| Up For Adoption |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.1 hh :: 6 (Orangemoon) |
| Adoptable |
11-30-2014, 01:57 PM
(This post was last modified: 11-30-2014, 02:02 PM by Nasreen.)
The maiden shivers slightly as she climbs into the southern sky. To be sure, it is warmer down here than in the northern reaches of the Edge, but Frostfall’s bitter hand has spared no inch of Helovia…except for the island, it seems. As Nasreen touches down, it is with immense surprise to find the grass still green and lush and the cherry trees still blossoming. It comforts her, this clear magic—despite these recent dark times, had it not been here that the Moon had assured her that the gods were watching? The memory gives her some confidence and puts a small smile on her face as she heads towards the Edge tent. Poor girl, if she knew of the brutal murder that took place here in her absence, she would not be so blithe.
At its center, the princess finds everything as it had been: the tents are still standing and the sandy ring still invites combatants, but the island does not have the bustle of Tallsun. The Caela’s heart beats rather weakly this season it seems. Nevertheless, the girl is undeterred. She came here with a purpose, and she will follow through. Of course, what she seeks is not as vital to her herd as the herbs that the medics gather or the patrols that guards perform, but even a young thing as silly as she knows that it is not just the medicine or the muscle that brings a kingdom through the darkness. The legends whispered as a family huddles together on a cold winter’s night play their part, too. Stories were how she and Amaya kept on as they fled Th’orqui, stories were what she recited to herself on the nights that she couldn’t sleep. With dark days ahead, it is now more important than ever that she adds Helovian lore to her collection.
She feels a little shy, but she makes her way to the arena and stands in the center. Letting loose a single whinny, she waits until the first face appears, and then she begins her story. There is no fanfare, no ribboned booth, nor bright display—they’ll find her, she has faith. Tell the story, and they will come. She begins with an old favorite of hers; one they used to tell back home at the sign of the first snow:
There was a time long ago when winter was all ice and no softness. Instead of snowflakes, hail fell, and it was so cold that anyone managing to survive—their very breath would freeze and shatter on the coldest nights. Talvi, the Winter Bringer, he was an ancient stag, pale as frost, with feathers made of icicles, cool blue eyes, and, as was fitting, a heart of ice. He cared not for the plight of the mortal horses during his reign, what were they to him? When it came time for autumn to make her exit, Talvi would sweep in, taking delight in freezing the firey leaves off of the trees and in hearing the dull echo of his hail against the bare branches. Year after year, he would do this, year after year he would send hundreds to icy death. For Talvi was angry. His fellow Season Bringers were loved by the mortal horses—Kevat, the spring maiden, was adored by all of the world for bringing warm rains and new life. Syksy, the feisty Autumn Bringer, had quite a few stags at her disposal, and Kesa, Kesa the Summer Stag, practically had a harem of his own what with all of the amorous young mares that loved to frolick during his reign. However, Talvi was old and unapproachable. No mortals loved him. Not even the most cold-hearted enjoyed the awful days of winter. The sole pleasure of the mortals during the winter even excluded Talvi, as he had no mate and would sire no children.
Then, one winter, as Talvi stalked through the lands, breathing on the trees and watching the icicles plummet dangerously from the branches, he came across a pair of young lovers stumbling through the trees. The mare was very in foal, and her young mate was nervous. Talvi’s first thought was to send hail, but before he could do so, he was interrupted as the mare began to give birth. He turned away, for he detested the new life that reminded him of Kevat’s reign. However, as he moved away, his eye caught sight of the newborn. It didn’t shudder at the cold, but lay still, for it knew not any other outside world. Talvi paused. This was something new. The young stag hovered above his mate and the newborn, proud yet fearful. Talvi watched the emotions that played across his face: joy, pride, anxiety…horror? Anger? He moved closer silently, startled when the stag bellowed his name, cursing him. The mare had perished. The stag began to weep frozen tears, for his child would expire soon as well without a mother.
