Rosa Mystica

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by firejay1, Sep 18, 2014.

  1. rose art.jpg

    The pursuit of perfection. Humans have always fought futilely to become or even sometimes obtain that which is perfect, yet, other than He who was both God and man, we have always failed. Or so we have always thought. In legend, whispers have arisen of historical figures who have attained greater than the scope of man, whether it be through some dark art, immortality, or religious beautification. Merlin, Nicholas Flamel, the Count of St. Germain, Rasputin, Alexander the Great, Anastasia, Joan d'Arc, Faust. The list goes on. Why?

    They are the winners of the game. Since the first cave painting of people on the wall, the first little wooden carvings of ancient homosapiens not even blessed with proper speech, much less a form of writing, select dolls and paintings have taken life and fought for something they didn't yet quite understand. The duration of the game has always varied, sometimes taking only days, at others taking hundreds of years, and the players have changed dramatically, but in its heart it has always remained the same.

    You must fight with the heart given to you - that which is now referred to as a Rosa Mystica - to steal the hearts of the others, rendering them motionless, emotionless, no longer capable of holding that which matters most to a piece of art or a toy: the feelings and memories of your owners. The reward for the Rose (for that is what they call every winner) is a taste of perfection, before an incarnation into a human life. Some let the experience of touching, tasting, experiencing what it would be to be perfect, fade away in their new life. Others come to hate it, rebel against it and use it to enact their highest potential for evil. And yet others, many of whom we know by name and image, have let it inspire them to their highest potential for good.

    No one knows who gives the Rosa Mysticas, or why he has done so, but it is said when all of the Roses have gathered, he will be revealed. Every Rose has seen him, when he grants them their Rose, but each tells a story of a different kind of person. Rosa Mysticas appear as colored petals, which float from the body when the doll or painting is defeated - they can be killed as if they were humans. When one person collects all of them, they change into that person's original color of petal and become a rose, which the One fashions a stem for. Each doll has a tool, and from it they can use a special kind of magic, each unique.

    A new game has begun, with new dolls, new Rosa Mysticas, and new powers. There's just one difference that every awakened doll and hiding Rose instinctively knows: this is the last game. There will be no other Roses, and when they are all together, the One will appear and reveal his purpose. Let the game begin.

    Sign-up and OOC:
  2. At the bottom of the ocean, where the beautiful blue of the sea gave way to darkness, a lost ship sat. In its time it was an object of beauty and glory, but centuries upon centuries of decay destroyed the once proud vessel. The white and gold paint was faded away. The planks were warped and bent, split open in places to invite the fish that were its neighbors to explore its depths. Barnacles and coral coated the wood. At the bow of the ship, lounging resplendently, were two gorgeous figure ladies, both on either side of the bow. But the one on the port side was scratched and weathered beyond recognition.

    This starboard side lady had proven durable. Her white, blue, and gold paint were all but faded away. Her features were rough and uneven. But still they were recognized as a woman, once beautiful, but always still.

    But still no more.

    In the darkness, a turquoise light sank down waving back and forth like a leaf in the breeze. Inside was a single rose petal. It slowly sank, sank into the breast of the still starboard lady.

    The sound of cracks reverberated through the water, scattering nearby fish. The lady's outstretched arm bent at the elbow, and the other raised up. With more cracking, she pulled off the side of the ship, and looked down at her trapped legs in their flowing wooden dress. She pulled them, until one leg at a time they came free.

    The first thing she did was climb onto the deck. Her wooden feet made muffled sounds underwater as she stepped across the planks. She saw an aggressively grown red coral on the side. Coral. As she was alive now, that seemed a fine name. Her foot brushed at something and she looked down. The captain, following the noble tradition of going down with his ship, left his bones scattered about the deck and in the hull.

