With all the tension and activity in the Autumn Country, the frequency of culinary gifts have increased throughout the various villages. A few folks tell tales of seeing a massive house shaped shadow skittering through the dark woods, weaving it’s way through the trees.
In the Keep of Painted Leaves, hidden in a place only the King of Autumn would wander, a large and freshly baked pumpkin pie sits, the wafting aroma filling the air around it with a warm nostalgic feeling of harvest’s past and merry celebration.
In a deep, windowless hall lost in the bowels of the castle, The Autumn King paces. Every now and then a leaf flutters down from his beard as he walks no where fast, clearly considering many important matters. Eventually his pacing stops. He has caught a whiff of some delectable pastry. He turns and finds it sitting in a wooden table that seems to have been crafted from living wood. He carves himself a slice of the pie, and takes a bite.
The Autumn King has never had a pie so comforting and delectable. As he savors the first bite, fond memories of harvests past and warm celebration in the mists of the decay and chilling Autumn winds fill him. He recalls his early years, his first grand feast, the smiles and laughter of his subjects as they revel in the wondrous food and company.
He lets out an involuntary, joyous laugh. His candlelit eyes flicker with delight and he eagerly cuts himself another slice.
As the King enjoys another slice, a figure mostly obscured by the shadows observes quietly.
"You are a wonderful cook," The King says after swallowing a mouthful. "I greatly admire your work."
Apollon is sitting under a tree, resting. His breathing is ragged as blood trickles from his mouth. He digs in his satchel weakly, looking for something. His spear lays next to him, the tip gleaming in the dim light.
Leaves begin to drift down from the autumn painted branches. They drift slowly and lazily down in wide circles, landing softly in the grass. One of them is cartwheels and pin wheels above you, slowly descending upon your form, landing lightly on your shoulder.
Fang chewing, venom pulsing, poison stinging, ember searing, pain erupts on the small patch of you covered by the leaf. It radiates an agonizing sensation into your flesh.
Apollon hisses in pain as he brushes the leaf off, still looking for something in his satchel
A brief flash of a needle sharp stinging feeling scorches your fingertips as you brush away the leaf. You feel the pain erupt on your knee as another leaf lands upon your leg. You notice that there are a lot more leaves fluttering down now. The tree is shedding its load with greater speed.
Apollon sets his hand aflame and starts to burn the tree as he grabs a small bottle of blood. He uncorks it with his teeth and drinks it all, breathing a sigh of relief.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
Apollon is sitting under a tree, resting. His breathing is ragged as blood trickles from his mouth. He digs in his satchel weakly, looking for something. His spear lays next to him, the tip gleaming in the dim light.
Leaves begin to drift down from the autumn painted branches. They drift slowly and lazily down in wide circles, landing softly in the grass. One of them is cartwheels and pin wheels above you, slowly descending upon your form, landing lightly on your shoulder.
Fang chewing, venom pulsing, poison stinging, ember searing, pain erupts on the small patch of you covered by the leaf. It radiates an agonizing sensation into your flesh.
Apollon hisses in pain as he brushes the leaf off, still looking for something in his satchel
A brief flash of a needle sharp stinging feeling scorches your fingertips as you brush away the leaf. You feel the pain erupt on your knee as another leaf lands upon your leg. You notice that there are a lot more leaves fluttering down now. The tree is shedding its load with greater speed.
Apollon sets his hand aflame and starts to burn the tree as he grabs a small bottle of blood. He uncorks it with his teeth and drinks it all, breathing a sigh of relief.
As your burning hand brands the tree trunk, the branches begin to writhe and shake causing more leaves to tumble free. They land on your head, arms, back, brushing down your sides and legs and sending strikes of agony through your nerves.
Apollon is sitting under a tree, resting. His breathing is ragged as blood trickles from his mouth. He digs in his satchel weakly, looking for something. His spear lays next to him, the tip gleaming in the dim light.
Leaves begin to drift down from the autumn painted branches. They drift slowly and lazily down in wide circles, landing softly in the grass. One of them is cartwheels and pin wheels above you, slowly descending upon your form, landing lightly on your shoulder.
Fang chewing, venom pulsing, poison stinging, ember searing, pain erupts on the small patch of you covered by the leaf. It radiates an agonizing sensation into your flesh.
