• Logout
  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    Thread Rating:
    • 0 Vote(s) - 0 Average
    • 1
    • 2
    • 3
    • 4
    • 5
    Brilliant Pampas: Round 3
    #1
    ROUND 3
    A surprising amount of them dream of fire. They dream of fear, and pain, and many die in their dreams. It's painful for the fairy to watch, to hear, but she knows this is necessary, for their sacrifices to matter. To end the greater pain and suffering of the lands they watch. So she doesn't hide behind her brothers and sisters, but keeps vigil over their nightmares. A child sentinel.


    @[leliana], @[Anani], and @[Kagerus] awake to find the meadow largely unchanged; the red flowers still surround them in the bright light of day but as they gaze upon the meadows beyond, there are no other flowers in sight. 'The first blooms of spring', she had said; it is clear from the brief glimpse they catch of the meadow before falling back asleep that the first blooms of spring were not within their reach. When they wake again, they are home. However, they are not untouched by their journey. Each of them will exhibit some form of the trait "Flowers" for at least one BQ year. After that the trait can fade or they can claim it as permanent, though non-genetic.


    The others wake to find the red flowers withered away, but they look up to find the field filled with flowers in the height of their first spring bloom. Her words ring clearly in their memories, and they know that she needs one each of these colors: red, white, yellow, pink, and orange. They are in a race now against time, lest these first blooms wither before they can get them to the mountain.

    Rules
    -The questers wake up, and must race to find flowers of the appropriate colors and bring them to the mountain.  Only one horse may bring back each color flower. Any horse not in top 5/to claim a color should describe how all of the flowers are some other color, or how all of the flowers are dying, and their frustration. Posts must be at least 250 words.
    -You still have your traits, but may not use them offensively against others.
    -This round is a race, and the first posts to reply and follow the prompt are the winners.
    -As before, failure to respond at all will result in a permanent defect unless you notify Devin that you cannot for some reason respond. The response deadline will be 24 hours for a small gift from the fairy, and 48 to avoid a defect.
    fair winds & good luck

    #2
    His heart still racing from the strange nightmare, Nocturne scrambled to his feet and looked around, pale eyes wide with lingering terror, breath coming fast as he slowly started to recover. No shaking earth, no lava devouring his flesh, no fire burning away the flowers he needed to bring back to the Mountain. But he still had a mission to complete. And so, he raced about as quickly as he could, searching for a flower in at least one of the colors. He started with the red one that had knocked him out already, hoping at least he’d already taken its full effects and he’d be able to gather up the remaining flowers in peace. But by the time he could reach it, it had withered to nothing before his eyes.

    Red, all gone, and the flowers around him in each of the colors dissolved and turned to dust as well. Until all that was left were flowers of colors she didn’t need. He raced around, frantic, searching and dismising blue and purple and green. Finally, FINALLY, he found a white flower, purer and paler than his moonlight baby coat or the brighter white that splashed across his feet.

    When he had gathered up the single solitary flower, he raced back for the Mountain as quickly as his young legs could carry him. Perhaps if he was lucky he could get back quickly enough that Ember wouldn’t even miss him. If he ran fast enough, maybe the Fairies could end this tonight, piece together a cure and chase the plague from the face of their world. Quickly, quickly, the smallest fairy’s voice in his head urged, and he raced on, back across the hills of Loess and the heavily wooded forest, across the river and up the Mountain once again. His heart thundered in his chest, his breath came fast as he gasped for air, and he dropped to his knees and then fell to his side as if in slow motion, depositing the flower at the fairy’s feet. It was all he could do to hope it was fast enough, hope he’d been swift enough, that he’d achieved the speed they needed.

    “I’m so sorry I couldn’t find them all,” he whispered, “but I hope this white flower helps.”
    #3

    keep your dreams in check

    Rouhi was still slightly in shock from his previous incounter of coming into contact with a different realm, in other words falling into a nightmare he could not escape. His current stance was still rather dreary and unbalanced, but there was a task at hand, something he would have to concentrate on, keep his focus on the one thing he had to complete, the quest that had been handed to him.

    It felt weird to move again, his body aching all over as it woke from the rather weird dream, a so-called nightmare, induced by the rather bothersome plant he had inhaled. But he was still on a mission, and still had to find the flower.
    Out of the corner of his eye, the stallion picks up an orange glint, shimmering at him.
    His spirit lifts as he races toward it, his wings padding his flight as his body moves effortlessly, his eyes scanning over the plant as he picks it up, at least he wasn't asleep again quite yet. Thank god.

