded the borders of some forgotten domain. Now, despite miraculously surviving the End Rain, it seemed devoid of inhabitants - except for the ghosts. Ghosts that killed wild animals and left their carcasses in the woods nearby, bones of deer and rabbits and birds scattered among mossy roots. Ghosts that made the air around the tower unnaturally still, keeping it clear of dust and leaf litter despite its proximity to the west. Ghosts that once claimed the life of a passing treasure hunter, who had set out to explore the tower and never returned (pity about that one; a brave lad he was).

Yes, the Old Tower was definitely haunted, and so it was unusual that someone would dare approach it, making her way up the crumbling path toward its ominous entrance. Had the well-intentioned townspeople of Luftbergh been there to witness this folly, they might have tried to avert the robed stranger's (presumably) soon-to-be-tragic fate. But since no such onlookers were present, she arrived at the tower without incident, pushed open the creaking door, and stepped inside.

The watchtower's interior was quiet and dark, illuminated only by a few narrow windows and the light streaming in through the open door. Piles of splintered wood were all that remained of the original furnishings, swept neatly into a corner of the room. In another corner sat a heap of bones - animal or human, it was hard to tell - meticulously cleaned and stripped of their owners' flesh. A row of unlit torches leaned against the far wall.

Not bothering to close the door, Emeria walked past the bones, torches, and decayed furniture to climb a stone staircase into the room above. This one was filled with stacks of yellowed books and tanned hides, a collection of pre-apocalypse tomes that someone was in the process of rebinding. She ignored these too, continuing up another set of stairs that led to a circular room with a burned-out fire pit, then finally up a ladder that brought her to the top of the tower. There, she found a brown-plumed owl perched upon the battlements, blinking its large eyes sleepily in the daylight.

She looked intently at the owl, and for a while Heower and bird stared at each other, as if something were passing between them - memories, perhaps, of a strange ritual the previous night, of a noble arguing with a crone, of a carriage fleeing north to a human settlement. Eventually, the owl hooted softly and launched itself into the air, soaring back into the woods on silent wings. Emeria remained on top of the watchtower, surveying the forest; her probing gaze moved first to the south, then east, then north. In the end, it returned to the center of Maeblood, looking toward a certain town north of the Aithenstone.

Several minutes later, the Old Tower once again stood empty, its door firmly shut. The stagnant air had given rise to a harsh, stinging wind that blew to the northeast, in the direction of Toll.

 

[Asmodeus]

FIVE YEARS AGO...​

Having screamed for so long, the laughter that followed was tainted. It emerged in whimpers. Like that of the hyena: nervous and excited at the specter of a kill.

Auvorer moved in time with Liriel. When one lifted a hand, the other did likewise. Thence with their feet. Thence with their smiles.

Where toes and fingertips touched, the surface of the river froze solid. It held them each apart and each steady. Like a pane of mirrored glass. And oh, how they mirrored one another as they played!

All the forest might have thanked Liriel for this favor, had they not already fled from Auvorer's wrath. The rampage of the fledgling Heower had come to an end, here at this river. No more bodies strewn or trees splintered. No more screams and thrashing. The Drowned Saint had isolated the sickness - a somewhat beauty taming this somewhat beast.

"I am like you!"

Auvorer gushed. That realization came with tears and dripping phlegm; with the blood of the woodsmen she had savaged, and that she had spilled while clawing her own flesh. Auvorer's stag skull, ill-fitting and inflamed upon her face, was soaked in residue. The terror-sweat that wakes you from the nightmare.

Liriel smiled from beneath the water, and changed the placement of her hand. The beast-girl mirrored it. Their faces were but inches apart; worlds apart.

"I am like you!"

In the years to come, Auvorer's followers would say that she had remained there, playing that game with the drowned girl. They would not speak of when she crumpled on the surface of the ice. They would not speak of how she wept, and wept, and howled, and trembled... while Liriel's hands crossed the threshold to embrace her.