In that moment, Talvi took pity on the foal, the only foal that lacked the strength to detest his winter reign from birth. The filly stirred, and Talvi made his decision. Creamy flakes rained down from the sky, not hail but frozen mare’s milk for the motherless child. All through that winter, every day, Talvi provided food for the filly, keeping her alive and bright. It gave him great pleasure to see her frolick in the snow, so much so that he would forget about making icicles and freezing trees. When spring came, Talvi retreated peacefully, satisfied that she would live.
From then on, Talvi no longer caused hail to fall. Though mare’s milk never fell again, he allowed delicate snowflakes to fall in the filly’s memory. Old Talvi, touched by beauty, had made winter beautiful.
OOC: This is a storytelling competition! Nasreen would like to add some stories to her repertoire, and as incentive, there are prizes. The winners will not be randomly generated for this; I will be judging the stories based on creativity—so go wild! Since I’d really love these to be a little complex/possibly on the longer end, there is a 250 word minimum for each story. You may tell as many stories as you wish!
Depending on the number of stories/how creative they get, the prize will either be:
1. One large item, crafted of glass, for the winner.
2. Two medium items (one each) for two winners.
BUT WAIT! There’s more! Because I know that a lot of effort is put into writing things like these, everyone who enters will be put into a raffle to receive a piece of character art from me. Every story counts as one “ticket,” so the more stories you tell, the more chances you have of winning.
The deadline for submitting stories is December 24 to ensure that I have enough time to write a post crafting the winner(s') item(s) and to at least get started on the character art.
Have fun, and I can’t wait to see what you come up with!
horse:Colourize-Stock.deviantart.com || bg: Dark-Wolfs-Stock.deviantart.com || wings: Chocomix-Stock.deviantart.com & Chunga-Stock.deviantart.com || image: impassioned-dreams.deviantart.com || table by wanda |
Image Link
Please do not tag Nasreen except for in opening posts and in spars!
| Hidden Account atk: 7 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4 |
| Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.1 :: 6 || Tallsun HP: 67 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Azeeza :: Orange-breasted Falcon :: None
Tribs |
11-30-2014, 04:28 PM
(This post was last modified: 11-30-2014, 04:29 PM by Bucephalus.)
Bucephalus had been walking along the island when the story began, and immediately his attention was snagged. His ears pricked, and he walked towards the tent and sandy pit. Almost the moment he got there, the story sucked him in, and he listened with awe as she spoke. When she was done, he bowed his head low in honor of her tale. "You tell a wonderous story, may i return the favor?" He stepped into the sandy ring, awaiting the pegasus mare's approval before he began.
Once long ago, before the gods ever granted the pegasi the wings we bear today, there was a king rich and powerful beyond comprehension. His wealth knew no bounds, his wisdom far beyond his years, and his dance a thing of beauty so grand as to drive even the stones to tears. He created things of beauty, towers of glass and ribbons so silky as to be made of the very air itself. But the gods never bless one without a price. For all the king's riches, he was cursed. No mare could stand to be within his gaze, and fled whenever he came near, filled with a terror and disgust that they could not understand. No female knew what the King looked like, the man's only company being the stallions that created his court and guards. The king, too wise and proud to blame the gods, knowing what he could do was a valuable blessing with a minor downside. But as seasons passed, and foals filled his kingdom and grew older, as mates danced across the desert dunes, the King found himself filled with longing for a mare to stand and rule beside him, to confide in and share in the wonders he held. On the eve of his tenth spring, when he could take no more of the frolic of the couples, the great King traveled to the standing stones across the desert, and knelt before the gods. Days dragged to weeks as he pleaded for forgiveness and for love for even a single season. But the gods would not hear him. One by one they turned away and vanished, leaving the King more desperate than before. For they had given him such blessings far beyond what they had given another, why should he ask more of them?
But one did not turn away. The Wild Jester, Lady of All, knelt before the King as he wept, and bid him to return to his castle, and with that she too vanished from sight. In despair, the great stallion accepted his fate, and began the slow, lonely journey back to his glass castle. But his trip had not been in vain, for the Wild One sped from the standing stones to begin her crafting. For a year and a day she toiled, and on the anniversary of the King's journey to the godstones, she descended into his court. At her side was a mare lovely and fair, with a mane of moonlight and skin of white sand. Her eyes were like gems from the heart of the earth itself, and when she smiled it was as if the sun shone bright and the air lightened with the scent of a warm spring breeze. The King was dumbstruck, and the mare and stallion fell into a love as deep as the oceans. The Wild One, pleased with her work, left the couple and returned to her palace in the starless sky. For a year the King and his new Queen ruled in peace, and for a month there was a festival to welcome the new Queen to the desert. The stallion could not be happier, his love was the fairest in the land, and he showed her all the wonders he could create.