    The mast had fallen. She held a piece that had once held canvas and it broke off in her hand. It glowed turquoise, like the light that had entered her, and she knew she would need it. She stopped to gaze at her sister statue, deformed, silent, and still, then set forth across the sea bottom.
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  3. It was a nice house, large and very close to the ocean. The water wasn't the Mediterranean Sea, sadly, but the overall feel of the villa was close enough, and the painting of the nameless but beautiful Pompeiian woman above the mantle of the house suited the place perfectly. She was a fitting centerpiece of the home, something the family that resided in it was quite proud of. She liked it that way. All she had to do was sit there, leisurely entertaining a cat until the end of time, and everyone who walked through the room would adore her. A human might have considered that quite a dull existence, but she was no human. She was a painting. Decoration was her purpose.

    But tonight, something happened. From somewhere, she couldn't tell where, there came drifting down a fleck of gold, what looked like a shimmering flower petal in a delicate bubble. It brushed the center of the painting, and like that...a warmth began to take her. Her eyelids twitched. A mind was born and began to crawl, then roll, then whir. She was here. She had to be, she could feel her own arms. They were stiff from never being used; she'd have to do something about that. She stretched her arms experimentally, and after confirming that they held form, she did the same with her legs. Could she step forward? She tried, and she succeeded. She blinked a few times in the dark as she tried to take in her surroundings. She was in the dark living room of her house, she was sure, but rather than sitting against a wall, she took up space. Yes, she was most definitely hovering over the fireplace. Her face widened slowly in surprise as she looked down at herself. I'm awake, aren't I? I'm alive...!

    But something in her glowing golden core told her that she was not alive, at least not yet. She had been blessed with the chance to become alive, rather, and she knew what she would have to do to seize that chance. She would have to fight for it. Her gaze hardened in displeasure. She had no desire to endanger her lovely new form in battle. But if she would have to fight, she had someone to do it for her, didn't she? She flicked the feather in her hand behind her. "Tigris? You there, kitty?"

    There came a high-pitched mew from behind her, and a moment later, she felt a tug on the feather. She chuckled. Tigris was awake too. "Good kitty," she said as she turned around and crouched in place. "Come up here. Come to mama."

    The kitten named Tigris mewed again and leapt up to his mistress' chest, where he promptly snuggled for warmth. She cupped him securely in her arms as she stood up. "What a good kitty. Yes you are. Yesshouare!" She said the last bit in a cutesy, talking-to-a-pet voice before planting a little kiss on his fuzzy head. "Ready to help mama fight?" she cooed. "She needs to win. Oh...and shouldn't mama have a name?" She looked around the dark room for no real reason. She was thinking. The fingers of one hand scratched gently beneath one of his ears. "How about...Aemilia? I think I am an Aemilia." She smiled down at her kitten. "But don't you worry about that, kitty. Mama's just fine for you."

    He squeaked against her bosom. Mama sounded just fine.
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  4. dust..dark dust. Pinpricks of light shine within the black, a contrast of colours. Dust specks float around slowly and lazily, swirling and dancing. A black and white monochrome, a still image. Time seems almost frozen, or unhindered as it crawls at a sluggish pace. Darkness and time have smothered what lies within the room, they have made it forgotten.

    The doll is crumpled upon the ground, almost in a position of crucifixion. His silky blonde hair is framed out, and glints as the shards of light catch it. The silken outfit of the doll is covered in dust, and a fine amount of dust also coats the doll's face. The doll's eye is shut, his other is hidden by an eyepatch his lips are slightly parted in what could be taken as a plea or a sign of disrepair, a sign of abandonment and pain. The doll has being stuck in the darkness for a very long time, sinking in darkness forever as he dreams a slumber as dark as the substance that surrounds him.

    A glow, red like blood replaces the light. A small orb floats in the darkness and spins around as though it searches for something, it floats slowly towards the forgotten doll and rests upon it's chest. The red orb sinks through the clothing and into the chest, glowing one last time before it enters the doll.

    The doll twitches, limbs move slowly and fingers flex. Ball joints click as the doll slowly sits up, blonde hair falling over it's face. It's eye opens slowly, an electric blue eye that has an untold cruelty within it. A single tear trickles from the doll's eye as it stands up slowly, the feeling of life courses through it. It blinks and gazes around at the small dark room, it's prison.

