"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
Just as the sun should be starting to rise, two fairies appear.
Surrounded by a glow that slowly shifts across the color spectrum, the fairies look tired. Hair that is red, then gold, then mauve, hangs limply across their many eyes. They smile, but it disappears as they speak.
You are told that the Fairies have finally determined what the monsters are. They are fragments of shattered souls, separated from the rest of themselves at the moment of death, and transported to another realm. There they cling to each other, their fears and loneliness amplified and echoed until they twist themselves into something terrible and fearsome, and mete out their terror on others.
They cannot be killed, because they are not truly alive, but there is a magic that can be done to release them from the malicious knots they have tangled themselves into. The fairies hope to do this, and they need your help.
The Monsters have taken Craft, Anatomy, Nikkai, Starlace, and Straia to the Afterlife. You must save them, for their magic will help end the monsters and return light to Beqanna. The fairies are quiet for a long moment, and then one moves away from the other.
“We will attempt the rescue,” that fairy says.
“And we will serve as the distraction,” says the other.
Which will you choose?
Some notes:
- Describe your character reacting to the news from the Fairies and which team they choose to join in 1000 words or less. If your character does not wish to join a team, they may also leave the quest in their next post as well.
- Your choice will determine if/how you proceed in the quest.
- Every choice has a consquence
- Entries are due by 11:59 PM CST on Sunday, March 7th (aka sunday night just before midnight)
- Message us here or on Discord if you have any other questions!
Avelina’s soft smile remains in place while a few others arrive - no one she knows, at first, and she cannot decide whether that is a comfort or not. She supposes she wouldn't mind the presence of a friend for whatever is about to happen. And - as though in a cruel twist of that thought - she sees purple and orange from the corner of her eye and her heart sinks. There's only one familiar face she never wanted to see again and he is here. Fear bubbles up in her throat as she watches Skandar pick out a place. He doesn’t seem to notice her, or maybe he simply does not care, but his presence in this suddenly too-small group instantly unsettles her.
She thinks about leaving, thinks about going absolutely anywhere else. Her fireflies don’t still like the last time she thought of him - they buzz around her in an agitated frenzy and she's sure that the scars that are hidden beneath her charcoal mane begin to burn.
But a glow grabs her attention and Avelina remembers why she is here - remembers that there are things greater than her fear. The fireflies settle, back to their usual lazy and calming dance. She shifts her stance a little, as though a few more inches between herself and Skandar could protect her, but the presence of the fairies serves as an effective distraction. She forgets about everything else as the situation is explained to them. None of the names of those who have been taken into the Afterlife are familiar to her, but that does not matter. She does not even need to think about it for a second before she pledges herself over one side or the other.
For strangers or friends, her instinct to help would be just as strong as it is now. Although she is not sure she is capable of helping, that insecurity is not strong enough to deter her from trying all the same - whatever comes. There is a small flutter of nerves as she takes those first steps but she grows more certain with each one and offers a smile to the fairy she joins.
Up and up Cheri walked, passing by stone faces half-buried by years of carefully built dirt. It was dark, but then again it was always dark so she didn’t feel put off by the lack of light to walk by. She followed the sound of voices instead, treading carefully to avoid a spill, and thought about how strange this all was. So many questions darkened her expression, following the logical path of who would’ve heard the call and why, questions that began to answer themselves when she finally joined her mother - and the other horses - at the base of the mountain.
Cheri pressed herself into the familiar curves of Amarine’s turquoise-spotted shoulder, glancing sideways and around them in quiet wonder. She was surprised to see how many familiar faces gathered; the others, the ones Cheri didn’t know, mingled nearby and spoke quietly until the fairie’s voices rose above the muted noise.
The quiet dark resonated with the weight of their words and Cheri listened; she was stunned. Like all the others in Beqanna, Cheri had wondered why the sun disappeared, how they could return the cycles to their natural rhythms, save their dying world. She had felt so useless all this time, watching her family narrowly avoid starvation for a season. Memorie and Borderline worked so hard, her mother as well. Pappa Yan and her brother Reynard, along with Targaryen, kept them safe. Grandmother Lilli guided them all. Cheri helped to keep them healthy, practiced her healing when she was needed most, and tried her best not to get killed. She hadn’t felt… necessary.
Well now, she really was necessary - they all were, she thought as she glanced up at her mother, weren’t they? And watching another mare step confidently toward their future, Cheri moved quickly to follow. She felt certain of how she could be helpful.