But not all was well. The Moon Dancer gazed down upon this god-made mare in jealousy and rage. For the Mother of All had created a creature with beauty to surpass even that of the Moon, and the night sky went black as the Moon descended to the glass palace of the King. The King stood before his wife, defiant in the face of a god that threatened to ruin the single-most dear thing to his heart. The Moon Dancer, ever clever, turned to the Queen and spoke only once. "Should the King even Glance at another Female, i bid by Root and Branch, by Stone and Blood, that you return to what you Once were." In a snap of magic, the curse was sealed, and the Moon returned to the sky, watching the couple. The King was not too worried; his own curse still stood strong against other mares, and swiftly he soothed his beloved Queen's fears, and in summer, the couple was blessed with a child. Lovingly the King turned and gazed at his newborn filly...and the Moon Dancer's oath took hold. The King rushed to his mate as she began to unravel, withering as a flower before frost, until he held nothing against him but air. Such a cry tore from the King as never was heard again; a cry of sorrow, despair and loss so keen as to draw the attentions of the gods. The Moon Dancer smiled, the Sun King wept, The Windlord mourned, and the Stone Prince keened, for even the gods had been entranced by the mortal beauty. And none of the gods could even expect what the King did in his grief.
Driven mad by the loss of the only mare who could be with him, the King turned to his child and tore her to pieces, gouging with hoof and tooth until nothing remained but mutilated flesh. The Sun King readied himself to smite the forlorn stallion, but the Wild Jester halted him, and told the leader of the gods who had begun this horrible event. The Sun turned to face the grinning Moon, backed by the Stone Prince. The Windlord and Jester remained neutral, but before a fight could begin the Wind stepped forth. "Punish him for his wrongs, not our sister dear. She did naught what one of us would have done in her place." His words held a wisdom that the Sun knew held true; as fickle as Wind could be there was no god more beloved by the people, and none wiser than the eldest of gods. So the Council left the heavens and stood before the King and his dead child. The Sun was first to speak. "By Light i take from you what i gave." The King wept as his wisdom left him. The Moon swayed forth. "By Dark i take what you stole." The stallion fell as his great strength left him. The Earth dipped his head. "By Stone i take what i loaned." The glass castle dissolved into sand, and the King's riches sank back into the earth. The three gods left, their deeds done, leaving the Windlord and Mother of All before the King. The Wind lowered his head. "By Air i give you the power to touch the sky and find your beloved." His words made the man raise his head, as an unbearable agony tore through his spine. With a scream of pain, wings tore from the King's back, broad and great. The King turned to look at them, the pain vanishing the moment his wings finished growing, and was touched by the wonderous gift the Wind had granted. But even this, given by He Most Loved, did little to touch the blackness that threatened to engulf him in despair. So the Fair Lady spoke last, pressing her muzzle to the King's. "By Soul i give you the stars and life beyond life. Chase through the years and find your love once again."
The final gods vanished into the sky, and the King's gaze locked on one bright light in the inky blackness of the night. The first star to ever grace the night twinkled down at him, and he knew within his very being that the light was the soul of his beautiful Queen. But the Wind and Jester were not finished yet. Their magic went to work, repairing the King's child and breathing life back into her once-battered body. The King watched in wonder as his child slowly stood on her legs, then grew into a mare as beautiful as her mother had been, with wings of snow gracing her back. Eyes holding the wisdom the King once possessed, she bade him to follow the star, and he named her Queen. That very night the King departed, tasting of the sky for the first time as his daughter spread the gift given to her by the Wild One; gracing every horse with the power of flight. For seven years the old King followed the light of his beloved's star, flying at night and eating at day.