Such things are not for monsters.

Location: Miles from Trewdust Manor - - Tags: Liriel - - Music: She knows all about my insecurities

NOW...​

"Dearest Sister...."

Auvorer turned to the silent-stepping sodden siren; to the studious somewhat-smiling shade. To her sister: Liriel.

There was glamor on her tonight. That green-black shine of a soul fresh-taken. Liriel burned like an emerald at the bottom of an acid mire. A ghost-fire in the drowning dark.

Auvorer twitched her head at the poetry. It was always so when Heowers of Northrot met. They sensed the slithering and shimmering in one another. Like insects glimpsing one another's carapace as they burrowed in the same cavity.

"One may watch awhile, on Feast Day. It is permitted. Nay... expected."

She glanced to the circle of youths, out by the tents - cherubim milling around the holy visions of Rasma and Desire.

"You'll allow this, won't you.... Sweetest Liriel?"

She asked the question while sinking to her knees, hands pressed to her skull ridges. There, her fingers ghosted over jagged teeth, half-entrenched in her cheekbones.

"He, my sister... he, more than any other. It has always been. Neither man nor woman. But mixed. Rasma..."

She breathed the name while plunging her hands into the dirt.

"A distillation. An alchemy. Oh Liriel... do you not see him? The crown of every gender. The sculpting of man. The serpentine of woman. He will not rage like Father, nor fade like Mother. He will not vex me as my brothers did. He is everything that is Else. The beauty beyond."

She gathered in either hand a clump of dirt, and stared up at Liriel. And as she mashed the dirt into her mouth she spoke as she did before - back when they were playmates on the frozen river.

"I want to eat him... crotch-first. Till he is only a cadaver, twitching in my waste."

Tears cut down her human cheeks, leaking from under the skull.

Then she laughed again.

Location: Near Toll and the Aithenstone - - Tags: Rasma - - Music: Stop running and fuel the disease

[slider=496x425]

credits

[/slider]

 

[DANAsaur]

The Drowned Saint

Liriel watched Auvorer as she had always done: with distant, quiet inevitability, letting the moments pass through her like the current of the river she had risen from.

She observed her sister's trembling, the way reverence and madness weaved so tightly together that they became indistinguishable. She followed the dirt gathering beneath her Auvorer's nails, the clumps pressed to her mouth as though they were a sacrament. As though consuming the earth itself might quiet the insatiable thing within her.

Auvorer had always yearned. Always sought to consume and devour. Today is no different.

Liriel had seen it on the ice that had mirrored their forms five years ago. She had watched the beast-child, the fledgling Heower, claw at herself in the throes of realization.

"I am like you!" The echo of a young Auvorer, crying, soaked in blood, voice breaking with desperation and hope. Two creatures divided by ice, by the slow inches of time that turned water into glass. A young Auvorer sobbing. Screaming. Howling.

And then, a touch. It was absent of intent, thoughtless as the tide. It is as natural as a mother coddling a fevered child.

She had held her.

Liriel remembered the weight of Auvorer. How her sister had crumpled against her like something unmade. How she shivered against her damp skin, yet did not shy away from her touch. Liriel could not offer any warmth. She just let Auvorer be.

She did not know if Auvorer remembered.

Now, Liriel stepped forward, slow and soundless, the damp hem of her robes brushing the earth where her sister knelt. Fascinating how mud did not cling to her. Similar to how she does not cling to anything.

She knelt before Auvorer, shifting into her line of sight, quietly blocking out the rest of the world until it was just the two of them.

Her hand lifted not to mirror, not to play at reflections, not to press against ice. But to comfort.

Fingertips found tangled strands, brushing through them like soothing a tempered child.

"You hunger for him, dear sister," Liriel murmured, her voice more than a ripple into the night. "And yet, you weep."

She tilted her head, studying the trembling thing beneath her fingertips. Studying the jagged need, the aching want, the unquenchable thirst that had driven Auvorer to the ground in devotion.