“I’ll go with the rescue fairy.” The winged yearling declared softly, though she didn’t know why. She could’ve been quiet like the other mare, who she smiled encouragingly at in the blue-black woods. “I can heal. Maybe that would be helpful, if we’re bringing them back from the afterlife.”
Quiet settles around the base of the Mountain. It is unsettling. Stiff. A thrill of fear runs down my spine, but still I stand, waiting for something to happen. At first, nothing does, but then others start to appear. First is a stallion, unfamiliar, yet not unwelcome. I gently brush against his consciousness and find an echo of hesitation. Then comes a familiar scent, though I had yet to meet him. It must be Leilan, the king in the north. He gives a brief greeting, which I return with a soft smile, though I wonder if he can see it in the dark, so I whicker a soft greeting as well. More come, still: a young mare with a small cluster of fireflies that reminds me of Elegance, my cousin, an older mare who introduces herself–to which I reply with a jovial “Memorie.”
Then a familiar face appears, and a shock wave of guilt runs through me as Amarine asks what I am doing here. I cough nervously. “I can’t just sit by and watch as our world falls apart,” I offer her. It is comforting, to know that there would be a familiar face on this journey, though.
Right behind her comes another familiar face, Reave. I shift uncomfortably before I pick my way through the growing crowd to stand beside my family, while another unfamiliar face appears, this one a stallion who I can only describe as cursed. I barely register his presence, however, as yet another familiar face appears. It would seem that this gathering was turning into a sort of family reunion, as Cheri appears as well. Something unsettles me about this, though. Here we all are, family, running headlong into danger. I felt comfortable putting myself there, but now I would worry about their safety as well.
But it would seem that we are not the only family to gather here, as another mare arrives. This one draws my attention like a moth to flame. She is beautiful and pure, though haunted, and the cursed stallion seems to haunt her even more. My attention is drawn from the mother-son duo by another mare that speaks softly, unsure of herself. I turn my attention to her. I can tell she is hoping that we have all heard the voice as well, and I almost want to jest with her that we hadn’t, but I nod. “I can’t speak for the others, but I heard the voices.”
The next thing to happen was just about the most unsettling thing I could imagine. A darkness shivers through the shadows, not like the shadows themselves, but speaking in tones of evil and malice. I watch him approach, and I can already tell that he makes others uncomfortable, especially the girl who reminded me of Elegance, the girl with her fireflies. It is that moment that I decide we would all need to work together but not with him. An echo tells me that he has his own intentions, and whatever those were, they run contrary to the intentions of all the others who have gathered.
An unusual creature follows the beast, and I give her a curious glance before her peaceful blanket falls across the small gathering. It feels strange, kind of like an echo, though different as well, and I regard it warily. My attention remains on her for only a moment before another familiar face appears, the one of my grandmother, Lilliana. I whicker softly as she joins our little group, and I wish I could swallow the worry she shows at just how much of her family had gathered here.
Three more bodies appear: a fragile mare that catches what little light there is, that looks like she could shatter with the slightest touch, a colt who could be no older than myself and Cheri (which bolsters my confidence ever so slightly), and a lovesick stallion whose intentions seem far from finding the light, a task that had brought most of us here together.
And then we wait.
It happens slowly. A shimmer travels through the stagnant air around us, and then a glow follows that where the two fairies appear. My attention diverts from my family, from those gathered, and falls upon the two lonesome figures that emanate a sense of exhaustion and sadness. They speak, and the puzzle pieces start to come together. Suddenly, the monsters make sense. The distant echoes they secreted had always been a puzzle, a mystery, screaming sadness and anger and pain. The echoes had occupied a dark corner of my mind since the eclipse had fallen into its place in history.
I do not recognize the names the fairies give us, though their importance settles into my mind, thoroughly absorbing my attention until they ask us to choose. I hesitate, unsure of myself in a way that I had never been before, but another’s courage shatters that hesitation. Cheri. My beloved half-sister. She steps forward, offering herself to the rescue. I make up my mind, and I hope the rest of my family would follow, too. I move to stand beside Cheri, and I look up at the fairies. “I, too, will aid in the rescue.” Then I turn to face the others. “To those that would join us, I suggest this: we should work together to bring back the day.” I hesitate for just a moment, though, a nagging feeling at the back of my mind when my eyes pass over the beast in our midst, the stallion who sent fear through the firefly child’s heart. What would he choose? I pray he chooses to be a distraction.
we have a greed with which we have agreed. you think you have to want more than you need; until you have it all you won't be free. and when you think more than you want, your thoughts begin to bleed.
