The gluttonous death angel wanders the slowly freezing Autumn Country, The God Eater's Cutlery in its hands, as it dines on whatever lingering pieces of warmth and life it can get its hands on. Every hastily-made campfire to ward off winter's bite, every lantern and jack-o-lantern flame, every desperate soul clinging to a body that cannot flee or fight back- all consumed when it finds them. It is slowly- oh so painfully slowly- building its way back up to the stolen divinity it once had.
*I suppose I could have a little appearance of one of my lord’s rest characters, though they won’t stick around for long- probably just this interaction*
the former scourge of the stars comes across a lone campfire in the dead of night, surrounded by an unusually thick blanket of snow. Sitting at a felled log next to the fire is a short boy- no more than fifteen- wearing a red Christmas sweater. His snow-white hair swirls on his head like it’s whipped cream, and he has little antlers- antlers that seem to be made of chocolate wafer. His skin is fair, his face is freckled, and his nose is slightly red, as if he had the cold. In his hands he has a mug of hot chocolate. He hasn’t noticed the Death Angel yet, as they see them from afar.
The crooked flower stealthily approaches, like a predator debating whether the animal in front of them is worth killing. However, it doesn't try to appear hostile, remaining just at the edge of the firelight.
The boy twitches slightly as the flower gets closer, but doesn’t show any signs that they notice the Angel of emptiness get closer. He sips his hot cocoa.
*does Ghoulianth have any powers to sense creature type?*
*Apologies for the long delay- I'm back now. As for your question, I do think that Helianth would be able to sense creature types.*
It makes its presence known, stepping just a touch closer to the fire. He can see what looks like hellish silverware made from woven flesh and bone and metal and many other things in its hands, and it watches the flame with a faint sense of hunger. "Greetings. Do you have room for one more at the fire?"
Helianth can sense something similar in this boy that he sensed in the Lamb god- divinity.
the boy blinks, looking to Ghoulianth and having no discernible reaction to their appearance. “Sure.” he pauses, looking Ghoulianth up and down. “You’re hungry.”
*I suppose I could have a little appearance of one of my lord’s rest characters, though they won’t stick around for long- probably just this interaction*
the former scourge of the stars comes across a lone campfire in the dead of night, surrounded by an unusually thick blanket of snow. Sitting at a felled log next to the fire is a short boy- no more than fifteen- wearing a red Christmas sweater. His snow-white hair swirls on his head like it’s whipped cream, and he has little antlers- antlers that seem to be made of chocolate wafer. His skin is fair, his face is freckled, and his nose is slightly red, as if he had the cold. In his hands he has a mug of hot chocolate. He hasn’t noticed the Death Angel yet, as they see them from afar.
The crooked flower stealthily approaches, like a predator debating whether the animal in front of them is worth killing. However, it doesn't try to appear hostile, remaining just at the edge of the firelight.
The boy twitches slightly as the flower gets closer, but doesn’t show any signs that they notice the Angel of emptiness get closer. He sips his hot cocoa.
*does Ghoulianth have any powers to sense creature type?*
*Apologies for the long delay- I'm back now. As for your question, I do think that Helianth would be able to sense creature types.*
It makes its presence known, stepping just a touch closer to the fire. He can see what looks like hellish silverware made from woven flesh and bone and metal and many other things in its hands, and it watches the flame with a faint sense of hunger. "Greetings. Do you have room for one more at the fire?"
Helianth can sense something similar in this boy that he sensed in the Lamb god- divinity.
the boy blinks, looking to Ghoulianth and having no discernible reaction to their appearance. “Sure.” he pauses, looking Ghoulianth up and down. “You’re hungry.”
Upon sensing this, the scourge's hunger seems to grow just the faintest bit- but it quickly dispels that thought. In its weakened, decaying state, it could never hope to take down a divine being that wasn't already weakened- and it knows that.
The crooked ghoul roots itself into the frost-choked soil nearby, taking in the warmth and light of the lowly roaring flame. "Indeed. It's my blessing and my curse. Earned me something of a reputation at times." It dryly laughs to itself, and for a moment the campfire seems to dim.
