"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
If you're interested in participating in a writing exercise with a Beqanna theme, look no further.
Thematic Requirements:
- Your character wakes up in a land they do not know well
- Describe the land (using the flora/fauna guide found here)
- Describe your encounter with an unfamiliar (and unnatural/unique/magical/BQ) animal or creature.
- Give a name to this creature.
Grammatical Requirements:
- correctly use both a colon and a semi-colon
- 20 sentence maximum
- include either the word winklepicker or tittynope in the correct context
- each sentence must start with a different letter of the alphabet
- include at least 1 but no more than 3 puns
Miscellaneous Requirements:
- one entry per player
- first round posts are due by 12:01 am Central Standard Time on December 2nd
- any potential traits earned in this quest will be genetic for the characters who earn them, and can be transferred if made non-genetic
He wakes slowly, as he is wont to do—blinking away the watery sun that barely crests the redwood trees and the sleep that gathers in his eyes before realizing the land surrounding him is not the land where he fell asleep.
Pulling himself up, there is a moment where his breath catches between his teeth, but the moment passes quickly, and he unsurprisingly takes the change in scenery in stride—swiveling his massive head from side-to-side as he takes stock of the land around him, unknowingly studying the Taigan forest.
It’s far more green than Pangea, he thinks, and he decides that the does not like the way that the fog rolls in across and through the trees; he does not like the way that the grey of it seems brimming with life while the grey of Pangea seems intentionally void of it.
Deep down, he is grateful that it is at least quiet; he had worried upon first sight that it would be much louder.
(The tree’s bark, after all.)
Still, it is not entirely silent, and when he peers further into the fog, he can see the way that the things stir, albeit blanketed by the spring drizzle and the comforting pitter patter of morning rain.
A flash of movement as a deer bounds across a fallen log.
Rumbles as a bear softly roams further into the belly of the forest.
Crackling of redwood needles as rabbits bound across them.
For a moment, his attention is snagged by one of them.
Grey as the fog around it, about four times as large as the average winklepicker (although it could be less, depending on the wearer, of course), the rabbit jumps like smoke, leaping through the dense air like a dolphin might leap through the ocean.
Obelisk inhales as the rabbit leaps forward and then swirls into the mist again as soon as it nears the ground, disappearing from sight as thought it had never existed at all.
But he exhales again when he catches sight of it just a little further away, materializing from the fog as the body reforms and the rabbit leaps forward again—as whole and real as any of the rabbits running in the woods.
What should he name it, he wonders, not stopping to wonder at the audacity of thinking that he would ever be in charge of naming anything like that.
Murmuring to himself, he steps forward, trailing the rabbit that leaps through the fog of its creation, and he stumbles slightly as he moves through large ferns.
Even with his limited mental capacity, he is captivated, but the only thing that he can think to name it is embarrassingly simple (even for him): fog jumper.
Now, if given a moment, he might have thought of something mildly more clever, like a fogalope, or more accurate, like a Taigan fog hare, but a mouse scurries in front of him, and he forgets about the magical rabbit leaping deeper and deeper into the forest entirely.
Just like that, his attention is snared yet again and he moves forward into a meadow clearing, chasing the tiny, completely ordinary mouse as though he had never seen the rabbit at all.
turn your head toward the storm that’s surely coming along
I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife
Once, chains wrapped around his ankles and drug him into a world that would fracture his reality and spawn years of nightmares, but what happens this time is different - he sleeps and then he doesn’t, he wakes shivering, and when his eyes open they are stung by the cold. Enveloping him is a strange world – strange to him, at least, for Sleaze has known little but the warmth of meadows and mild rivers – of ice and snow, the whiteness occasionally marred by sharp scrams of rock, jutting sharp as a winklepicker from the earth. Peering further into the distance, he can see the hints of plants, lichen and arctic willows dotting what he had thought to be bare rocks. Rumors of other things too, tracks in the snow, the small snowshoe-like steps of hares, the larger tracks of caribou, and something large and five-toed that Sleaze does not recognize.
Quiet, until it’s not.
