The sun necklace of Tel (Nathchi x Sombersong)

Nathchi

Person of the unknown
Original poster
LURKER MEMBER
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Invitation Status
  1. Looking for partners
Posting Speed
  1. 1-3 posts per week
  2. Slow As Molasses
Online Availability
Often evenings between 5 to 11AM CET (central european time).
Writing Levels
  1. Intermediate
  2. Advanced
  3. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Female
Genres
Sci-fi, fantasy, magic, slice of life, supernatural, steampunk
In the early morning of spring, birds can be heard chirping and the large city of Tel is awakening. Kids struttle around town playing games of tag as adults get ready to work, butchers, item stores, weapon stores and more are starting to open. Women are walking around carrying baskets with goods and the men help each other carrying heavy barrels while some teenagers have a pretend play as royal guards with wooden swords. All is very busy in the great city of Tel. Carriages of goods arrives from the outside as well as visitors from neighbouring towns. For soon, in the later evening, a big event will take place.
The royal family will hold a special event to commemorate the sun goddess and everyone is to be expected to participate. However, because of this large, well known event it also attracts wrongdoers and theives. For the royal treasure called "The sun necklace of Tel" will be open for view for the public to see from a distance upon its gold-clad pedestal. It is said that the treasure can bestow great power to the ones carrying it and is also fetched for a large prize unimaginable.

As you walk past the guards by the entrance you are introduced to a large cloth hanging between the roofs, reading:

"Tel a large city known for its progressive values".

In order to gather information about this new city the obvious choice is to visit gathering places such as bars, the plaza or any other place that may catch your attention. Upon entering the city the first thing that catches your eye after some minutes of walking is a small sign reading "The Mellow Morning Pub". When you enter there aren't many customers around except for a selected few older men sitting by a table with an ale in hand. By the counter a young man is seen cleaning by the counter while another girl is entering a back door, presumably for staff only. The young male bartender takes a notice of you and smiles as he puts the cloth under the counter.
-"What can I get you, stranger?" He asks.
 
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Honeyed eyes peered from bronze balcony, the clocks’ ticking, and grinding of gears serving as a sonorous cacophony. The ballad of innovation like a grand symphony, of which she was the maestro. The expanse of bleached rolling gnolls stretching beyond the horizon, as the kerfuffle of a debate from the street, trailed to keen ears. Luscious lips bending into a smile as the shifting of the sand due to times waning influence had sowed discourse. Friction necessary for progress, for it’s through the fire and hammer that metal can be repurposed into an implement. Hand gripping the railing, as lunar light perforated the veil of twilight. Stars were twinkling in the heavens, as a gentle gelid breeze coursed between the spiraling bronze buildings. Locks of raven hair drifting to its call, cascading downward as stray strands obfuscated inquisitive gaze.



The mood contorting, proving somewhat malleable as expression bent to the influence of her third eye. Dreams within dreams, an endless expanse of worlds connected by the most narrow of bridges. The tapestry of fate being plucked, the fleeting of one of her kind vexing mind. She was exasperated by the fact she recognized this baneful spirit, this mischievous cur foolishly traversing the abyss between worlds. Djinn were fickle, their mind able to resonate with one another across a vast distance. The epiphany anything but melodious. More like the chaotic clashing of brass instruments as she withdrew into her home. The laboratory housing many trinkets, discoveries wrought through blood and sweat. Combing endless dusty tombs to further her reach. Curvaceous form now exposed, as she would change attire. The white silk dress, while flowery and flattering, was not suited for the road or task at hand.



Rummaging through her closet, she’d eventually embellish figure with her favorite traveling attire. The garb consisting of pure black clothing, a jacketed top with an orange stripe running up the center, mounds of flesh leaving cleavage exposed as sexual prowess like any tool had its place in her arsenal. Bottom half and midriff covered in straps of leather, held together by buckles that clasped onto her top. Flowing dress that left thighs exposed, only shielding her bottom from wanting gaze. Fingerless gloves to limit callous from formulating on her gentle hands. Dark leggings and a pair of traveling boots to trek through sand and mud alike. Traction being a vital component when one walks the lonesome road. Once covered, Myrriah would gather her things, tossing in a capsule that housed one of her creations, as well as, food, water, change of clothes, perfume, a few rags into dimensional pocket.