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)
"What is Autumn? Is it not the season of dying? What sort of Autumn King would I be if I was free from Death's touch? I would not be fit to represent the season of ends if I my story had no finish. The Sweeper leaves this domain to me for now, but I've seen the way he looks at me. His knowing smile. There will come a time, be it soon or a thousand years from now, but that time will come. And when it does, there needs to be another who will shepherd the land and harvest the fields."
He subtly wipes a tear of liquid flame from his eyes- playing it off as simply brushing his unruly hair out of his face. “Y-you’re right-…” he smiles slightly, though that doesn’t do much to mask his emotions. “I… just hope death gives you more time-glory… there’s so much I don’t know-… and I have spent so little time actually-“ he pauses, looking out to the Autumn Country, changing seasons for the first time in who knows how long. “-talking to you.”
His shoulders sag, causing his goose feather cloak to sink closer to the ground, "I have been absent... haven't I? My royal duties are no excuse for neglecting my heir." He shakes his shaggy head with the sound of a forest rustling, "For neglecting my son." He raises his head and locks eyes with you, "I promise that no matter how much more time I have left, I will spend it with you."
The masked strugel has appeared here, following Julius back home. His weapon, the Meat Grinder, is dripping with the blood of Winter Court Fey who came to investigate and speed up the process. He sings to himself as he saws apart a living Sugar Plum Meenlock, brandy spraying everywhere. His melodic tones mingle with the buzz of his senselessly messy device.
"First thing's first, ya'll don't impress me at all. Keeping me caged up, well I thicken the plot I wrote with the blood on the walls While I was chained up like a dog. Don't try to tell me what the price is, You know you're playing with your life, It's really nothing, can you blame me? I don't need nobody here to save me... Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't (GP)in hate me- No, you can't! Cause you know that I'm bad! The types of bad that you can't get The (GP) up out your head, I'm talking No! Regrets! For anything I said! If it were up to me None you monsters would be left!"
A pair of gray eyes watch the Strugel from the trees. Her emaciated form is hidden by layers upon layers of silk clothing. Her eyes narrow as he tears apart the sugarplum meenlock, but she keeps on simply following him from the trees. She is relatively hidden but makes little effort to keep herself unseen.
The Mirth Manor is continuing its slow crawl towards the heart of the Autumn Country, a behemoth of metal trudging its way through fields and hills. Eris is on the uppermost deck of the crawling fortress, making repairs to the colossal piece of artillery mounted on the mansion's roof.
Adeline has found her way to the Keep of Painted Leaves, and slowly walks towards (and if possible, inside of) the structure, wrapped in a blanket shawl and still shivering more than she should be for this temperature.
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)
*I suppose I could have a little appearance of one of my lord’s rest characters, though they won’t stick around for long- probably just this interaction*
the former scourge of the stars comes across a lone campfire in the dead of night, surrounded by an unusually thick blanket of snow. Sitting at a felled log next to the fire is a short boy- no more than fifteen- wearing a red Christmas sweater. His snow-white hair swirls on his head like it’s whipped cream, and he has little antlers- antlers that seem to be made of chocolate wafer. His skin is fair, his face is freckled, and his nose is slightly red, as if he had the cold. In his hands he has a mug of hot chocolate. He hasn’t noticed the Death Angel yet, as they see them from afar.
The crooked flower stealthily approaches, like a predator debating whether the animal in front of them is worth killing. However, it doesn't try to appear hostile, remaining just at the edge of the firelight.
The boy twitches slightly as the flower gets closer, but doesn’t show any signs that they notice the Angel of emptiness get closer. He sips his hot cocoa.
*does Ghoulianth have any powers to sense creature type?*
*Apologies for the long delay- I'm back now. As for your question, I do think that Helianth would be able to sense creature types.*
It makes its presence known, stepping just a touch closer to the fire. He can see what looks like hellish silverware made from woven flesh and bone and metal and many other things in its hands, and it watches the flame with a faint sense of hunger. "Greetings. Do you have room for one more at the fire?"
