The Deserts has never been a place for the weak. craft & anatomy
They all make it — young and old — through exhaustion, dehydration, animals, and hallucinations.
The bright blue oasis continues to pull them, and they step in, perhaps for a drink or to cool themselves from the unrelentless desert sun. As they wade further, they’re overwhelmed by visions, incredibly and terribly vivid. Though their bodies do not move from the oasis, they are transported.
it’s foggy, but there’s just enough sun that you can make out rocky cliffs and a jet black mare nearby. She’s chattering away — can you hear her? — a frantic look on her face, her piercing green eyes wild. Aida! you hear her cry: her daughter’s name, though you wouldn’t recognize it. The mare walks, hurried, further out onto the cliff, and then she is teetering, a little too close to the edge.
you’re back in the deserts, but the oasis is no longer in sight. It is sunset, or close to it, and the air is warm, only the faintest promise of the coolness night brings. You see a palomino mare, with mane like cornsilk and eyes like amber, backlit by the sun. You are close, but she does not notice you — you are a ghost, made to bear witness to what’s about to happen.
There is a stallion, dark and frothing with sweat, moving to her. You see their eyes meet, and he lunges forward, screaming something wordless and agonized, and then they’re fighting, hooves and teeth, blood staining the sand. A sickening crack fills the air as the palomino mare’s ribs break, the fragments driven into her organs, and she sinks to the sand. You hear her mutter a word — please — but the word itself is thick and liquid, blood bubbling at her lips, as the sun sinks lower, lower, lower.
The stallion turns on himself then, lowering his head and pawing violently at his own eyes (they’re orange, like jack-o’-lanterns). Though blunted weapons, it works eventually, and his orange eyes are torn from his skull, rolling on the sand and he screams, his own words bloodied, is this enough mother, is this enough, and the orange eyes rolling on the sand are the last thing she sees before she’s gone.
- The oasis has given your character visions of each queen’s death. You must choose which one to save.
- You’re welcome to (minorly) powerplay Craft and Anatomy. At the time of their deaths, Craft had hypnotism and telepathy and Anatomy had no traits.
- You can use any traits your character has.
- Failure to respond to a round risks temporary defects.
- Entries are due Dec. 7 by 11:59 PM CST.