"A gift is diminished when reciprocation is expected. At least, that's what I believe." He looks through them. "The apples and pears are probably inferior to the ones here... but strawberries are a spring crop." He removes a small box of the small, pink, perfectly-shaped berries. "Now look at that... still fresh."
Julius grins ear to ear. “It has been so long since I have had strawberries-…” he leans over to inspect them closely, claws digging into the wood of the Piano-tree.
He places the strawberries on the piano in front of Julius. "Would you like these now, or in a shortcake? They'll be raw and fresh either way."
“A shortcake would be simply marvelous-… why are you doing this to me?” He asks, meeting Otto’s eyes with his own. “Do you even know who I am? You’re new, so I assume not…”
*Goooooooood morning, my lovely creatures and cryptids!*
Helianth is searching high and low, through fields and farms and forests, for some way to begin its mad quest to bring forth eternal summer- a chink in the Autumn King's armor, a crack in the stone with which to take root and tear the foundation down from within.
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)
*Goooooooood morning, my lovely creatures and cryptids!*
Helianth is searching high and low, through fields and farms and forests, for some way to begin its mad quest to bring forth eternal summer- a chink in the Autumn King's armor, a crack in the stone with which to take root and tear the foundation down from within.
*Hello, my dearest Yvonne! Have you seen me and Dark’s chat about my possible ideas?*
Helianth finds something rather odd- in a miles-wide wheat field, six humanoids dressed in white and gold robes, wearing masks resembling various animals, are holding some sort of ritual inside a circle of stones, the stones inscribed with symbols and words in some unknown, long dead language.
*Goooooooood morning, my lovely creatures and cryptids!*
Helianth is searching high and low, through fields and farms and forests, for some way to begin its mad quest to bring forth eternal summer- a chink in the Autumn King's armor, a crack in the stone with which to take root and tear the foundation down from within.
*Hello, my dearest Yvonne! Have you seen me and Dark’s chat about my possible ideas?*
Helianth finds something rather odd- in a miles-wide wheat field, six humanoids dressed in white and gold robes, wearing masks resembling various animals, are holding some sort of ritual inside a circle of stones, the stones inscribed with symbols and words in some unknown, long dead language.
*Hello, my dear friend Arch! I did- I think the idea of the Barley King's cycle of sacrifice being a part of how autumn lasts eternally in this realm is really cool!*
The angel of emptiness sees the odd ritual, and approaches somewhat, maintaining a decent distance between it and them as to not interrupt while it observes.
*Goooooooood morning, my lovely creatures and cryptids!*
Helianth is searching high and low, through fields and farms and forests, for some way to begin its mad quest to bring forth eternal summer- a chink in the Autumn King's armor, a crack in the stone with which to take root and tear the foundation down from within.
*Hello, my dearest Yvonne! Have you seen me and Dark’s chat about my possible ideas?*
Helianth finds something rather odd- in a miles-wide wheat field, six humanoids dressed in white and gold robes, wearing masks resembling various animals, are holding some sort of ritual inside a circle of stones, the stones inscribed with symbols and words in some unknown, long dead language.
*Hello, my dear friend Arch! I did- I think the idea of the Barley King's cycle of sacrifice being a part of how autumn lasts eternally in this realm is really cool!*
The angel of emptiness sees the odd ritual, and approaches somewhat, maintaining a decent distance between it and them as to not interrupt while it observes.
Five of them begin chanting, while the sixth, with the mask of a red rabbit, reads incantations from a leatherbound book, splattered with dried blood. Helianth can’t understand most of it, but they repeat the same phrase in common multiple times, ‘Hail the King that brings us mead, hail the king that brings us grain…’
it grows… warmer, almost. Not as in temperature, but the area around them fills with a bright… presence. The sensation of warmth and sunlight, yet there is no light. It gets more and more intense.
*Goooooooood morning, my lovely creatures and cryptids!*
Helianth is searching high and low, through fields and farms and forests, for some way to begin its mad quest to bring forth eternal summer- a chink in the Autumn King's armor, a crack in the stone with which to take root and tear the foundation down from within.