Helianth can sense something similar in this boy that he sensed in the Lamb god- divinity.
the boy blinks, looking to Ghoulianth and having no discernible reaction to their appearance. “Sure.” he pauses, looking Ghoulianth up and down. “You’re hungry.”
Upon sensing this, the scourge's hunger seems to grow just the faintest bit- but it quickly dispels that thought. In its weakened, decaying state, it could never hope to take down a divine being that wasn't already weakened- and it knows that.
The crooked ghoul roots itself into the frost-choked soil nearby, taking in the warmth and light of the lowly roaring flame. "Indeed. It's my blessing and my curse. Earned me something of a reputation at times." It dryly laughs to itself, and for a moment the campfire seems to dim.
His eyes flicker from the ghoul, to the fire, and back to the ghoul. “Not hungry for food, though, I’m guessing?” They say, taking a sip of their hot chocolate. It starts to snow a bit harder, but the fire persists.
The boy twitches slightly as the flower gets closer, but doesn’t show any signs that they notice the Angel of emptiness get closer. He sips his hot cocoa.
*does Ghoulianth have any powers to sense creature type?*
*Apologies for the long delay- I'm back now. As for your question, I do think that Helianth would be able to sense creature types.*
It makes its presence known, stepping just a touch closer to the fire. He can see what looks like hellish silverware made from woven flesh and bone and metal and many other things in its hands, and it watches the flame with a faint sense of hunger. "Greetings. Do you have room for one more at the fire?"
Helianth can sense something similar in this boy that he sensed in the Lamb god- divinity.
the boy blinks, looking to Ghoulianth and having no discernible reaction to their appearance. “Sure.” he pauses, looking Ghoulianth up and down. “You’re hungry.”
Upon sensing this, the scourge's hunger seems to grow just the faintest bit- but it quickly dispels that thought. In its weakened, decaying state, it could never hope to take down a divine being that wasn't already weakened- and it knows that.
The crooked ghoul roots itself into the frost-choked soil nearby, taking in the warmth and light of the lowly roaring flame. "Indeed. It's my blessing and my curse. Earned me something of a reputation at times." It dryly laughs to itself, and for a moment the campfire seems to dim.
His eyes flicker from the ghoul, to the fire, and back to the ghoul. “Not hungry for food, though, I’m guessing?” They say, taking a sip of their hot chocolate. It starts to snow a bit harder, but the fire persists.
"Not normally. Though as of recently, material foods have been able to nourish me just fine." It shudders slightly, shaking off the snow that's been piling on its leaves and roots and the giant bones it's coiled around and within. "What's your name?"
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)
The masked strugel has appeared here, following Julius back home. His weapon, the Meat Grinder, is dripping with the blood of Winter Court Fey who came to investigate and speed up the process. He sings to himself as he saws apart a living Sugar Plum Meenlock, brandy spraying everywhere. His melodic tones mingle with the buzz of his senselessly messy device.
"First thing's first, ya'll don't impress me at all. Keeping me caged up, well I thicken the plot I wrote with the blood on the walls While I was chained up like a dog. Don't try to tell me what the price is, You know you're playing with your life, It's really nothing, can you blame me? I don't need nobody here to save me... Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't (GP)in hate me- No, you can't! Cause you know that I'm bad! The type of bad that you can't get The (GP) up out your head, I'm talking No! Regrets! For anything I said! If it were up to me None you monsters would be left!"
A pair of gray eyes watch the Strugel from the trees. Her emaciated form is hidden by layers upon layers of silk clothing. Her eyes narrow as he tears apart the sugarplum meenlock, but she keeps on simply following him from the trees. She is relatively hidden but makes little effort to keep herself unseen.