From behind him, a noise cracks like breaking ice across the snowscape, something heavy and feral. Yowling wind picks up from nowhere, suddenly sharp and stinging, and he squints his eyes against the sudden assault. Almost blinded, he can see something now, a shape in the now-whipping snow; Sleaze steps backward, as if he had any idea where to run.
He can hear it breathing. Impossibly, above the wind, he can hear it breathing.
Behold: a creature that is larger than he is, and as it moves – slow, but with purpose - he can see it is bipedal, and that there are terrible claws – fiver-fingered, all sharp as knives, and an elongated head. Graceful – almost – and terrible.
What would you call such a thing, such a beast, this awful outline in the snow? Tariaksuq - the name comes unbidden, as if forced into his mind. Languishing there.
Sleaze turns as if he will run, the wind still whipping at him, the thing – the tariaksuq - breathing heavy behind him, and one thing is terribly clear: there's snow way out of this one.
The low rumble of thunder is what wakes him and he feels two sensations simultaneously: the weight of humidity wrapping itself around his body and the drizzle of a summer storm dampening his head until his mane clings to his neck. Vines have snared his navy legs as if he has grown from the soil of this place and when he shifts his weight to untangle himself, the wide leaf of an elephant ear plant brushes against his left side. Birds of paradise take shelter in the tropical trees surrounding the clearing he has found himself in, their songs sounding like the memory of his mother’s voice whispering a lullaby. Looming in the near distance, the dark face of a volcano observes the tropics below like the stern face of a watchful father.
In all the wandering he has done over the years, Tiercel has never been to Tephra before.
Similar to the rocky face of the volcano, Tiercel feels himself grow boulder at the thought of exploring an unfamiliar land when its normal inhabitants may be hiding from the thunderclap, electricity, and rain. Quietly, the dun-and-navy steps into the thickness of the jungle, careful to avoid the orange stream of lava that cuts a narrow path through the undergrowth.
As Tiercel walks, he notices how absent the fauna have been; aside from the songs of the birds, he has seen no signs of monkeys, sloths, or leopards — animals that have been rumored to call Tephra home. Cerulean eyes wander the tangle of undergrowth until they land on something unexpected — a tittynope of a prey animal, now unidentifiable from the mess of muscle, bone, and blood that a predator had created.
Rustling in the ferns draws Tiercel’s attention away from the remains and his eyes widen at the sight of a thick-bodied creature moving (no, slithering) toward him. Fear bubbles into the back of his throat when the distinctive face of an anaconda moves through the closest collection of rain-soaked ferns. Uniquely colored in pastel shades of blue and green, the snake’s head is the size of Tiercel’s and its scaled body is just as wide as Tiercel’s barrel.
Jaws have never unhinged quite as the anaconda’s does, and its mouth stretches so wide that the tip of its nose reaches past the treetops; although it is traditionally the type of animal to squeeze the life out of their prey, Tiercel is placed in the perfect position to be swallowed whole.
“Well, this has been fun but I think I’m going to run now.”
Gratefully, Tiercel manages to dodge to the right just as the massive jaws snap closed, the sound loud enough to startle a pair of macaws from their shelter nearby.
Powerstriker.
Naming the beast is easy enough for Tiercel, but relaying such a title to a living soul may prove difficult, depending on how nimbly the dunskin can climb through the thick, wet tropics. Every step brings Tiercel further from the snake’s lair and closer to the smells of salt, sand, and safety. Kicking his gait into a speed he didn’t realize was possible, Tiercel bursts through the treeline onto Tephra’s beach with one thought in his mind: He was shore he was dead meat.
Viridis opens his eyes and does not recognize the land he has woken up in, which of itself is not a hard thing to do when most of this new Beqanna is strange to him. A breeze stirs up the leaves around his prone body and they are a kaleidoscope of colours that reflect the variety of trees in the canopy overhead: yellow ash, red maple, and orange-brown oak.
He pushes off from the ground and hears the crunch of these leaves as his hooves shuffle with those first few steps. Those bark-marking legs of his are at home here; they blend in with the warm hues as if he were crafted from a piece of this forest. Sunlight filters down through the warm tones of the leaves as Viridis scans the surrounding area with his amber eyes.