*Hello, my dearest Yvonne! Have you seen me and Dark’s chat about my possible ideas?*
Helianth finds something rather odd- in a miles-wide wheat field, six humanoids dressed in white and gold robes, wearing masks resembling various animals, are holding some sort of ritual inside a circle of stones, the stones inscribed with symbols and words in some unknown, long dead language.
*Hello, my dear friend Arch! I did- I think the idea of the Barley King's cycle of sacrifice being a part of how autumn lasts eternally in this realm is really cool!*
The angel of emptiness sees the odd ritual, and approaches somewhat, maintaining a decent distance between it and them as to not interrupt while it observes.
Five of them begin chanting, while the sixth, with the mask of a red rabbit, reads incantations from a leatherbound book, splattered with dried blood. Helianth can’t understand most of it, but they repeat the same phrase in common multiple times, ‘Hail the King that brings us mead, hail the king that brings us grain…’
it grows… warmer, almost. Not as in temperature, but the area around them fills with a bright… presence. The sensation of warmth and sunlight, yet there is no light. It gets more and more intense.
The sunflower seems especially intrigued by the bright presence, a sense of hunger- minuscule in comparison to its previous eternal starvation, but still very much present- gnawing at the core of its being as it waits for the ritual's conclusion. It ventures a bit closer, not caring to be stealthy, but does not say anything or otherwise intervene.
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)
*Goooooooood morning, my lovely creatures and cryptids!*
Helianth is searching high and low, through fields and farms and forests, for some way to begin its mad quest to bring forth eternal summer- a chink in the Autumn King's armor, a crack in the stone with which to take root and tear the foundation down from within.
*Hello, my dearest Yvonne! Have you seen me and Dark’s chat about my possible ideas?*
Helianth finds something rather odd- in a miles-wide wheat field, six humanoids dressed in white and gold robes, wearing masks resembling various animals, are holding some sort of ritual inside a circle of stones, the stones inscribed with symbols and words in some unknown, long dead language.
*Hello, my dear friend Arch! I did- I think the idea of the Barley King's cycle of sacrifice being a part of how autumn lasts eternally in this realm is really cool!*
The angel of emptiness sees the odd ritual, and approaches somewhat, maintaining a decent distance between it and them as to not interrupt while it observes.
Five of them begin chanting, while the sixth, with the mask of a red rabbit, reads incantations from a leatherbound book, splattered with dried blood. Helianth can’t understand most of it, but they repeat the same phrase in common multiple times, ‘Hail the King that brings us mead, hail the king that brings us grain…’
it grows… warmer, almost. Not as in temperature, but the area around them fills with a bright… presence. The sensation of warmth and sunlight, yet there is no light. It gets more and more intense.
The sunflower seems especially intrigued by the bright presence, a sense of hunger- minuscule in comparison to its previous eternal starvation, but still very much present- gnawing at the core of its being as it waits for the ritual's conclusion. It ventures a bit closer, not caring to be stealthy, but does not say anything or otherwise intervene.
The cultist reading from the book concludes the ritual by producing a silver dagger from her robes, and creating a tiny slash on her palm, splattering the blood on the rock. Helianth can feel the presence get stronger and stronger, they’re almost able to see it- three tiny lights swirling around the cultist, getting brighter and hotter- but it isn’t truly visible, they can simply sense it. It is divine in nature, clearly.
the cultist examines the splattering of blood, and looks to the other cultists. “Three days!” She exclaims, the divinity around her and the ritual fading. “Three days until the hunt.”
the cultists seem overjoyed at the news, and it takes a bit before any of them notice Helianth. The lead cultist, the woman with the rabbit mask, stares at Helianth quizzically.
*Inquiry: should I eat the seven year old, homemade applesauce I found in a jar in my basement?*
Off in a distant reach of the Autumn Country, where few ghouls haunt the graves and fewer spirits stalk the fields, where the only voice is the wind whispering dark secrets with the rasping tongue of the fallen leaves, is an ancient ruin. Huge arches form a crumbling circle of constructed stone. A forgotten colosseum that decays in the corner of the world like an unpleasant memory.
