[STORIES] Spooky Storytelling - Judging!

[Matope]

This is a storytelling contest that starts now [October 21st] and ends October 28th at midnight EST.

Each user can submit one story per kimeti/kiokote/acha owned, according to the theme and the prompt in the next post. These stories, if more than 500 words, can count as a kimeti's Legendary storytelling requirement!

If you do not have any kin at this time, please feel free to enter anyway. You can write as a made-up kimeti or kiokote, but please, don't invent any Acha at this time!

At the end of the event, staff will pick their favorite stories and give out the boney kin at the top of this post as prizes. If you're not interested in the prizes, and merely want to post for the RP or to fill your reqs, please state that in your post.

On to the prompt...  

[Matope]

Away from the seriousness of the usual kimeti traditions, still early in the evening, the youngsters gather. Fillies and colts and foals too young to really understand the importance of the Festival of the Dead huddle together and grumble, bored by the waiting.

It is still early in the evening, just as the sun is beginning to set, as light is turned murky and green by the hanging vines and sprawled leaves of mangroves surrounding this quiet clearing. Not yet dark enough to be truly scary, it is just getting to be spooky when one cocky colt leans in to another and whispers a terrifying tale in his ear. Other heads turn at the quiet voice, all of them leaning in to hear what they can, hearts hammering.

These youngsters want to be scared. They want their eyes to go wide with horror. They want to gasp in surprise, in terror and delight.

They want stories to be told to them.

___________________________________

OOC: Feel free to post in here as an adult who comes upon the group and joins them, as a filly/colt who is daring and wants to surprise them, or as any scared youngsters. You can feel free to react to other posts, but be aware, only the stories will count both for the contests and for RP requirements!

Also, as a reminder, please keep all your stories relatively light-hearted, as they're being told to young kimeti -- and take note that stories with morals might be wise as well, so that they're learning as they enjoy themselves!  

[Lexenos the Gypsy Bard]

On the way home from the haunted caves, Clem passed by a group of colts and fillies telling each other scary stories. He enjoyed a few scary stories himself, but he doubted these kids had anything really good.

Then why not throw in one of his own stories? Clem grinned at the prospect.

Clem walked over to their circle, pretending to be a disapproving adult. "What's this now, are you telling scary stories?" He put on an evil grin and bent lower to the ground and whispered. "Well I have one that will blow your minds, and it's absolutely real, too.

"This story was told to me by a friend of a friend, and it was passed to me to ensure that it never happens again.

"This happened to, lets call her Life-is-Young. Now, Life-is-Young's sister, Raven Beauty had a lover, Love of Fire, and he did all sorts of not-very-smart things. He and a friend cast a spell to hurt another friend. They hurt one of their own friends, just for the fun of it! The Swamp Goddess was not happy about this at all, and sent creatures to plague these two and to punish them for what they had done. Love of Fire learned about them quickly and didn't fear them. He learned that they could not walk in light, so he slept during the day and surrounded himself by light after the sun fell. He knew that they would only be there for three days, as the Goddess works in threes. However, on the third night, he had a party for his friends, and brought the creatures with him. They tormented his friends. They mistook the wrongdoer's lovers, Raven Beauty and another doe, for the wrongdoers themselves, and went after them instead. They got to the second doe first, and three long scratches appeared across her back as everyone watched. But they healed quickly, the fact that they were inflicted was punishment enough. The doe had received punishment in place of her lover, all because Love of Fire had brought the creatures to his friends. The rest of the party began to run as the creatures showed themselves. They ran to Raven Beauty and Life-is-Young's home and they hid in a well lit room.

"However, the story doesn't end here. For Raven Beauty didn't know that the creatures would soon disappear, as it was their third and last night, so she trapped them. And instead of their vengeance dissipating, it lingered and permeated Raven Beauty's life. She could no longer see quite as well, and bad things flocked to her like giant wasps to their honey.

"Though, in the end, she and Life-is-Young realized that what was happening and freed the creatures, and life was returned to normal.

"And this, young ones, is why you should never ever hurt any living creature for no reason other than the fun of it."

Clem only stayed long enough to observe their reactions before trundling his way back home, a sly grin on his face.



(OOC: Yeah, this actually happened to my sister, i.e. "Life-is-Young." I totally wish I could describe the creatures, but they're part ape and there aren't any ape familiars. xD Also, I don't have an interest in the kiok, so I'd rather not win if I would win him, so he'd go to someone that really loves him. :3 Also, this is just over 500 words (505 to be exact), but I have no idea how you guys treat magic in Matope. Can someone PM me about having this as his story telling requirement?)  

[Jun D]

Cue Queue had an aim in mind, and when she had an aim in mind, she did not often stray from her route. But a clearing full of fillies and colts and foals pressed together was difficult to miss, and even she had to halt her step and catch a hushed whisper drift fearfully across the evening air. Spooky stories, eh? She hardly thought back to her childhood fondly, but for this, perhaps, she could make an exception, those dark, clinging nights where she and Death tried their hardest to scare each other - or at least, Cry - half to death by word alone. Those dark, clinging nights…somehow it was always Cry whose tale would silence their squabbling and send them off to a restless attempt at sleep, eyes wide open in the dark. It was such a tale of his that she turned over in her mind now, breaking off her journey to slip noiselessly amongst the young. And such a tale that it held her even now, despite his very dry way of telling - but she knew how young minds eager for fright worked, and as she leaned into the circle, heedless of their wary looks, she knew just how to make it all her own…

"Perhaps you are too young yet, and have not felt its blow," she started without fanfare, "but perhaps you have heard of your father tell, your mother tell, your brothers or sisters tell: when you are settled in, late at night, as sleep steals upon you, or when wakefulness starts to creep into your eyes before first light. Suddenly, swiftly, without warning, it comes. You were asleep - and now you are awake. Wide awake. Painfully - excruciatingly awake. Excruciating because your mind is clear, your eyes are bright - and you cannot move.

