"It's a pleasure to meet you, Bluebell." A strange, far-away look swims in his eyes, "Would your miraculous mind know the answer to my question?"
They tilt their head, the petals on their neck fluttering gently in the breeze "What uh... what would you question be?... I don't think I'm omniscient... so you would have to ask..."
"Are there more? Of me? Of the spring folk?" He leans closer with an eager, thirsty expression, "Are you of Spring?"
They think for a moment, closing their eyes and rocking in that cradled position before opening them again "I... think I am... but I have no knowledge of any others."
A single tear wells in the April Fish's eye. It slides down his cheek and falls upon the dry grass of the ground. A tiny, gloriously green sprig sprouts where it lands and a purple blossom pops up on its head. A single blue painted tear has appeared on his white colored face. "I do now... of one... you. It's been so long since I've seen another of my kind. I've been a fish out of water for so long. But now I've found another fluttering fish in the sky with me."
They tilt their head farther, it would have snapped on a regular person quite some time before this, practically looking upside down now as if they were completely hollow "I... you haven't? Are we... alone in this existence...? Are we the only remaining of our kind?" They ask, rubbing their gloved hands together nervously as their head snaps back into the correct place, worried and confused.
His dandelion petals bounce as he shrugs, "I do not know if there are more of us. Our kind was killed off a long time ago by conquest and enslavement. I haven't seen another child of Spring in so long. I thought I was the last after the wars ended and the arena went silent. I searched so many battlefields for survivors... I never found any."
The ghouls skitter and scrabble and squabble and slither and slide and creep and crawl and cripple and crouch and cry and climb and bounce and bumble and bound and boil and blunder and bubble and bend and break all throughout the hollers of this fine, fair, ferocious Autumn Country.
One particular ghoul slinks through the shadows with a wet look of hunger writhing in his tiny, dark eyes. His face is round and chubby and completely out of place on his slender, skeletal body. He moves like a carrion eating spider over a fallen tree trunk on all fours and he only stops to adjust the small, yellow, paper crown he wears on his head.
This ghoul, in its search, suddenly finds tiny tracks. Hoofprints. They weave their way throughout a graveyard, though they occasionally disappear before reappearing elsewhere, or split off into two different sets of the same tracks, though one of them stops quickly after, probably a trick of the lamb god. It’s getting closer, and closer, and closer… the ghoul can smell it.
The ghoul crawls, his fat face close to the ground. He presses his finger tips into each hoof print. He jumps atop a gravestone and beckons over two other ghouls who join him in his pursuit.
The tracks lead him throughout the graveyard, past unmarked graves and long dead corpses, picked clean of all of their flesh. Eventually, they lead behind a rather large and intricate gravestone. Before he even follows them further, he can hear the gentle tip-tap of a lamb’s hooves. It seems to sense them too, since it freezes as soon as they approach, ready to flee at any moment.
His dandelion petals bounce as he shrugs, "I do not know if there are more of us. Our kind was killed off a long time ago by conquest and enslavement. I haven't seen another child of Spring in so long. I thought I was the last after the wars ended and the arena went silent. I searched so many battlefields for survivors... I never found any."
"Oh." They look down at the ground around them, seemingly growing sad, though their expression doesnt change, as if changing facial appearance is a conscious shift "So... as far as we know... we are alone..." They sigh, the petals of their head returning to the form of a bulb, trapping the head within once more.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
*the cultists will be sent into a state of panic- this hasn’t happened before*
*Indeed- I'm sure the villains will find a way to exploit their panic...*
*Would you like to rp with some of my characters, perchance? If so, which ones?*
*I’d like to try Adeline, either with Julius or Mother Moth, your choice!*
*Let's go with... Mother Moth! Here ya go!*
Adeline is sitting on a tree stump in a quiet part of the forest, wrapped up in a quilted blanket of her own design as she updates her journal- a small book filled with writings of everything she's seen in the Autumn Country so far- making new entries with a charcoal pencil. A large number of spiders can be seen skittering about under the blanket, seeking refuge from the cold.
Descending from a rope of silk a few feet in front of her is the emaciated form of mother moth, wrapped in thick layers of warm silks. She smiles, looking into Adeline’s eyes.
The ghouls skitter and scrabble and squabble and slither and slide and creep and crawl and cripple and crouch and cry and climb and bounce and bumble and bound and boil and blunder and bubble and bend and break all throughout the hollers of this fine, fair, ferocious Autumn Country.