His daughter, a Queen as wise and beautiful as both her parents had been, watched as a new star appeared beside that of her mother, and knew in her heart that her father had passed on, but had at last come to rest with his beloved Queen, entrusting the world to their daughter until it was her time to ascend into the heavens, and forever more the offspring of the Ancient King and Queen have been tied to the stars, and on the first day of Spring one can see the Lovers in their cosmic dance as he chases his mate across the night sky.
Word Count: 000 Tags: 000 |
CREDITS
Jello88.deviantart.com | Chunga-Stock.deviantart.com | Tumana-Strock.deviantart.com | XResch.deviantart.com | cooltext.com | Made by euphoraxio.deviantart.com | Table by Linds |
| Hidden Account |
| Filly :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 2 |
| Minx |
She harbours a sword within her unquiet roaring heart,
Arya listened from a distance. Moment by moment she inched her way closer to the pair of pegasi that told their stories. Once she was close enough she nestled herself on the ground and listened attentively to the male’s story. When it seemed as though he had finished, a grin passed over her lips as she sprung to her feet and practically bounced on her hooves. “I have so many wonderful stories to!! Let me tell you one!” For a moment she stopped as she dug through her archives of tales her father told her. The child filly felt her grin expand as one of her favorites came to mind.
In a land far from here there lies a group of women that are wild as the four winds. They are bound to no castle, crown, or man. Some called them amazons and others the Valkyries. They simply called themselves the Sisters. Blood was not what tied them, but their need and mutual love and respect. Amongst this group was young mare by the name of Lysippe, a beautiful unicorn mare. Many said she was wild even for the Sisters. Others also said she was fairest of the sisters. Her hair was the color of moonshine an her body like the starlight.
As they traversed through a land, Lysippe separated herself from her sisters to bathe. Twilight came while she bathed in a shallow brook. Unknown to her was that a young prince had stumbled across her in the midst of his patrols. Eythil was his name, and he was tall, strong, and fair. Some would say he fell in love with Lysippe at first glance. Others say he was simply filled with intrigue.
Lysippe would gaze up at the prince and simply give him a sly smirk. Without a single word she fled from the scene and left him in silence. When she returned to her sisters, she was faced a severe scolding from her superiors for wandering off. That moment beside the brook remained ingrained in her mind and the look of awe upon Eythil’s face.
All the while, the prince would return home to his father’s palace. He would tell his father of the strange silver mare. Eythil told his father he wished for nothing more than to see the mare again. The king, who was being slowly consumed by madness, would fulfill his son’s desires. He sent out hundreds of soldiers to find this mysterious mare. They would find her in twilight dancing in the forest, alone.
The silver maiden would notice the guards but paid them little mind. For she thought they were on a patrol and nothing more. Their superior numbers made capturing the mare little challenge, though Lysippe would put up a great fight.
Lysippe would be presented before the king the next morning. At his side was the prince and he stared in wide eyed shock at the presence of the beautiful maiden. What the king did not know was precisely how wild the silver maiden was. She would spit venom at Eythil and his father. While the king was offended, Eythil simply found himself more and more intrigued by the mare. After she said her piece, the king dismissed her to his son’s quarters. Eythil wasted no time and met the mare in his chambers.
Something sparked between them that night. They spoke the evening away and laughed together. By the end of the night, Lysippe could feel something fluttering in her stomach. She wouldn’t admit to the blooming love as she slipped into the chambers.
Day after day, Lysippe would be brought to Eythil and they would talk. Day after day, her love for him grew but she remained in utter denial of her feelings. She couldn’t love him while she was caged within his castle. There would be times where she would just sit and long for her Sisters, though she feared them long gone by now. Hope of reuniting with her beloved clan faded as the weeks turned to months.
Her Sister’s hadn’t forgotten her, but fled. For in the north brewed an evil dark and foul. A necromancer by the name of Kore brewed up forces in her icy fortress. She sought conquest and turned her gaze upon the land of Eythil’s father. With an army of living and undead she marched upon the elegant city of the king. Fear struck into the heart of the people. In a fit of madness the king declared hope was lost and threw himself into a vat of flames.
A crown and a country falling to shambles would be thrust upon Eythil. The young king would nearly crumble under the pressure. Lysippe, who still remained captive in his halls, met with the young king. She condemned his father’s cowardice and called for the soldiers to bare arms. The silver maiden cared little for the country. She solely cared for the well being of the stallion who had stolen her heart.