"Some will see it, some will not. Some will hear it, some will not. Some can feel its catching claws, its rasping pants hot against your cheek, others still will only feel its terrible, unbearable, inexorable crush. That unyielding crush, harder, harder, heavier, heavier, pushing down upon you, all of you, pushing you down into the earth - and you cannot move. You cannot stir a muscle, cannot twitch a hoof. You scream - you try to scream. You cry - you try to cry. Your breath catches in your throat, whirs and rattles in your throat, but no other sound comes out. All around you, there are your brothers, your sisters. All around you, they are sleeping, sweetly. But right on top of you - there it looms, pushing, pushing, crushing, crushing - crushing you. Some call it…the Nightmare. Some call it the Sitter. Some call it, simply, your Doom.

"What is it? There are kimeti who say it is a deadly creature that crawls from the deep, deep, depths of the swamp, steadily, steadily, stealthily, only in the dark of the night, when kimeti lie secure in slumber. They crawl and they crawl, till they chance upon you, a plump, tender morsel, perfect for a meal. Then they creep upon you, and crush, and crush, until breath no longer comes, and there - they drag your lifeless body back into the depths, and when your brothers and sisters wake, they find you never more. But they are easily startled, and vanish like lightning in the blink of an eye, so lucky kimeti, saved by some errant rustle of leaves, or the pitterpat of a mongoose's paw, live to tell the tale.

"And then there are kimeti, who strike hotter yet, and say it is…a demon. A monster, born from the darkness…of your heart. That craves not for your body, but your soul. Every little guilt, every single sin, every black thought that you've ever had - this is the weight that it uses to press down upon you, pressing, pressing, pushing, crushing, until you gasp your last and expire without a passing cry, buried under the sum of your own base wickedness. So remember to be good fillies and colts," she added boredly, if dutifully, rather breaking the flow a little, as a fleeting afterthought, "and don't think bad things about others. But anyway.

"These kimeti are all wrong. The truth is much - much - worse." She paused here, sweeping her sharp eyes, eerily bright set within her inky pelt, across the huddled collection of little faces. Satisfied with what she saw, she finally unveiled the horror: "the truth is nothing less…than the betrayal of your very body." At this, she lowered her eyes, allowing a tiny shudder to run down her spine. This - this was always the moment that unsettled her; in all her years, all her journeys, she had never encountered a scarier tale. To have your body betray you? She would rather die. "Yes - your very body. Your vessel. Yourself. The one element in this vast, haphazard world of which you are in perfect control - or should be, but you are not. For at these times when you slowly fall to sleep, or you slowly creep to wake - it happens, and your body is no longer your own.

"You see," and she had assumed a slightly more pedantic air, recounting the lecture her scientifically-minded brother, Cry, had given her, "your brain, here up in your head, moves your body by sending it commands, that your legs know to run, your teeth know to bite. But when you dream, naturally it ceases, so that you do not run into the water and drown yourself in your sleep. When you are almost awake, or almost asleep, though - that is where the danger lies. Are you awake? Or are you asleep? Your body does not know - and so it does not listen. You must run, you must hide, you must scream, you must cry - it does not care, it is dead to you. Your body is dead to you, and you can only lie there, swinging wild eyes, thinking wild thoughts, being crushed, crushed, crushed under the weight of your very own betrayal. Unscreaming, unmoving…until, perhaps, a passing alligator stops and takes pity on you - by eating. Every. Last. Bit. Up."

She did not wait to see the looks on their faces. All this talk of traitorous bodies had rather disquieted her, and, while she would never admit it, she was rather glad to unfold her limbs and assure herself of their unerring compliance as she made her way to her intended destination. The caves weren't too far ahead by now, and a brief smile flitted across her lips as she thought of what may lie within. She did not care much for spooks and ghouls, but, ah, perhaps more lethal creatures, ready for a fight, may prowl in that dark. A bit of adrenaline certainly wouldn't hurt to make her feel - alive!

(OOC: Yikes, this ended up a lot longer than I'd thought, sorry! Changed her usual RP colour to make it easier to read, oop. I'm posting to fulfil the Legendary storytelling req, not for the kin! The Kio is adorable, and I'm actually really really in love with that great neon smile on the buck, but...ahahah, as Cue demonstrates, I'd better keep my obsession with BRIGHTCOLOUR on darkpelt under control...)  

[Mnara]

Out of all the places those dang kids had chosen to tell their stories, it just HAD to be near his log. Dangle grumbled, taking his place upon it and grudgingly listening to the stories the babies told one another.

“Hmph. Storytelling doesn’t seem so hard.” He exclaimed after listening for a while, grinning to himself. Maybe he could scare these little pests away from his spot. He rolled his log into the group and sat down on it, staring at each foal to make the tension rise.

“It was a dim and wet night… A lone kiokote stood at the edge of the swamplands, his body patchy in color and letting off a rancid odor that had even the scavenger beasts running from him. He lumbered through the trees, seeking out babies to feed to his pet eaglehound!”

Dangle paused for effect, gasping out as if he was surprised by his own story.

“But instead of babies, he came face to face with a horrible beast, a kimeti doe with long front teeth and blood on her muzzle! A blood-sucker!”