One particular ghoul slinks through the shadows with a wet look of hunger writhing in his tiny, dark eyes. His face is round and chubby and completely out of place on his slender, skeletal body. He moves like a carrion eating spider over a fallen tree trunk on all fours and he only stops to adjust the small, yellow, paper crown he wears on his head.
This ghoul, in its search, suddenly finds tiny tracks. Hoofprints. They weave their way throughout a graveyard, though they occasionally disappear before reappearing elsewhere, or split off into two different sets of the same tracks, though one of them stops quickly after, probably a trick of the lamb god. It’s getting closer, and closer, and closer… the ghoul can smell it.
The ghoul crawls, his fat face close to the ground. He presses his finger tips into each hoof print. He jumps atop a gravestone and beckons over two other ghouls who join him in his pursuit.
The tracks lead him throughout the graveyard, past unmarked graves and long dead corpses, picked clean of all of their flesh. Eventually, they lead behind a rather large and intricate gravestone. Before he even follows them further, he can hear the gentle tip-tap of a lamb’s hooves. It seems to sense them too, since it freezes as soon as they approach, ready to flee at any moment.
so close…
Fat face freezes and presses a stick-thin finger to his bulging lips. He self-consciously adjusts his paper crown once more before straightening his back and rising to his full height. The ghoul then walks around the gravestone, the others wait behind him.
His dandelion petals bounce as he shrugs, "I do not know if there are more of us. Our kind was killed off a long time ago by conquest and enslavement. I haven't seen another child of Spring in so long. I thought I was the last after the wars ended and the arena went silent. I searched so many battlefields for survivors... I never found any."
"Oh." They look down at the ground around them, seemingly growing sad, though their expression doesnt change, as if changing facial appearance is a conscious shift "So... as far as we know... we are alone..." They sigh, the petals of their head returning to the form of a bulb, trapping the head within once more.
He smiles, "How is it possible to say 'we are alone'? 'We' implies you are with someone, and therefore not alone."
*I’d like to try Adeline, either with Julius or Mother Moth, your choice!*
*Let's go with... Mother Moth! Here ya go!*
Adeline is sitting on a tree stump in a quiet part of the forest, wrapped up in a quilted blanket of her own design as she updates her journal- a small book filled with writings of everything she's seen in the Autumn Country so far- making new entries with a charcoal pencil. A large number of spiders can be seen skittering about under the blanket, seeking refuge from the cold.
Descending from a rope of silk a few feet in front of her is the emaciated form of mother moth, wrapped in thick layers of warm silks. She smiles, looking into Adeline’s eyes.
”how are you, my child?…”
She looks up from her writing, smiling as well as her own large, dark eyes meet theirs. "I have been well, Mother." She bows slightly. A widow spider crawls out from under her blanket shawl and onto her shoulder. "Doing my best to keep a record of what I see- this place is unlike any I've seen before. How are you?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
His dandelion petals bounce as he shrugs, "I do not know if there are more of us. Our kind was killed off a long time ago by conquest and enslavement. I haven't seen another child of Spring in so long. I thought I was the last after the wars ended and the arena went silent. I searched so many battlefields for survivors... I never found any."
"Oh." They look down at the ground around them, seemingly growing sad, though their expression doesnt change, as if changing facial appearance is a conscious shift "So... as far as we know... we are alone..." They sigh, the petals of their head returning to the form of a bulb, trapping the head within once more.
He smiles, "How is it possible to say 'we are alone'? 'We' implies you are with someone, and therefore not alone."
"But it's... just us... and we can't stay together forever... it's only a matter of time that you and I are alone..." They sigh through the bulb of their flowery head.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
The ghouls skitter and scrabble and squabble and slither and slide and creep and crawl and cripple and crouch and cry and climb and bounce and bumble and bound and boil and blunder and bubble and bend and break all throughout the hollers of this fine, fair, ferocious Autumn Country.
One particular ghoul slinks through the shadows with a wet look of hunger writhing in his tiny, dark eyes. His face is round and chubby and completely out of place on his slender, skeletal body. He moves like a carrion eating spider over a fallen tree trunk on all fours and he only stops to adjust the small, yellow, paper crown he wears on his head.
This ghoul, in its search, suddenly finds tiny tracks. Hoofprints. They weave their way throughout a graveyard, though they occasionally disappear before reappearing elsewhere, or split off into two different sets of the same tracks, though one of them stops quickly after, probably a trick of the lamb god. It’s getting closer, and closer, and closer… the ghoul can smell it.