Liriel did not understand hunger. She did not understand the need.

"Does the feast not fill you?"

Her gaze drifted to the festivities once again. She gazed at the festival lights, listening to the laughter and the music, to the pulse of something frenzied and alive.

And then, Liriel felt something unfamiliar stirring beneath her ribs. The impulse to move. To do something for Auvorer. But what?

Liriel did not know but she acted on it without thinking.

"You consume, dear sister, but do you ever savor?" she murmured, running her thumb along the corner of Auvorer's lips, wiping away the dirt smeared across her cheek. Her touch lingered, cool and knowing, before withdrawing. "Or does the wanting devour you before the feast can ever touch your tongue?"

She let the question settle, seep into the cracks of Auvorer's trembling. Then, soft as silt settling in the water, she spoke again.

"Come." Liriel rose to her feet and extended a hand, pale and still, toward her sister. "That fruit is not yet ripe. Let him ripen. Let him sweeten. You have been patient for so long. And patience, dear sister, is its own reward."

A pause. A hook set deep.

"You will take, as you always have. But not him. Not yet."

---

Location: Near Toll and the Aithenstone
Tags: Auvorer (@Asmodeus), Rasma,

 

[Peacey]

"One of these days you won't find insult in such playful words that you feel a need to counter with harsher ones that lack the flowery language needed to disguise them~" Desire purred, a soft chuckle at the mention of being a drunkard. A following hiccup as he rested up against Rasma for a moment. The insult did nothing to his ego, being drunk meant he had fun that he let himself enjoy the festivities around him~ That he got the chance to indulge, and who can find fault in indulgence? Not him that was for certain~! If anything he was certain he could go further! If he were to truly try, the festival would likely run out of every and any kind of drink before he truly could no longer walk. But alas, even he had to show restraint! For what is the point of a festival if he's the only one that is enjoying it? That would be a bore, and it would sour any ale he did happen upon.

A smile, dashing, easy on the eyes as he looked up at the small crowd around them that Rasma had been entertaining till he stumbled in. "Don't mind us~ Mere banter~" Another light laugh, a slight hiccup, a little bit of a sway in his movements but he was managing to stand on his own now. "Ostentatious, you make that sound like that is a negative quality~ I love the attention of all, especially when it comes from people that are as stunning as the ones you've surrounded yourself with~ Can I truly be faulted for wanting their company?" Desire purred as he approached one member of this group. Someone he had spotted and personally saw to be the most charming. A handsome man, a perfect build, a stunning face, locks so lush despite the lack intentional care. The way his clothes seem to barely fit him, a size too small as he was unlikely able to afford new ones to accommodate his size. A staple in simple rugged beauty.

Without a doubt this man was the most attractive human in the group. His looks wouldn't compare to himself, nor (as much as he loathe to admit it) Rasma. It simply wasn't possible. However, Desire would never do something so unfair as compare a human to those that are above them. It would be like comparing beetle to a peacock. Utterly ridiculous! No, he would see them for the beauty they held, and now that his eyes had locked onto him, he had little intention of backing away. He didn't care if Rasma was the one that had brought this man here to likely steal away themselves~ There were others in the group after all~

Approaching this man, a flower grew from the ground and with a fluid motion he plucked it, a half bow and a seductive smile as he gave this flower to the man. "I can't help but get annoyed at my brother when he manages to sneak away someone as charming as you from a party. If he had his way you would've long since left before I got the pleasure of laying my eyes on you~" A vivid pink carnation in his finger tips, the petals lushes as though it had been growing all season, waiting to be plucked and gifted to a deserving indiviual.

"Would you let me have this dance?"