    The stallion gently rips the plant out of the ground and carries it back, travelling back through all the lands he had previously passed through, his spirit bouncing joyously as he came close, his body speeding up the mountain once he had arrived, his wings helping him drag his tired body up the hill, placing the flower in front of him, his voice bold as he announces the presence of himself and the flower "I have arrived" he calls out, the flower peacefully laying below him.

    Rouhi

    #4

    i'm told that to be human i must stand still
    you can try your hardest, but i never will

    For a moment she is confused, blinking blearily around her as she tries to discern nightmare from reality. She remembers the fire, but this meadow stretches bright and unburnt, no charcoal or scent of smoke lingering about her. The others are awakening too, finally released from whatever had dragged them into slumber.

    But the nightmares hardly matter now. They still have a quest to complete, flowers to gather. A world to save, though that is not what had drawn her here to begin with. No, it is the novelty and adventure, the newness of it all. But the dreams leave a sour taste on her tongue, a lingering disquiet in her gut. Making her forget for a moment her fascination with the wolf-man she had followed here in favor of completing her task and escaping this wretched meadow.

    There is nothing quite as soul-searing to a young and wild girl like Ferran as being caught helplessly in a snare she could never see and could never escape.

    So, ears low against her skull, she peers around her, seeking the flowers she had been sent for, intent on gathering them and leaving as quickly as possible. She cares not if the others linger, but she does not like this place. It sets her instincts on edge and prickles spidery fingers along her spine, a constant reminder of the nightmare she had too recently escaped. Of a nightmare that might still await her.

    She plucks her flowers quickly, heeding their colors and taking care not to bruise them between her sharp teeth. Yellow flowers, the most vibrant color to her canine senses. She clutches their stalks in her teeth, their vibrant petals tickling her lips and cheek. She does not try to shift to equine, her canine jaw far better suited to such delicate work. She pays little mind to the others, focused only on her task and her escape.

    When she has her small bouquet of wildflowers, she quickly takes her leave. Her lean, wolfish frame stretches into a ground-eating lope as she clears the meadow and slips into the trees, making her way swiftly and directly to the mountain where the fairies wait. Her path there is easy enough, her small frame slipping agily through the underbrush, paws gripping as she pads easily over rock and stone on the steep ascent to the mountains peak.

    When she reaches it’s plateau, returning to the circle of fairies who had dispatched them on their quest, she drops her small bundle of blooms at their feet. She lifts her face to them, gaze bold as she takes a step back before settling onto her haunches, ears sharp and eyes focused.

    ferran

    #5
    Naia has always thought of herself as strong. The most battle-driven yearling there is; but as of late, she has been more broken than proud, a bewildered pup left shivering in a box on the side of the road. Forgiveness has never come easy to her. No, never: it is only now that she realizes she harbors deep resentments from her early days as a babe. Thalassa, for only ever mentioning her father in passing - Leilan, for never being there, no matter if he had control of his absence.

    Yes, down - so deep, deep down - the girl is roiling with anger, coiled and hissing like the villainous rope of dynamite.

    In her doom, she lurches forward, tears pouring down her face. Naia hears the fairy’s words and knows what this means. Sacrifice. She sacrificed herself for the good of Beqanna.

    Admittedly, that felt incredible - self sacrifice.

    So, she lunges upward, knowing time is of the essence, and races to the first flower in sight: a large, blooming, pink blossom. Gently, she wraps her mouth around the stem and steps away, breaking into a healthy canter.

    That should do it, a fast but stamina-driven pace to get her to the Mountain.

    Her trip is not terribly, long but by the time she reaches the Mountain, she is winded - and she still has to make the climb. Up the steep slope she goes, remembering the whole time that she is doing this for others - that she must stay out of her lonely head to survive.

    Finally, the peak is before her. Naia drops her bloom with heaving breathe, offering the sky a submissive and tear-filled look.


    words: 274
    #6

    The dream fades as she blinks the sleep from her dark, worried eyes. Looking around at a world untouched by fire, a world with birds singing and bright blue skies, with the swish of swaying grass and the bright flash of swaying flowers, she finds it a little easier to breath again. Her heart beat slows, grows steadier with each passing breath, but she isn’t sure that her memory will ever fully let go of what that felt like, isn’t sure that it’s a wound in her heart that will ever heal.

    She has so many of those, lately.

    But awake, and with renewed clarity settling over her as the cool spring air breathed new awareness over her, she remembers what it is the fairy had wanted from them in the first place. Remembers the whole purpose of why she’d come at all. The flowers. One each of red, white, yellow, pink, and orange.

    Her chin lifts, those dark, beautiful eyes half hidden beneath the furrow of a curious brow. It’s easy enough to find the red flowers - except now they are wilted and withered.