*Goooooooood morning, my lovely creatures and cryptids!*
Helianth is searching high and low, through fields and farms and forests, for some way to begin its mad quest to bring forth eternal summer- a chink in the Autumn King's armor, a crack in the stone with which to take root and tear the foundation down from within.
*Hello, my dearest Yvonne! Have you seen me and Dark’s chat about my possible ideas?*
Helianth finds something rather odd- in a miles-wide wheat field, six humanoids dressed in white and gold robes, wearing masks resembling various animals, are holding some sort of ritual inside a circle of stones, the stones inscribed with symbols and words in some unknown, long dead language.
*Hello, my dear friend Arch! I did- I think the idea of the Barley King's cycle of sacrifice being a part of how autumn lasts eternally in this realm is really cool!*
The angel of emptiness sees the odd ritual, and approaches somewhat, maintaining a decent distance between it and them as to not interrupt while it observes.
Five of them begin chanting, while the sixth, with the mask of a red rabbit, reads incantations from a leatherbound book, splattered with dried blood. Helianth can’t understand most of it, but they repeat the same phrase in common multiple times, ‘Hail the King that brings us mead, hail the king that brings us grain…’
it grows… warmer, almost. Not as in temperature, but the area around them fills with a bright… presence. The sensation of warmth and sunlight, yet there is no light. It gets more and more intense.
The sunflower seems especially intrigued by the bright presence, a sense of hunger- minuscule in comparison to its previous eternal starvation, but still very much present- gnawing at the core of its being as it waits for the ritual's conclusion. It ventures a bit closer, not caring to be stealthy, but does not say anything or otherwise intervene.
The cultist reading from the book concludes the ritual by producing a silver dagger from her robes, and creating a tiny slash on her palm, splattering the blood on the rock. Helianth can feel the presence get stronger and stronger, they’re almost able to see it- three tiny lights swirling around the cultist, getting brighter and hotter- but it isn’t truly visible, they can simply sense it. It is divine in nature, clearly.
the cultist examines the splattering of blood, and looks to the other cultists. “Three days!” She exclaims, the divinity around her and the ritual fading. “Three days until the hunt.”
the cultists seem overjoyed at the news, and it takes a bit before any of them notice Helianth. The lead cultist, the woman with the rabbit mask, stares at Helianth quizzically.
*Sorry about the delay- I'm back now.*
Helianth resists the urge to consume the divine lights the moment they appear- even without its eternal starvation, its hunger knows no bounds, but indulging in it now would certainly upset the cultists. The towering sunflower of flesh and metal and stolen divine radiance stares back at them, before it speaks. "What is the hunt?" It asks, its voice a croaking baritone, soft spoken yet loud enough to be heard by all of them.
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)
*Inquiry: should I eat the seven year old, homemade applesauce I found in a jar in my basement?*
Off in a distant reach of the Autumn Country, where few ghouls haunt the graves and fewer spirits stalk the fields, where the only voice is the wind whispering dark secrets with the rasping tongue of the fallen leaves, is an ancient ruin. Huge arches form a crumbling circle of constructed stone. A forgotten colosseum that decays in the corner of the world like an unpleasant memory.
Helianth has found this place in its meandering search, standing before the great stone arches and looking up at the ruin with both curiosity and a silent respect for those who created such awe-inspiring architecture. it carefully proceeds further into the colosseum, taking mental note of everything it sees.
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)
*Goooooooood morning, my lovely creatures and cryptids!*
Helianth is searching high and low, through fields and farms and forests, for some way to begin its mad quest to bring forth eternal summer- a chink in the Autumn King's armor, a crack in the stone with which to take root and tear the foundation down from within.
*Hello, my dearest Yvonne! Have you seen me and Dark’s chat about my possible ideas?*
Helianth finds something rather odd- in a miles-wide wheat field, six humanoids dressed in white and gold robes, wearing masks resembling various animals, are holding some sort of ritual inside a circle of stones, the stones inscribed with symbols and words in some unknown, long dead language.
