the Rift

[OPEN] Work first, party second

Farenjer Posts: 68
Hidden Account
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hands :: 5 Buff: NOVICE

The fiery ball nestled high within the bowels of the indigo skies. Where its exquisite, god like fingers once ran through the Tallsun flora, now departed little by little from the Helovian soils. The winds and nights pressed on with a sudden chill that made everything living begin to wither. The dark bay stallion at the time watched in a patient gaze upon the Basin's tundra grasses as they began to tumble, blade by blade. His blackened hoof popped forward before falling upon a patch of withering life, his nose drooped down for a silent moment, sniffing the earth with a hard light pressing into his icy look. Between each hot breath, a rumble within his chest vibrated, before unveiling into a deep, unused voice. "It is time." His head departed from the ground before gazing about the Basin's midday stance. An eager mind made him purse his lips into a thin smile, and his strange eyes widen just the slightest.

Where the patches of sunlight came through the woodland, the weaver would follow. He had taken this passageway through the bramble as an easy access like so many before him. "Just remember, we are here to collect weaving material, herbs as well." Farenjer added in with a 'of course' tone. He had asked Lena back a little while ago to have a party of unicorns come and collect what they needed for the Aurora festival. Though Farenjer wasn't as ecstatic as many of his fellow brethren (for he was scared of the thought of himself... dancing) He had always loved weaving, and what did make him excited was work. The banners and main tent were going to be large, they needed all the material they could collect, before frost could kiss the already crumbling plant life.

"...Here we are...." He awkwardly spoke in a hushed voice, as he stepped within the tall grasses of a large clearing. Arranging himself to meet with the gaze of his fellow brethren that filed out of the passage. The stallion shuddered at the sudden icy breeze that brushed along the tall meadow. "Go as far as you want... Bring back all the cotton you can collect, please."

(Collecting material for festival finally! Sorry it took so long to make! Also I know this first post really sucks, sorry just trying to get back into it.)

••MUSE: 364 •• TAGS: @[Rikyn] @[Lena] @[Esther] •• NOTES: ••

Table by Moonstone Designs
[Image: farenjer_by_foxyfirewings-d6t57ac.png]

Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT
Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie

What if this whole crusade's a charade
And behind it all there's a price to be paid

The meadow, again.

I guess it could be worse. It is, after all, the place where we found one of my favorite people in the world and the only other location in Helovia aside from the Basin that I know so well. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised; the only other place with as many plant types growing is also a meadow, and if momma isn’t exaggerating, we’ll need damn near all the cotton the field can spare.

She’s sent me along with a gathering group today, I guess to see if I can follow directions when outside of her watch. The leader is the other Weaver, a guy who I haven’t seen much aside from occasional glimpses in the Crafter’s Cave, but I know his name is Farenjer (momma told me as much before she sent me with him) and that, so far, he seems like an okay guy. Maybe a little antisocial, but I guess it’s a trait that most crafters carry, as dad is too – the comparison makes it easier to accept him almost immediately as a figure I can look up to, and I am on my best behavior as we enter into the autumn touched meadow of purple flowers.

Farenjer sends us out to find the fluffy white substance he weaves with and anything else we find of use to the healers. I don’t know any herbs, and so I’ll be better off just looking for cotton; the Mender should be able to find those for herself. And so my dark nose goes to routing around in the tall, golden grasses, lion’s tail wriggling with enthusiasm anytime I find a cluster of the desired material.

In time (about thirty minutes or so, perhaps longer or less), I have a good mouthful – too much really to carry back much more by myself, and so I begin to amble my way back towards the group, Lena in particular. Father has gone over the magic of creation with me, and while I’ve yet to see cloth being made, I figure I can get my eyeful of that later when Farenjer makes use of all we’ve gathered. My main interest is in learning what sort of plants that the healers use – a region that hasn’t been covered in my lessons, perhaps because momma doesn’t seem to know much about plants or their uses as she knows about politics, lore, and magic.

Picking a spot nearby where we’d all parted into our little gathering clusters, I set down my bundle of cotton and traipse my way over to the pretty bay mare and her kitsune. I want to know all sorts of things – kind of like why in the world a multiple tailed fox has such a weird name and what sort of flowers girls like best (as surely she knows the answers!) – but I know better than to spew questions out in torrents. One can only answer so much at once without missing an important point or two.

"Miss Lena," I say, polite as I’ve been taught though I’d rather just get my questions on with and forego introductions and niceties (but momma might ask about my manners and behavior when we get home, and its better to be safe than sorry), "did you need help finding anything? I’ve already got a bunch of cotton."
For the blood on which we dine
Justified in the name of the Holy and the Divine.

Wishlist - Plots

Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
The splendid air, the spiraling chill, of Orangemoon’s quiet, coaxing vestiges glorified her beatific steps, and she moved in time with Farenjer’s request, casting an effervescent hint, a magnificent glow, amidst the rambling lands of the Thistle Meadow. For a few, quiet moments, she remembered all the glimmering elements the land had to offer, tender ruminations with Roland, flickering gems of play and even the merest, idlest fashion of contentment, standing in the nourishing sun, polishing the cobwebs of the mind. Given the opportunity, she would have stranded her thoughts to be consumed with the wind, floating bulbs of blossoms and howling, saintly generosities; but the hours close at hand bade them into the reckoning of the impending festivities, and she wouldn’t have ignored the chimes of promised dancing, of wondrous jubilation, of incoming songs and whittled crafts for anything. The Mender and her beloved vixen set out to work after their moments in the rapturous reverie, bending close to the tall blades and picking out the ivory balls of cotton, picturing them as woven banners or fleeting, waving flags, measures and tokens of pride, of power, of dominion amongst the portals of ice. Imogen scrambled amongst the brambles, taking a few in her mouth or batting them with relish, watching as they glided towards Lena along the cold breeze, hiding a chuckle or two as little Rikyn approached. Illynx’s son held all the nuances and prowess of foretold promises, and the gentle songbird coaxed a wondrous smile for the child and his bursting curiosities, his lavish offerings. Lowering her cranium once more, and giving the kitsune the last bits of her cotton to collect and meld together, she dabbled in light, harmonic arias, extending her appreciation for the colt’s munificence. “Thank you, Rikyn.” She dropped her voice to a zealous whisper, as if conspiring with a friend over mischievous, impish whims, delicately courting the wiles of a curious lad, winking amongst their fragile exchange. “As a matter of fact, I could use your help in acquiring an herb.” She curled her lips together, mulling over the difficulty of finding such a plant, and proceeding to alter the hunt into an adventurous game, hoping he’d be allured and enticed into the exploration, not bored or brought into droll nature by the thought of flora and fauna; after all, everything around them held some ability to cast a healing shade or a darkened cloud – it merely mattered how hard one looked. “Incidentally, it’s a plant called Meadowsweet. I was hoping we could use it for anyone with an ill stomach or headaches.” She paused, then roamed into its lifelike description. “It has creamy white petals, clustered close together, and long stems. It also has a delightful smell – almost sugary. Do you think you could find it?”

her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love
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