Fingers were running through hair, as she meandered within lavished halls, reaching the golden adorned vestibule of her home. She was peering over her shoulder, giving the nest one final glance. Gloved hand reaching for the knob of brass, twisting and pushing the barrier open. Stepping beyond it’s gaped maw, sealing the door shut once past the threshold. The winding streets of metal patrolled by clockwork machines, steam pouring from the grates darted across the city. As the sound of boots making their way to the stable near the city's limits echoed, betraying her approach. Blending into the darkness, only to reemerge into the rays of artificial crystal light, exiting the safety of erect walls, as she rode on the back of a giant beetle, her loyal steed. The portal between realms a well-kept secret, eluding the comprehension of most. Yet Myrriah wasn’t like the common rabble, nor was she comparable to the gelatinous nobility that plagued her realm.



The lady of coin a unique breed with unprecedented aspirations that have governed her actions. Why care about one stray spirit? Because a wrathful Djinn can prove quite the blight, and the thought that someone may link it to her world was nettlesome. The empire thrived despite the chaotic rule of the Queen, yet prosperity comes in seasons. For across the near infinite dreams were eyes ravenous by nature, hungrily peering out for new worlds to subjugate. This foolish soul could bring the ire of a nation within these arid borders if it managed to cause harm. Insectoid appendages barreling forward, it’s pulsating belly feeding on the magical properties emitted from the grainy bosom of the sands. Sustenance propelling the organism forward, as the Mistress of shadows would find her way toward the sea of dunes.



Within the epicenter of the wasteland, few dare tread, even the most hearty of adventurers she rested for a moment. She was reaching into her dimensional pocket, pulling out a soft fabric like a towel to wipe sweat from brow, chugging down some of the water she had brought to thwart the parching of lips. Dainty fingers ran across the carapace of her bestial friend, the partner while not sentient still had an whimsical perception for the caramel toned beauty. It’s carapace as black as the night, as the soft underbelly seemed lined with organic material, crimson in hue that like air sacs expanded outward before contracting. The hulking beetle pressing onward as the two would inevitably stand at the center, fingers snapping the sand around them vanished, the pinkish light of the rising sun eclipsed by utter darkness.



The swarthy curtain was robbing one of sight, the deprivation maddening if one were to lose themselves within the tunnels connecting our worlds. Following the residual energy left behind, like a ghost trapped in time. As the laws of reality differed within this void, the sense of nothingness palpable, beyond dreadful. The harrowing experience troubling the beetle, yet it wouldn’t last. Within that space between space, time ceased to function outside of its chasm. Yet, within, the process felt like hours. The heartlessness of that space giving way, evaporating as the link between their dream resounded. Striking a chord through a complex network of frequencies permitted the two to infiltrate the curtain. Yet the process did not proceed without a hurdle or two. Dimensional travel was a complicated affair, if facile, then all planes of existence within the dream would have been linked already.



The tumultuous turbulence vehemently shaking the two beings, their very cells vibrating in the most excruciating of ways. While outside time remained locked in torpidity while transmitting oneself through those blacken halls. Once they reached the pinnacle, the compression unfurled, as time leaped forward. The exact passage unknown, though, enough to permit the other spirit to escape from the entry point. The darkness cracking, as the depravity of one’s soul within the void, dissipated. The wailing brought on by nothingness never got easier with time. Pearly fangs grinding against one another, as grunts birthed from agony, bellowed forth from juicy lips—light beyond blindingly flooding the scene, as both shielded their oculus. From nothingness, everything came into being.



Standing now within the wilderness, the labyrinth of trees stretching onward as the melodious call of winged beast echoed. Birds roosting within the branches, their shade provided respite, allowing Myrriah to repose herself. Gloved hands were grasping the reins as she ordered her friend onward. The beetle lumbering forward sluggish at first, it’s oafish approach facetious to observe. The change in magic, the gravity of this planet, and other natural forces, be them greater or lesser, taking time for both of them to acclimatize to. The foliage rubbing against legs and chitin, as the beast of burden, pushed into the brush. Eventually, the two finding a path, the road cut naturally due to the traffic of the local wildlife and indigenous folk who called this quaint world home.



Mandibles colliding several times, as a hand gently patted the top of the thorax, the jubilant creature proving contagious as the Djinn smiled. Honeyed orbs peering down the road, tapering as the trail of her officious brother while subtle, didn’t escape her mental grasp. The exact location obstructed from vision, yet the third eye tucked away from the flesh had enough foresight to deconstruct and disseminate the general direction—radiant ray piercing between the green leaves, providing warmth to olive-tone vestige. The humid air a far cry from the arid landscape of her home, as the two continued with merriment down the path. The mind left to wander, evaluating various outcomes and potential ramifications for this interloper. Heart beating like a drum, mind running at speeds twice as fast as that of an average human.