As though they were at some royal ball- Yet there was no music being played. If anything it seemed like such a silly request, given they were a slight distance from the dance floor within the festival. Yet, before the man could make heads or tails of the situation and his response music started to play around them. The pluckings of a lyre, the rhythmic sounds of drums, finished off with the music of a lute to combining all three into a song that deserves dancers to appreciate it's melody~ These three instruments floated above them, moving, acting on their own as though the mere thought of dancing was enough to summon their presence.

The sway he had earlier, the hiccups, all of it seemingly gone as if simply starring into the eyes of this man that captured his attention had somehow cured him (he was never truly drunk to begin with, merely tipsy).

With a smile he looked at the rest of the crowd, with such a command of attention. Opposite to Rasma's approach, who would move softly and have people flock towards them. Their otherworldly beauty, the soft moments, those stunning ethereal eyes made it nigh impossible for most people to ignore such looks. His approach worked in his favor in a majority of circumstance, as no one could hope to rival them when it came to looks. An impossible task. Yet, Desire was not one to back away from a challenge no matter how difficult it may be.

For on the other hand, rather than be passive and lure people with a glance. Desire demanded it. He would make eyes fall on him, he would become a show for others to indulge and take part in. He was more than a painting of a statue of perfection, he is indulgence. Flowers now blooming at their feet, expanding, creating a circle that was filled with these flower. In mere moments they were standing in a large bed of geranium. These flowers swayed in the wind, getting a jump start in the dance that Desire was creating, petals caught in the wind floating around them adding to the pure magical spectacle.

"Join us~" A playful, beautiful smile, his eyes full of mirth a request, or maybe an expectation? It was difficult to tell but his words had power and with the wine that they had already ingested thanks to Rasma, his words felt even more honeyed. "You've had a drink, now indulge in the fun~" A tilt of his head, the flower having been taken from his hand, as now he held a pair of hands of the man he had wanted to claim as his. His eyes lingered on this man for but a moment before looking over at Rasma with that same mischievous smile. "You will won't you~?" An invite for them to be apart of the dance, a dance of the people that Desire shameless stole from Rasma without a blink of hesitation and all of the audacity-

@MiharuAya

 

[sele]

The air was sweet with gaiety – of bodies, of fire-smoke & roasted foods, of flowers, and of blithe carousing.

The world spun, too – oh, such blurred colors! Illaria's laugh trailed in an arc in tandem with her turning feet. The elfin woman's hair floated in feathery wisps in her wake, too, and her fingers spun above her head, entangling themselves in tree shadows and the threads that her dancing twirls made of lantern-light.

She'd been given apple tarts earlier in the evening by a beloved neighbor from the village. Another had offered spiced bread to her, too. They'd asked for her kind blessings and naturally she'd been elated to answer their generosity in turn. Two villagers who danced together shared her perception of the world that evening – experiencing such light, such wonder, such vibrant colors! All around them were gentle friends, beautiful and eager to make merry.

They also saw glimpses of her oldest Dream, only in fluttering flashes. White, trumpeting flowers swayed beneath a pristine night sky – splashed alight with such celestial sparkling! At times, the geraniums that Desire had manifested seemed – hauntingly brief – as those very same moonflowers; blooms from a world that'd not yet been broken.

These were Illaria's long-ago sister-flora. They lived in a core impression within her memory, though she knew nothing of what they were other than 'beautiful' and 'soothing.' They were all dead now, drowned in the Rains. It'd been Illaria's few flowers that – by chance – had germinated ahead of the End, and found their gentle madness fused now with the body that only knew the name 'Illaria.'

She laughed, marveling; remembering – and not.

Any who partook in sips of Illaria's perception of the festival witnessed hints of Southcrier's garden from a time before it'd been devastated, and before she'd been corrupted. But none could know, because Illaria did not. It was only blinks of beauty between shadows of their present reality.

The world suddenly slanted to the right, angling, then ceased to spin. Illaria toppled where she'd danced among other village merrymakers. It'd be easy to presume she was drunk, though she'd not imbibed in any of the alcohol. She was inebriated on festive happiness – living in the brief moment where fellow villagers could also bloom in carefree contentment the way Illaria always did.