Apollon hisses in pain as he brushes the leaf off, still looking for something in his satchel
A brief flash of a needle sharp stinging feeling scorches your fingertips as you brush away the leaf. You feel the pain erupt on your knee as another leaf lands upon your leg. You notice that there are a lot more leaves fluttering down now. The tree is shedding its load with greater speed.
Apollon sets his hand aflame and starts to burn the tree as he grabs a small bottle of blood. He uncorks it with his teeth and drinks it all, breathing a sigh of relief.
As your burning hand brands the tree trunk, the branches begin to writhe and shake causing more leaves to tumble free. They land on your head, arms, back, brushing down your sides and legs and sending strikes of agony through your nerves.
Apollon yells in defiance, his whole body aflame with fire, burning everything in a 15 foot radius. A pillar of fire pierces the sky as he roars in rage.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
Apollon is sitting under a tree, resting. His breathing is ragged as blood trickles from his mouth. He digs in his satchel weakly, looking for something. His spear lays next to him, the tip gleaming in the dim light.
Leaves begin to drift down from the autumn painted branches. They drift slowly and lazily down in wide circles, landing softly in the grass. One of them is cartwheels and pin wheels above you, slowly descending upon your form, landing lightly on your shoulder.
Fang chewing, venom pulsing, poison stinging, ember searing, pain erupts on the small patch of you covered by the leaf. It radiates an agonizing sensation into your flesh.
Apollon hisses in pain as he brushes the leaf off, still looking for something in his satchel
A brief flash of a needle sharp stinging feeling scorches your fingertips as you brush away the leaf. You feel the pain erupt on your knee as another leaf lands upon your leg. You notice that there are a lot more leaves fluttering down now. The tree is shedding its load with greater speed.
Apollon sets his hand aflame and starts to burn the tree as he grabs a small bottle of blood. He uncorks it with his teeth and drinks it all, breathing a sigh of relief.
As your burning hand brands the tree trunk, the branches begin to writhe and shake causing more leaves to tumble free. They land on your head, arms, back, brushing down your sides and legs and sending strikes of agony through your nerves.
Apollon yells in defiance, his whole body aflame with fire, burning everything in a 15 foot radius. A pillar of fire pierces the sky as he roars in rage.
The leaves are turned to ash before they can reach you now that your body is coated in flame. The scatterings of pain cease. The tree catches fire and the branches caught in the pillar of flame burn away quickly. The fire spreads quickly through the branches and now the smoldering remains of leaves litter the ground in ruin.
Apollon is sitting under a tree, resting. His breathing is ragged as blood trickles from his mouth. He digs in his satchel weakly, looking for something. His spear lays next to him, the tip gleaming in the dim light.
Leaves begin to drift down from the autumn painted branches. They drift slowly and lazily down in wide circles, landing softly in the grass. One of them is cartwheels and pin wheels above you, slowly descending upon your form, landing lightly on your shoulder.
Fang chewing, venom pulsing, poison stinging, ember searing, pain erupts on the small patch of you covered by the leaf. It radiates an agonizing sensation into your flesh.
Apollon hisses in pain as he brushes the leaf off, still looking for something in his satchel
A brief flash of a needle sharp stinging feeling scorches your fingertips as you brush away the leaf. You feel the pain erupt on your knee as another leaf lands upon your leg. You notice that there are a lot more leaves fluttering down now. The tree is shedding its load with greater speed.
Apollon sets his hand aflame and starts to burn the tree as he grabs a small bottle of blood. He uncorks it with his teeth and drinks it all, breathing a sigh of relief.
As your burning hand brands the tree trunk, the branches begin to writhe and shake causing more leaves to tumble free. They land on your head, arms, back, brushing down your sides and legs and sending strikes of agony through your nerves.
Apollon yells in defiance, his whole body aflame with fire, burning everything in a 15 foot radius. A pillar of fire pierces the sky as he roars in rage.
The leaves are turned to ash before they can reach you now that your body is coated in flame. The scatterings of pain cease. The tree catches fire and the branches caught in the pillar of flame burn away quickly. The fire spreads quickly through the branches and now the smoldering remains of leaves litter the ground in ruin.
Apollon breathes heavily, standing. "I WILL KILL YOU AUTUMN KING! DO YOU HEAR ME?! DO YOU?!"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
With all the tension and activity in the Autumn Country, the frequency of culinary gifts have increased throughout the various villages. A few folks tell tales of seeing a massive house shaped shadow skittering through the dark woods, weaving it’s way through the trees.