Oh yes, he thought, this would scare the fur right off the little brats.

“They began to fight, when suddenly out of nowhere, a horribly disfigured acha with long fur charged towards them… on two legs! He howled with rage and tackled the fighting pair!”



“That’s dumb!”, a baby chimed in, almost out of the gangly newborn stage, with a tiny patchy beard forming on his chin. His shrill voice cut through the awkward silence. “Your story stinks, mister!”

“Shows what you know, kid.” Dangle sniffed, lifting his chin in the air haughtily. “I saw them all just last night. And then the eaglehound ate all three.”

“There’s no such thing as bloodsuckers or two-leg acha!” The baby shoved himself onto his feet, glancing around at the other foals. “And you didn’t make the beginning scary, it was dumb from the start. Your story should’ve gone like this!”

“Now wait a minute-“ The buck was silenced mid-protest by a snort from the kid.

The young foal settled back down, eyes narrowing as he spoke.

“The night was eerily warm, a thick fog hung over the swamplands like a blanket of moss over a log, smothering it. The heat was almost unbearable, and drove the creatures of the swamp out of their holes, seeking a fresh breath of cold air with which to fill their lungs. They gasped as they reached the edge of the fog, inhaling the clean air with gratitude.

But some beasts lived too far within the swamp, and could not escape. The fog knew this, which is why it spread itself so far across the land. It wished to trap many of the beasts within its mists, in order to help its master.”

“Master? The fog is alive? Wait a second…” Dangle interrupted, and in a flash the baby was up and in his face, eyes glaring daggers through him. The male gulped and shut his mouth.

“Its master was the eaglehound.” The baby stated, very slowly, finally taking his eyes off Dangle. “An eaglehound twice the size of any seen before, its paws engulfed in shadow, leaving death in its wake as it stepped silently across the swamp in search of beasts that had not made it out of the fog. Its feathers were pitch black, with blood red markings across its eyes, and the stains of many kills on its belly and flanks.

As the eaglehound moved, the fog floated with him, keeping the panicked beasts trapped and running frantically within it. When the eaglehound came across one, SNAP!, it ate it right up. For it was seven times as big as a normal eaglehound, you see, and could easily eat anything.

And soon the eaglehound had eaten everything left in the swamp that was smaller than itself. It moved to the plains, the fog rolling with it, and SNAP!, ate all of the trees and bushes that dared impede its movement. For it was twelve times as big as a normal eaglehound, you see, and didn’t have to take any nonsense from the ground and its minions.

And the fog engulfed the desert for the eaglehound, and SNAP!, it ate all of the dunes and even took a bite out of the moon itself. For it was twenty five times as big as a normal eaglehound, you see, and it wanted to keep growing.

And finally the fog covered the entire expanse of the sky, and the eaglehound rose into the night, and tried to eat the rest of the moon in one gulp. And SNAP!, the moon ate the eaglehound, for he was full of himself and should have stayed to his own domain. For the moon was a thousand times bigger than the eaglehound, you see, and it wanted to stay that way.

And the fog ran back to the swamp and never left again, for it wanted to be where its master could find it again, should the eaglehound ever return.”

The baby settled back into his place within the group, a smug look on his face. Dangle trembled on his log.

 

[Kalahari-Summers]

From behind the clump of foals, a pair of pale eyes, almost glowing in the near darkness, watched the congregation before the dark blue doe stepped forth, startling a few that she stepped past. Offering a few murmurs of apology, she settled herself in the center of the group, waiting for the last mutters to die down before she spoke out in her dreamy voice.

“Have any of you children ever heard the tale of Moth Breath?”

When several shook their head, she smiled.

“Well then, Moth Breath was one of the most beautiful does in all the swamp. Bucks went weak-kneed at the sight of her beauty, and at night her fur glowed with a luminescence like a mirage out of a dream. But Moth Breath was haughty and vain, and she used her beauty like a tool to get others to do her bidding. The Swampmother saw this and disapproved, but for a long time She didn’t interfere, hoping the doe would change her ways. Many bucks tried to woo her in hopes of turning her vanity to kindness, but she only used them and left them strewn in her wake like fallen leaves from a tree.

“Finally the Swampmother had seen enough of Moth Breath’s horrible ways, and on a dark, foggy night She crafted a moth of such breath-taking enchantment that the moment Moth Breath saw it she found herself unable to look away. Its glowing wings fluttered and sparkled, leaving behind it a shimmering dust trail that Moth Breath followed without a second thought.”

Butterflies paused, exhaling softly so that the foals could almost imagine the moth fluttering close by.

“Onward, onward, the moth flitted through the swamp, Moth Breath following behind it like a foal behind its mother. Slowly, the paths grew twisted and choked by growth, but still she followed the moth, tripping and stumbling but never once letting her gaze tear away from the enchanting insect.

“Finally it came to a hovering halt at the edge of a perfectly circular, perfectly still, black as night pool of water. Moth Breath glanced down for an instant, then realized with growing horror where it was going to take her, but her legs froze against her will when she tried to flee; slowly, the moth started forward once more, and Moth Breath found that she couldn’t utter a single cry as her legs started after the moth of their own accord.”

She paused again, feeling the wide-eyed, captivated gazes of all the foals, a combination of fear and suspense in their eyes.

“Step by step by step, ever so slowly the water lapped at her hooves, up her legs, shoulders, neck… and a single tear escaped Moth Breath’s eye as she sunk beneath the water without a single ripple. Her glowing fur lit up the water as she sunk deeper and deeper into the depths until the entire pool was lit up with an eerie glow.