More of them gather; although Wishbone didn’t have any expectations, she is surprised to see how many have answered the call. Her eyes glance over each face that appears, most of them unfamiliar, and she nods in greeting as they find their places. A soft smile dances across her mouth when Lilliana arrives, and she is grateful that her friend will be on this adventure. A surprising number of children have answered the call, which creates a wrinkle of concern against her mouth. Beqanna has asked them to fulfill a mission and potentially sacrifice themselves for the betterment of their homes. And Wishbone knows these challenges do not come easily — it is painful and hard to be a hero.
By returning to Life, she had felt the torture of a hundred deaths. In merely surviving the walk across an ancient desert, she had suffered. Reuniting two lovers to one another forced her to relive heartache. There are things she knows, and there is much she does not understand. Yet Wishbone feels her heart twist when her eyes glance over the soft, curious faces of the youth. She wants to tell them to go home and find their parents. She wants to convince those parents to hold their children tight as if life itself were escaping them.
But she knows that nothing she says will change their decisions. Wishbone knows that if she were a child at this time in history, she would have followed the voices and stood among the adults. The fairies’ manifestations draw her attention away from the children, though they linger in the back of her mind. Wishbone has never seen the mysterious fae of Beqanna, and her eyes trace their colorful, tired faces. Her ears twitch forward as they speak, revealing why they have been silent for so long and why they have called them together.
When Wishbone hears about the origin of the monsters, how they are twisted versions of someone who might have once been pure and good, her lips press together. She has seen how evil the shadows are — if it hadn’t been for Mazikeen, Wishbone is sure she would have been stuck in an endless cycle of dying and coming back beneath a tooth-filled mouth. And she knows there must be many others who have suffered as she had, perhaps even worse. While she feels for the souls who have been lost, she feels no pity for the creatures as they are now. Perhaps by undoing the magic that shatters the souls, they will begin to heal what the monsters have broken in Beqanna.
Craft, Anatomy, Nikkai, Starlace, Straia. The first three names are familiar to her. They bring faces to her mind — a grulla amid a dangerous river, a dark face illuminated by the light of a portal, a golden mother’s face splashed with bright red blood. She cannot call them friends, but Craft, Anatomy, and Nikkai have been influential in her life. Even without the eclipse and the monsters, Wishbone knows she would help them.
They are given a decision. To rescue the magicians or to serve as the distraction. Either choice results in a death of some kind; they will have to die to reach the Afterlife, and they will most likely die as the distraction. Wishbone wants to laugh, and she bites her lip so hard she tastes blood to stop herself. She almost turns to look into the shadows, expecting to see Death’s grim face and recognize it like an old friend. The purple mare hadn’t expected to see the Afterlife so soon again, yet her encounter with Mazikeen and not-Ivar and now this mission have proven to her that she shouldn’t rely on her expectations.
Wishbone’s stomach drops as two of the children move toward the fairy that will bring them into the Afterlife to rescue the magicians. But she has already recognized that they will die regardless of their decision — and perhaps it will be a smoother death as a rescuer than as a distraction. And without the influence of the childrens’ decisions, she has already made her choice. Wishbone steps boldly toward the rescuing group, and her amber eyes dance with a mixture of amusement and determination. “I have been to the Afterlife before,” she admits to the group. “And I have met Nikkai, Craft, and Anatomy. I’ll help rescue them.”
Once a man who would’ve watched this crowd’s interactions eagerly for all their subtle nuances and emotions, his gaze flits across each newcomer upon arrival before settling back to the dark woods surrounding them. His weary mind barely pays attention to their faces, their words exchanged, their frail or sturdy forms, instead he is focused on looking out for any sign of the monsters that haunt this bleak realm. His fellow equines come one after another until they don’t. The calming presence that had settled his nerves ever so slightly was no match for the growing twist in his growling gut at the nothingness. A nothingness that was only broken by a glow that sprung forth in the oppressive darkness behind him, making his hide flinch and mismatched head snap back around.
Red, blue, green, violet, orange, yellow, indigo and in the center two equine creatures he’s never seen before. After glancing over the walking corpse that had arrived previously, he had no shock left to feel over the many-eyed beings. Despite their obvious wariness, Kaenros could sense their power and knew they were the ones who had called. Finally, his nervously flickering gaze came to a rest, searching through each of their eyes as they spoke. He didn’t know what he was hoping to see behind the fatigue, but the burnished stallion found some small semblance of safety in their presence.