He stops his brutalization of the creature, along his his song. His panting breaths sound like relaxed sighs. He drops the weapon on the meenlock's head, slowly removing his mask to reveal the stitches across his face, connecting what used to be the bottom lids of his eyes and the corners of his mouth. "I... will... haunt... you..." He rasps. Without his mask, his voice is unbearable. It drips with an insatiable hunger, not just ravenous enough to cleave through stone but refined to cut like a razor's edge. The heart of an angry, hungry beast without the soul needed for restraint.
He takes out some herbs and spices, then starts to slowly season and eat the twitching muscles and oozing organs. His teeth are mismatched and razor-sharp, many of them forged from cold iron like the blade of his hideous buzz-saw table-grinder hybrid.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
"What is Autumn? Is it not the season of dying? What sort of Autumn King would I be if I was free from Death's touch? I would not be fit to represent the season of ends if I my story had no finish. The Sweeper leaves this domain to me for now, but I've seen the way he looks at me. His knowing smile. There will come a time, be it soon or a thousand years from now, but that time will come. And when it does, there needs to be another who will shepherd the land and harvest the fields."
He subtly wipes a tear of liquid flame from his eyes- playing it off as simply brushing his unruly hair out of his face. “Y-you’re right-…” he smiles slightly, though that doesn’t do much to mask his emotions. “I… just hope death gives you more time-glory… there’s so much I don’t know-… and I have spent so little time actually-“ he pauses, looking out to the Autumn Country, changing seasons for the first time in who knows how long. “-talking to you.”
His shoulders sag, causing his goose feather cloak to sink closer to the ground, "I have been absent... haven't I? My royal duties are no excuse for neglecting my heir." He shakes his shaggy head with the sound of a forest rustling, "For neglecting my son." He raises his head and locks eyes with you, "I promise that no matter how much more time I have left, I will spend it with you."
“-…thank you, father-…” his voice falters, the wind stills around him, and he just looks into Augustus’ eyes for a few heartbeats. A gentle flame of warmth burns just below the skin of the Jack O’ Lantern lord, the Crown Prince of Autumn. “When we have-… when we’ve- returned our home to a state of peace-… I would love nothing more than that.” He takes a step closer on cloven hooves, as if he were about to hug Augustus- but pauses, unsure if that would be an acceptable gesture.
The Mirth Manor is continuing its slow crawl towards the heart of the Autumn Country, a behemoth of metal trudging its way through fields and hills. Eris is on the uppermost deck of the crawling fortress, making repairs to the colossal piece of artillery mounted on the mansion's roof.
Adeline has found her way to the Keep of Painted Leaves, and slowly walks towards (and if possible, inside of) the structure, wrapped in a blanket shawl and still shivering more than she should be for this temperature.
A little Strugel wrapped in furs (including a fur top hat) and a leather comedy mask fitted for such a creature slowly dances toward her on wooden clogs. He begins to shed layers, wrapping the coats of several animals around her. "I'm holding a bonfire tonight. Keep moving until then. It will keep you from freezing."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
The boy twitches slightly as the flower gets closer, but doesn’t show any signs that they notice the Angel of emptiness get closer. He sips his hot cocoa.
*does Ghoulianth have any powers to sense creature type?*
*Apologies for the long delay- I'm back now. As for your question, I do think that Helianth would be able to sense creature types.*
It makes its presence known, stepping just a touch closer to the fire. He can see what looks like hellish silverware made from woven flesh and bone and metal and many other things in its hands, and it watches the flame with a faint sense of hunger. "Greetings. Do you have room for one more at the fire?"
Helianth can sense something similar in this boy that he sensed in the Lamb god- divinity.
the boy blinks, looking to Ghoulianth and having no discernible reaction to their appearance. “Sure.” he pauses, looking Ghoulianth up and down. “You’re hungry.”
Upon sensing this, the scourge's hunger seems to grow just the faintest bit- but it quickly dispels that thought. In its weakened, decaying state, it could never hope to take down a divine being that wasn't already weakened- and it knows that.
The crooked ghoul roots itself into the frost-choked soil nearby, taking in the warmth and light of the lowly roaring flame. "Indeed. It's my blessing and my curse. Earned me something of a reputation at times." It dryly laughs to itself, and for a moment the campfire seems to dim.