The ghoul crawls, his fat face close to the ground. He presses his finger tips into each hoof print. He jumps atop a gravestone and beckons over two other ghouls who join him in his pursuit.
The tracks lead him throughout the graveyard, past unmarked graves and long dead corpses, picked clean of all of their flesh. Eventually, they lead behind a rather large and intricate gravestone. Before he even follows them further, he can hear the gentle tip-tap of a lamb’s hooves. It seems to sense them too, since it freezes as soon as they approach, ready to flee at any moment.
so close…
Fat face freezes and presses a stick-thin finger to his bulging lips. He self-consciously adjusts his paper crown once more before straightening his back and rising to his full height. The ghoul then walks around the gravestone, the others wait behind him.
He walks around the gravestone, and… it’s right there. Cowering in the shadow of the gravestone, is a tiny lamb with soft white wool, and bright yellow eyes- eyes full of fear. Fat Face can tell this is the Barley King, he simply knows it.he can taste the divinity emanating from the tiny lamb- unimaginable power. It bleats in terror and it’s on the move, faster than any human can run. (70 ft. A round).
His dandelion petals bounce as he shrugs, "I do not know if there are more of us. Our kind was killed off a long time ago by conquest and enslavement. I haven't seen another child of Spring in so long. I thought I was the last after the wars ended and the arena went silent. I searched so many battlefields for survivors... I never found any."
"Oh." They look down at the ground around them, seemingly growing sad, though their expression doesnt change, as if changing facial appearance is a conscious shift "So... as far as we know... we are alone..." They sigh, the petals of their head returning to the form of a bulb, trapping the head within once more.
He smiles, "How is it possible to say 'we are alone'? 'We' implies you are with someone, and therefore not alone."
"But it's... just us... and we can't stay together forever... it's only a matter of time that you and I are alone..." They sigh through the bulb of their flowery head.
"But we'll know that somewhere, there is another like us. And if we exist, maybe there are others." He scratches his chin, "I've been alone so long that it is a great joy for me to find another. I understand that you have suddenly appeared to find that there is but one other like you. That must be much harder to take."
*I’d like to try Adeline, either with Julius or Mother Moth, your choice!*
*Let's go with... Mother Moth! Here ya go!*
Adeline is sitting on a tree stump in a quiet part of the forest, wrapped up in a quilted blanket of her own design as she updates her journal- a small book filled with writings of everything she's seen in the Autumn Country so far- making new entries with a charcoal pencil. A large number of spiders can be seen skittering about under the blanket, seeking refuge from the cold.
Descending from a rope of silk a few feet in front of her is the emaciated form of mother moth, wrapped in thick layers of warm silks. She smiles, looking into Adeline’s eyes.
”how are you, my child?…”
She looks up from her writing, smiling as well as her own large, dark eyes meet theirs. "I have been well, Mother." She bows slightly. A widow spider crawls out from under her blanket shawl and onto her shoulder. "Doing my best to keep a record of what I see- this place is unlike any I've seen before. How are you?"
“I’m doing well… I apologize for making us travel here so suddenly, with little warning, but I am glad you find it interesting… tell me, my dear, what have you seen here?” She says, dropping down, not making a sound.
His dandelion petals bounce as he shrugs, "I do not know if there are more of us. Our kind was killed off a long time ago by conquest and enslavement. I haven't seen another child of Spring in so long. I thought I was the last after the wars ended and the arena went silent. I searched so many battlefields for survivors... I never found any."
"Oh." They look down at the ground around them, seemingly growing sad, though their expression doesnt change, as if changing facial appearance is a conscious shift "So... as far as we know... we are alone..." They sigh, the petals of their head returning to the form of a bulb, trapping the head within once more.
He smiles, "How is it possible to say 'we are alone'? 'We' implies you are with someone, and therefore not alone."
"But it's... just us... and we can't stay together forever... it's only a matter of time that you and I are alone..." They sigh through the bulb of their flowery head.
"But we'll know that somewhere, there is another like us. And if we exist, maybe there are others." He scratches his chin, "I've been alone so long that it is a great joy for me to find another. I understand that you have suddenly appeared to find that there is but one other like you. That must be much harder to take."
They nod, just silently rocking in place as they attempt to process everything they know now, wringing their hands together and looking at the ground. After a moment they look back up, "What... are we? I.. I don't understand what I am... other than Spring born."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
Fat face freezes and presses a stick-thin finger to his bulging lips. He self-consciously adjusts his paper crown once more before straightening his back and rising to his full height. The ghoul then walks around the gravestone, the others wait behind him.