She laughed til she could hardly breathe, gasping only to laugh again. Hands reached to help her up, and her slight weight and lack of resistance saw her flit right back up to her feet. Someone's hand brushed at the dirt smudge along the right side of her simple, cream-colored dress. A little remained, but she was oblivious to it. The dress had been a gift from a villager woman.

"Thank you! You're so lovely!" She chimed for the overall assistance. Who'd pulled her to her feet, and brushed her off? She couldn't say, she'd not fretted. She'd only savored the arcing rise as she was pulled upward, and the attentiveness of strangers.

She was soon to dance again when something caught her eye. Her head slowly swiveled while her hands froze halfway into the air again over her head.

The knight was there, bedecked in shining, silver armor that glinted so beautifully in the nocturnal lights. More, pale pink flowers bloomed about his arms, neck, and places about his helmet. He was the one from the bridge! Sweet guardian over Toll! And in his company was a bright, pleasant friend of his, surely! Oh – the pair shared necklaces between each other!

Illaria's feet pulled as if in a trance in their direction, starting slow, until her steps lightened.

"Sir Knight!" She pipped her reverent, cheery greeting to the tremendous, flower-strewn bridge guardian.

"The festival, of course!" She laughingly answered Aridam's question to Baelith for him. What else could it be other than to be a part of the collective merriment?

When she set her glinting, violet gaze upon each of them, she lingered for a moment with a genuine sort of admiration and wonder.

"This is where I woke from a Dream once," She warbled her birdsong to them, gesturing somewhat ambiguously to the space about the trio.

"And here we all are now again! It's as though everyone – you, and you," She indicated with a nod toward Baelith and Aridam each. "Have now each become a part of it. It makes me glad."

Whether either of them cared for her nonsense was inconsequential to Illaria. In her eyes, they were beloved, and surely therefore, so was she to them.

"If you have a necklace with a pearl, please barter with me! I'll trade a dance and a song for something pearl." She offered, gratified that she made such a worthy offer. Illaria cherished pearls, shimmering and pure as they were.

"And if not, I offer all of the same in exchange for your happy company, too!"

She might have been merely a frolicsome village girl bidding above her means while floating on the merriment of a festival. But with her, the air wafted with a whisper of night-blooming jasmine, and she possessed an unnatural aura that beckoned for cares to be set aside.

|| Tag: @MiharuAya 's Aridam, @Grumpy 's Baelith. Mention: @Peacey 's Desire. Open: Anyone ||​

 

[silven]

I S E L L

⟢
Skeleton wanderer who is currently lurking in the shadows.
Lured by the dead and deterred by the living.
──────────────────

[tabs=400x0|bcenter]

───────────────────────────────────────────── ⟢

Then there spawned the spirit. An eerie figure looming over the festivities in hindsight: performances to behold, moments to cherish, and festivities that seemed to have no end. Its flesh for a mask hides away its shallow eyes, posture hunched over like a rabbit. With a staff held firmly in its right as for a dwindling rose in its left. It was safe to say that for this occasion, the skeleton was not as hostile as locals would've feared it to be. Draped in the cloaks as dark as the cool nights, Isell makes its way over to a merchant's stand.

There's a feeling... a weight of dread upon the merchant.
The man looks around in wonder as to what could be causing him such anxiety. The thorns of a black rose slowly coiling around his leg, his attention focused away from the distant crowd towards the one in black. Pressured he was and through fear he approached with a weary eye.

"Isell.." the man's voice is a tremor.

Although blindfolded, Isell's eyes seem to pierce through the very soul of the unsuspecting man. One who served him well enough to remain standing for far too long. "Your wares are quite.. intriguing. But I come for something far more substantial than your useless goods, dear merchant."

