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 Posted: Thu Aug 22, 2013 12:48 am
The wisps called her to step forward. Hesitantly, she did . . . And trees stood before her in time, coming into sight like ghosts as the little lights led her. She was reminded of the tales of will o' wisps, but she had no fear of dying--not after all she had gone through.
The lights led her to a specific tree, the quiet humming in the background having lulled her into a little soul search without trying. Stormy was curious about how the tree seemed to exude warmth, how it seemed to . . . throb minutely like a heartbeat. Was it a live?
In a sense. It--She--was dying.
Stormy did not hesitate to lend her aid. Something tugged at her the way its melancholia reached out like intangible branches to her, leaves rustling and drooping in their death.
[ size of acorn: 16 mm ]
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medigel rolled 2 10-sided dice:
9, 7
Total: 16 (2-20)
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Posted: Thu Aug 22, 2013 1:05 am
She was a little surprised to see that the lake stretched out in front of her before she knew it, almost pure white by the way the lights glowed. All in all she felt like she stuck out as a sore thumb of color and shadow against the bland landscape . . . But the trees were like bones to her, if she thought hard enough: thin, long-fingered hands trying to reach for the sky. That would suit her better, though she did not know why a forest of death would make her feel safer. Better than a shadow forest, she supposed . . . Nothing but serenity lurked here.
Drawn to the water's odd music, Stormy dipped an ear in to listen. Heal my children, the voice begged in sweet tones she found herself sympathizing with. Well, if it was that simple to, then . . .
She scooped up what she could, though her hands were small; but nobody could say Stormy didn't try. The lights guided her to a particular tree, and on it she splashed the sacred water. Miraculously, a sizable acorn grew from the limb and fell before her as the tree withered in turn with quiet thanks.
She did not know what to say, and instead stood quiet vigil for a while. She was oddly touched by the "birth", so to speak . . .
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medigel rolled 1 10-sided dice:
2
Total: 2 (1-10)
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Posted: Thu Aug 22, 2013 1:09 am
Quote: Your character exists in a timeline where everyone eventually became consumed by Insanity. Everything is grey now, chaotic and bleak. All you can hear are the voices, and the voices of the Queens that reside over you, lording over everything you do. You exist just a little better than a worker bee. Regardless of if you are Human, Halloween, or Horsemen, you are simply broken remains of yourself, mutated beyond recognition. A claw, hand, arms, limbs, everything has merged together in a distorted shattered world. All else you can interpret as you please, including roles and canon. You are only writing your character's POV but you can borrow NPCs and any players characters you got permission from.
The Queens were tyrannical at times, yes, but if you worked together, you could accomplish anything. Teamwork was the key to all things: After all, have only several working limbs was a hassle.
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medigel rolled 1 10-sided dice:
6
Total: 6 (1-10)
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Posted: Thu Aug 22, 2013 1:10 am
Quote: Your character is a private eye detective, and this time, they have been hired on what is claimed to be an unsolvable case. You arrive there with only your handy notepad and your own, sharp eye. Something about the case seems odd, from the body, to the events happening, something paranormal. You feel like there is more to the story than what you've been given, but you can't place a finger on it, not quite yet. If you are a horsemen, hunter, or student, it doesn't matter, you are a detective, in Film Noir setting (in the 1930's). You are only writing your character's POV but you can borrow NPCs and any players characters you got permission from.
"It was a night so dark, chocolate was envious."
The client, garbed to the heel in mourning, stared at the detective she had consulted with confusion.
"I stood before the woman, cigar in hand, just about ready to leave the office and catch myself some dulcet vocals from one Louis Armstrong. She looked as though she could have melted with the pouring rain outside."
"Are . . . you going to help me, Madame Ortega?"
Stormy held out her cigar (a lollipop) to hush the woman. "The corpse was as fresh as a pot of marigolds, though this guy was pushing daisies," she went on to narrate as she explored the odd, deformed corpse. It was going to be a long, but ultimately intriguing, night of investigation.
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medigel rolled 1 10-sided dice:
10
Total: 10 (1-10)
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Posted: Thu Aug 22, 2013 1:11 am
Quote: Rolling a 10: All characters in this world have the special ability that when they hit a certain age, they can summon a creature form of themselves. The most powerful are the zodiac creatures, the twelve animals that govern the zodiac (starting with Rat --> Pig), the least powerful are the lesser creatures that govern them, such as pidgeons, etc. When doing this prompt, look at all the minor achievements your character has collected. If you have less than 10, write for a less powerful one, if you have less than 20 write for an average one, if you have more than 21 write for a greater zodiac creature. How do they bond/ what is their role in this world/ how do they communicate with each other is entirely up to you. You are only writing your character's POV but you can borrow NPCs and any players characters you got permission from.
"It'll be okay," Stormy assured her with a pat, remembering to put on her bright smile as she entered.
Other than being spacious, the atrium was bare of detail. There were benches and several comfier chairs about, but otherwise the room was one of air and light--the glass roof above showcased what a beautiful day it was outside.
It was the perfect day to begin teaching the younglings about their manifestations, and how to begin synchronizing with them.