*Hello, my dear friend Arch! I did- I think the idea of the Barley King's cycle of sacrifice being a part of how autumn lasts eternally in this realm is really cool!*
The angel of emptiness sees the odd ritual, and approaches somewhat, maintaining a decent distance between it and them as to not interrupt while it observes.
Five of them begin chanting, while the sixth, with the mask of a red rabbit, reads incantations from a leatherbound book, splattered with dried blood. Helianth can’t understand most of it, but they repeat the same phrase in common multiple times, ‘Hail the King that brings us mead, hail the king that brings us grain…’
it grows… warmer, almost. Not as in temperature, but the area around them fills with a bright… presence. The sensation of warmth and sunlight, yet there is no light. It gets more and more intense.
The sunflower seems especially intrigued by the bright presence, a sense of hunger- minuscule in comparison to its previous eternal starvation, but still very much present- gnawing at the core of its being as it waits for the ritual's conclusion. It ventures a bit closer, not caring to be stealthy, but does not say anything or otherwise intervene.
The cultist reading from the book concludes the ritual by producing a silver dagger from her robes, and creating a tiny slash on her palm, splattering the blood on the rock. Helianth can feel the presence get stronger and stronger, they’re almost able to see it- three tiny lights swirling around the cultist, getting brighter and hotter- but it isn’t truly visible, they can simply sense it. It is divine in nature, clearly.
the cultist examines the splattering of blood, and looks to the other cultists. “Three days!” She exclaims, the divinity around her and the ritual fading. “Three days until the hunt.”
the cultists seem overjoyed at the news, and it takes a bit before any of them notice Helianth. The lead cultist, the woman with the rabbit mask, stares at Helianth quizzically.
*Sorry about the delay- I'm back now.*
Helianth resists the urge to consume the divine lights the moment they appear- even without its eternal starvation, its hunger knows no bounds, but indulging in it now would certainly upset the cultists. The towering sunflower of flesh and metal and stolen divine radiance stares back at them, before it speaks. "What is the hunt?" It asks, its voice a croaking baritone, soft spoken yet loud enough to be heard by all of them.
Suspicious, the high cultist grasps her silver dagger in one hand.
The sunflower seems especially intrigued by the bright presence, a sense of hunger- minuscule in comparison to its previous eternal starvation, but still very much present- gnawing at the core of its being as it waits for the ritual's conclusion. It ventures a bit closer, not caring to be stealthy, but does not say anything or otherwise intervene.
The cultist reading from the book concludes the ritual by producing a silver dagger from her robes, and creating a tiny slash on her palm, splattering the blood on the rock. Helianth can feel the presence get stronger and stronger, they’re almost able to see it- three tiny lights swirling around the cultist, getting brighter and hotter- but it isn’t truly visible, they can simply sense it. It is divine in nature, clearly.
the cultist examines the splattering of blood, and looks to the other cultists. “Three days!” She exclaims, the divinity around her and the ritual fading. “Three days until the hunt.”
the cultists seem overjoyed at the news, and it takes a bit before any of them notice Helianth. The lead cultist, the woman with the rabbit mask, stares at Helianth quizzically.
*Sorry about the delay- I'm back now.*
Helianth resists the urge to consume the divine lights the moment they appear- even without its eternal starvation, its hunger knows no bounds, but indulging in it now would certainly upset the cultists. The towering sunflower of flesh and metal and stolen divine radiance stares back at them, before it speaks. "What is the hunt?" It asks, its voice a croaking baritone, soft spoken yet loud enough to be heard by all of them.
Suspicious, the high cultist grasps her silver dagger in one hand.
”the hunt for the Barley king, our god.”
The crooked god-eater does not seem threatened in the least by this gesture, but it still moves back a tiny bit upon seeing her reach for her blade, trying to make it clear that it has no intention of hostility.
"A hunt for a god? Intriguing. How do you find them once the hunt begins?" It asks with genuine curiosity.
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 sunflower seems especially intrigued by the bright presence, a sense of hunger- minuscule in comparison to its previous eternal starvation, but still very much present- gnawing at the core of its being as it waits for the ritual's conclusion. It ventures a bit closer, not caring to be stealthy, but does not say anything or otherwise intervene.