His eyes flicker from the ghoul, to the fire, and back to the ghoul. “Not hungry for food, though, I’m guessing?” They say, taking a sip of their hot chocolate. It starts to snow a bit harder, but the fire persists.
"Not normally. Though as of recently, material foods have been able to nourish me just fine." It shudders slightly, shaking off the snow that's been piling on its leaves and roots and the giant bones it's coiled around and within. "What's your name?"
He sees that the crooked ghoul seems cold and produces a couple more branches to add to the fire, inviting Ghoulianth closer. “Vanilla. Vanilla De Meringue. Though that sounds really formal, doesn’t it? Vanilla. Do you want something to eat?”
The masked strugel has appeared here, following Julius back home. His weapon, the Meat Grinder, is dripping with the blood of Winter Court Fey who came to investigate and speed up the process. He sings to himself as he saws apart a living Sugar Plum Meenlock, brandy spraying everywhere. His melodic tones mingle with the buzz of his senselessly messy device.
"First thing's first, ya'll don't impress me at all. Keeping me caged up, well I thicken the plot I wrote with the blood on the walls While I was chained up like a dog. Don't try to tell me what the price is, You know you're playing with your life, It's really nothing, can you blame me? I don't need nobody here to save me... Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't (GP)in hate me- No, you can't! Cause you know that I'm bad! The type of bad that you can't get The (GP) up out your head, I'm talking No! Regrets! For anything I said! If it were up to me None you monsters would be left!"
A pair of gray eyes watch the Strugel from the trees. Her emaciated form is hidden by layers upon layers of silk clothing. Her eyes narrow as he tears apart the sugarplum meenlock, but she keeps on simply following him from the trees. She is relatively hidden but makes little effort to keep herself unseen.
He stops his brutalization of the creature, along his his song. His panting breaths sound like relaxed sighs. He drops the weapon on the meenlock's head, slowly removing his mask to reveal the stitches across his face, connecting what used to be the bottom lids of his eyes and the corners of his mouth. "I... will... haunt... you..." He rasps. Without his mask, his voice is unbearable. It drips with an insatiable hunger, not just ravenous enough to cleave through stone but refined to cut like a razor's edge. The heart of an angry, hungry beast without the soul needed for restraint.
He takes out some herbs and spices, then starts to slowly season and eat the twitching muscles and oozing organs. His teeth are mismatched and razor-sharp, many of them forged from cold iron like the blade of his hideous buzz-saw table-grinder hybrid.
Mother moth descends from the tree on scaled, Lepidopteran wings, which quickly retreat back into her layers of silken clothes as she lands. She does not approach him, staying at least fifty feet away.
”…tell me…” she says, soft as a pillow. “What haunts you?…”
*daily reminder to all of you that your writing is simply divine. I love this storyline so much.*
*I’m excited to see how all of the courts develop- be it the Autumn Court becoming more fleshed out with new members, the spring court rising from the ashes after the cold thaws, or the Sugarplum court created by our dear Baalz*
His eyes flicker from the ghoul, to the fire, and back to the ghoul. “Not hungry for food, though, I’m guessing?” They say, taking a sip of their hot chocolate. It starts to snow a bit harder, but the fire persists.
"Not normally. Though as of recently, material foods have been able to nourish me just fine." It shudders slightly, shaking off the snow that's been piling on its leaves and roots and the giant bones it's coiled around and within. "What's your name?"
He sees that the crooked ghoul seems cold and produces a couple more branches to add to the fire, inviting Ghoulianth closer. “Vanilla. Vanilla De Meringue. Though that sounds really formal, doesn’t it? Vanilla. Do you want something to eat?”
The ghoul does inch a bit closer to the flames, but not too close. "Pleased to meet you, Vanilla. I am Helianth." One of its hands- the one holding that grim-looking fork made of fused materials- reaches towards the flames for a moment, but it stops itself.