The strangers within a strange land out of their element left Myrriah suffering from sightlessness when it came to how this plane operated. Ignorance and complacency two predators she often eschewed, finding their company less than elfin. The ditty rhythm of their unremitting stride juxtaposing impeccably with the natural ambiance, as they incessantly prowled across the scene. The sun setting, seeking shelter behind the edge of the world, Myrriah setting up camp away from the road. Taking refuge within the wilds as stalwart gaze remained vigilant. Her own body’s physiology unique as sleep, thirst, and hunger took much longer to have a toll on her. The rest necessary for her insect, leaning against the bark of a nearby oak. Shuffling that deck of cards that had served her faithfully through many frays.



The chirping of crickets resonating, bouncing off the acoustics of the woodlands as the frigid night air caused goosebumps to litter across velvety canvas. The camouflage of darkness working both ways, as eyes adjusted to the night. The evening passing, as dew-kissed the blades of emerald-colored grass. She was stirring her mount from slumber as it pushed out hot air from its extremities. Rising as the energy of the land kept fueling the creature, the magical properties not as dense as that of her motherland, but enough to thwart off starvation. Their travels were recommencing, as the moisture clinging to the brush stained skin and exoskeleton, once more trodding down the muddy road. Crisp cerulean sky was holding up, as the sun crawled across the heavens. For nine days, they repeated this process, cleaning clothes in the river, drying it off with a spell, gathering water, fending off beast, receiving curious glares, and intimidating a few bandits. The dried salted meat she packed providing nourishment, while not a delicacy by any stretch of the imagination, it did suffice.


On the morning of the ninth, the Djinn could feel they were close. She was holding a polished silver mirror, combing hair, beautifying herself with the makeup of crushed plants, cactus, fungi, minerals, and insects as the fragrance of honey and berry perfume was applied to the skin. The ritual of maintaining her ravishing visage proving somewhat therapeutic, even if no one was around to revel in the fruits of her toiling labor. Once more, the beetle would shake off atrophy hold, shuffling to its feet as it wiggled thorax. The two are now approaching the city, passing beyond the opened gates maw as they would traverse through the cobbled streets. The whimsical nature of this foreign world proving rather bewitching as the beetle mount would be tied to a nearby post, by the stable.


Wide hips were swaying, as the Djinn sauntered across the scene, honeyed oculus gazing at the nearby signs. She was pushing the tavern door open, as the quaint establishment reeked of vice. The orange hue of a crackling fire, the darkroom proving hospitable as an employee called out to the foreigner. She gave the man a humble bow, maintaining the posture for a brief moment, before rising upright.
“I would like an empty booth, some wine, your finest wine, please. I am a lady with a refined palate.” Myrriah bombastically proclaimed, a sense of regal persona emulating from her posture. Silver tongue harmonious, it’s sultry tone reposeful by nature. As if to charm or enchant away the problems weighing one down.
 
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The young man greeting you were in essence very ordinary. Backward licked black hair with a strand of hair sticking out from the side and a stubb going from the sides down to his chin. A white shirt neatly wrapped over his upper body, showing off some muscles and dark brown pants with some cheap shoes accompanying his ordinarily looks. His brown droopy eyes told a story of late night shifts, overwork and a small glint of survival instincts and hope that there will be a future with better working conditions. Though through the tough endeavors he still could pull of a wide smile to his customers. When asked for an empty booth the young man takes a dark cloth and throws it over his shoulder.
-"This way, ma'am. Please, follow me."

The man bowed as he gestured with his hand over the direction the table would be. Being in the service business it is important for the guest to have a pleasant time as possible, thus making the man sure to escort you all the way to an empty table. But with how few people there are gathered there is also a possibility that the man is just trying to show off his bar as more sophisticated than it seems, or rather is. As you sit on the hard and uncomfortable chair the young man by reflex excuses himself and turns around to go back to the counter and begin to fix your drink.
Looking around the bar it gives off a rough atmospheric feel to it. Barrels are tucked away further down near the walls and small paintings with cracks on the glass are hanging a bit loose and obliqued, a smell of alcohol, sweat and smoke from the older men get mixed in the humid air and sunlight appear from the open wooden windows. Outside people are walking left and right and kids can be heard screaming at times yet that doesn't stop making the small room appear as its own quiet, little alcohol smelling world.
The young man arrives once more and puts a glass of wine on the table. Its taste is nothing extraordinary and like the surrounding itself, it is bland yet rough. Now with hands clasped together the man smiles once more.
-"If there's something more you need, just call." And with that he goes back to his position behind the counter. Rather bored the bartender looks around as the other female bartender who was earlier seen going in the door behind the counter is now giving out drinks to the other customers.
 
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