The cultist reading from the book concludes the ritual by producing a silver dagger from her robes, and creating a tiny slash on her palm, splattering the blood on the rock. Helianth can feel the presence get stronger and stronger, they’re almost able to see it- three tiny lights swirling around the cultist, getting brighter and hotter- but it isn’t truly visible, they can simply sense it. It is divine in nature, clearly.
the cultist examines the splattering of blood, and looks to the other cultists. “Three days!” She exclaims, the divinity around her and the ritual fading. “Three days until the hunt.”
the cultists seem overjoyed at the news, and it takes a bit before any of them notice Helianth. The lead cultist, the woman with the rabbit mask, stares at Helianth quizzically.
*Sorry about the delay- I'm back now.*
Helianth resists the urge to consume the divine lights the moment they appear- even without its eternal starvation, its hunger knows no bounds, but indulging in it now would certainly upset the cultists. The towering sunflower of flesh and metal and stolen divine radiance stares back at them, before it speaks. "What is the hunt?" It asks, its voice a croaking baritone, soft spoken yet loud enough to be heard by all of them.
Suspicious, the high cultist grasps her silver dagger in one hand.
”the hunt for the Barley king, our god.”
The crooked god-eater does not seem threatened in the least by this gesture, but it still moves back a tiny bit upon seeing her reach for her blade, trying to make it clear that it has no intention of hostility.
"A hunt for a god? Intriguing. How do you find them once the hunt begins?" It asks with genuine curiosity.
“The Barley king will manifest somewhere within the Autumn country three days from now… we know not where, but our cult is expansive and the Autumn court helps us in our endeavor. We will find them soon after they appear. In addition, we have magic that can help us track down the King… who are you… and what are you?”
*Inquiry: should I eat the seven year old, homemade applesauce I found in a jar in my basement?*
Off in a distant reach of the Autumn Country, where few ghouls haunt the graves and fewer spirits stalk the fields, where the only voice is the wind whispering dark secrets with the rasping tongue of the fallen leaves, is an ancient ruin. Huge arches form a crumbling circle of constructed stone. A forgotten colosseum that decays in the corner of the world like an unpleasant memory.
Helianth has found this place in its meandering search, standing before the great stone arches and looking up at the ruin with both curiosity and a silent respect for those who created such awe-inspiring architecture. it carefully proceeds further into the colosseum, taking mental note of everything it sees.
Dead, dry leaves flap like banners of surrender, stuck between the cracks of the pavement. The of the ground is parched and thirsty for the blood it once glutted upon. The deafening silence of stands that were once full of murderous screams and raucous laughter fill the arena.
There in the center of the arena you see a bright green and yellow shape. As out of place as a daisy growing in the depths of an open grave. A clown in a baggy green outfit with blooming flowerhead buttons juggles in the silent theater of death. His painted face doesn't seem to notice you and pokes out from the middle of a large, yellow, dandelion bloom. His fast-moving hands and feet protrude from flower petal ruffs and you notice a few silvery shapes floating smoothly about him, but they quickly disappear.
The sunflower seems especially intrigued by the bright presence, a sense of hunger- minuscule in comparison to its previous eternal starvation, but still very much present- gnawing at the core of its being as it waits for the ritual's conclusion. It ventures a bit closer, not caring to be stealthy, but does not say anything or otherwise intervene.
The cultist reading from the book concludes the ritual by producing a silver dagger from her robes, and creating a tiny slash on her palm, splattering the blood on the rock. Helianth can feel the presence get stronger and stronger, they’re almost able to see it- three tiny lights swirling around the cultist, getting brighter and hotter- but it isn’t truly visible, they can simply sense it. It is divine in nature, clearly.
the cultist examines the splattering of blood, and looks to the other cultists. “Three days!” She exclaims, the divinity around her and the ritual fading. “Three days until the hunt.”
the cultists seem overjoyed at the news, and it takes a bit before any of them notice Helianth. The lead cultist, the woman with the rabbit mask, stares at Helianth quizzically.