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)
"What is Autumn? Is it not the season of dying? What sort of Autumn King would I be if I was free from Death's touch? I would not be fit to represent the season of ends if I my story had no finish. The Sweeper leaves this domain to me for now, but I've seen the way he looks at me. His knowing smile. There will come a time, be it soon or a thousand years from now, but that time will come. And when it does, there needs to be another who will shepherd the land and harvest the fields."
He subtly wipes a tear of liquid flame from his eyes- playing it off as simply brushing his unruly hair out of his face. “Y-you’re right-…” he smiles slightly, though that doesn’t do much to mask his emotions. “I… just hope death gives you more time-glory… there’s so much I don’t know-… and I have spent so little time actually-“ he pauses, looking out to the Autumn Country, changing seasons for the first time in who knows how long. “-talking to you.”
His shoulders sag, causing his goose feather cloak to sink closer to the ground, "I have been absent... haven't I? My royal duties are no excuse for neglecting my heir." He shakes his shaggy head with the sound of a forest rustling, "For neglecting my son." He raises his head and locks eyes with you, "I promise that no matter how much more time I have left, I will spend it with you."
“-…thank you, father-…” his voice falters, the wind stills around him, and he just looks into Augustus’ eyes for a few heartbeats. A gentle flame of warmth burns just below the skin of the Jack O’ Lantern lord, the Crown Prince of Autumn. “When we have-… when we’ve- returned our home to a state of peace-… I would love nothing more than that.” He takes a step closer on cloven hooves, as if he were about to hug Augustus- but pauses, unsure if that would be an acceptable gesture.
Can you hug a mountain? Can you embrace the wind? Can you cling to a valley? Can you wrap your arms around a storm? Can you hold a moonbeam? Would it be right too? You don't know. You can't know. Not now. If the moon embraced the earth as they hurtled through the dark of space... it can't be spoken of. "But now we have work to do." He lifts his jack-o-lantern helm and fits it over his head. The jagged smile seems wider somehow. "There is much to do before peace will return." The wind picks up and his goose feather cloak thrashes in the air like wings beating at the sky, desperate to taste the sky.
The Mirth Manor is continuing its slow crawl towards the heart of the Autumn Country, a behemoth of metal trudging its way through fields and hills. Eris is on the uppermost deck of the crawling fortress, making repairs to the colossal piece of artillery mounted on the mansion's roof.
Adeline has found her way to the Keep of Painted Leaves, and slowly walks towards (and if possible, inside of) the structure, wrapped in a blanket shawl and still shivering more than she should be for this temperature.
A little Strugel wrapped in furs (including a fur top hat) and a leather comedy mask fitted for such a creature slowly dances toward her on wooden clogs. He begins to shed layers, wrapping the coats of several animals around her. "I'm holding a bonfire tonight. Keep moving until then. It will keep you from freezing."
Her antennae twitch, and she looks over to see him even before she fully hears him. "T- Thank you." She stutters, clinging to the offered coats in addition to her quilted shawl. "I could help set up the bonfire, if you want."
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)
He stops his brutalization of the creature, along his his song. His panting breaths sound like relaxed sighs. He drops the weapon on the meenlock's head, slowly removing his mask to reveal the stitches across his face, connecting what used to be the bottom lids of his eyes and the corners of his mouth. "I... will... haunt... you..." He rasps. Without his mask, his voice is unbearable. It drips with an insatiable hunger, not just ravenous enough to cleave through stone but refined to cut like a razor's edge. The heart of an angry, hungry beast without the soul needed for restraint.
He takes out some herbs and spices, then starts to slowly season and eat the twitching muscles and oozing organs. His teeth are mismatched and razor-sharp, many of them forged from cold iron like the blade of his hideous buzz-saw table-grinder hybrid.
Mother moth descends from the tree on scaled, Lepidopteran wings, which quickly retreat back into her layers of silken clothes as she lands. She does not approach him, staying at least fifty feet away.