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Posted: Thu Aug 22, 2013 1:13 am
Quote: Your character is a wizard that goes to Pigfarts, the most prestigious wizarding school of them all. It is their first year transferring into the school, and they are scared they will be sorted into Serpentarius, the rumoured "bad group" among the four sorted groups. You secretly hope you will either be part of the Pegasi (hard working, but not very intelligent), Leo (Brave and noble), or even the Capricorns (Intelligent). If you are a horsemen, hunter, or student, it doesn't matter, you are a student of Pigfarts. You are only writing your character's POV but you can borrow NPCs and any players characters you got permission from.
Stormy had never once giggled at the name like her peers had. She was a witch who knew about the integrity and alumni of the school: amazing people by the way. She didn't have to read tea leaves or cast a spell to know where she was headed. It was the house sorting that really got the witch's knickers in a twist.
Capricorn. Oh Merlin, let me be a Capricorn . . . This was her nervous mantra as one of the professors began to call out names.
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Posted: Thu Aug 22, 2013 1:16 am
Quote: Your character exists in a timeline where the horsemen Apocalypse actually occurred. Basically the Horsemen (four clans) have taken over the Human World. If you are a horsemen you dominate this world, if you are a Hunter you exist as food, if you are part of Halloween you exist as the Resistance fighting against the horsemen. All else you can interpret as you please, including roles and canon. You are only writing your character's POV but you can borrow NPCs and any players characters you got permission from.
Food or not, the remaining hunters had created a resistance--just a small pocket with numbers that dwindled monthly, but it was still enough to give Stormy some hope. A job fell to everyone, however, and divisions still played a key. Suns worked on training others for battle, Moons looked into injuries with Lifers or into reinforcing their ramshack headquarters, what Lifers were not aiding that effort being part of the experimental branch, looking into solutions for various problems (namely new strains of Fear disease, if not attempts to combat the horsemen with viral warfare), Death ran reconnaissance and scouting parties to see if possible parts or resources could be scavenged (and interrogation, if need be), and Mists had to circulate at a pace that made her head spin.
At least it kept her busy. Better than to sit and feel useless.
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Posted: Fri Aug 23, 2013 12:35 pm
When she tried to return to the lake, she was met instead with a very different sight: out of the fog and bare trees she could pick out a large castle, and her heart began to pick up its pace for a moment. The serenity of the moment was heightened by the flickering lights and the sound of water. Storm reluctantly turned her eyes down from the castle to the various pools around, struck with indecision. Dark did not seem correct, and the warm water might be . . . she didn't know. Too much? Warm water was odd to drink at any rate. The rest seemed out of place to her, as much as the light pool looked to be correct.
No, plain water should do it. From something ordinary could the extraordinary grow!
The price of taking on the painful memories was okay. Stormy still remembered the ones she had journeyed through, so a little more was nothing--if it meant saving something, she didn't mind. Carefully, she poured the water she had over her sapling, watching it shake and shift.
"Are you satisfied with what I have become?"
Her hands curled to her chest as a sad smile came to her. The tree would finally have a guardian to protect it, to make sure it would live on and carry its mother's legacy. A wyrm was perfect: frightening and powerful and large enough to protect it all. But her smile was sad, because it meant her journey was over.
"You are perfect."
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Posted: Fri Aug 23, 2013 1:58 pm
Her name was Virginia Wolfe, after the author. She was a hybrid who had some sort of Labrador and Australian Shepherd in her: thick and dark speckled coat, warm brown eyes, mothering instincts that sometimes spoiled the child. She was a decent size and around three years old when they took her from the pound: healthy, if a bit shy.
Nine year old Ursulina took to her almost immediately; she'd always bonded better with animals than with people.
Virginia was her mother when Mami was busy with the shop. Virginia was her father when Papi was out of town. And Virginia was her sister when her actual one chose instead to be her enemy. Ursulina spoke to the dog like she was a real person, letting her be a sort of audio diary that would record her thoughts of the day. She was the smartest, the most affectionate, and the most protective creature Ursulina knew--and it fostered in her a pride she never knew before.
Responsibility was hard to learn at first: walking, feeding, coat care, baths, picking up after her. Ursulina would grow lazy at times, but she would always get back to work when her parents threatened to take her back to the shelter. Nothing was more precious to her than Virginia, not when she was ten, not when she was eleven, not when she was twelve nor thirteen. At fourteen, sure, boys were stating to come into the picture, and yes, high school was looming over her with the graduation from eighth grade. But Virginia had been there from the beginning; she seemed like she could live forever.
Which was why her disappearance was the greatest betrayal. Ursulina did not understand her mother's explanation, that one day she had let Virginia lope outside and had forgotten to lock the gate, that the storm had blown it wide open and that Virginia had always been overexcited to explore. It made logical sense, but it did not make sense to her. Five years in a loving home that fed and kept her, five years of kisses and make believe and stories and walks, five years of thanking her for simply being alive and there--all just gone.
Ursulina did not give up at first. Virginia's disappearance drove her to do everything she could to find her again: posters, door to door interrogations, walks with a bag of treats calling out her name. She even tried to call the police, who humored her but could do nothing to help. For a straight week she tried. For another week after, on and off, she tried. And then two days more afterwards. And then she simply came home from school one Friday, went straight to her room, and did not leave it save for meals she barely ate for the weekend.
Responsibility had been hard to learn. The reality of how tenuous the world could be was much harder.
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