"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
Winter is just around the corner, but the spirits of autumn have one more little trick for the horses of Beqanna. The very last evening of autumn, when the sunk sinks below the horizon, an orange flash appears across the Meadow and when it fades, the grass is littered with pumpkins of all shapes and sizes. Some have horrifying faces, some are sweeter, or funny, or sad, and some are not carved at all. None are lit yet - they must be chosen first. And which two get the honour of being picked is completely up to whoever finds this strange bounty first.
Happy Spooky Season Finale!
- this drop is open to the first two characters to reply (only one per player)
- gifts will be randomized but autumn-themed
- if there is still an open spot, players that had entered into the previous drops may do so again on Thurs Nov 6
and thank you everyone who has replied to these drops this month!
weaving a thread round your heart and your soul, deceiving your eyes and delaying your goal..
There must be something strange in the crisp evening air that draws him to the Meadow. Even in the dead of winter, he still prefers to spend his time in the water, especially since realizing that the cold barely touched him anymore. But tonight, he forgoes his comfort zone and trudges through the fading foliage in the ungainly manner that always plagues him on land.
His bright blue eyes focus on nothing in particular as he wanders as his mind flicks rapidly through a large stack of memories, trying to make sense of these past few years. A bit of a fruitless endeavor, he knows, but he just can't seem to help himself. If only mental progress was as easy as the physical, as simple as putting one foot in front of the other.
So preoccupied is he, that the orange light does not register when it surges through the Meadow. It is only when he stumbles over a large object that he realizes something has happened.
He, surprisingly, does not go sprawling into the grass, but nor does he recover his balance gracefully. He glances around quickly to see if anyone was near enough to witness his clumsiness, but thankfully, the immediate vicinity seems clear. Warmth creeps over his face anyway as he leans closer to study the unfamiliar hazard.
The object that tripped him is blank, but a smaller one lies next to it and, how odd.. it wears some sort of face on its uneven surface, an expression that he recognizes, but hasn't experienced in a while. Though no light shines behind them, the eyes seem to radiate a pleasant glow of happiness that strikes him painfully in the chest.
He wonders if he'll ever feel that kind of joy again. It certainly doesn't look very promising right now. Still, that tiny spark of hope stubbornlh refuses to die out.
A stem protrudes from the top of the object, obviously some sort of plant, and he seizes it between his teeth. Thankfully, the plant is not too heavy, so he lifts it easily and begins to walk away, intending the happy-faced pumpkin to serve as a talisman of sorts. A reminder that not all is lost yet.
..ships in the night, when they pass out of sight, deliver their cargo of earthly delights
The last heat of autumn smolders across his back as he enters the Meadow. Magic tastes like copper tonight — sharp, bright, waiting — and frost brushes his breath as the dying grass whispers secrets beneath his hooves. He follows a feeling more than a path, instinct tugging him forward, and it leads him to carved faces glimmering in the fading light. Their insides glow with flickering flame-light: a sea of toothy grins and warped expressions stretching as far as he can see. The sight coaxes a grin to his own lips. He trots closer, bold and buoyant, blissfully ignorant to the idea that this could be trap or danger. Why wouldn't pumpkins suddenly possess the Meadow? Beqanna never pretended to be sensible.
Magic hums warm and electric around the patch, and he pauses — ears forward, head slightly lifted, letting his cerulean eyes skate across the lantern-lit field for some hint of why this exists. A prank of the season? A message from whatever god has a sense of humor this year? Or maybe autumn just refused to leave quietly. As if a shrug ripples across his shoulders, he slips into a gleeful lope, weaving through the round taunting faces that leer and giggle in fire-tongued glow. Some he slows for, whiskers brushing their cool skins; at his touch they spark to life, lighting from within like startled spirits. He huffs in amusement and nudges another just to watch it flare.
He never notices that another has come before him, already claimed their prize. Eventually the buckskin finds his own; bright, round, and carved into a menacing smirk that feels like it’s laughing with him and at him all at once. It suits him perfectly. He grips the stem, satisfied, and the pumpkin’s glow licks orange across his navy-dusted legs as he turns away from the field.
With his chosen trophy swinging from his teeth, he leaves the Meadow behind, content, victorious, and smelling faintly of smoke, frost, and mischief.