“So for those of you who are beautiful or handsome and think to use your looks as a tool, remember Moth Breath… or some day it will be you, following an enchanting moth to the depths of a pool, glowing with the light from Moth Breath’s fur…”

Butterflies breathed out gently, her story rewarded by the shivering of several foals. And then, with a wispy laugh, Butterflies turned and stepped away from the group, tail swishing idly as she went on her way.

(I would like to count this as her storytelling req, please! <3 Winning a kin is still nice though. =w= )  

[SerinaNight]

Shadowed Moon watched from his place near a lone tree as a small group on young ones whispered to each other, giggling and trying to create a scare. After a few moments of watching them he stood up and approached. While the current amount of light was limited, it was enough to shine off his fur, making him appear to glow. A young foal glanced up and gasped in fear, falling over backwards. This caused the others to look up as well. Shadowed Moon chuckled at their scared looks. "Fear not, I am not a ghost." Chuckling again he settled down amongst the children.

Glancing over them as they stared at him he smiled. "So, interested in hearing a story? I figure you've probably fun a bit low by now." Several children nodded, though others looked like they had plenty of tall tales left to tell. When no one objected he paused, glancing up at the sky. After taking a moment to compose his thoughts he turned to the group once more. "Ready?" Nods rippled though the young around him.

"Once, some years ago, there were two young foals, like yourself. It was a clear night, the crisp air brushing through the trees, much like now." He watched a few foals shudder as a small gust of wind blew past. "These young foals had decided to explore the depths of the swamp, alone, as they had come to the conclusion they were safe from all harm, and no matter what they did, everything would turn out fine. It had before." Several of the fillies and colts looked at each other, as though they had done similar things in their pasts. "As they walked deeper, and deeper into the swamp, the sky began to darken, as clouds moved to cover the moon. It quickly became so dark, they could barely see their own nose in front of them. This however, did not stop these two. No, they were fearless, nothing would stop them!"

"As they trudged through the muck of the swamp, they came upon a break in the clouds. Seeing the moonlight breaking through they headed towards it. Eventually they reached a small body of water. While they couldn't tell the depth of the lake, they decided to move closer, and explore the shallows. The boy was content with this, he was enjoying watching patterns created by the movement of his feet. However, the girl decided that despite the danger, she would attempt to discover the depth of the dark water. Moving outwards, away from her brother, she trotted forward happily. However, the water was much deeper then she had expected, and suddenly the ground was no longer beneath her feet. Feeling her body drop beneath the surface she didn't even have time to gasp for a breath of air."

Shadowed Moon glanced at the shivering children around him, several looking like they were regretting previous actions they had taken. One small filly looked up at him. "Wha- what happened to her?" She asked, tears beginning to fill her eyes. Shadowed Moon smiled softly, "She was rescued. You see, luckily, their father had noticed their absence and gone out looking for them." Several of the older colts groaned, and almost before he had finished his sentence one cut in. "You're just making this up! There's no way that happened!" Several shouts of agreement rang out. However, before anymore of the children could speak, a young mare approached, a matching colored stag behind her.



"It's true." Watery Depths said, walking up behind her father. "I was the silly young foal who decided to test the dangers of the swamp. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be here today." Motioning to her brother behind her she added, "Just ask him."

Murky Shallows nodded as the children turned to look at him. "I almost went in after her." He said softly. "If father hadn't come when he did, who knows what would have..." Trailing off, he just looked at the children, his black eyes glinting just as much as his fathers coat. They seemed to be paralysed in fear.

Shadowed Moon smiled up at this children, before glancing at the young group around him once more. "As you can see, the swamp is much more dangerous then you think. No matter what, don't test it." The children simply watched in silence, several looking terrified as they gazed at Watery Depths.

Suddenly, Watery Depths dropped down next to her father and smiled at the staring young ones. "So... who wants to hear a ghost story?" Several enthusiastic responses echoed through the group as the mood seemed to lift. Smirked Watery Depths began her story while her father and brother watched with a smile.

----------

((Since Shadowed Moon's portion of the story is over 500 words, I figure it will count as the story for him. I don't intend for this to count for Murky Shallows and Watery Depths I just thought having them there would make sense. Those of you that saw that story and looked at the twins names... yes, it is related. I've known their naming dream since they were named, but have yet to write it (wrote it after posting this). This is when their naming dream came true.))

((I would like this to also be a story for winning the skeleton kins, not just Shadowed Moon's story requirement.))  

[Mnara]

Humble had stumbled upon the gathering and listened in silence for quite some time, but during a pause in the conversations, he stepped forward to call upon a tale of his own.

"There was once an Acha of great power who lived deep within the desert by himself. He was long in limb and fair in coat, and his knowledge was more vast than the waters bordering our great swamp. He thirsted not for water or companionship, only for more power, in order to secure his place in the world and become ageless. But no amount of power can be conjured up from nothing, so the Acha, in his knowledge, knew he must take it from others.

His kin were frivolous and light-hearted, with no consideration for the future. Their days were spent frolicking and taking from the desert sands whatever they pleased. The powerful Acha saw their wasted lives and hungered for the time they threw aside carelessly.

With the help of a group of foxbun, he spent many months crafting a small mockery of an Acha, woven together of oasis grass, vines, and colored rocks. He did not eat or sleep, nor take of the waters he visited for materials. Once finished, he spoke words of evil over the doll, and placed it outside of his den.

It was not long until a pair of friends arrived outside his home, and seeing the doll, they coveted it and took it for themselves. They argued over who would keep it, butting heads and bruising one another like no two friends ever should.