In the Keep of Painted Leaves, hidden in a place only the King of Autumn would wander, a large and freshly baked pumpkin pie sits, the wafting aroma filling the air around it with a warm nostalgic feeling of harvest’s past and merry celebration.
In a deep, windowless hall lost in the bowels of the castle, The Autumn King paces. Every now and then a leaf flutters down from his beard as he walks no where fast, clearly considering many important matters. Eventually his pacing stops. He has caught a whiff of some delectable pastry. He turns and finds it sitting in a wooden table that seems to have been crafted from living wood. He carves himself a slice of the pie, and takes a bite.
The Autumn King has never had a pie so comforting and delectable. As he savors the first bite, fond memories of harvests past and warm celebration in the mists of the decay and chilling Autumn winds fill him. He recalls his early years, his first grand feast, the smiles and laughter of his subjects as they revel in the wondrous food and company.
He lets out an involuntary, joyous laugh. His candlelit eyes flicker with delight and he eagerly cuts himself another slice.
As the King enjoys another slice, a figure mostly obscured by the shadows observes quietly.
"You are a wonderful cook," The King says after swallowing a mouthful. "I greatly admire your work."
The shadowy figure makes a startled shrieking deer-like sound before darting further into the shadows, though the King can sense he is still there.
Apollon is sitting under a tree, resting. His breathing is ragged as blood trickles from his mouth. He digs in his satchel weakly, looking for something. His spear lays next to him, the tip gleaming in the dim light.
Leaves begin to drift down from the autumn painted branches. They drift slowly and lazily down in wide circles, landing softly in the grass. One of them is cartwheels and pin wheels above you, slowly descending upon your form, landing lightly on your shoulder.
Fang chewing, venom pulsing, poison stinging, ember searing, pain erupts on the small patch of you covered by the leaf. It radiates an agonizing sensation into your flesh.
Apollon hisses in pain as he brushes the leaf off, still looking for something in his satchel
A brief flash of a needle sharp stinging feeling scorches your fingertips as you brush away the leaf. You feel the pain erupt on your knee as another leaf lands upon your leg. You notice that there are a lot more leaves fluttering down now. The tree is shedding its load with greater speed.
Apollon sets his hand aflame and starts to burn the tree as he grabs a small bottle of blood. He uncorks it with his teeth and drinks it all, breathing a sigh of relief.
As your burning hand brands the tree trunk, the branches begin to writhe and shake causing more leaves to tumble free. They land on your head, arms, back, brushing down your sides and legs and sending strikes of agony through your nerves.
Apollon yells in defiance, his whole body aflame with fire, burning everything in a 15 foot radius. A pillar of fire pierces the sky as he roars in rage.
The leaves are turned to ash before they can reach you now that your body is coated in flame. The scatterings of pain cease. The tree catches fire and the branches caught in the pillar of flame burn away quickly. The fire spreads quickly through the branches and now the smoldering remains of leaves litter the ground in ruin.
Apollon breathes heavily, standing. "I WILL KILL YOU AUTUMN KING! DO YOU HEAR ME?! DO YOU?!"
You hear nothing in response. The tree crackles and pops and several flaming branches crash to the ground. Then you remember the King declaring that he would remove his welcome from you. That you would no longer be protected from the dangers of this realm. It is possible that this was simply a bound horror that sensed that you were free game and that it would receive no royal repercussion for anything it did to you.
Apollon is sitting under a tree, resting. His breathing is ragged as blood trickles from his mouth. He digs in his satchel weakly, looking for something. His spear lays next to him, the tip gleaming in the dim light.
Leaves begin to drift down from the autumn painted branches. They drift slowly and lazily down in wide circles, landing softly in the grass. One of them is cartwheels and pin wheels above you, slowly descending upon your form, landing lightly on your shoulder.
Fang chewing, venom pulsing, poison stinging, ember searing, pain erupts on the small patch of you covered by the leaf. It radiates an agonizing sensation into your flesh.
Apollon hisses in pain as he brushes the leaf off, still looking for something in his satchel
A brief flash of a needle sharp stinging feeling scorches your fingertips as you brush away the leaf. You feel the pain erupt on your knee as another leaf lands upon your leg. You notice that there are a lot more leaves fluttering down now. The tree is shedding its load with greater speed.
Apollon sets his hand aflame and starts to burn the tree as he grabs a small bottle of blood. He uncorks it with his teeth and drinks it all, breathing a sigh of relief.