    It flexes its fingers before putting it's right hand to it's chest, it lowers it's head and shuts it's eye as it utters. “I am alive..” the voice is soft, yet undeniably a male's. “I am..” a twisted smile flickers on his lips. “..Solinger..”

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  5. "Such a pretty doll!" A girl squealed, mostly a girl that was ten or twelve, what she was talking about was a small doll sitting in a windowsill of a small house. The doll eyes was closed and her silver hair rested on her shoulders shining with the sun, her hands rested on her lap, one on top of another.The doll seemed almost realistic that it seemed to be like it was sleeping peacefully.

    A chuckle was in the distant of the young girl, there appeared a woman in her twenties that had blonde hair that reached her shoulders, her blue eyes showed happiness as the young woman had heard the little girl's comment. "I'm very glad you like it" She gave a warm smile. "Yeah!...Oh are you the maker of the doll?" The young girl asked curiously. "Mhm... well you better head back home before it gets dark out!" The blonde smiled and the girl nodded before skipping away.

    The woman enter the small house and sighed, gently taking the fragile doll out of the windowsill and sitting on the couch that was near the fireplace. "Well...Seems like you get a lot of attention Alexis..." The blonde chuckled and gently started to comb the doll's silver hair. Her eyes slowly opened, revealing her hot pink eyes. She glanced at her creator and smiled. "It's your fault master...Your such a skilled person at making dolls...Why did you stop...?"

    "Hm...I guess.. I lost the passion.." the young woman glanced out the window, mostly normal dolls couldn't talk or even control a single part of there body it had surprised the young woman when it happened yet filled her with curiosity when the small doll had started to talk and even move. But she had got used to it after a couple of weeks.

    "I wonder how it happen..." The young woman mumbled to herself.
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  6. The master had just finished. Leaving the room, where the shattered doll lay. It's arm nearly ripped off entirely.The doll gazed upwards, only one solitary needle it its chest.

    The master does it for fun, it's just a doll. No one is hurt. The doll, one would think, would be used to it; constant pain means nothing to a doll. That much, is true. The doll never felt his own pain. But rather the worries of the master. Those thoughts drilled into him, the dark ones, the master dare not to keep.

    He felt something different. A grey bubble, floating down - from who knows where? Perhaps out of the very thoughts that partly killed him, the doll never knew. Take me, I can save you. Said a voice like honey. It touched him. He felt like his heart was tearing in two. He heard wailing, not sure of whos it was. He lifted the needle out of his chest. The screaming intensified. The doll picked up the string, threads from his torn off arm. It was the same shade of grey as the rose.

    Once his arm was sewed, he then rose. Slowly moving across the brown wood floor. Shuffling quietly across. As he left the house, he promised himself. Lifting the needle, he swore Never, will I be the victim again, I will live on in freedom. Stabbing his left hand he looked up and twisted the needle. And I will fight those who stand in my way.
    #6 Hiiro-Sama, Sep 28, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Sep 29, 2014
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  7. Serafina sat upon the roof of an old, squat building as a nearby clock tower tolled upon the midnight hour. It was midsummer in Louisiana and the night air was no exception to the humidity that seemed to have been the product of the late afternoon sunshine. Though as of her current state she couldn't really tell if things were hot or cold or even if something was humid, for the reason why she couldn't feel these things was because she was a marionette and her body was made of porcelain. She didn't have the nerves to feel these things, but she had a conscious and a mind of her own, and even though she couldn't experience such sensations she could at least imagine what they felt like. Lost in her thoughts she started to reminisce of the day that she had first gained her conscious, of the first time she had woke up, and of the first time human emotion ripped at her heart.