    She heads deeper into the Pampas, struck again by the intense beauty of a world with so much movement and so much color. Such fragrance. The color is nothing like home - though home is bright and beautiful, it is mostly just white beaches and teal oceans. There is nothing quite like the emerald and gem-strewn brightness of this galaxy of flowers. The movement seems familiar though, the sway and ripple as the wind sweeps through the tops of the tallest plants. Not too unlike the waves in her oceans.

    Her pace picks up, and she is surprised to find that adrenaline still thumps in her veins, the memory of a world without Merry, without Dustov and Dark, without Dovev and Kharon and her family - even the strange beast of a man who lives in places so deep and dark - has left her so ill and uneasy, so eager to return home. She wants to find each one and remind them of her love in a kiss against their foreheads. Hold them close if they’ll let her.

    A flash of color catches her eye and she slows, her gaze scanning the meadow to find another meadow of flowers with one of the colors the fairy had requested. She goes to them quickly, but then pauses a yard or so away to pluck the flower with a tendril of her twilight magic, using a strand of twining light to sever the stalk and bring it to her. It is red, so soft and delicate, so pure amidst all this color.

    The flower is braided carefully with the help of her twilight magic into the tangles of her dark, twisting mane. She could have taken them in her mouth probably, but that trust had not yet healed, and away from her nose and tongue felt safest.

    With a sigh she turns back. Checking that the red flower is still safely in place, she takes one last look at the Pampas, feels one last echo of the world she had dreamed into existence, and then she turns to go. In comparison, the journey back to the mountain is uneventful, no beasts, no fires, no nightmares. Just a world touched by plague and part of a cure tucked away safely in the strands of her mane. One single red flower. When she has made it back, she comes to a halt on the mountain, plucking the flower carefully from her mane with tendrils of light, and laying it so gently at her feet.

    — Luster —
    so we let our shadows fall away like dust ;
    #7
    Ruan

    it's not by bone but yet by blade
    can break the magic that the devil made

    The smell of flowers greeted him as he jolted awake, breathing heavily as his glacial blue eyes scanned around at the remaining individuals facing the quest. Opponents, he should remind himself, but he has always been a failure in everything. And in this he fails, too. He failed to remind himself that these were not his people to care for.

    He followed the tasks given to him though as he lurched to his feet, remembering his dream and scavenging the flowers before him. He was first met with a border of red, dying red flowers that had withered away to nearly nothing. He grasped a slavageable one, half-saved by the blight not quite reaching the rest of the flowers.

    Then, he grabbed one of each color he could find, firmly holding the fairy's original task in mind. Red, White, Yellow, Pink, Orange.

    He grabbed each with a backwards glance at the other, making certain that they were all well enough to complete their own quests, and bolted forward to deliver his result to the Fairy, hoping against all hope that he had been successful in helping heal the Taiga, in healing the entirety of Beqanna. Not for glory, but for the deep unconditional love he offers to all that he chooses to, each innocent soul that has done nothing to deserve this plague.

    But he was disappointed, when at her feet, it seemed he had only grabbed many of a single color, the others all vanishing as others before had been better prepared and quicker. He was once again in his life, defeated and a failure, but he spread them out before her regardless. Hoping, for once in his life, that he would be good enough despite knowing so certainly, that as with his only marriage, he could never be good enough. He would fail them all.

    and it's not by fire but what's forged in flame
    can drown the sorrows of a huntsman's pain




    #8
    Wander is the only one that just stands there; originally she was going to race off and claim an orange flower than a yellow flower, thinking those would be two of the last because everyone prefers pretty pink and white flowers. Not so! They’re claimed first as horses dash by her with the blooms in their mouth. Of course the pink and white flowers are gone in a flash too. That just leaves the red one, but where can she find one of those if they all withered away?

    Her apricot face pulls up into a frown; think Wander think! There must be a red bloom somewhere… so she starts to zig and zag up the rows of flowers, sniffing and looking but so unsuccessful. Not surprising, the meadow moves and a mare goes rushing by with the last color. Wander plops down in the midst of all those remaining and starts to cry. She had tried her hardest! But it just wasn’t good enough.

    No - she hadn’t been good enough.
    Not quick enough or smart enough.
    Maybe she hadn’t wanted it bad enough?

    So there she is, crying and all of a sudden through her tears, the flowers begin to shrivel up and die. She springs to her feet and tries to encourage them to seek the sun with her nose, wailing all the while, “No no no! Oh no!” This isn’t fair! The flowers should not have to suffer either. Some have fallen completely over, given way to dust and dirt again as of they’d simply never been. It was like the magic couldn’t sustain them any longer, now that the five must have been delivered to the mountain.