Many nights they snuck into one another's homes and stole the doll in order to gain more time with it. Weeks passed, and the two friends lost energy and joy with each passing dawn. Their heads were heavy, their eyes dulled and foggy, and nothing made their tails or ears twitch with laughter as before.

One morning the first of the friends snuck to the second's home, in his usual attempt to steal the grass doll and have it for his own for the day. He came upon an unusual sight - his friend was completely refreshed, his eyes bright and a smirk upon his face. Bits of grass stuck to his horns, and when he grinned, pieces of it stuck out of his teeth. The renewed Acha handed the doll to his weary companion...

The weary Acha reached out, but once the doll was touched, it caused him to collapse. The doll took on the last bit of his energy. The mockery sprang up and grew life sized, and its colors became that of the fallen Acha, The only reminder of what it had been were small bits of grass in its fur, and a single shiny stone between its teeth. The weary Acha in turn shrank and became grass, and his heart was no more. The grass wove itself together into a new doll, and the two stolen forms made their way back to the den, doll in tow.

The powerful Acha was pleased with his new sources of energy, and his strength grew that night.

And the doll went back outside to wait for a time when more greedy creatures would steal what did not belong to them."

He took a deep breath, his eyes fogged over.

"You must never allow yourself to take what is not your own, little ones. Lest you wish to become energy for the powerful one..."


((I'd like for this story to count towards Humble's legendary requirements, please. n_n My other story can be an entry for the spookies. And that's all my brain can handle.))

 

[hybridic]

Inspired by a scene from this RP between Meets-the-Sea and Wave Walker, specifically the following quote:

Flayre the Pyro Girl

In fact, there are tales of a lone, ghostly blue and black doe who wandered the shores, but those are only tales told by mothers to frighten children into staying in sight. And yet here is a blue and black doe rising from the tides right in front of Wave Walker!

"Are you the ghost doe mothers talk about?" she blurts randomly at the approaching figure.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I have a story," a voice from behind the surrounding trees interrupts, the sound carrying strangely across the clearing in the hush that follows the previous kin's tale. It is later now, darker, the last remaining glow of light from the sun fading beyond the tops of the mangrove trees. When the speaker steps out from behind the trees it is impossible to tell what she looks like – her silhouette against the darkening horizon is enough to show she is a doe, but that is all. She does not come close enough for the gathering of young kin’s eyes to make out her patterning, but stays at a distance, close to the trees. Her voice, when she continues to speak, is soft and light, almost shy.

“It is a story of the sea – have you ever seen the sea, little ones? It is a vast expanse of water, all brine and salt and crashing waves, undrinkable and strong enough to pull unsuspecting kin out to its unfathomable depths to drown. But it is also a beautiful thing – alive with creatures unlike anything found on land and full of a strange beauty that tugs at your heart.” The doe pauses for a moment, letting her words sink in, and then continues –

“It is at the shore of this beautiful and dangerous ocean that my story takes place. Although the life is difficult, there is a clan of kimeti who live there – a family of friends and children and mothers and daughters and sons who work together to brave the harsh conditions of the seaside in order to live in harmony with its dangerous beauty – that call themselves the Tidewalkers.

Among this clan there is tale that the mothers tell their children in the hopes that they will not stray too far from the eyes of their watchful family members. The story tells of a mysterious ghostly doe, one who does not belong to the Tidewalkers clan, who can be seen sometimes along the oceanside – running along the rocky cliffs, leaping into the waves, emerging unharmed from the crashing and roiling waters. This mysterious doe, when encountered, never speaks, disappearing into the sea when she is approached. Sometimes, when the children of the Tidewalkers clan look out beyond the crashing waves at night, they fancy they can see her head, blue and black, peeking up above the breakers, her pale legs turned to the silvery-white sea foam beneath her.

‘Beware the ghost doe,’ the mothers tell their daughters, believing she is the specter of an unfortunate kimeti from times past who had her life taken by the wild ocean. ‘Never stray too far past the breakers,’ fathers say to their sons, warning them of the dangerous currents that will pull them out to sea at the ghost doe’s bidding. ‘She is lonely,’ the parents of the Tidewalkers tell their children, ‘and will not hesitate to drown you, in hopes of having more kin to keep her company amongst the crashing waves.’

For many generations the Tidewalkers have told this story, although sometimes the details change. Only recently has the doe gained the description of the blue and black colors, the silvery-white legs that turn into sea foam at the touch of the ocean waves. This is because…” here the doe pauses, steps forward towards the gathering of young kin, a ray from the rising moon shining down on her through the tree branches, revealing her black and blue back, the silvery-gray of her legs… “I am the one whom the Tidewalkers warn their children of.”

There is silence from around the clearing as the doe looks at each of the young ones in turn, her face blank. And then, with a soft smile, she continues. “I am no ghost, no apparition whose aim is to drag children out to sea to drown them. I am flesh and blood, kin like any other. I run into the waves for the love of the sea, disappear when others approach for no reason other than my own shyness.” She pauses, trying to put in words the lesson she wishes to impart to these young children of the swamp. “I hope that this story will teach you to look deeper before judging your fellow kin by appearances alone.” And then, a moment later, with a small laugh: “And also to listen to your parents, and to never underestimate the powers of nature. For surely long ago there was really a doe who was taken by the sea, and this story is truly hers, not my own.”