    It was only just months ago that Serafina had first woken up, it was in a building that had been abandoned for years and was slowly falling apart from rain damage and neglect. Something translucent and glowing with moonlight had flitted down from a rotted out hole in the roof and swirled in the air with a certain sort of grace. In a damp corner nestled among clothes, rags, and litter that smelled heavily of mold and mildew lay a marionette that had known much better days. Her dress moth eaten and frayed around the edges and and a cracked, gaping hole was in the place where her right eye should have been. The small orb spiraled down towards her as if drawn by the strings of her fondest memories and nested against her chest before slowly sinking in and giving her hollow body life. In the instances of time before light shone in her one good eye all her memories played themselves out like a movie reel as her conscious blossomed.

    Pain ripped at Serafina's heart as her final fall was played back to her and followed by the memory of abandonment by her puppeteer. In disjointed motions she slowly rose from her rumpled nest, each joint giving a whining creak of protest, and started the weary search for her missing strings. She didn't quite understand the need at the time, but the reason soon became clear later on. Finally finding them she tried several times to grip them in her hands before finally succeeding, and soon after the same moonlit glow that had brought her life encased the broken strings. The glow intensified as the strings changed shape before dispersing back out into the dim light. The strings had become gloves that fit her hands perfectly with a large spool of the sharp, thin wire attached to her back by a belt, and with wonder she looked over the gloves as her first tangible thought formed within her head, so this is to be my tool.
  8. Green... green... it's all that's what was the soulless doll only remembered, his eye were began to become a black void as he was abandoned by his owner, all this year he thought that one day his owner will come back to him and picked him up but it was all a dream. Darwin, a paperdoll which not all child fancy, 25 years ago he was the only paper doll that left in the shop until a small bright young man smiled to him. "... hapiness? what a piece of bull crap... " Darwin stuck on this fragile thin paper he was made of until suddenly a bright emerald came on and made him out of the paper, slowly but surely that doll has become real as in movable.

    "... time to take revenge.. you sick humans... and if anyone gets in my way, their dead!" Darwin shouted as his voice echoes to the forest where he was last left, he walked towards a mansion. it was huge one but he decided to check whether there are his owner or not since it's was last his owner's place.
  9. Above Coral's head the surface of the water was getting brighter, turning into a more brilliant blue with each step she took in the sand. As she got closer she reached up a hand, parting the sea slightly and feeling the air with her fingertips for the first time in centuries. Soon her head poked out of the ways, and she walked onto the shore, a partially rotted wooden figure, holding a block of wood that was once her mast.

    It was light out, and she was at a beach. Coral's eyes widened and she stepped back repulsed as she saw a woman in a yellow bikini sunbathing. Showing that much skin! Such indecency! Coral swung her mast and a gust of wind lifted the woman and her towel up and over, so the towel was covering her.

    "Make yourself decent, you harlot!" she scolded. But looking around, she saw more and more people dressed - or rather, undressed - to reveal. What was this insanity? Had she stumbled onto a tribe of savages?

    She walked through the perplexed crowd, just as surprised at her presence as she was of theirs. She looked down as she left sand and arrived at asphalt. What was this? It appeared as if it were like cobble stones, but many times smaller, and black as night. She was distracted by the billowing of a horn and in a panic at the metal monstrosity barreling for her, swept her mast aside, creating another gust of wind that broke the passenger side windows and tipped the car over on its side.

    As she looked at the overturned vehicle, Coral contemplated how long she'd been asleep, and more so at where she'd been headed when her ship sank.

    "Is this...the New World?" she asked no one in particular.

    She looked down the nearest street and couldn't seem to part her gaze from it. I need to go there. She was not sure why she was so certain of it, but she could feel it, like it were a tangible part of being alive, more important than touch or taste. A sense of purpose. She walked down the street, not sure what she was searching for, but knowing that may be the way to find it.
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  10. The first thing Aemilia knew she wanted to do was confirm Tigris' abilities, and something told her she did not want them to be indoors for that, at least not in this beloved home. Imagine the horror if her family's meticulously manicured living room were overturned! No, she wouldn't have been able to live with herself if she had enabled Tigris to have his way with the upholstery. She strode to the pair of doors that let out into the garden, letting the feather trail behind her. She felt it twitch periodically as Tigris pounced on it, batted at it, and tried to grab it with his teeth. She chuckled to herself. She kept him occupied with the tip of the feather trailing over the ground as she closed the doors behind her, and once they were secure, she turned back to the garden and surveyed her training ground. Her lips pursed into a pout. This couldn't very well do as an arena either, not without risk of damaging the plants. She approved of the aesthetic of the garden very much, but for once, she did not like its layout. Tigris needed more open space, or at least a space he needn't fear damaging.