Movement flags his attention.
In the underbrush, something moves and Viridis tenses but he does not flee. Filled with curiosity, he watches as something similar to his size comes closer - a gentle thud combining with the cruch of leaves. Comparable to a deer in shape, but heavier - thick legs coated in a dense fur that is so dark it is almost black. Red and orange laces down the creature’s back from heavy black antlers to a short, fuzzy tail.
Part elk, part... bear?
Dripping from this bearly believable animal’s jaws is blood and a tittynope of muscles or organs from whatever prey it had just been feasting on.
With extreme care, Viridis begins to back up - keeping his eyes on the elkear not daring to look away for even a second. Until it roars - a lazy, casual sort of roar but one that sends tremors through the ground so powerful that the stallion can actually feel it shake his legs. Everyone has their limits and this is where Viridis finds his so he turns and immediately smacks right into a white-barked solid object.
“Birch, please!” he shouts at the offending tree before scrambling around it and out of Sylva as fast as he can.
As the sun creeps over the horizon, the dawn finds him slumbering in a place he most certainly did not fall asleep, which he notices the moment his eyes flutter open.
Bleary-eyed and already annoyed, he stumbles up onto his hooves and begins to explore the area for any clues as to where he might be when he abruptly trips over his owns legs and faceplants into the patch of wildflowers he had been sleeping in.
Colorful blooms sway and dance in the breeze as though to mock him once he realizes just what kind of flowers this field is made of: Oopsie Daisies.
Despite his unfortunate circumstances and darkening mood, he drags himself back up and carefully uses long strides to avoid tumbling to the ground once more, even when a brilliant red fox comes darting beneath him.
Even someone as bitter and pessimistic as Grimjaw can be intrigued by the goings-on of a tiny predator like the quick red fox, and so he does his best to hurry after the thing while also avoiding any further accidents in this strange Pampas.
Following the creature proves easy enough once the troublesome flowers give way to more normal flora, allowing him to catch up to the fox just as he finds it devouring a rather sizable rabbit whole, leaving not even a tittynope for the vultures and other scavengers of this temperate region.
Grossed out but still fascinated by the creature, he continues along behind it as he wonders what sort of life the poor rabbit lead before being swallowed in one bite.
He could have had a name and a nice little rabbit wife with numerous kits to feed and care for; and the fox cared little for those sorts of things, didn’t it?
If the fox did not care, then Grimjaw supposes he should, and so he names the late rabbit Coak because he imagines they would have strange names here in this strange world he’s found himself in.
Just as he decides on this name, the fox comes to a sudden stop and so Grimjaw also brings himself to a halt as he follows the creature’s gaze to a horde of equally impressive rabbits all standing shoulder to shoulder.
Keeping his distance still, he wonders just how determined this fox is to eat more of the rabbits here in the Brilliant Pampas.
Lord knows he could eat Coak in a single bite, but could he do the whole line of Coak the same way?
Maybe he wondered the same thing, judging by the hesitance of his movements.
Now there is a rumbling as something stirs within the rabbit den, causing the fox to bound away in terror while Grimjaw remains firmly rooted in place to observe as an impossibly massive rabbit comes lurching from beneath the warren.
Oh, if only his legs could carry him far from this place, but he fears the Oopsie Daisies may ensnare him once more if he tries to hurry from this place, and so he trails his bright red eyes over the wart-covered skin of this strange ogre-rabbit.
Perhaps he is not the most imaginative man there is, as he searches for some word in his entire vocabulary to describe the thing, only to settle on the word Koak while its beady black eyes lock on his.
Quite perturbed to find an intruder in its territory, the Koak, with its large tusks forming a gruesome underbite, spreads its jaws and belches out a roar to warn Grimjaw to leave this place.
Roaring does precious little to break the spell of terror that keeps him frozen here before the might and majesty of the warren and their hairless guardian spirit, however.
So he remains right where he is and awaits his fate, whatever that may be.