Her tale finished, Meets-the-Sea stands in silence, beginning to feel nervous from all of the eyes upon her. She is not sure what strange force prompted her to tell her tale – she seemed almost possessed by the story itself, losing herself and her fears in it. But now the anxiety comes back and she feels herself begin to blush, embarrassed. Bowing her head once to the small gathering of kin, Meets turns on her hooves and runs off into the trees, back to the safety of her solitude.

((entering for Meets' legendary requirements, not for the kin. wink ))

 

[Flayre The Pyro Girl]

From the deep shadows surrounding the circle of trembling foals stepped a buck whose blue coat seemed to shimmer and wave. "I," said he, "am called Evening Tide, and I have a story to share. Sit back, and listen well, to the story of Growth of All."

"Once, long, long ago, there was a buck named Growth of All. He was a very ingenious buck, for he learned that the Motherfather’s creations would be grown by Kimeti with the desire to do so. And so he made orchards of swamp apple and orange trees, grown from seeds Growth had collected from fruit he had eaten.

One day, he noticed that his trees were not doing as well as they had in the past, and wondered what he could do to make them fruitful again. He spent many days observing the trees and other plants around the Swamp, trying to figure out what made them so strong. And he noticed something: everywhere that a carcass had fallen, the trees and bushes seemed to be strong and full.

This discovery made Growth of All think long and hard. He didn’t particularly wish to kill another creature just so his hobby could thrive, but he did want his hobby to continue. So he thought and thought and considered and rejected ideas for many many days, watching his trees wither and die one by one, until there was only one mango tree left. And then he came upon an idea in which he could find no flaw: crocodiles.

Crocodiles are a Kin’s natural enemy, and only the bravest and the strongest of Kimeti can face up against a crocodile and live. But Growth was a strong, heavy buck, muscled by birth and made stronger by moving his trees, so a crocodile would be no problem for him to engage.

Growth of All set out a trap by a crocodile-infested river, and waited for a hapless creature to take the bait. He didn’t wait long: the scent of fresh meat brought an enormous crocodile swimming right up to where Growth had been waiting. Intent on it’s meal, the crocodile never felt the sharp hoof of Growth of All striking its bony head and killing it instantly.

Growth dragged the dead crocodile to his orchard, where his lone tree was half-withered and dying more each day. Growth of All laid the crocodile at the base of the tree, and waited for the Motherfather to absorb his offering. And so the Motherfather did.

Not long after the death of the crocodile, the mango tree grew strong and healthy again, and produced fruit. Growth was overjoyed, for he now knew how to keep his trees strong. But something was wrong with the fruit. Instead of its usual mottled red and green skin color, the rind of the mangoes he pulled from the tree were a deep crimson color, and they dripped a sticky red liquid when touched. Growth of All thought it had something to do with the tree’s recovery, and ate the red mangoes.

Two days after he ate his first red mango, Growth noticed that he could not focus on what he was doing, and kept getting dizzy, like a colt spinning in circles. Not long after that, Growth of All went insane and killed another Kimeti and devoured her. And another, and another. Eventually, tales of the mad Kimeti made the rounds, and Kin began avoiding his area. Growth then turned his voracious appetite to his mangoes, and once he had eaten them all, he lost his sight, and then his hearing. Soon after, he was dead, for his heart had ceased beating.

There was something Growth did not know. When the crocodile blood was added to the ground around the mango tree, it soaked into the roots of the tree and tainted the fruit. The crocodile blood was so vile, it drove Growth of All mad, just by eating the tainted fruit. Bloodfruit."

"The moral is this: do not trust the crocodiles, and be aware: for everything the Motherfather created, She will love, and will not appreciate the reckless use of their lives."  

[fluorescein]

Like a general rallying the troops, Doom hustled and conversed with each and every young one, a jibe here, a playful n** there and soon enough she was the center of everyone’s attention. She huffed a fallen lock to the side, roguish delight turning each corner of her mouth upward. “Pipsqueaks” she heralded them false affection, “I’m here to tell you something very important. I will divulge a secret, but can you promise to not let it spread? I fear… I do not have long in this world.” She had a faraway look in her eye and sighed oh so softly “They’re after me” she whispered quietly. She showed restraint and only after a short while did she wink. “But that’s for another story. I’m here to tell you to keep your guard. I care very much about the future of the swamp. I hope to one day have a brood of my own.” Again, that faraway look. Was she wistful or thinking of a departed love one? “But until then, I think of all the young ones as my own. I hope you can learn from my wisdom. You all are going to be very important one day.” And then her story began:

There once was a nefarious kimeti on the prowl. She was entirely black from head to toe, the only thing darker was her heart. She was inky enough that she absorbed light. Where she walked, she was this black cloud that seeped the life out of the things, the joy and happiness out of kimeti and all else. Even birthing sacks shriveled in her wake and she didn't always pass on. By her touch, she spoiled fruit. She was the empty, vacuous flame that enticed the moth. She lived so long, too long that others whispered about her ability to steal youth or life from others; she walked paths even MotherFather was not too keen about.

Completely heartless, she was alone. She trekked through the swamp, crossing borders, overcoming opposition and in some instances, retreating. Unrelenting was her quest to fill her empty void. Unsatisfied with a period of her life she termed her "fungus" years, she sought to breathe underwater; she left a black bog behind. An attempt at sand art created pits of sinking sand. And for those flowers she tried to cultivate, welcome to the swamp, carnivorous bulbs! Ivy she wrapped around her body mutated into their poisonous cousins. She had her place in the swamp so MotherFather let her continue. Her touch, contaminated. For the lonely bugs who envied their flying feathered brethren, she gave them wings and their own inverted beaks, this time tipped in poison. "Wasps" she called them. She completely changed the landscape of the swamp. They called her the Black Plague and she reigned in her misery. But all good things must come to an end. She continued for an unnatural length of time until the cries became too loud and numerous that the Great Swan awoken early for her sleep.