    For now, though, she could content herself with verifying his nature. She could test his fighting prowess later. She took a few steps through the garden until she found a clearing, and a light pitter-patter behind her indicated that Tigris followed. There was a birdbath in the center of the clearing, but there was enough space around it for the first step. She shifted her grip on the feather and hardened her gaze. She could feel life crackling through the implement. With a strong gesture, she flicked the feather forward.

    There was a roar of movement. Something rushed forward from behind her, something large that burned orange like a torch in the night. It landed heavily in front of her, its body formidable and its stance aggressive. A low growl issued from the creature's mouth, slightly open to reveal its teeth as sharp as knives. Aemilia could feel her pet's wrath permeating the air, now an intense warmth that kept the night's chill far at bay, and if she wasn't mistaken, she could feel it within her as well: a predatory fire, a want to kill.

    "Good kitty," she purred, hardly realizing her tone of voice had gone low and dangerous. "Very good. Now..." She swept her gaze over the clearing again. "Hmm... First order of business. Move that." She flicked her feather baton towards the birdbath. "We may yet have room."

    Tigris' head swung towards the birdbath at the exact moment of Aemilia's gesture, his eyes sharp and determined. When she finished speaking, the tiger walked to the designated spot, turned his head sideways, and wrapped his jaws around the narrow pedestal. He growled a little in complaint, but his neck strained with powerful muscles as he lifted the object a few inches off the floor and walked it to the edge of the clearing without spilling a drop.

    "Ooh, excellent," Aemilia cooed, and in her mind, she could feel Tigris tingle happily from the praise. "Such a strong boy. Now shall we begin?"
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  11. Solinger looks around the room once more, taking everything in. he knows that he'll have to come back here and rest at some stage, but after spending so much time asleep in this dark room he just wants to get out for a while. As he starts to walk out he hears a crunch and shattering sound, he gazes down at what he stepped on and notices that it's an old photo frame. He carefully picks it up and gazes at it sadly, a single tear trickles from his visible eye and hits the dusty floor with a small patting sound. He gently runs his fingers over the photo in the frame and whispers. “master..” he carefully puts the photo frame down and takes a deep breath before he strides outside the dusty room and looks startled.

    The house, the house that he has happy memories of as well as sad ones.. has changed. It looks so worn, so run down. “MASTER!” the doll screams as he starts to run through the house as fast as he can, checking each room. Once he's cleared the first floor, he grows more frantic. He races up the stairs as quick as he can, tears blur his vision as he calls his master. “MASTER, MASTER WHERE ARE YOU?!” His voice is something between a wail of despair and a primal shriek, he pants and trips over..landing with a small thud. He sits up and notices the master's bedroom door ajar, his face lights up. “master!” he gasps out as he stands up and runs in, only to be met with disappointment and sorrow. The bedroom is also empty and covered in dust. The doll gazes around and notices some red stains on the floor, but thinks nothing of them. He drops to his knees and puts his hands to his face as he weeps. “I've being abandoned! ABANDONED LIKE JUNK!” he stops crying slowly and gazes at the cracked celling. “how long have I being asleep?” he whispers.

    He stands up suddenly and his expression hardens and becomes cold. “if you see me as junk, then I will become perfect.” he smiles bitterly and places his hand to his chest, feeling the warmth within him. The warmth that must be in the others. “I will..become perfect..” he repeated as his smile grows. “..even if I must turn the others into junk..” he holds out his hand and a red glow comes from it, the glow takes shape and forms into a morning star..his morning star.

    ...for you, my master.. I will transcend above all the others..”
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