    She finds a stream and carries mouthful after mouthful that she dumps on this flower and that, but they just fade away. Soon there is nothing left but piles of petals and dust; crying, she scoops up a mouthful and begins the slow sad walk back to them mountain. Wander cannot meet the fairy’s eyes and is careful not to crush the desired flowers that have already been placed before her. She feels that what she carries is still important too, and so, off to the side, she opens her mouth and spits out the gross mess of petals, saliva, and dust.

    “I’m sorry, I tried.” she murmurs mournfully and turns away, head lowered in shame as she picks an unassuming spot in the back of the crowd.
    #9
    Awake and free of the smoke imbued nightmare, I find myself disoriented once awareness grips me again. It had all seemed so very real, and now I wasn't sure that this field was true. Would it go up in flames as well? Eaten up by hungry fire while I fought in vain to escape? It was a dreadful thought, and it took me a moment more than it should have to fight past it and realise that time was running out. Everywhere I looked, blooms faded like oversaturated watercolors, once brilliant hues melting into dull echoes of their former glory. 

    Watching them, I felt my own vibrancy fade, sucked dry by an unfamiliar feeling of ineptitude. This had been my first attempt at doing something that went beyond myself, that effected others. I might have helped, but as I began to frantically rustle through a field of papery flowers, I realized I had missed it. My chance to help was gone, withered with the season's first blooming. Stranded in the midst of the now dull field, muted petals caught up in the tangled strands of mane and feathering, I felt angry at myself for falling short. Others would succeed, I hoped, all wouldn't be lost. Still, the disappointment clung to me like the ghosts of flowers, an old perfume no longer used. 

    Head held at half mast, I let the tip of my sun gold horn trail mournfully through the now brittle stalks surrounding me. I hoped this wouldn't be the last blooming I would see. It had been a wonderful thing to witness, even if the side effects had been a bit brutal. Blinking into the morning's light, I shook my head lightly. I think i might linger a while, and see what other flowers this place had to offer.
    [Image: 90aww6.png]
    Twin to Erotic
    #10
    the ancient heavenly connection to the
    starry dynamo in the machinery of night
    Godbear



    The others wake to find the red flowers withered away, but they look up to find the field filled with flowers in the height of their first spring bloom. Her words ring clearly in their memories, and they know that she needs one each of these colors: red, white, yellow, pink, and orange. They are in a race now against time, lest these first blooms wither before they can get them to the mountain.


    Gone - gone - gone. Like his sight, like his hearing. It is all faded away. Red has dripped away to something much different - new life, new growth (a new start). They are technicolor, a revolt of the rainbow, an ocean of anything and everything of every color he has ever seen. And yet - there are vivid shades that are missing quite blatantly. She needs these colors. Beqanna needs these colors. That’s why he came here, wasn’t it? Eight was never here - his father was a figment. He is awake, he is here to change the future of this sicksick rot.
    Orange - he needs orange! The color of the sunrise (new beginnings, new time, new change). The color of sweet sweet taste, of the hot fire (quite like those raining asteroids). How at a lack he is - how hard it is to see what is not there on one side. But he tries - his lean body flicking through the fields redbluepurpleforestgreendarkdarkblack. It is a vomit of everything he has ever seen. A rush in his heart, a smattering of doubt (nono you will never be anything, you are a waste). But there is a sickness to be dealt with.
    He crushes flora beneath him, a sweet sick smell close to that of the plague itself. Night is settling - the moon rising and that sun (orange! orange!) fading so fast. Now - now there is no hope for him. One eyed, dark dark land - colors are not a friend (a foe! Yes, a foe!) - there is so much to lose.
    He slows (it all slows) - there are so many of them. Five flowers will be far too easy to find. He is not the only one on this journey - there are others to pick up blooms of bright.
    And there - the horizon carries a blinking orange glow - a bright bloom in the dark of night, reflecting the moon like the blink of a lighthouse -- orangeorangeorange. The taste of sweet fruit, the color of new mornings, the sear of fire - orangeorangeorange. A good and a bad - a dark and a light - a piece of the puzzle.
    His heart archs as his mouth holds tight to the bright orange bloom. He has succeeded (for the first - maybe the last? time).
    -----
    The edge of Pampas fades as the mountain looms - his steps are laborious, the mountain tall and a force before him. “Fairy - I have brought the orange bloom!” he calls to that cold cold sky.
    But he looks down, as he drops the flower- and it is not orange at all. It is not what she wanted- it is not what would fix the plague. It is not the right color, the right shape, the right size. It is all, all wrong.







    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)