Together they roused the troops and met Kore in battle. Lysippe led the charge right beside Eythil. She fought as one of the people. Valiantly the people fought and it seemed as though victory was nigh. Kore drove a devastating blow.
The necromancer and the king fought. Lysippe watched from a distance as Kore struck Eythil down with her dark magic. The silver maiden would give out a mournful shriek that broke through the heavens. She would charge against the necromancer and pierce her heart. All of the undead that were at her command fell to still corpses. Her other soldiers watched as their seemingly immortal mistress fell victim to a mere mortal. The remainder of Lysippe’s forces were rallied together in one last purge of the evil from their land.
Eythil would pass before the battle’s end. They buried him in the hall of kings. Many believed chaos would ensue with no male heir to the throne. As one final act of love, Lysippe would rise to rule as the queen. Throughout the land she became known as the Silver Queen and the Lionhearted. Men were outraged by the rise of a queen rather than a king upon the throne. Lysippe would face great judgment within her first years as queen, but in time she proved herself to be a just and fair queen.
Within her seventh year of ruling, her Sisters came to her and reveled in the Silver Queen’s accomplishments. They settled within her kingdom and lived in peace there.
Lysippe would never forget her love for Eythil, but she would wed within her eighth year of ruling. It would be to her consort, Edward. They made a balanced pair and would rule together and have three daughters and a single son together.
It can be said, they lived happily ever after.
[I-I am so sorry about how much of a monster this is. Liquefying time to before she got her throat slit. ]
|
arya woman-king |
• tag in opening posts only
• violence/magic is permitted. maiming/death is not without prior permission
| Up For Adoption |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.1 hh :: 6 (Orangemoon) |
| Adoptable |
The young Seer is not disappointed. From the orchards of the island emerge two figures: one familiar, and one new. To the filly, she offers a gentle smile. To the winged stallion….Nasreen’s voice falters a bit as she sees Bucephalus coming, and if her kind could blush, her cheeks would be a rosy pink indeed. She has the sudden urge to run (towards him or away from him, she doesn’t know), but remembering herself, she merely closes her eyes and continues on until the tale is done.
To her surprise (and admittedly, delight), Bucephalus has a tale of his own to tell. She listens with rapt attention as he narrates a tale of bravery and deceit…and of love, she thinks, with an inexplicable flutter in her chest. This does not go unnoticed by the princess, but she brushes it away promptly. Distracting though the storyteller may be, love stories have always been her favorites, and she commits herself to remembering every turn of the plot. She wants to be able to tell it later, after all. Love stories lift hearts—what good will it do her if she knows every chisel of his face by the time the tale is done, but nothing of the story itself?
When he has finished, Nasreen sighs in contentment, tucking the words away in her mind for later. It is a good story, she thinks, and one she hasn’t heard before. The style is a little different from the traditional Th’orquian accounts, perhaps, but it was beautiful nevertheless. She opens her mouth to thank him, but the filly has a tale of her own to tell, it seems.
The young girl’s story is also one of love, but it holds something far more interesting to Nasreen. Ears prick in wonder as the filly speaks of a woman-king—a queen, it seems, but nothing like Nasreen knows one to be. Foreign as the concept may be, it appeals to her…and this idea too, she plants in her brain alongside Bucephalus’ tale of romanticism.
“Thank you both,” she murmurs when the girl is done. “They are beautiful stories—gifts. in fact. I…I’d like to offer you something in return, as a small token of my thanks.”
Congratulations! Both of you have received a medium item from Nasreen, crafted from glass. Please post below with what you would like from her, and she’ll craft it in my next reply.
As for the art, congrats to Tribs! You won a headshot for one of your characters here. Let me know who you would like, and I’ll add it to my to do list (:
@[Bucephalus] @[Arya]
horse:Colourize-Stock.deviantart.com || bg: Dark-Wolfs-Stock.deviantart.com || wings: Chocomix-Stock.deviantart.com & Chunga-Stock.deviantart.com || image: impassioned-dreams.deviantart.com || table by wanda |
Image Link
[/quote]
Please do not tag Nasreen except for in opening posts and in spars!
| Hidden Account atk: 7 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4 |
| Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.1 :: 6 || Tallsun HP: 67 | Buff: NOVICE |
|
Azeeza :: Orange-breasted Falcon :: None
Tribs |
12-31-2014, 07:11 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-01-2015, 01:11 PM by Bucephalus.)