But asleep she just was. Powers still sluggish and compromised, MotherFather struck with cunning grace! Shedding a crystalline shell, she flung the seed with might to the heart of her beloved swamp. There, ushered in by dreams of a new era, and unrelenting waves of hope of her children, it took the land and grew overnight. Black, bold and strewn with golden sunlight, was a fruiting tree of indeterminable height. If a kimeti to were peer their head back, right before the treetop disappeared into oblivion, right a the cusp of straining the eye too much, was a soft, white fruit. The deed done, the Crane waited.

And so then she came. Something new, something fun, the tree was talked about in whispers. She circled her new fixation. It was a tree. And upon looking at its white jewel, she felt her hunger take on new proportions. She scaled the bark but her hooves couldn't seek purchase. She dragged other fallen trees to add new height. She added to the trees until it loomed over all other trees. Still, not enough. She tried to cajole the mongoose and foxbuns to do her bidding. But they failed and she let loose her touch on them; They became badgers with huge, decisive teeth. Seasons passed, and still she tried. The Crane still waited; for as long as the kimeti was preoccupied, life would resume. Finally, it happened. The doe would accredit her wit, but really, the Crane had had enough. It was time. As the doe scrambled up the trunk her last time, the branches swooped in like beautiful hawks and caught up. Predator to their prey, she was theirs, and they became hers until they shared the same flesh. As they fused, the tree bowed and lost its captivating, lush fruit. The leaves crumpled to the ground, but the doe was a nasty mean old thing. They say if you see a blackened, bleeding tree, you would do well to avoid it. There's a reason why there's a gaping hole in its trunk and why flesh blood always trickles through its crevices. You can even hear its heartbeat. She might snatch and gobble you up. The tree's still very much alive and hungry you see.

And so Doom finished her tale and watched them sit in silence, looking up at nearby trees quizzically and accusingly. She made way to return when the commotion happened. Look-See, the nearly blind doe and Doom's sister, haphazardly bumbled into the captivated audience. Thinking she was facing Doom, she addressed this concern to an ashen faced filly: "Doom, will you please stop putting so much blood around that damn tree of yours? I slipped this time and gone knicked myself"

Guilty, Doom looped off. Seems like she needed to find a new hiding place for her Rise and Co. goods. When it came to salted duck, she had a major hoarding issue.

((I am trying for the skeleton kimeti only. Also, for Doomsie's leg requirements)  

[Bloody Anubis]

The night was still young when a brightly colored buck and doe worked to nudge a trio of new lives into the gathering. They were a family, yes, but not in the way that many thought. The younglings were clearly the budding brood of the doe, but their relation to the buck was circumspect. While he was bright, none of his hues seemed inherent in the foals, nor did there appear to be a hint of the bone markings he bore across his back.

Truth be told, having children had made Facade exceptionally bossy these days. Her naturally good heart (though this was debatable, considering she was bringing her impressionable children to a horror story circle) had burgeoned over with a manic need to impress its charities on others. Specifically, she had decided that Grave Touch really needed to break from his day job, and time in the company of kimeti who were more than mournful.

Why she seemed to think that would come from the Day of the Dead, Grave Touch had no idea. He was also a little concerned that his younger sister was trying to give him relationship advice. But in some ways, she was right - it was a nice break to spend time with his relatives, and Facade's energy was practically contagious. Knowing of her fascination for the scary, it was easy to see why she was quite eager to jump in and share one of her latest concoctions with the crowd.

Once they had all settled in, Facade left the children sitting in the shadow of their bright uncle and took centerstage practically on the tail of the last storyteller. Not only was it her first real public performance (she was used to single listeners), but she was extra excited to show off in front of her foals.

She told the tale of a mud monster, a creature that would devour those who went into the deep mud. When she was done, she glanced over to her older brother, willing him to take a step up. Grave Touch was amused by her tale, and sensed the look was somewhat suggestive that she needed a distraction.

Sighing, he stepped away from the children and entered the crowd. Unlike Facade, he had often waited before gatherings, though granted, they had always been solemn affairs.

"This story," Grave Touch's voice was low, thoughtful. His bright eyes seemed far, "Begins like so many of mine - with a death. It was once my most firm belief that, when our time is done in this world, the part that makes the individual unique passes in peace to the Motherfather. I justify this by telling you that, up until the time of Honeyblossom's funeral, I had only seen very natural deaths, kimeti who had lived their lives and met the White Kimeti on a path in their sleep.

Nothing about Honeyblossom's death was natural. Indeed, it took a few days before her burial was allowed because her family called a kimeti to investigate. I will spare you the detail of her state, but suffice to say that, when she was finally left to me, it was imperative to bury her straight away and hold her service over a memorial instead.

I can tell you that she was very beautiful, and that she did not deserve the cruelty that was wrought upon her. Even the cold-blooded crocodile kills its prey before it does away with their bodies. I am no sort of expert in the matter of murder, but even I could tell that Honeyblossom had suffered greatly before her spirit finally escaped."

Unlike Facade's story, there was no flash of a sly smile, no twinkle of mirth. Just as much, this buck welcomed no light from the crowd and gave each uncertain smile an impassive, solemn stare.