Goodness gracious her mouth was dry! Ionia woke up with half a desert in her mouth, coughin’ and wheezin’ with the dumbest expression on her face. Felt to her like she’d eaten one too many overripe berries the night before in the meadow... now where the heck had she ended up? With her head spinning circles and her eyesight not yet adjusted to the dizziness, the blue mare smacked her lips and named off what she recognized: brown rocks, some yellow rocks, more red sand, and one willow tree. Nope, Ionia was definitely not in the meadow anymore. Looked to her like she was flat as a rug right in the middle of Pangea.
“Huh.” She laughed at first, still a little loopy. Then she thought about it a bit more, and the smile on her face from moments before vanished. “Oh shit.” Blue lips frowning, she thought: not Pangea. Just how had that happened?! Much as she could remember, Ionia must’ve gone and got sideways with that group of rabble rousers last night; consequently she’d ended up far off track from where she’d meant to go, which was south towards the River! At that very moment a rattlin’ sound from behind made Ionia roll over and turn her head; not too far off in the sand was a mighty strange lookin’ animal with the large body of a spider, the tail of a snake, and the pincers of a scorpion just picking’ away at the tittynopes of a dead ghost fish.
“Eww - you’re a Gahdern Hellspawn.” Partially-drunk Ionia huffed, and the Gahdern Hellspawn took offense to that, scuttling closer to take a nip at her, so Ionia opened her mouth and yawned a particularly spicy blast of fire over the alien arthropod, burnin’ it to a crisp.
“Couldn’t stand the heat, eh?” Dizzy-the-drunk-walker stood up and shook the sand off her ombre coat, gigglin’ at the blackened creature. Quaking, the sand turned into little mini whirlpools and out popped three more Gahdern Hellspawn, which was a surefire signal that it was time to hightail it outta there! Remember folks: if Gahdern live there, then there ain’t no holy savior to save ya!
Laia nodded awake, dimly aware that she had traveled in her sleep. It wasn't something she often did anymore; yet here she stood on a heathery hill that looked nothing like home. Stepping carefully through the thick vegetation she made her way down the hill to where it met with a gravelly beach.
Eyes peeled for any sign of trouble, she tried to guess where she had ended up. No place she had been before, that was for sure. The shore was mostly quiet if you didn't count the constant crash of waves, or the crying of seabirds. Other horses were nowhere to be seen. What was to be seen took a moment before it caught her attention. Grinning, the young mare approached her seaside companion.
A small, unobtrusive reptile darted from one half-submerged rock to another to scratch at an exposed mussel adhered to the stony surface.
"You're a funny little winklepicker, aren't you? Don't be shellfish, show me what you've got." Her mouth twitched with a smile at the bad joke that she could only be grateful no-one had been within range to hear. Considering what her father would do in this position, she observed the new critter's unique traits: a bony looking nose protrubence for prying at shellfish, long claws for grasping the slippery wet rocks, and a remarkably dull coloration that she could only suppose helped him avoid being eaten by something larger. Perhaps those circling seabirds.
"Best of luck- er, how about I call you Kevin? Kevin seems like a good name for a funny little lizard like you. Must be going though, before my family starts wondering where I've gone." Failing to get any sort of reply from Kevin, she shrugged and apparated back home. Just wait until dad heard about her new discovery!
Pearly foam from the turquoise sea tickled his nose, stirring him from a deep, dreamless slumber. Black, tiny specks of sand fell in a sheet when he finally stood up, and as he turned a very slow circle to try and figure out what part of Tephra he had woken up in, he gave a small, confused whimper. This could not be the same place where Mama Isilya had already taught the young sapling so many things at Elementree school like: walking, running, growing, laughing, and loving.
However, this place was still very beautiful, he thought, once he had rustled enough courage to pass the strange wooden things that looked as though that had bits and pieces purposefully carved out of them. Grove felt unstable as he considered that these sticks with faces might come Alive and try to grab him, but that was plain crazy, because he was a horse and horses are stable animals. Yet for the sake of safety, and just to be sure, he gave the totems a wide breadth of space as he moved beyond into the waiting flora, enthralled by the rainbow striped tree that he resembled so closely.