He walks around the gravestone, and… it’s right there. Cowering in the shadow of the gravestone, is a tiny lamb with soft white wool, and bright yellow eyes- eyes full of fear. Fat Face can tell this is the Barley King, he simply knows it.he can taste the divinity emanating from the tiny lamb- unimaginable power. It bleats in terror and it’s on the move, faster than any human can run. (70 ft. A round).
The ghoul licks his chops before collapsing onto all fours and skittering after you with movement that don't look natural for a creature with his arrangement of limbs. He barks, "Pursuit! Pursuit! We've found our forbidden fruit!" The two other ghouls come rushing out from behind the tombstone. One gallops on all fours and carries a bone in his jaws like a dog. The other sprints on two feet, his hands clawing at the air in desperation. (They all move 60 ft for this round, but one does have alternate forms of transportation)
Fat face freezes and presses a stick-thin finger to his bulging lips. He self-consciously adjusts his paper crown once more before straightening his back and rising to his full height. The ghoul then walks around the gravestone, the others wait behind him.
He walks around the gravestone, and… it’s right there. Cowering in the shadow of the gravestone, is a tiny lamb with soft white wool, and bright yellow eyes- eyes full of fear. Fat Face can tell this is the Barley King, he simply knows it.he can taste the divinity emanating from the tiny lamb- unimaginable power. It bleats in terror and it’s on the move, faster than any human can run. (70 ft. A round).
The ghoul licks his chops before collapsing onto all fours and skittering after you with movement that don't look natural for a creature with his arrangement of limbs. He barks, "Pursuit! Pursuit! We've found our forbidden fruit!" The two other ghouls come rushing out from behind the tombstone. One gallops on all fours and carries a bone in his jaws like a dog. The other sprints on two feet, his hands clawing at the air in desperation. (They all move 60 ft for this round, but one does have alternate forms of transportation)
The Barley king baas in fear, just a bit ahead of the fastest ghoul. It quickly moves further ahead, and will eventually outrun them if they have no way to catch up to the lamb.
*I’d like to try Adeline, either with Julius or Mother Moth, your choice!*
*Let's go with... Mother Moth! Here ya go!*
Adeline is sitting on a tree stump in a quiet part of the forest, wrapped up in a quilted blanket of her own design as she updates her journal- a small book filled with writings of everything she's seen in the Autumn Country so far- making new entries with a charcoal pencil. A large number of spiders can be seen skittering about under the blanket, seeking refuge from the cold.
Descending from a rope of silk a few feet in front of her is the emaciated form of mother moth, wrapped in thick layers of warm silks. She smiles, looking into Adeline’s eyes.
”how are you, my child?…”
She looks up from her writing, smiling as well as her own large, dark eyes meet theirs. "I have been well, Mother." She bows slightly. A widow spider crawls out from under her blanket shawl and onto her shoulder. "Doing my best to keep a record of what I see- this place is unlike any I've seen before. How are you?"
“I’m doing well… I apologize for making us travel here so suddenly, with little warning, but I am glad you find it interesting… tell me, my dear, what have you seen here?” She says, dropping down, not making a sound.
The honorary moth flips through a few pages of her journal as she remembers- all but the first few pages are entirely blank. "Just two days ago I saw a pack of ghouls passing through the graveyard north of here- from afar, and thankfully they didn't notice me. The giant spiders seem to like their taste, though I never dared to try it myself." Another turn of the page. "Just yesterday, I saw a tree attempt to eat a deer- shed all its leaves atop the beast when it was sleeping, and pounced once it couldn't get away. Not entirely sure how that works- or if it was really a tree- but I didn't stick around for long." A pause, as she recalls something else. "Earlier today, I had a pleasant conversation with a spirit- Craveboil, was their name. Immensely hungry, though a few Goodberries helped remedy that somewhat."
"These last few days alone have been rather eventful." She concludes, before offering the journal to Mother Moth, if she wants to give it a quick read-through and see for herself.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
His dandelion petals bounce as he shrugs, "I do not know if there are more of us. Our kind was killed off a long time ago by conquest and enslavement. I haven't seen another child of Spring in so long. I thought I was the last after the wars ended and the arena went silent. I searched so many battlefields for survivors... I never found any."
"Oh." They look down at the ground around them, seemingly growing sad, though their expression doesnt change, as if changing facial appearance is a conscious shift "So... as far as we know... we are alone..." They sigh, the petals of their head returning to the form of a bulb, trapping the head within once more.
He smiles, "How is it possible to say 'we are alone'? 'We' implies you are with someone, and therefore not alone."