”…tell me…” she says, soft as a pillow. “What haunts you?…”
His huge, coin-like eyes shine and focus on her, set into their shadowy pits as they are. "Given the evidence before you... what would you deduce?" He stands to his feet. "Sometimes I wonder too... what would drive someone like me? What don't I know about myself? Why can't I forgive and cut my ties with the Courts?" His tones aren't hostile, but they sound like a broken machine clinking and scraping.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
A little Strugel wrapped in furs (including a fur top hat) and a leather comedy mask fitted for such a creature slowly dances toward her on wooden clogs. He begins to shed layers, wrapping the coats of several animals around her. "I'm holding a bonfire tonight. Keep moving until then. It will keep you from freezing."
Her antennae twitch, and she looks over to see him even before she fully hears him. "T- Thank you." She stutters, clinging to the offered coats in addition to her quilted shawl. "I could help set up the bonfire, if you want."
"Have you made one before?" He asks. His melodic voice is gentle and vaguely affectionate. But she can tell that he doesn't belong here. Not in Fey country.
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Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
His eyes flicker from the ghoul, to the fire, and back to the ghoul. “Not hungry for food, though, I’m guessing?” They say, taking a sip of their hot chocolate. It starts to snow a bit harder, but the fire persists.
"Not normally. Though as of recently, material foods have been able to nourish me just fine." It shudders slightly, shaking off the snow that's been piling on its leaves and roots and the giant bones it's coiled around and within. "What's your name?"
He sees that the crooked ghoul seems cold and produces a couple more branches to add to the fire, inviting Ghoulianth closer. “Vanilla. Vanilla De Meringue. Though that sounds really formal, doesn’t it? Vanilla. Do you want something to eat?”
The ghoul does inch a bit closer to the flames, but not too close. "Pleased to meet you, Vanilla. I am Helianth." One of its hands- the one holding that grim-looking fork made of fused materials- reaches towards the flames for a moment, but it stops itself.
“Please don’t eat the fire- it’s a hassle to collect the wood… I have some rations.”
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Helianth can sense something similar in this boy that he sensed in the Lamb god- divinity.
the boy blinks, looking to Ghoulianth and having no discernible reaction to their appearance. “Sure.” he pauses, looking Ghoulianth up and down. “You’re hungry.”
Upon sensing this, the scourge's hunger seems to grow just the faintest bit- but it quickly dispels that thought. In its weakened, decaying state, it could never hope to take down a divine being that wasn't already weakened- and it knows that.
The crooked ghoul roots itself into the frost-choked soil nearby, taking in the warmth and light of the lowly roaring flame. "Indeed. It's my blessing and my curse. Earned me something of a reputation at times." It dryly laughs to itself, and for a moment the campfire seems to dim.
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 shoulders sag, causing his goose feather cloak to sink closer to the ground, "I have been absent... haven't I? My royal duties are no excuse for neglecting my heir." He shakes his shaggy head with the sound of a forest rustling, "For neglecting my son." He raises his head and locks eyes with you, "I promise that no matter how much more time I have left, I will spend it with you."
*Bring me whoever is willing to talk with Mr. Wood-Shoes No-Name*
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
A pair of gray eyes watch the Strugel from the trees. Her emaciated form is hidden by layers upon layers of silk clothing. Her eyes narrow as he tears apart the sugarplum meenlock, but she keeps on simply following him from the trees. She is relatively hidden but makes little effort to keep herself unseen.
*For if anyone wants another of my characters*
The Mirth Manor is continuing its slow crawl towards the heart of the Autumn Country, a behemoth of metal trudging its way through fields and hills. Eris is on the uppermost deck of the crawling fortress, making repairs to the colossal piece of artillery mounted on the mansion's roof.
Adeline has found her way to the Keep of Painted Leaves, and slowly walks towards (and if possible, inside of) the structure, wrapped in a blanket shawl and still shivering more than she should be for this temperature.
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 eyes flicker from the ghoul, to the fire, and back to the ghoul. “Not hungry for food, though, I’m guessing?” They say, taking a sip of their hot chocolate. It starts to snow a bit harder, but the fire persists.