*Sorry about the delay- I'm back now.*
Helianth resists the urge to consume the divine lights the moment they appear- even without its eternal starvation, its hunger knows no bounds, but indulging in it now would certainly upset the cultists. The towering sunflower of flesh and metal and stolen divine radiance stares back at them, before it speaks. "What is the hunt?" It asks, its voice a croaking baritone, soft spoken yet loud enough to be heard by all of them.
Suspicious, the high cultist grasps her silver dagger in one hand.
”the hunt for the Barley king, our god.”
The crooked god-eater does not seem threatened in the least by this gesture, but it still moves back a tiny bit upon seeing her reach for her blade, trying to make it clear that it has no intention of hostility.
"A hunt for a god? Intriguing. How do you find them once the hunt begins?" It asks with genuine curiosity.
“The Barley king will manifest somewhere within the Autumn country three days from now… we know not where, but our cult is expansive and the Autumn court helps us in our endeavor. We will find them soon after they appear. In addition, we have magic that can help us track down the King… who are you… and what are you?”
"I am Helianth- a nostalgic traveler, a connoisseur of the divine, and little else that is of importance to you." It responds, bowing slightly. Assuming these particular cultists were around in some capacity when Helianth was first here, they likely recognize the name- as well as its former goal. "Forgive me if this is a rather foolish question, but I must ask... why do you hunt down the Barley King?"
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)
*Inquiry: should I eat the seven year old, homemade applesauce I found in a jar in my basement?*
Off in a distant reach of the Autumn Country, where few ghouls haunt the graves and fewer spirits stalk the fields, where the only voice is the wind whispering dark secrets with the rasping tongue of the fallen leaves, is an ancient ruin. Huge arches form a crumbling circle of constructed stone. A forgotten colosseum that decays in the corner of the world like an unpleasant memory.
Helianth has found this place in its meandering search, standing before the great stone arches and looking up at the ruin with both curiosity and a silent respect for those who created such awe-inspiring architecture. it carefully proceeds further into the colosseum, taking mental note of everything it sees.
Dead, dry leaves flap like banners of surrender, stuck between the cracks of the pavement. The of the ground is parched and thirsty for the blood it once glutted upon. The deafening silence of stands that were once full of murderous screams and raucous laughter fill the arena.
There in the center of the arena you see a bright green and yellow shape. As out of place as a daisy growing in the depths of an open grave. A clown in a baggy green outfit with blooming flowerhead buttons juggles in the silent theater of death. His painted face doesn't seem to notice you and pokes out from the middle of a large, yellow, dandelion bloom. His fast-moving hands and feet protrude from flower petal ruffs and you notice a few silvery shapes floating smoothly about him, but they quickly disappear.
The divine glutton curiously approaches, not expecting anyone else to be in such a dilapidated place, so seemingly forgotten and distant. "What is this place?"
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)
Dead, dry leaves flap like banners of surrender, stuck between the cracks of the pavement. The of the ground is parched and thirsty for the blood it once glutted upon. The deafening silence of stands that were once full of murderous screams and raucous laughter fill the arena.
There in the center of the arena you see a bright green and yellow shape. As out of place as a daisy growing in the depths of an open grave. A clown in a baggy green outfit with blooming flowerhead buttons juggles in the silent theater of death. His painted face doesn't seem to notice you and pokes out from the middle of a large, yellow, dandelion bloom. His fast-moving hands and feet protrude from flower petal ruffs and you notice a few silvery shapes floating smoothly about him, but they quickly disappear.
The divine glutton curiously approaches, not expecting anyone else to be in such a dilapidated place, so seemingly forgotten and distant. "What is this place?"
Without dropping the four balls that he keeps hurtling through the air in complicated patterns, the clown responds, "This is dead place is the September Colosseum. Long ago my people fought in this arena for the pleasure of the Autumn Court. Now I perform here for empty stands to honor their memory."
Dead, dry leaves flap like banners of surrender, stuck between the cracks of the pavement. The of the ground is parched and thirsty for the blood it once glutted upon. The deafening silence of stands that were once full of murderous screams and raucous laughter fill the arena.