Limbs feathered with rainbow colored leaves reached for him, and grazed his back and shoulders as he gawked beneath them. Vines and brambles hung low to the ground along his chosen path; if he wasn’t careful, he knew that he could easily get caught or tangled there. Not unlike the poor creature that thrashed madly about just up ahead.
It’s coat was long, wavy and curly in some parts, and glowed from its brilliant white coat. Aspects of certain areas on the creature most closely resembled a whitetail deer: the angular face, the cloven hooves, and antlers as sharp and pointed as the toe of a winklepicker. Ears long and floppy like a lop eared bunny framed the wolfish lips that pulled back to reveal a set of equally wolfish teeth. Regally, a thick mane like a lion’s protected it’s neck, and travelled along its top line where it ended in what looked to be a tail also similar to a wolf’s.
“Fuhflah,” Grove said as he stepped closer to the panting animal, giving it a name reminiscent of the glowing fireflies that his Ma had taught him about back home. Whatever the Fuhflah had been doing, it had gotten trapped in doing so with vines wrapped snuggly around his antlers so that he couldn’t free himself.
Snarling, it made a show of wanting to remain undisturbed, but Grove forced himself to ignore the fear that was steadily rising in his chest. Daringly, and very slowly, the boy made his way to the Fuhflah’s crown, speaking soft sounds between chewing and grinding the vines until there was enough slack for the creature to break the rest of his binds on his own.
Quietly, they stood there for a moment gazing at each other, until their frantic breaths slowed and steadied, “S’ok, Fuhflah.” Maybe, with any luck, the beast might know he could trust him now, and better yet, maybe be able to help him get back home to Tephra and to his mom.
I closed my eyes in Sylva, but when they re-open, it's not the autumnal forest that greets me but a brisk sea wind and a single red, gleaming, eye. That might bother some people, but I'm not afraid of eyes that stare and glow: my eyes glow, too. Crimson and cold, two dying suns shine in answer to the creature's single blood moon eye. Light like fire bursts to life around me, but instead of warmth it brings chills and I grin my Cheshire grin into the snarl of its face, a grin that falters when I feel the fear magic slide off the beast. Never mind; I smile wider.
He's pulling himself out of a grey-green sea on a grey beach, a horse, I think, but even among the oddities of Beqanna, I've never seen anything quite like him: skinless, yellow-veined, saltwater pouring from the spaces between his muscle and tendon and bone, and in his middle, an ape. What seems to ride astride him is a piece of him instead, with arms so long its clawed and grasping hands scrape the gravelly sand and leave black blood smoking on the rocks. A second head lolls bonelessly atop it all, and my straining ears catch the whispered word that cries hollow on the wind - Nuckelavee. Profane and depraved, the almost-equine head screams and charges, a strange oily smoke belching from his mouth that feeds death upon the heather and crowberry.
Rocks fly from under my hooves - I know my ability and I'm not afraid to race the Beast. Gods, but he's fast, though - though his hooves are long and pointed as winklepickers, and he should not be able to run at all. Voles squeak underfoot, red grouse fly up out of my path as we scramble up the slope getting lost in the hair grass sea, and the creature swats the animals from the air, or his noxious breath touches them and they fall as if they never lived at all. My speed is greater, but barely, Beast and mare, we race across the moors, his taloned hands snagging at the streamers of my tail, killing my moths - they simply turn to dust at his touch.
Exhaustion is catching up to me, but I think he will never tire, and in a last-ditch attempt to escape I crash into a peat-dark bog just as he falls upon me, just as he reaches for me, and the fresh water strikes his ghastly, hungry, hand. Deafening is his scream, the skinless flesh smoking like fire, and I am turned sorrel by the tea-stained water. Sweetwater wards the Beast away.
"Oh, Tittlynope you don't, ya Blighter!" Fatigue burns my throat raw, or perhaps it's the fumes that leak from his nostrils, but I cannot help but shout jibes as he lumbers back to the sea, though they drawl out so slow even Molech would understand them, "Just about time you got off your high horse, my man!"
