Welcome to Gaia! ::

It is an unseasonably warm morning. The sun drenched mountain looms before a strapping blue cerynei.

Calaeron arrived at foot hills the night before and, being as dark and overcast as it had been, this was his first real look at it.

His short tail twitches back and forth as he takes a moment to let the spectacle soak in. The isolated mountain is quite tall, despite being so far removed from the main range. The forest here reaches high into the sky, which seems odd to him, initially. Perhaps it is the climate or maybe the peculiar geological features of this place, he muses.

Well, I always wanted to climb a real mountain, the stallion considers his impending adventure. He plays with the bleached leather straps of his pack sack. Having already broken camp and stowed his meager possessions, there’s nothing left to do today but climb.



It all started the week before. Calaeron was happily enjoying one of his usual leisurely strolls on the sandy beach he calls home--there is always something new to be found on the beach, after all--when he happened upon a mysterious mustachioed quilin. The slender, scaly fellow turned out to be quite the storyteller and before long they were sharing a strange, fruity smelling beverage over a lovely campfire. That sweet and ever so slightly bitter cup of tea just so happened to be the best thing he had ever tasted.

Before parting ways, his new friend carefully instructed him on how to reach “Hot Springs” and the village of the tea clan.



The early birds chirp and sing in the verdant woods at the base of the mountain. Never one to turn his back on anything unfamiliar, Calaeron starts up the winding mountain path.

All these well groomed and clearly marked trails are quite disappointing. His friend promised streams of scalding hot water, pits of boiling mud, and great gouts of water exploding out of the ground. Instead, he is finding gentle, cool streams, well tended ditches, and the occasional warm mud puddle on the side of the road.

So naturally, Calaeron takes a detour. Spotting a narrow, overgrown path on the other side of a shallow ditch, the nimble cerynei slides down and dashes up the other side with ease. This derelict trail proves much more engaging. Branches scrape his flanks and snag his antlers as he presses under and through the brush.

It is abundantly clear to him that few have recently ventured here.

FOOSH! The stallion whips around just in time to see a massive plume of vapour reach for the heavens. Like any sane creature, he rushes forward for a closer look.
Great clouds of steam billow from a pit at the center of a natural clearing. Nice, he thinks, watching as another blast issues forth from the earth.

Satisfied, he continues on, higher into the mountains. After some time, his legs begin to grow tired and he crosses back onto the easy path. The village shouldn’t be much further now, he thinks, stopping for a moment to take a refreshing drink from a cool stream. Hmm… he wonders, the water here is actually much warmer than I expected. I must be- what is that?

Over the burbling stream he hears something ahead. “Hello!” He calls, not even certain if there’s actually someone there.

At this point, Calaeron is completely filthy. Twigs and branches hang from his antlers and protrude from his mane; his blue coat and white sack are caked in mud. With all the excitement, it doesn’t occur to him that he should make himself presentable before trotting over to the source of all the commotion.

Just around the bend in the stream, he encounters the sodden, colorful mare. “Lovely spot for a bath,” he presumes, shaking a branch from his antlers.

“Oh, in that case, I am terribly sorry. I did not mean to frighten you.” The bedraggled stallion gives her his most genuine smile, “and yes, I may have taken a shortcut through a puddle or two.” He tries to appear non-threatening as possible, as not to further upset the mare.

The mud caked soquili drops his sack, with an audible plop, onto the edge of the stream’s bank, “my name is Calaeron. I’ve heard tales of this mountain.” He states, as a matter of fact, dipping a paw into the tepid water, testing its temperature, “I was told that it’s a place of wondrous sights-- and I’ve seen a little of that already today-- and that a mysterious tribe of master tea makers make it their home.”

Splash! The stallion jumps into the stream, rolling around in the formerly clear, blue water for a minute, laughing, as he releases the burden of dirt and debris that he had managed to accumulate over the course of the day. “What’s your name, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Well met, fair Pariapichiu!” Calaeron exclaims. “I venture your herd is the one I seek, assuming they are the master tea makers that make this place their home.” The stallion grins.

His trip had took most of the day and the sun is steadily dropping lower on the horizon. With it’s passing comes a cool breeze and Calaeron thinks it might be best to dry off before it starts to get really cold.

“I don’t like to impose, but would you be able to lead me to your tribe?” The stallion asks, climbing from the water. After a short swim, his coat shines vibrant hues of blue, once again. Promptly, he shakes himself, to expedite the drying process.

“Business?” The blue stallion shakes his head, thinking back to the mysterious mustachioed storyteller and the toothsome tea that they shared on the beach, that fateful night.

“As of yet, I have none.” He adds with a smile, “But with any luck, I will promptly remedy that.”

Calaeron is definitely the adventurous sort, always eager to experience the world. Be it a perilous jungle expedition in search of lost civilization or cave diving for pirate booty, this pony is game.

His ultimate goal is to imbibe every ounce of life that is available to him. And, today is a tea day.