As your burning hand brands the tree trunk, the branches begin to writhe and shake causing more leaves to tumble free. They land on your head, arms, back, brushing down your sides and legs and sending strikes of agony through your nerves.
Apollon yells in defiance, his whole body aflame with fire, burning everything in a 15 foot radius. A pillar of fire pierces the sky as he roars in rage.
The leaves are turned to ash before they can reach you now that your body is coated in flame. The scatterings of pain cease. The tree catches fire and the branches caught in the pillar of flame burn away quickly. The fire spreads quickly through the branches and now the smoldering remains of leaves litter the ground in ruin.
Apollon breathes heavily, standing. "I WILL KILL YOU AUTUMN KING! DO YOU HEAR ME?! DO YOU?!"
You hear nothing in response. The tree crackles and pops and several flaming branches crash to the ground. Then you remember the King declaring that he would remove his welcome from you. That you would no longer be protected from the dangers of this realm. It is possible that this was simply a bound horror that sensed that you were free game and that it would receive no royal repercussion for anything it did to you.
“I WILL KILL ALL YOU HOLD DEAR!”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
You hear nothing in response. The tree crackles and pops and several flaming branches crash to the ground. Then you remember the King declaring that he would remove his welcome from you. That you would no longer be protected from the dangers of this realm. It is possible that this was simply a bound horror that sensed that you were free game and that it would receive no royal repercussion for anything it did to you.
“I WILL KILL ALL YOU HOLD DEAR!”
The only answer is the wind. It blows cold and quick, cooling and calming the fires that tear at the trees branches. A scar the shape of your hand has been branded onto the tree. Blood sap trickles from the fresh wound.
The stout ferretfolk looks over at the pillar of flame, cowering.
Szeru begins to build his golems even faster.
They see a crooked, decaying sunflower of imposing height, also looking at the pillar of flame, but not with fear- with hunger.
The strugel (that is the name of the species) waddles over, spiral eyes wide. "...Have you ever had prepared light? Carved into colors, seasoned with radiation beyond the spectrums that we can recognize, molded into a pinprick of raw power?" He places a handpaw against the stalk of the plant. "This place is beautiful, but that light... it is an overpowering flavor. It doesn't belong here." He looks up at the withered flowers. "It is my duty to prepare it... would you be willing to eat it for me?"
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.
You hear nothing in response. The tree crackles and pops and several flaming branches crash to the ground. Then you remember the King declaring that he would remove his welcome from you. That you would no longer be protected from the dangers of this realm. It is possible that this was simply a bound horror that sensed that you were free game and that it would receive no royal repercussion for anything it did to you.
“I WILL KILL ALL YOU HOLD DEAR!”
The only answer is the wind. It blows cold and quick, cooling and calming the fires that tear at the trees branches. A scar the shape of your hand has been branded onto the tree. Blood sap trickles from the fresh wound.
He breaths heavily, heading towards the nearest village
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
The stout ferretfolk looks over at the pillar of flame, cowering.
Szeru begins to build his golems even faster.
They see a crooked, decaying sunflower of imposing height, also looking at the pillar of flame, but not with fear- with hunger.
The strugel (that is the name of the species) waddles over, spiral eyes wide. "...Have you ever had prepared light? Carved into colors, seasoned with radiation beyond the spectrums that we can recognize, molded into a pinprick of raw power?" He places a handpaw against the stalk of the plant. "This place is beautiful, but that light... it is an overpowering flavor. It doesn't belong here." He looks up at the withered flowers. "It is my duty to prepare it... would you be willing to eat it for me?"
Helianth looks down at the strugel, curious. "...I have not... had such light... before... but I would be... grateful... to have... your creation..."
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 strugel (that is the name of the species) waddles over, spiral eyes wide. "...Have you ever had prepared light? Carved into colors, seasoned with radiation beyond the spectrums that we can recognize, molded into a pinprick of raw power?" He places a handpaw against the stalk of the plant. "This place is beautiful, but that light... it is an overpowering flavor. It doesn't belong here." He looks up at the withered flowers. "It is my duty to prepare it... would you be willing to eat it for me?"
Helianth looks down at the strugel, curious. "...I have not... had such light... before... but I would be... grateful... to have... your creation..."
The chubby, fluffy humanoid hugs the plant. "Thank you. I can tell from your aura that you have a glorious appetite. We will need it to contain that... madness. Now we just need a method of harvesting it. It's stronger than anything I've ever had to hunt before..." He pulls away and puts a paw to his chin. "It's not just light, but fire... what could counter this flame?"