"Not normally. Though as of recently, material foods have been able to nourish me just fine." It shudders slightly, shaking off the snow that's been piling on its leaves and roots and the giant bones it's coiled around and within. "What's your name?"
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)
He stops his brutalization of the creature, along his his song. His panting breaths sound like relaxed sighs. He drops the weapon on the meenlock's head, slowly removing his mask to reveal the stitches across his face, connecting what used to be the bottom lids of his eyes and the corners of his mouth. "I... will... haunt... you..." He rasps. Without his mask, his voice is unbearable. It drips with an insatiable hunger, not just ravenous enough to cleave through stone but refined to cut like a razor's edge. The heart of an angry, hungry beast without the soul needed for restraint.
He takes out some herbs and spices, then starts to slowly season and eat the twitching muscles and oozing organs. His teeth are mismatched and razor-sharp, many of them forged from cold iron like the blade of his hideous buzz-saw table-grinder hybrid.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
“-…thank you, father-…” his voice falters, the wind stills around him, and he just looks into Augustus’ eyes for a few heartbeats. A gentle flame of warmth burns just below the skin of the Jack O’ Lantern lord, the Crown Prince of Autumn. “When we have-… when we’ve- returned our home to a state of peace-… I would love nothing more than that.” He takes a step closer on cloven hooves, as if he were about to hug Augustus- but pauses, unsure if that would be an acceptable gesture.
A little Strugel wrapped in furs (including a fur top hat) and a leather comedy mask fitted for such a creature slowly dances toward her on wooden clogs. He begins to shed layers, wrapping the coats of several animals around her. "I'm holding a bonfire tonight. Keep moving until then. It will keep you from freezing."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
He sees that the crooked ghoul seems cold and produces a couple more branches to add to the fire, inviting Ghoulianth closer. “Vanilla. Vanilla De Meringue. Though that sounds really formal, doesn’t it? Vanilla. Do you want something to eat?”
Mother moth descends from the tree on scaled, Lepidopteran wings, which quickly retreat back into her layers of silken clothes as she lands. She does not approach him, staying at least fifty feet away.
”…tell me…” she says, soft as a pillow. “What haunts you?…”
*daily reminder to all of you that your writing is simply divine. I love this storyline so much.*
*I’m excited to see how all of the courts develop- be it the Autumn Court becoming more fleshed out with new members, the spring court rising from the ashes after the cold thaws, or the Sugarplum court created by our dear Baalz*
The ghoul does inch a bit closer to the flames, but not too close. "Pleased to meet you, Vanilla. I am Helianth." One of its hands- the one holding that grim-looking fork made of fused materials- reaches towards the flames for a moment, but it stops itself.
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)
Can you hug a mountain? Can you embrace the wind? Can you cling to a valley? Can you wrap your arms around a storm? Can you hold a moonbeam? Would it be right too? You don't know. You can't know. Not now. If the moon embraced the earth as they hurtled through the dark of space... it can't be spoken of. "But now we have work to do." He lifts his jack-o-lantern helm and fits it over his head. The jagged smile seems wider somehow. "There is much to do before peace will return." The wind picks up and his goose feather cloak thrashes in the air like wings beating at the sky, desperate to taste the sky.
Her antennae twitch, and she looks over to see him even before she fully hears him. "T- Thank you." She stutters, clinging to the offered coats in addition to her quilted shawl. "I could help set up the bonfire, if you want."
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 huge, coin-like eyes shine and focus on her, set into their shadowy pits as they are. "Given the evidence before you... what would you deduce?" He stands to his feet. "Sometimes I wonder too... what would drive someone like me? What don't I know about myself? Why can't I forgive and cut my ties with the Courts?" His tones aren't hostile, but they sound like a broken machine clinking and scraping.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
"Have you made one before?" He asks. His melodic voice is gentle and vaguely affectionate. But she can tell that he doesn't belong here. Not in Fey country.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
“Please don’t eat the fire- it’s a hassle to collect the wood… I have some rations.”