There in the center of the arena you see a bright green and yellow shape. As out of place as a daisy growing in the depths of an open grave. A clown in a baggy green outfit with blooming flowerhead buttons juggles in the silent theater of death. His painted face doesn't seem to notice you and pokes out from the middle of a large, yellow, dandelion bloom. His fast-moving hands and feet protrude from flower petal ruffs and you notice a few silvery shapes floating smoothly about him, but they quickly disappear.
The divine glutton curiously approaches, not expecting anyone else to be in such a dilapidated place, so seemingly forgotten and distant. "What is this place?"
Without dropping the four balls that he keeps hurtling through the air in complicated patterns, the clown responds, "This is dead place is the September Colosseum. Long ago my people fought in this arena for the pleasure of the Autumn Court. Now I perform here for empty stands to honor their memory."
"I see... my deepest condolences." It responds, looking up at the empty rows of stands where a bloodthirsty crowd once stood. "And who 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)
Dead, dry leaves flap like banners of surrender, stuck between the cracks of the pavement. The of the ground is parched and thirsty for the blood it once glutted upon. The deafening silence of stands that were once full of murderous screams and raucous laughter fill the arena.
There in the center of the arena you see a bright green and yellow shape. As out of place as a daisy growing in the depths of an open grave. A clown in a baggy green outfit with blooming flowerhead buttons juggles in the silent theater of death. His painted face doesn't seem to notice you and pokes out from the middle of a large, yellow, dandelion bloom. His fast-moving hands and feet protrude from flower petal ruffs and you notice a few silvery shapes floating smoothly about him, but they quickly disappear.
The divine glutton curiously approaches, not expecting anyone else to be in such a dilapidated place, so seemingly forgotten and distant. "What is this place?"
Without dropping the four balls that he keeps hurtling through the air in complicated patterns, the clown responds, "This is dead place is the September Colosseum. Long ago my people fought in this arena for the pleasure of the Autumn Court. Now I perform here for empty stands to honor their memory."
"I see... my deepest condolences." It responds, looking up at the empty rows of stands where a bloodthirsty crowd once stood. "And who are you?"
"I am the Poisson D'avril, the April Fish, the April Fool," He catches all four balls in a flourish. "One of the last of the Spring Court. Perhaps the last."
“A shortcake would be simply marvelous-… why are you doing this to me?” He asks, meeting Otto’s eyes with his own. “Do you even know who I am? You’re new, so I assume not…”
*Goooooooood morning, my lovely creatures and cryptids!*
Helianth is searching high and low, through fields and farms and forests, for some way to begin its mad quest to bring forth eternal summer- a chink in the Autumn King's armor, a crack in the stone with which to take root and tear the foundation down from within.
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)
*Hello, my dearest Yvonne! Have you seen me and Dark’s chat about my possible ideas?*
Helianth finds something rather odd- in a miles-wide wheat field, six humanoids dressed in white and gold robes, wearing masks resembling various animals, are holding some sort of ritual inside a circle of stones, the stones inscribed with symbols and words in some unknown, long dead language.
*Hello, my dear friend Arch! I did- I think the idea of the Barley King's cycle of sacrifice being a part of how autumn lasts eternally in this realm is really cool!*
The angel of emptiness sees the odd ritual, and approaches somewhat, maintaining a decent distance between it and them as to not interrupt while it observes.
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)
Five of them begin chanting, while the sixth, with the mask of a red rabbit, reads incantations from a leatherbound book, splattered with dried blood. Helianth can’t understand most of it, but they repeat the same phrase in common multiple times, ‘Hail the King that brings us mead, hail the king that brings us grain…’
it grows… warmer, almost. Not as in temperature, but the area around them fills with a bright… presence. The sensation of warmth and sunlight, yet there is no light. It gets more and more intense.
The sunflower seems especially intrigued by the bright presence, a sense of hunger- minuscule in comparison to its previous eternal starvation, but still very much present- gnawing at the core of its being as it waits for the ritual's conclusion. It ventures a bit closer, not caring to be stealthy, but does not say anything or otherwise intervene.