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 strugel (that is the name of the species) waddles over, spiral eyes wide. "...Have you ever had prepared light? Carved into colors, seasoned with radiation beyond the spectrums that we can recognize, molded into a pinprick of raw power?" He places a handpaw against the stalk of the plant. "This place is beautiful, but that light... it is an overpowering flavor. It doesn't belong here." He looks up at the withered flowers. "It is my duty to prepare it... would you be willing to eat it for me?"
Helianth looks down at the strugel, curious. "...I have not... had such light... before... but I would be... grateful... to have... your creation..."
The chubby, fluffy humanoid hugs the plant. "Thank you. I can tell from your aura that you have a glorious appetite. We will need it to contain that... madness. Now we just need a method of harvesting it. It's stronger than anything I've ever had to hunt before..." He pulls away and puts a paw to his chin. "It's not just light, but fire... what could counter this flame?"
"...Perhaps we... suffocate... the flame..." The flower looks back to the sun, deep in thought. "...or starve it... of fuel..."
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)
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"You are a wonderful cook," The King says after swallowing a mouthful. "I greatly admire your work."
Apollon sets his hand aflame and starts to burn the tree as he grabs a small bottle of blood. He uncorks it with his teeth and drinks it all, breathing a sigh of relief.
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
As your burning hand brands the tree trunk, the branches begin to writhe and shake causing more leaves to tumble free. They land on your head, arms, back, brushing down your sides and legs and sending strikes of agony through your nerves.
Apollon yells in defiance, his whole body aflame with fire, burning everything in a 15 foot radius. A pillar of fire pierces the sky as he roars in rage.
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
The leaves are turned to ash before they can reach you now that your body is coated in flame. The scatterings of pain cease. The tree catches fire and the branches caught in the pillar of flame burn away quickly. The fire spreads quickly through the branches and now the smoldering remains of leaves litter the ground in ruin.
The stout ferretfolk looks over at the pillar of flame, cowering.
Szeru begins to build his golems even faster.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
Apollon breathes heavily, standing. "I WILL KILL YOU AUTUMN KING! DO YOU HEAR ME?! DO YOU?!"
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
The shadowy figure makes a startled shrieking deer-like sound before darting further into the shadows, though the King can sense he is still there.
They see a crooked, decaying sunflower of imposing height, also looking at the pillar of flame, but not with fear- with hunger.
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)
You hear nothing in response. The tree crackles and pops and several flaming branches crash to the ground. Then you remember the King declaring that he would remove his welcome from you. That you would no longer be protected from the dangers of this realm. It is possible that this was simply a bound horror that sensed that you were free game and that it would receive no royal repercussion for anything it did to you.
“I WILL KILL ALL YOU HOLD DEAR!”
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
"Shy, are you? You needn't be afraid. I have heard the tales of your little gifts. They are quite wonderful." He says with the voice of a gentle wind.
The only answer is the wind. It blows cold and quick, cooling and calming the fires that tear at the trees branches. A scar the shape of your hand has been branded onto the tree. Blood sap trickles from the fresh wound.
The strugel (that is the name of the species) waddles over, spiral eyes wide. "...Have you ever had prepared light? Carved into colors, seasoned with radiation beyond the spectrums that we can recognize, molded into a pinprick of raw power?" He places a handpaw against the stalk of the plant. "This place is beautiful, but that light... it is an overpowering flavor. It doesn't belong here." He looks up at the withered flowers. "It is my duty to prepare it... would you be willing to eat it for me?"
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
He breaths heavily, heading towards the nearest village
Ye old creator of characters
Tortured poet and writer
This mortal body is expendable, I will be released from my binding soon.
Helianth looks down at the strugel, curious. "...I have not... had such light... before... but I would be... grateful... to have... your creation..."
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 got to go.*
After a few moments, a whispering voice speaks from the shadows “Not my creations…I simply determine who needs them…and deliver them…”
The chubby, fluffy humanoid hugs the plant. "Thank you. I can tell from your aura that you have a glorious appetite. We will need it to contain that... madness. Now we just need a method of harvesting it. It's stronger than anything I've ever had to hunt before..." He pulls away and puts a paw to his chin. "It's not just light, but fire... what could counter this flame?"
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
"...Perhaps we... suffocate... the flame..." The flower looks back to the sun, deep in thought. "...or starve it... of fuel..."
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)