"But it's... just us... and we can't stay together forever... it's only a matter of time that you and I are alone..." They sigh through the bulb of their flowery head.
"But we'll know that somewhere, there is another like us. And if we exist, maybe there are others." He scratches his chin, "I've been alone so long that it is a great joy for me to find another. I understand that you have suddenly appeared to find that there is but one other like you. That must be much harder to take."
They nod, just silently rocking in place as they attempt to process everything they know now, wringing their hands together and looking at the ground. After a moment they look back up, "What... are we? I.. I don't understand what I am... other than Spring born."
"That's a tall order." He ponders it for a moment, "We are the last and oldest remnants of newness and youth. We are spirits of birth and rebirth and agents of growth and life. We cannot take a step without changing the world. That's what you are. As to who you are, I haven't a clue."
*I’d like to try Adeline, either with Julius or Mother Moth, your choice!*
*Let's go with... Mother Moth! Here ya go!*
Adeline is sitting on a tree stump in a quiet part of the forest, wrapped up in a quilted blanket of her own design as she updates her journal- a small book filled with writings of everything she's seen in the Autumn Country so far- making new entries with a charcoal pencil. A large number of spiders can be seen skittering about under the blanket, seeking refuge from the cold.
Descending from a rope of silk a few feet in front of her is the emaciated form of mother moth, wrapped in thick layers of warm silks. She smiles, looking into Adeline’s eyes.
”how are you, my child?…”
She looks up from her writing, smiling as well as her own large, dark eyes meet theirs. "I have been well, Mother." She bows slightly. A widow spider crawls out from under her blanket shawl and onto her shoulder. "Doing my best to keep a record of what I see- this place is unlike any I've seen before. How are you?"
“I’m doing well… I apologize for making us travel here so suddenly, with little warning, but I am glad you find it interesting… tell me, my dear, what have you seen here?” She says, dropping down, not making a sound.
The honorary moth flips through a few pages of her journal as she remembers- all but the first few pages are entirely blank. "Just two days ago I saw a pack of ghouls passing through the graveyard north of here- from afar, and thankfully they didn't notice me. The giant spiders seem to like their taste, though I never dared to try it myself." Another turn of the page. "Just yesterday, I saw a tree attempt to eat a deer- shed all its leaves atop the beast when it was sleeping, and pounced once it couldn't get away. Not entirely sure how that works- or if it was really a tree- but I didn't stick around for long." A pause, as she recalls something else. "Earlier today, I had a pleasant conversation with a spirit- Craveboil, was their name. Immensely hungry, though a few Goodberries helped remedy that somewhat."
"These last few days alone have been rather eventful." She concludes, before offering the journal to Mother Moth, if she wants to give it a quick read-through and see for herself.
Mother Moth takes it, reading through each page carefully.
”Craveboil? I’ve heard of such a spirit… not much else besides the name, however… and the ghouls- there seem to be many ghouls in this country… I heard they were looking for something. In fact, we came here during a country-wide hunt… a hunt for an elusive creature they call the Barley King.”
"That's a tall order." He ponders it for a moment, "We are the last and oldest remnants of newness and youth. We are spirits of birth and rebirth and agents of growth and life. We cannot take a step without changing the world. That's what you are. As to who you are, I haven't a clue."
"Okay... that's... a lot to deal with... we are... change? Renewal?" They ask, clasping their gloved hands together and looking up at them, "If... if that's what we are... I'll have to learn what that truly means... thank you..."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
His dandelion petals bounce as he shrugs, "I do not know if there are more of us. Our kind was killed off a long time ago by conquest and enslavement. I haven't seen another child of Spring in so long. I thought I was the last after the wars ended and the arena went silent. I searched so many battlefields for survivors... I never found any."
The tracks lead him throughout the graveyard, past unmarked graves and long dead corpses, picked clean of all of their flesh. Eventually, they lead behind a rather large and intricate gravestone. Before he even follows them further, he can hear the gentle tip-tap of a lamb’s hooves. It seems to sense them too, since it freezes as soon as they approach, ready to flee at any moment.
so close…
"Oh." They look down at the ground around them, seemingly growing sad, though their expression doesnt change, as if changing facial appearance is a conscious shift "So... as far as we know... we are alone..." They sigh, the petals of their head returning to the form of a bulb, trapping the head within once more.
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
Descending from a rope of silk a few feet in front of her is the emaciated form of mother moth, wrapped in thick layers of warm silks. She smiles, looking into Adeline’s eyes.
