Fantasy ´ 𝑷𝑨𝑿 𝑹𝑶𝒀𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑺 ` 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

blue-jay · Jan 15, 2023

lusille of vexira

T

he day after the ball, Lusille woke with a start. She hadn’t been having a nightmare or anything. It was just the softness of the sheets and the white morning light streaming in through the glass walls. It was all so… alien. Lusille’s body was so accustomed to her bedroom in Vexira—the heavy air, the different coloring in the light, the slight scratchiness of the sheets—that Mirror Isle’s clear, fresh atmosphere was a bit suffocating.

Where was the clamor of the laborers? The smell of cigarettes? The sound of hardy laughter? The clinking and clanking of a clock tower turning its gears to strike eight?

Lusille blinked against the morning light streaming in. As understanding of her whereabouts set in, so did memories of last night—and she started blushing with embarrassment.

So… yes. She had had a moment of uncertainty and ditched the masquerade before the hosts had even arrived. Surely she hadn’t been the only one? The music was slow and, aside from a bit of conflict involving Ren she had witnessed on her way out, nothing particularly exciting had been happening. So it wasn’t a huge deal that she had left, right?

However, Lusille’s attempt to push away all regret failed when she remembered the people she had talked to in her short time at the ball. The mild-mannered Aurichean in lavender. Her knife-throwing, butterfly-clad date. The date she had danced with briefly and then abruptly walked out on. Lusille sat up in bed and chuckled, partially in an attempt to laugh off the dull, sad feeling in her chest. It wasn’t every day that the Inventor Princess got emotional and hurried away from a social event. In fact, it was usually no day at all. The worst part is that she actually had been having fun, even if only a little.

The vicious feeling of not belonging was gone now, but it had felt so real at the time. She wondered (only briefly) if the Aurichean had ever found her way to Ren and if Ren had been an ass to her. She wondered (for just a second—in matters like this, she wasn't usually the wondering type) if her sudden departure had soured her date's impression of her.

Still, she told herself, no big deal. Mirror Isle had her feeling a little out of her element. So what? She was simply adjusting to her environment—adapting herself. The best way to feel more like herself would be to do what she did best: build.

Thus, Lusille spent the entire free day in her room, scheming, tinkering, and testing. Mostly, she worked on schematics she’d drawn up a while ago that hadn’t been completed or fine-tuned yet: long-term projects. But, remembering a thought she’d had at the masquerade, she found herself sketching up a schematic for a new invention.

A mechanism to heat the air… The grip should be comfortable… Yes… I’d need to be precise with the weight… It needs to be unaffected by external conditions… Need to make sure the temperature is controlled and the heat stays trapped.

By the end of the free day, Lusille had made considerable progress on many things. Most notably, a schematic for a floating cup. It’d be just like magic, but better. Floating cups would lead to floating lights would lead to fucking flying ships! Just as she’d planned. Yes—she had certainly planned it all!

Yes, she thought while admiring her own sketch. This was the work of a genius.

…

The next morning, Lusille was trying to let herself sleep in a little when a knock came at the door. She ignored it at first and pulled her covers over her head. Another knock. More ignoring. Lusille’s brow furrowed. Wasn’t it a bit early for any social events?

A small voice came from the other side of the door: “Lady Lusille?”

Annoyance had thoroughly awoken her by this point, so Lusille had no reason to stay in bed. She slid out from under her covers, stepped into slippers to keep her feet from touching the cool ground, and head over to the door in her bronze nightgown.

She opened the door and met the face of a servant. She smiled wryly and said, “Gooood morning, my friend. What brings you to my door at this hour?” She added more quietly: “I’m sure you don’t want to be up right now anymore than I do, so could we try to be quick about this?”

The servant nodded meekly and held forth a small platter with a piece of paper on it. “This is for you,” he said.

Lusille chuckled slightly at the sight of a letter on a fine plate. “Is it my breakfast?” When the servant didn’t laugh or even smile, she shrugged (Tough crowd…) and plucked the letter from the plate. The servant seemed about to say something but stopped when Lusille immediately got to unfolding and reading the letter in front of him.

A beat of silence. The letter… confused her. “What the fuck does Ren have to do with—?” When Lusille looked up, she was no longer standing in the doorway of her room. Rather, she was standing on the edge of a forest by a river. The air was obnoxiously fresh, and it was silent except for the sound of the running water.

“Bloody hell!” She had been stolen from the comfort of her room and delivered to a landscape with a creepy forest and what appeared to be a decrepit church standing—well, barely standing—across the river. The whole situation stunk of magic. For once, Lusille was not very amused.

And when she turned to her left, she saw Renshu standing there. She looked to her right as well, but there was no one. Turning back to him, she let out a quiet sigh, realizing that this must’ve been some sort of game the judges wanted to put on and that she would be playing it with the brother whom she felt like she barely knew at times. The brother who’d been a bit of an enigma ever since she joined the family, with his different last name and tendency to disappear. The brother who seemed so annoyingly cold and aloof to her that it made her feel a way she hated feeling.