The pumpkin plucked by Neiko promptly explodes upon being picked up. For his next 5 posts, Neiko will have the temporary defect: Body Dripping in Pumpkin Guts
A reminder that players who have entered previous drops must wait until Thursday Nov 6 to give anyone who hasn't had a chance yet the opportunity to reply.
11-02-2025, 09:53 AM (This post was last modified: 11-02-2025, 09:54 AM by Tipitina.)
The sun slips away like a held breath finally exhaled, leaving the Meadow dipped in that purple-orange twilight that always makes Tipsy feel both soft and uneasy. Winter is close—she can taste it in the brittle edge of the air, but autumn never leaves without making a bit of a scene.
A flash erupts across the grass, so bright it splinters the dark behind her eyes. She jolts, hooves skidding in the cooling mud as her head whips toward the Meadow. And then pumpkins, of course.
In some way they call to her, as if emitting an eerie song luring her in.
She moves slowly, hooves careful, tail flicking as if trying to shoo away the cold. Some pumpkins are beautiful, neat little carvings of flowers or moons, some are crude and sharp edged, but none feel quite… hers.
Until she sees it.
A small pumpkin; round, perfectly unremarkable. No carving. No face. The skin is a muted orange, almost shy among the louder, flashier ones. Tipsy pauses in front of it, head tilting. Something in her chest tugs.
Not the most impressive. Not the scariest. Just… quiet. Waiting.
She lowers her muzzle, nudging it gently. The pumpkin rocks once on the grass as if waking up.
“…you’ll do,” she whispers.
With a careful grip of her teeth and a little grunt of effort, she lifts the pumpkin from the ground. It’s warm—strangely warm—and the moment she picks it up, a faint glow begins to pulse from within its shell like a sleepy heartbeat
11-02-2025, 12:11 PM (This post was last modified: 11-02-2025, 12:14 PM by Neiko.)
The moment the stem snapped, Neiko expected the world’s most mundane reward, maybe a gentle thud, the soft roll of a pumpkin in dead grass. Instead, it detonated like a booby-trapped melon from hell. Wet seeds and stringy orange innards slapped across his chest, neck, and face; sticky pulp oozed down his forelock and clung to the shimmer of his navy-sabino pattern like nature had tried and failed at modern art. For a second he just stood there, staring at the steaming ruin where a perfectly innocent pumpkin once sat. Twilight frost glittered around him; the meadow was whisper-quiet except for his own stunned breathing and the slow, humiliating drip… drip… drip of pumpkin gore sliding off his muzzle. Big wet eyes wide, ego cracked clean down the middle, the stalluion felt betrayal settle in his bones. Nature had personally assaulted him.
Then disgust caught up with shock and pride tried to salvage whatever dignity he had left. He flung his head, bad move, strands of pumpkin slime flapped right back into his cheek and chest and neck, with a snort that sounded entirely too close to a wounded whimper, he bolted. Long legs churned over frosted earth, thick onyx tail streaming, the cold air biting the embarrassment clinging to his skin. He looked like a warhorse fleeing from produce, and he knew it. His ears pinned, more in shame than anger as he made a beeline for the river…praying to every god and spirit in every realm that no one had seen that. The humiliating squelch of pumpkin guts flopping with each stride only made him run faster, like a big, powerful, baroque stallion trying very hard not to have a breakdown. He wasn’t yelping, thank the stars, but the energy was there — panicked, offended, thoroughly betrayed by gourds everywhere; as he hit the bank at full speed, aiming straight for salvation in freezing water.
FOOL.
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OMG NOOO im so sorry!!!! i am so dumb, i absolutely misunderstood!
i deserve this D: on a happy note, this is the kind of ptsd he needed TRULY
There’s a small little hiccup but two pumpkins are picked and the rest disappear just as quickly as they had arrived, waiting for another year and another chance to get chosen. The pumpkins picked by Eddie and Tipitina will continue to glow for a week before dissolving into orange glitter.
Congratulations
@eddie has received Storm Creation
@Tipitina has received Fox Fire
These traits are genetic unless requested otherwise (due to spacing or whatnot)
You may transfer these traits to another character with an IC post. Please post in updates with a link to this drop or the transfer post with what character you’d like them to apply to.
Thank you for replying and hope you enjoyed spooky season!!