”how are you, my child?…”
Fat face freezes and presses a stick-thin finger to his bulging lips. He self-consciously adjusts his paper crown once more before straightening his back and rising to his full height. The ghoul then walks around the gravestone, the others wait behind him.
He smiles, "How is it possible to say 'we are alone'? 'We' implies you are with someone, and therefore not alone."
She looks up from her writing, smiling as well as her own large, dark eyes meet theirs. "I have been well, Mother." She bows slightly. A widow spider crawls out from under her blanket shawl and onto her shoulder. "Doing my best to keep a record of what I see- this place is unlike any I've seen before. How are you?"
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
"But it's... just us... and we can't stay together forever... it's only a matter of time that you and I are alone..." They sigh through the bulb of their flowery head.
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
He walks around the gravestone, and… it’s right there. Cowering in the shadow of the gravestone, is a tiny lamb with soft white wool, and bright yellow eyes- eyes full of fear. Fat Face can tell this is the Barley King, he simply knows it.he can taste the divinity emanating from the tiny lamb- unimaginable power. It bleats in terror and it’s on the move, faster than any human can run. (70 ft. A round).
"But we'll know that somewhere, there is another like us. And if we exist, maybe there are others." He scratches his chin, "I've been alone so long that it is a great joy for me to find another. I understand that you have suddenly appeared to find that there is but one other like you. That must be much harder to take."
“I’m doing well… I apologize for making us travel here so suddenly, with little warning, but I am glad you find it interesting… tell me, my dear, what have you seen here?” She says, dropping down, not making a sound.
They nod, just silently rocking in place as they attempt to process everything they know now, wringing their hands together and looking at the ground. After a moment they look back up, "What... are we? I.. I don't understand what I am... other than Spring born."
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)
*the spring court is already making a comeback!*
The ghoul licks his chops before collapsing onto all fours and skittering after you with movement that don't look natural for a creature with his arrangement of limbs. He barks, "Pursuit! Pursuit! We've found our forbidden fruit!" The two other ghouls come rushing out from behind the tombstone. One gallops on all fours and carries a bone in his jaws like a dog. The other sprints on two feet, his hands clawing at the air in desperation. (They all move 60 ft for this round, but one does have alternate forms of transportation)
The Barley king baas in fear, just a bit ahead of the fastest ghoul. It quickly moves further ahead, and will eventually outrun them if they have no way to catch up to the lamb.
The honorary moth flips through a few pages of her journal as she remembers- all but the first few pages are entirely blank. "Just two days ago I saw a pack of ghouls passing through the graveyard north of here- from afar, and thankfully they didn't notice me. The giant spiders seem to like their taste, though I never dared to try it myself." Another turn of the page. "Just yesterday, I saw a tree attempt to eat a deer- shed all its leaves atop the beast when it was sleeping, and pounced once it couldn't get away. Not entirely sure how that works- or if it was really a tree- but I didn't stick around for long." A pause, as she recalls something else. "Earlier today, I had a pleasant conversation with a spirit- Craveboil, was their name. Immensely hungry, though a few Goodberries helped remedy that somewhat."
"These last few days alone have been rather eventful." She concludes, before offering the journal to Mother Moth, if she wants to give it a quick read-through and see for herself.
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
"That's a tall order." He ponders it for a moment, "We are the last and oldest remnants of newness and youth. We are spirits of birth and rebirth and agents of growth and life. We cannot take a step without changing the world. That's what you are. As to who you are, I haven't a clue."
*No matter how cold and dead winter leaves the world, fresh, green shoots will always spring from the ground come the changing of the seasons.*
Mother Moth takes it, reading through each page carefully.
”Craveboil? I’ve heard of such a spirit… not much else besides the name, however… and the ghouls- there seem to be many ghouls in this country… I heard they were looking for something. In fact, we came here during a country-wide hunt… a hunt for an elusive creature they call the Barley King.”
she passes back the journal.
"Okay... that's... a lot to deal with... we are... change? Renewal?" They ask, clasping their gloved hands together and looking up at them, "If... if that's what we are... I'll have to learn what that truly means... thank you..."
Local Jokester, Viber, Doctor, and Therapist, I do my best to make your day better, and if I fail I'll try again tomorrow.
'Nothing is beautiful because it lasts.'
'War does not decide who was right, but only who is left.'
https://docs.google.com/document/d/12WUcdu6YBH2USIcmf48FCnLwDh_mGHZJZYZWwLLRzhA/edit?tab=t.0 (For when I'm gone.)