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 Posted: Fri Dec 06, 2013 9:07 pm
 The woods just beyond the mission were dry with summer and bright with the early autumn sun that shown through the red leaves. The smell of fallen leaves filled the air, the smell of forest animals all around. Underneath the fiery foliage of the season, the priestess Duranta wandered in search of a hair ribbon that had blown away in a gust of breeze. Her mane, usually braided and tied with a length of purple fabric, now hung over her neck in a disarray of orange hair, still neat from when her friend had last combed it, but getting messier and messier with every breath of breeze that suddenly shook the tree branches above. Fallen leaves had gotten caught in it, though she found herself not minding much. Summer was gone, fall was here, and as a priestess of the Grave Path, Duranta understood the passing of the seasons, the neverending cycle of death and renewal. The leaves in her mane were like bones in the earth—signs of life now passed, with the promise of rebirth when death had decayed. In their travels to this new mission, Duranta and her companions had been exposed to many stars who did not understand the idea, who’d called it depressing, disturbing, even evil. The idea that any star should be hostile to the universal cycles had been, well, depressing and disturbing, even frightening, at first. But long thoughts on the matter had merely strengthened the algiedi mare’s resolve. If other stars did not understand, then they would just have to strengthen their efforts to teach people. The mission would, with luck, provide plenty of food for the winter—hopefully enough not only to provide substrate for the sacred brews and for the stars that lived at the mission, but also to provide food for any neighboring stars who were left without food in the winter. That was part of how a mission spread the word—food and shelter, for any star willing to extend kindness to others.
Lost in the splendor of the season, Duranta almost didn’t see the flash of brilliant blue in the woods. She stopped in her tracks and peered at the lump sitting at the base of an oak tree. It appeared to be another star covered in leaves, one whose coat was dirty with dust and loam, but who underneath the layer of decaying matter was an eye-shocking cyan. Duranta approached the stranger, and as she got closer, noticed bruises and cuts on the star’s skin. They did not appear to be bleeding, but they did look very painful. Gently, she nudged the stranger with her nose. “Hello?” she murmured. “Do you need help?” The rising and falling of the other star’s ribs implied breath, and thus life, but there was no reason to not ask. She stepped back in case the other star reacted violently.
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Posted: Fri Dec 06, 2013 9:11 pm
 Cyabal had just barely been able to escape and fly far away, as fast as she could. She had stopped only briefly to touch her horn to her wounds. She couldn’t heal them—she wasn’t experienced enough—but she could stop the bleeding. Then it had been time to move on, quickly, before the others had caught up with her. From then on, it had been a week of hard flying, zigzagging across the continent in the hopes she might avoid her pursuers and lose them in the chase. Whether it worked or not, she didn’t know, but what she did know was that she was exhausted by the time she reached the fall-touched woodlands of the south and curled up at the base of an oak tree to sleep at long last. Her coat stood out amongst the autumn leaves, but at least her wings were hidden—they were the same color as the leaves, and before she fell asleep, she tried to cover herself with leaves. Only then had she been ready to slumber. Thankfully, she was too tired to dream. She hoped she would never dream about her past. She wanted to forget it. To never remember it, that was the dream—that was an old, painful life. With her banishment and subsequent chase, she’d left her old life behind. Maybe here, in exile, far away from any other stars, she could avoid company. She did better on her own, anyway. No more getting along with other stars for this mare, that was the plan. I’ll become a hermit, she told herself before falling asleep. No one will find me here.
Which was why she was sorely disappointed to find another mare nudging her awake. For a moment of wild panic borne of too little sleep and too much fear, she thought herself before one of her old comrades. Reflexively, she sprang to her hooves—as much as she could with her aching limbs and body. It was that ache that made her instantly regret the movement. Nonetheless, she assumed a ready stance, wings held out—ow, ow, ow—horn lowered and ready to take a charge on it.
A charge that was not coming. Instead, the other mare peered at her in confusion and bemusement. She was an algiedi, Cyabal noticed belatedly—they’d had hardly any of those back home, and everyone back home had wings. Besides, this mare was looking at her with…confusion? Concern? It was hard to suss out that expression, it wasn’t one that the arctyra was overly familiar with. Besides, the skull marking on the solicitous stranger’s face made it difficult to understand her expression. Cyabal relaxed nonetheless. This mare wasn’t looking for a fight, not with that posture. “Depends on who’s asking,” she replied.
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Posted: Fri Dec 06, 2013 9:46 pm
Duranta watched the mare—an arctyra—stand up painfully. Well, no wonder, with bruises like that! Nonetheless, she looked ready to take whatever was coming to her. Briefly, the priestess wondered at what could drive a star to this—she’d met warriors many times (her own brother was a warrior, of a sort, as the priest of the Bleeding God), but this stranger had obviously been in a fight and was expecting whoever had injured her to be coming for her at any moment. She didn’t know the other mare, but it was plain that there was a story behind her, and a bad one at that. She found herself feeling sorry for this stranger, and she was glad when the other mare backed down. Whoever this was, she didn’t want to fight her (especially since Duranta was no warrior herself!). But the possibility of injury aside, the algiedi mare had always been more interested in helping people than injuring them. “I am Duranta, priestess of the Captive God and Madame Web,” she said, bowing her head. “I am a member of Azrael’s mission, not far from here. If you should require sustenance or shelter, I am certain my comrades would agree with me that we are here to provide.” There were places where the Grave Path was known and welcome—and places where they were known and most emphatically unwelcome—but many places, it seemed, had never heard of their marvelous traditions. Duranta waited to see which of these the other mare was. If she was hostile, then there was a problem…Please, Madame Web, do not let there be a problem!
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Posted: Fri Dec 06, 2013 9:47 pm
The arctyra blinked at the stranger—Duranta, was it? She’d heard of Madames and blankty-blank gods—they were deities of the “Grave Path,” which she’d heard of before—campfire stories of cannibalism and star sacrifice. That would explain the skull markings (possibly, if sins could be reflected on a star’s body and coat), but it didn’t explain the offer of help or the demure poise with which this priestess held herself. She even seemed a little nervous of Cyabal. Why should she be? She’s probably lost contact with her demons, the [former] warrior decided. When she’s got them back, she’ll unleash them on me, if I anger her. “I am Cyabal,” she said guardedly. “I…thank you for your offer of hospitality, but I…would hate to impose on you. I am merely a traveler in these lands—I ask only directions out of these woods, and I will not bother or trespass on your ‘mission’ again.” The last thing she wanted to do was anger a witch, even one so young as this. Seriously, this mare looked to be younger than Cyabal herself. How long had she been consorting with the dark arts? Months? Weeks? Certainly no more than a few years, although that meant very little if the legends were true. It was said that the Grave Path performed strange rituals that provided them with food in the darkest, coldest depths of winter and drought, that they devoured meat and other, fouler things. Please, Sagittarius and Scorpio, protect me from the wrath of mad stars! Do not let me fall into the webs of evil spirits!
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