He finishes his story, and a deep throb of homesickness pulsed through him. All he had of Sehrau was story and memory. He didn't notice the filly enter, but turned his dished head towards her when she began telling her story. He listened, ears pricked. The words turned to images in his mind, playing out the story as she told it. By the end of her story, the homesickness was gone. Amazing what a tale can do to distract a person.
Nasreen speaks then, and he turned his head, ears pricked. She wished to give them something in return for their tales? "That's not necessary Nasreen... the Tale of Stars is an old one, and very common in my homeland." Of course, it might not be common here. In fact he was pretty sure he was the only one to know the Sehrau tales by heart here in Helovia. Part of the trials a colt underwent was to learn every ballad and story of Sehrau's legends.
"Of course, this is probably the first time it has been spoken outside of Sehrau." He frowned faintly, then shook himself before bowing his head to Nasreen. "There's no need to offer me something in return for a story. I actually enjoyed sharing it." It was true. Never would he gaze upon the crystal homes of Sehrau, nor hear the Sacre weave itself around him, be a part of a grand symphony that dragged one to tears at times. The stories he held close, the stories of his colthood, of his birth Gods and the heroes of ages past, were the closest he could get to home.
"But...if you wish to give us something, could you make this?" He asked, sketching out the headpiece of what would be his armor on the dirt of the ground.
Word Count: 303 Tags: @[Nasreen] |
CREDITS
Jello88.deviantart.com | Chunga-Stock.deviantart.com | Tumana-Strock.deviantart.com | XResch.deviantart.com | cooltext.com | Made by euphoraxio.deviantart.com | Table by Linds |
Could the headshot be of Buce? 83 Little request, kinda make it dark-themed?
Also could @[Nasreen] craft this?
It'll be what his enchanted armor will collapse into 8D Im not sure if you can make black glass though xD
Pixel by Aud
| Up For Adoption |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 15.1 hh :: 6 (Orangemoon) |
| Adoptable |
He protests quietly, but she will hear none of it. Just when she is thinking she may have to insist, however, Bucephalus bows his head and prods at the sandy ground. “…could you make this?” he asks, and she steps forward, careful not to mar the dust. Make what?
Understanding soon dawns in her eyes when she looks down and sees that it is, in fact, a drawing that the stallion has made in the dirt. Grey eyes study the handsome headpiece, taking note of the sharp yet sturdy horn and the intricate swirls of the pattern. She has never made something so complex, but she is eager to try. Nasreen has never had such the chance to test the limits of her god-given powers, and this request is the perfect opportunity. “I’ll do my best,” she tells him, with eyes already far away. Upon a moment’s further reflection, she closes them completely, deciding that this task will require all of her concentration.
For a minute she merely stands there awkwardly with her eyes shut, doing her best to tune out the world—but it is harder still to forget the golden gaze which she is sure lingers upon her. Still, her desire to create soon overcomes performance anxiety, and slowly, gradually, she feels the old sensation beginning to flood her body, the wave of power that she is still learning to control.
• • • • •
She does not know how long it takes to make the headpiece, for time passes differently when she creates like this. But when she hears the dull thud of something settle upon the ground, grey eyes peek open. It is just as she imagined it, made of an onyx-colored glass and glossy, as if it wad formed from the cooled magma of some ancient volcano. “Here,” she tells Bucephalus, smiling with quiet pleasure. “Take it with my thanks.”
@[Bucephalus], remember to post this in the item records!
@[Arya], you're up!
horse:Colourize-Stock.deviantart.com || bg: Dark-Wolfs-Stock.deviantart.com || wings: Chocomix-Stock.deviantart.com & Chunga-Stock.deviantart.com || image: impassioned-dreams.deviantart.com || table by wanda |
Image Link
Please do not tag Nasreen except for in opening posts and in spars!
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.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