She typically tried not to think about him too much, but she’d have plenty of time to now that she’d be stuck with him in the middle of nowhere.

“Morning, Ren.” Lusille looked ahead at the church, and he became a blur in her peripheral vision. “It appears that our hosts want to play a game. You know, they could've just pitched it to us, but I suppose I too would get a kick out of transporting some clueless asses into the wilderness wearing nothing but pajamas.” With a shrug, she added dryly, “Want to check out that very well-maintained, cheery-looking church?”

MOOD

annoyed

OUTFIT

simple bronze nightgown

LOCATION

like she knows

TAGS

Sear

coded by xayah.ღ

demonology · Jan 17, 2023

mpiady tejara

T

he locket cools their thumb as they rub their pad across its face. A tender motion, though they quickly snap it shut and pass it to Xan. “I can’t read it,” they announce, the swirling, too-small text still imprinted upon their mind’s flesh.

They rub over their eyes, aware of the creases that have folded over their corners in recent years. Gaze wanders, and they stand poised over the display. The flowers on either grave are the only signs of life, and their presence causes the hair of Tejara’s neck to rise.
“I wish the fog was bearable.” They gestured to the bouquets. “Someone’s been here recently.”

He studied his grave-partner for any sign that he too recognized the ominous tone to their observation. Frowning, they come out with it – “I get the sense that they are playing a trick on us.”

Magic was no mystery, but they had never seen such a deliberate use of it before, except with Tojo. Their eyes turned towards the crypt with a sword’s hilt and dainty buds, remembering how death came. Always running, Tejara thought. The trickery their hosts were playing on them now resulted in tumbled thoughts, and Teja’s brain quickly shifted to images of Moon, then to Tojo. They were transparent thoughts, with one more vibrant than the other. Tejara was once more aware of their aging body, of how it was always running.

It was then that they shifted to face the other crypt. It reminded him of graves once buried by clan Menara. The wheat-tousled wreaths they would place above the bodies to better burn them. They looked back at the swordsman’s grave, and they were confronted with the gentle indifference of the world, how it often took form in the same kind tones Tojo spoke in. It looked a lot like Moon’s shadowy glisten, like their smile and polite goodbye. It looked a lot like the shimmer of their hosts and the elegance of the Queen’s handwriting. It looked a lot like how the sun sliced across and off of Maka as Teja brought her through the air and down onto a corroded neck. They swallowed hard and looked towards Xan.

“These crypts will no doubt hold something,” they noted. “Let’s try this one,” they motioned to the opposite grave, the one with a laurel. “I fear anything dead that once wielded a sword.”

MOOD

paranoid, anxious, conflicted

OUTFIT

here

LOCATION

The graveyard

TAGS

Pepsionne

coded by xayah.ღ

neon reverie · Jan 17, 2023

code by yousmelldead

Magic clings to land like souls cling to bodies; an island breathes through its tethers and something enchanting lingers in the air. The nature you see holds hues familiar in knowledge but strange in design: pink blossoms deeper than cherry bristle from branches darker than oak — the sound smiles as much as it laughs . You don’t know how to feel about either of it. Summits peek from behind flora’s veil, rock corroded into curiosity, watching — or maybe simply waiting…. An old kind of humming rumbles from the isle, and you get the uncomfortable sense to tread carefully, lest your presence disturbs entities larger than life or sleeping gods. Step by step, more and more trees appear, all seemingly waltzing in the wind while the sea sings in return. Here, wilderness welcomes you in ways blooming and beautiful; you can’t help but to walk into its arms, unknowing if they close to embrace or erase.

Of actual wildlife, you see none— not even a trace of living creatures, big or small. You do encounter this: bronze remains laying in the grass, fractured and rusty. Plates which once formed the armor of someone, hinting at a life once lived, but with remnants of the usual weapon nowhere found. Peculiar in existence, disturbing in death— you ponder about the nature of the latter, only to hear the screech of an answer back. Limps peeling from bark, they emerge, all wooden boned but with claws and teeth sharper than steel. One, two, three, four, five— by the sixth one, you feel like making a quick escape. Eyes quickly scour any possible paths as they draw nearer and nearer. The two options are clear:

THE PATH TOWARDS A MASSIVE TREE THAT GLOWS IN TUNES OF SORCERY.

THE PATH TOWARDS AN ABANDONED HAVEN WITH HIGH WAVES CRASHING AGAINST ITS WALLS.

Hisoki and Zhi Khui have a choice. It will have consequences.

demonology

Pepsionne

HISOKI AND ZHI KUI

iridescent. · Jan 21, 2023

...

valen de malisio

“Chin up, my prince, or the crown falls.”