"I felt sorry for her. Generally, I collect the flowers for a grave before the service and keep them at the ready for any occasion. But I had not been prepared for this possibility, because I had never considered that another kimeti could commit such a travesty upon its fellow, much less a former lover. That was what the investigator had decided - that the untimely death of Honeyblossom had been the brutal result of a lover's spat.

I brought the best arrangement that I could to Honeyblossom's service. I recall being complimented for them, but my heart was still heavy. To me, they were not nearly enough. And so, after the service, I went searching.

I wandered far with my thoughts of Honeyblossom, skirting away from the normal places I gain my flowers. It had turned pitch black before I realized that I had become very lost in the swamp. I decided to lay down for the night but, on my journey to find a place to rest, something on the path caught my eye.

It was a flower. Just one. I had never seen a one like it, and I have never seen one like it since. It did nothing less than glow, pale but bright, like the fleas in the sky. I knew it was for her. When I plucked it, it seemed as if all fatigue slipped from me. I saw no reason not to carry it back then and there, so I did. It was strange, but comforting as well, to have this as a guide.

When I think on it now, I do not know how I possibly found my way home without the light of day. I suppose it may be too romantic to say that because my darker thoughts had led me into this path, my brighter hopes were able to lead me out again... Or perhaps it was part of the strange power of the glowing plant, which was bitter upon the tongue but frightfully rejuvenating.

When I reached Honeyblossom's grave, however, and laid the flower upon the mound atop the tributes from her family, I was tired again and thought nothing more. I do not recall falling asleep, but I remember dreaming. I dreamt of Honeyblossom, or... the image of what I thought she must have been, flaxen-furred and carefree, with a passion that had endeared her to many as much as it had been the cause of her untimely demise. She had worn many flowers and feathers in her mane, but with me, she only wore the one - that blossom I had found in the dark. Together, we went walking in twilight and talked - I can't remember what she told me, but I felt I could understand why so many had loved her. I cannot remember the words in her song, but I often find myself humming the tune when I am alone and working.

Eventually the trees gave way, and we began to climb a hill. I could almost see what lay above when she stopped me and said the journey ahead was hers alone to take."

Some sorrow finally etched itself into Grave Touch's voice at the mention of being asked to leave. One got the sense that he wasn't often in company of others.

"So I traveled back into the swamp, but no matter how far I got, her voice followed me, singing. When I awoke, I almost thought that she was there, singing me to wakefulness as much as she had deeper sleep. When I sat up, however, there was nothing. No sound at all. No one and nothing, save for the shape of the memorial I did not remember leaving behind. I lay there thinking and watching.

I thought I would like to see the flower I had brought, now that daylight had come. Would it be as radiant as the night had shaped it to be?

Imagine my surprise when I drew closer and found the burial site had been disturbed. It isn't uncommon for the other denizens of the swamp to come and investigate our tributes -often enough, foxbuns have come to partake of the flowers we leave- but the way the collection was far-flung was strange indeed. I confess I was ludicrous enough with my recent sleep that I thought the b*****d that killed Honeyblossom had come to torment her further after death. And while I was sleeping only a few yards away! I felt that I had failed Honeyblossom in some way but, more than that, I was angry and terrified that he might have dug her up.

Seeing no one in the immediate area to contact, I went to search the grave. Indeed, the ground had been disturbed. The tributes from the doe's family and myself were strewn haphazard around the site. If the flower I'd brought the night before was there, I could not find it. Many things were trampled down, but more as if they had been stepped on by some careless creature passing through, not someone who had deliberately come to destroy the gravesite. For this, I had calmed down some, and sought instead to examine the soil.

It's hard for me to describe what I saw... the soil was pulled inward, something like a sinkhole. It's possible that some creature could have come along to paw at it, but became disinterested. If something had dug into the grave, they hadn't gone far, because there wasn't much fresh soil outside of the mound.

At the bottom of this depression, I found something strange. It was a feather, but it was sooty and ragged."

He could see that the realization had dawned upon some of the older listeners, but Grave Touched licked his maw and continued on.

"I have been digging graves for many years now, so seeing the state of the feather perplexed and terrified me. You see, as you go deeper into the ground of the swamp, the soil blackens with moisture and the rot of many things. It has a particular look and smell.

That feather smelled of that deeper soil. When I realized this, I took another look at the surrounding area...

It, too, was peppered with signs of that dark peat.

Now how, I ask you, could deep soil reach the surface with barely any evidence of topsoil to come with it?

Could it be that something had not dug into the grave... but out?"

The words were allowed to linger in the still air for a moment.

"Before anyone asks - I did not dig into Honeyblossom's grave, nor do I intend to disclose its location to anyone. No matter what you or I may think, the dead are not to be disturbed once we have given their bodies to the Motherfather.

Whether they choose to disturb themselves is another matter entirely.

...

The last I heard, they were still looking for the buck they suspected of murdering Honeyblossom. No doubt he fled far once he heard that there was an investigation. Sometimes I dare to think, however, that if they ever find his bones, they'll also find the evidence of petals trapped within his throat.

I don't know if that makes me terrible or not."

Grave Touch bowed his head to signal the end of the story, then rose to slip humbly back into the surrounding crowd.

As he did, though, a terrible, burbling cry came from the outside of the gathering.

A creature covered in mud came lurching through the crowd, feigning an attack at those who sank back or screamed. Facade's story, combined with Grave Touch's tale of a dirt-clad doe, made an excellent set-up for Facade to come show off her ingenuity in monstrous disguises.

She'd managed to chase a screeching colt away from the group before she finally turned to playfully flick mud at the crowd, warranting some startled laughter that eventually became amusement.

After that, the family gave attention back to the other storytellers.