That sliver of peace was once again destroyed when they spoke of how the monsterous creatures could not be killed. Vengeful or lost spirits were not new to Kaenros but the dread he felt realizing that that thing Dretch had destroyed beneath her elephant form was still writhing in its puddle-like state was enough to bring bile up the back of his throat. Even though it had tried to kill him, and may have succeeded if not for her intervention, there was a strong sense of pity for the thing now that he knew of its origins and the state they had left it in. He barely hears the rest of their speech. He understands they must rescue some lost entities of this realm who could in turn save him but any specifics were all but lost upon his pinned ears. The fairies’ silence allows his fractured mind to wander.
If these creatures before them are not strong enough to do it how will this group be?
And Kaenros? Kaenros is a coward.
A coward that should leave.
Leave as soon as possible.
Leave as quickly as his raw hind end would allow him.
He had no business being here surrounded by brutish stallions, colorful mares, a rotten, walking corpse, and children of all things. Some have yet to reach basic maturity let alone shed all their fuzz and these things want them to help. Then a choice was presented as the fairies part. Rescue or distraction. It doesn’t surprise him that a pegasus filly who clung to her mother moves to join the rescue along with the young mare surrounded in angrily flittering fireflies. It seems to be the safest option. Then the first filly to arrive, Memorie the glowing girl, moves ahead. She seemed strong and confident despite her age. A little leader. The fourth is an older mare of strange purple coloring who seems to be the most sure of those who have offered themselves so far.
He wished he could feel useful but Kaenros is made of sinew, wiry muscles, and thin bones. Even more so now than upon his arrival due to lack of nutrition and fear. His only bred purpose was to run. To run away from this hellscape and these entities who wish for sacrifices to their “Aftlerlife”. But if these kidnapped beings are powerful enough to save his realm, they are powerful enough to send him back to Palamov. So he stays to offer the only thing he can, hoping it would be enough to sway their favor to help him leave if he survived. Long, black limbs carry the mottled stallion towards the fairy that had requested distractions. He was going to die here regardless if he did not act on this tiny sliver of hope. There were threats on all fronts from monsters to infection, from starvation to fear.
Better to die trying than to waste away in the dark.
Despite the darkness and gathering bodies, he immediately notices when his mother arrives. Even in the chaos of memories dancing around them, he recognizes hers with a familiarity born of having spent his short life studying them. He finds her easily, concern and fear and determination beating a wild rhythm in his own chest. No words are necessary as he presses his nose to her cheek (a reassurance for them both) in the moments before the fairies appear.
They are weary and shifting, their battle so clearly long and hard already. But they address the group, an ancient tale spilling from their lips. Reave has spent so much time studying the creatures it is almost anticlimactic to finally understand. To know just what motivates the beasts invading their home.
At least he knows now why they had been so impossible to read.
To an untried youth, the choice put before them sounds like an epic adventure - a fairytale of old. But Reave is no longer as untried as he had once been. His thirst for understanding has led him down so many dark paths already. Enough to understand that this is another of those impossible choices. It would be so easy to imagine oneself the grand savior. To fly heedlessly down the path of rescue while picturing a glorious return as the rescuer of Beqanna.
Even a few short months ago, Reave would have been captured by such visions. Would have thrown himself down that road without question.
Now though, he knows differently. He knows the world is never quite so black and white. He knows his own talents do not lend to that of a savior. He is no one’s savior, least of all Beqanna. But he is very good at misdirection. At distraction. At sowing chaos.
Though it feels like eternity, in truth it is only moments later that he steps forward to speak. “I will be a distraction.” The words fall from his lips with certainty - an understanding of purpose that can only come from experience, new as it may be.
that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried
Enough of Firion still exists that he feels his mother when she approaches.
Feels her sorrow, her fear, her worry.
It eats at him more than the curse ever could, and he wants to crumple—wants to flee. Instead he groans low and deep in his throat and closes his eyes, filmy and nearly white now that he has spent so long in this half form. Half alive. Half dead. Half conscious. Half a prisoner to his own hunger, his own needs.
He leans into her for a second, gritting his rotting jaw to keep himself from biting her.
He presses his mottled head against her neck and then leans back, swaying weakly on his feet.
His attention, thin as it may be, turns toward the faeries—unseeing eyes washing over them and trying to discern everything that they say. He frowns and feels the news stick in his jaw, unable to be swallowed and truly digested. He doesn’t know everything they’re saying. Cannot apply his usual logic to it and instead he simply stands there, feeling for everything like an outcast—a monster himself amongst them.
These are the things, at least, that he can recognize.
He can recognize the despair these monsters feel.
Can recognize the fears and loneliness.
(Is he one of them? Is he?)