The merchant's eyes widen with terror. An icy grip on his soul. Just as Isell's skeletal hand reached out, just before he would've been able to react, his life is taken from him, a husk is left frozen in time like a statue. The cloak adorned of black roses flutters with glee as the essence of the merchant is absorbed like fabric. The once thriving man collapsed to the ground, the small crowd around gasped.

The roses on Isell's cloak wilt suddenly, a clear indication of the grim transaction that had just occurred. "All of this could've been easily avoided, but my hunger cannot be satiated in such a way."

Isell's jaw unhinges, revealing rows of sharp, gleaming teeth. They lean towards the lifeless merchant, figure gleaming with an unearthly hunger. The sound of crunching bones pierces the shocked silence as they begin to consume the man's body, their skeletal frame seemingly swelling with power. The crowd's screams are drowned out by the sickening noises of bones breaking and flesh being torn.

The small crowd quickly disperses, leaving the grisly scene behind. The few who dare to look back at Isell can't shake off the chilling sense of dread that clings to their spines like a cold fog. The skeletal figure stands tall, the blindfold over their eyes seemingly seeing everything. The once-wilted roses on their cloak regain their vibrancy, now a deep, unnatural black. The only sound that remains is the echo of their chilling laughter, bouncing off the cobblestone streets. Finished with their gruesome meal, Isell straightens up and brushes off their cloak. The act is strangely elegant, despite the gore that clings to their translucent hands.

"Now where do I bound off to next?"

"Do I approach the ones putting on a show or speak amongst kin?"

"Do I terrorize the locals?"

The cloak flutters again as they glide away from the lifeless merchant, the blindfold shifting slightly. Hurried footsteps approaches from an alleyway. A young woman, in her twenties, emerges with wide eyes and a trembling lip. She gasps when she sees the skeletal figure standing in front of, her basket of stolen goods clutched tightly to her chest.

"Please don't hurt me!"

There is silence as Isell tilts their head, no expression of pity nor malice. But a curious gaze as they loom over. "Hmm." the undead skeleton moves past in a hurry. With a twirl of their cloak, Isell moves towards an alley, the shadows seeming to part before them.

In search of a peculiar individual.

{/slide}[/tabs]

 

[Grumpy]

Location: The Woods, between Toll and the Aethenstone | Tag: Aridam by @MiharuAya, Illaria by @sele ​

---

A gauntlet-clad hand reached out, taking up the necklace that Aridam offered with surprising delicacy. Slowly it was raised up, dangling before the visor of the knight's helmet as it was carefully examined.

Beads carved from fallen ash tree branches they gathered outside of town, filed smooth with limestone. Dyed with pigments drawn from the foliage growing on the banks of the Aithen River, then strung together along twine. Many hours of work, but divided up. A group exercise. The final product imbued by the jokes they shared, the stories they told as they laboured.

Beneath his helm, Baelith let out a grunt that could almost pass for amusement.
"Dudda and his friends found you, then." With great care, he gathered the beads together and handed them back to Aridam. A solemn gesture, as though he was passing on some priceless artifact. "Keep them. Let them be a reminder." His gaze trailed upwards, towards the mob of unruly children who had managed to separate the Heower from his coin. "A reminder that their makers are more than just fuel for your master's fires."

He would have said more then, but an interruption was upon them. Someone burst into the standoff brewing on the edge of the festival like a riot of petals borne in on an ill wind. Of all the Heowers who would be drawn to such merriment, Baelith should have known she would be at the front of them. That wild, gallivanting stray who walked the liminal spaces between pity and envy. Who walked the perimeter of Toll like a storm threatening to break. Even now, he could feel Illaria's delirium pulling at the edges of his vision, beckoning him to partake.

It was, in a word, unnerving.

Unnerving, yet strangely compelling.

"I bear no such trinkets, little Dreamer," Baelith intoned in his gentle voice, "but I would walk with you, if you would have me. Perhaps all three of us can." He turned to gaze upon Aridam, his helmet cocking slightly to the side. "Never hurts to expand one's horizons, every then and now."