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 cultist reading from the book concludes the ritual by producing a silver dagger from her robes, and creating a tiny slash on her palm, splattering the blood on the rock. Helianth can feel the presence get stronger and stronger, they’re almost able to see it- three tiny lights swirling around the cultist, getting brighter and hotter- but it isn’t truly visible, they can simply sense it. It is divine in nature, clearly.
the cultist examines the splattering of blood, and looks to the other cultists. “Three days!” She exclaims, the divinity around her and the ritual fading. “Three days until the hunt.”
the cultists seem overjoyed at the news, and it takes a bit before any of them notice Helianth. The lead cultist, the woman with the rabbit mask, stares at Helianth quizzically.
*Inquiry: should I eat the seven year old, homemade applesauce I found in a jar in my basement?*
Off in a distant reach of the Autumn Country, where few ghouls haunt the graves and fewer spirits stalk the fields, where the only voice is the wind whispering dark secrets with the rasping tongue of the fallen leaves, is an ancient ruin. Huge arches form a crumbling circle of constructed stone. A forgotten colosseum that decays in the corner of the world like an unpleasant memory.
*Sorry about the delay- I'm back now.*
Helianth resists the urge to consume the divine lights the moment they appear- even without its eternal starvation, its hunger knows no bounds, but indulging in it now would certainly upset the cultists. The towering sunflower of flesh and metal and stolen divine radiance stares back at them, before it speaks. "What is the hunt?" It asks, its voice a croaking baritone, soft spoken yet loud enough to be heard by all of them.
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)
Helianth has found this place in its meandering search, standing before the great stone arches and looking up at the ruin with both curiosity and a silent respect for those who created such awe-inspiring architecture. it carefully proceeds further into the colosseum, taking mental note of everything it sees.
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)
Suspicious, the high cultist grasps her silver dagger in one hand.
”the hunt for the Barley king, our god.”
The crooked god-eater does not seem threatened in the least by this gesture, but it still moves back a tiny bit upon seeing her reach for her blade, trying to make it clear that it has no intention of hostility.
"A hunt for a god? Intriguing. How do you find them once the hunt begins?" It asks with genuine curiosity.
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 Barley king will manifest somewhere within the Autumn country three days from now… we know not where, but our cult is expansive and the Autumn court helps us in our endeavor. We will find them soon after they appear. In addition, we have magic that can help us track down the King… who are you… and what are you?”
Dead, dry leaves flap like banners of surrender, stuck between the cracks of the pavement. The of the ground is parched and thirsty for the blood it once glutted upon. The deafening silence of stands that were once full of murderous screams and raucous laughter fill the arena.
There in the center of the arena you see a bright green and yellow shape. As out of place as a daisy growing in the depths of an open grave. A clown in a baggy green outfit with blooming flowerhead buttons juggles in the silent theater of death. His painted face doesn't seem to notice you and pokes out from the middle of a large, yellow, dandelion bloom. His fast-moving hands and feet protrude from flower petal ruffs and you notice a few silvery shapes floating smoothly about him, but they quickly disappear.
"I am Helianth- a nostalgic traveler, a connoisseur of the divine, and little else that is of importance to you." It responds, bowing slightly. Assuming these particular cultists were around in some capacity when Helianth was first here, they likely recognize the name- as well as its former goal. "Forgive me if this is a rather foolish question, but I must ask... why do you hunt down the Barley King?"
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 divine glutton curiously approaches, not expecting anyone else to be in such a dilapidated place, so seemingly forgotten and distant. "What is this place?"
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)
Without dropping the four balls that he keeps hurtling through the air in complicated patterns, the clown responds, "This is dead place is the September Colosseum. Long ago my people fought in this arena for the pleasure of the Autumn Court. Now I perform here for empty stands to honor their memory."
"I see... my deepest condolences." It responds, looking up at the empty rows of stands where a bloodthirsty crowd once stood. "And who 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)
*I'm back, kinda*
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
"I am the Poisson D'avril, the April Fish, the April Fool," He catches all four balls in a flourish. "One of the last of the Spring Court. Perhaps the last."