A tear escapes to fall down a thin cheek and when all is said and others have begun to make their choices, he takes a stumbling step forward. “Distraction,” he croaks, his voice catching on the word—more of a rasp than anything else. Anything else that he may say or promise, crumbles and turns to ash on his tongue. He just knows that he would be useless in the rescue. Useless to those who would be more savvy, more quick-witted, more able than him. He is nothing more than a zombie amongst them.
The very least he can do is sacrifice himself to buy whatever time they may need.
so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried
Some part of her feels a twisted sense of relief when the fairies explain that the monsters cannot be killed. It’s wrong of her, she knows. But it makes her feel like less of a failure when she had attempted to dispatch of one of the creatures and failed so miserably. But the relief is followed quickly by guilt when she truly understands what the creatures are. Is it weird that in some way she feels sorry for them? She wonders what had to have happened to them for them to have twisted into something so broken and so violent that they become this. And if someone had told her a few weeks ago that she’d been standing here, at the base of the mountain, feeling sorry for the monsters that were wreaking havoc on Beqanna she would have literally slapped them with her tail. But here we are.
She doesn’t linger on this train of thought too long – she knows that the pain and suffering of these broken souls is likely far beyond her comprehension. (Let’s be honest, most everything about the monsters is pretty much beyond her comprehension but don’t you dare tell Mazikeen that.) Even if they are broken and they’re reacting out of fear, it doesn’t justify the violence they’ve brought down upon Beqanna. That’s just fact. No matter how broken and terrible you feel, it doesn’t justify violence and chaos. Which still didn’t change the fact that moments before she had wanted nothing more than to be strong enough to destroy the monsters. Now, she wants to be strong enough to release them. But the endgame is the same – free Beqanna of their toxic influence. And get the sun back, too.
She takes a moment to consider the options presented by the fairies. Sabal had no issue with sacrificing herself for the good of the group – using herself as a distraction in order for the rescue to succeed. However, if the others had been taken to the Afterlife and were as important as the fairies said they were, it was more than likely there would be trials there as well. And if their magic was essential to restoring the light and purging Beqanna of the monsters... Sabal knew what she had to do. She knew where she had to go. Even if the idea of going to the Afterlife was absolutely as daunting as it sounded.
“If we need them to return the light, I will help you bring them back,” she says, having decided to join the rescue party. She took a few steps toward the fairy who indicated they would lead the rescue, and those who had already announced their intention to join the attempt. However, her gaze was drawn to those who had joined the other party. Those who had chosen to distract the monsters. Sabal says nothing, but she dips her head to those who have chosen sacrifice hoping that together all that have come will be able to restore the light.
But she feels she has to do this – has to try to help. For Hyaline. For her friends. For the family she has chosen and has chosen her in return.
what have I done, with my heart on the floor,
I must be out of my mind to come back begging for more --
She forgets, for a moment, why she is here. She forgets that they are suspended in nightfall, forgets that she has a daughter back home that is dying, because she cannot see beyond the dying son in front of her. Firion hardly stirs at her touch, and if not for the way he so briefly leans into her she would have thought he wasn’t aware that she was there at all.
There is so little of her heart left intact enough to break, but somehow it finds a way.
Her healing begins to warm beneath her skin, longing to reach for him. But she thinks of Este—thinks of how no matter how many times she has wrapped her in that same golden touch, it was useless. Este needs sunlight; no amount of healing or magic was saving her. Looking at the bone that breaks through rotted flesh and the skin that clings so tightly to his skeletal frame, she doesn’t think her healing will help him either.
It’s only the fairies that draw her back to the present, back to this grim reality. There are two of them, and their fatigue is nearly palpable. It reminds her—and she so often needs to be reminded of this—that everyone else is suffering, and not just her own family. Though she steals a glance at Firion again, her attention is on what the fairy is saying. She feels a twist of pity in her gut at the description of the creatures, but she fights it down. Her sympathy and curiosity for darkness always got her into some kind of trouble, and she doesn’t think now is the time for it.
At the mention of the afterlife, though, her attention sharpens.
She does not know the entities, but she knows the afterlife—knows Gail.
There is heat rising beneath her skin again, but it is not the urge to heal. It’s that same incessant humming that pushes her into danger, a vibration in her veins that never settles until it finds its release.
She hears Firion offer himself as a distraction, but he sounds so incredibly far away now.
“Rescue,” she says in that quiet, but sure way of hers, her impossibly dark eyes focused on the fairy that had offered to lead them to the afterlife. She has died before—she would argue that she has died more than anyone here, but she does not tell them that. She has never been one to speak of the things she can endure, the things she has seen. But she can show them.