Valen remembers the words his mother spoke to him as he was curled into a ball in the corner of his room, reeling from a blow his father had delivered to his cheek after he told someone they didn’t have to bow to him. Her fingers curled under his chin to bring his head up, his watery brown eyes meeting her own. He didn’t care if the crown fell; he didn’t want it in the first place.

Though it pained him to witness the bows, never again did he tell someone they didn’t have to bow to him.

Never say never, however.

Perhaps it was because he barely knew Cesar, or perhaps it was because it felt wrong to be bowed to by the person you just ran out on two nights previous. But Valen came very close to telling Cesar to stand up, that he didn’t have to bow to Valen, that Valen didn’t deserve to be bowed to. His lips parted to say those exact words, arm reaching out to straighten Cesar up before he caught himself and clenched his jaw tightly to prevent anything verbal from escaping, fist curling into the silk fabric of his robe to keep his arm rooted in place.

Brown eyes locked onto their fellows, their fellows who seemed to be searching his own as if they held an answer to some secret of the universe. Before he could ask anything about it, the hand that was not bunched into his robe was taken and a kiss was pressed upon it. A previously clenched jaw dropped open, words completely failing him. The red that coated his cheeks when Cesar first emerged from the bushes a few minutes ago was nothing compared to now. His entire being was absolute scarlet from the top of his head all the way down to his toes. “I-" was all he managed to get out.

“You could still call me Apollo if you’d like.” Cesar told him.

Valen shook his head. The nickname Apollo was used when he didn’t know his date’s name, was used on a night he wanted to forget entirely. To continue to use it would only remind him of his blunder and he didn’t want that. “Now that I know your real name, I think I’ll stick with that.” (“or I could call you salad”)

“I believe we were given a map that could help us get out of these woods. Or at least to hint at where we are.”

Valen nodded. “Yeah, I have a piece too.” The language switch came far easier than Valen expected. Though he’d studied it for years, he’d never been able to have a proper conversation in Tyoinmin. Despite just saying he was fluent, he was expecting to mess up considerably, but the words somehow rolled off his tongue with ease.

Remembering he told Cesar he had a piece of the map, he pulled his own out of the pocket of his pants and after unfurling it, held it next to Cesar’s. His eyes too began to search the forest, trying to find something with any sort of resemblance to what was on the map. They locked onto a stone shape in the distance that could pass for what was on the map they were holding. “Yes, I think a trip is definitely in order.”

It couldn’t be this easy. There was no way they could just defeat the creature on the map and then walk to the decrepit stone tower and get out of here. There had to be other things the map wasn’t showing that would slow them down, would prevent them from getting to the tower easily. He didn’t know what they would be, but knew they had to exist.

Swallowing down the fear that rose suddenly, Valen turned to Cesar. “Shall we?” he wondered. His eyes darted down to the others hand for a second before returning to their previous place. Should he take Cesar’s hand? Was he really so nervous that he had to hold hands to make it through this?

No. He wasn’t scared. He didn’t need to hold hands. And without waiting for an answer to his ‘shall we’, he set off, a determined expression on his features.

MOOD

stay strong

OUTFIT

on discord.

LOCATION

the forest

TAGS

aeneas.

coded by xayah.ღ

Pepsionne · Jan 26, 2023

xan ahn

“Flowers of my life, key to my heart,”

Soft lips murmured after Xan accepted the locket from Tejara. The sound of his voice hit the fog laden air, its delivery sluggish, only traveling several feet before it was absorbed into the heavy cloth of silence sloughed over their shoulders.

Xan scowled, eyes drinking in the two crypts Tejara had pointed out. The fresh flowers placed upon them, how had he missed that? The bold splash of color dashed through the gloom of their atmosphere, vibrant and alive. He swallowed hard, throat gritting like sandpaper from the arid air. Tejara had a point, someone was playing tricks on them. He would have certainly picked up on the smell of the flowers had they been placed when the two of them were transported here initially.

Sharp eyes darted around areas of the graveyard not steeped in a blur of fog, catching nothing but the twisting shape of shadow. Some harmless prank pulled by the hosts, then? He turned the locket over in his hand, cold metal slipping against warm flesh. The pads of his fingers left a white halo of heat against the surface.

He looked back towards Tejara, the latter gesturing with a wave of their hand in the direction of the second crypt. Xan couldn’t find any objection in their choice. Crumbling earth flirted with the rigid stone sword that erupted from it.

Violence and death, he wasn’t surprised to see them walking hand in hand.

“I fear anything dead that once wielded a sword.”

Tejara’s words were stoic, but their premise sharpened the fangs of his fear, suddenly aching and ready to bite.

The image of crimson blood pooling against packed dirt flashed in Xan’s mind. In the blinding glint of the sun, it had almost looked black. It was surprising, really, how much thicker blood looked in that state. Syrupy and sweet, picking up particles of dust and rock to form some type of sickening sludge. There was so much of it too, he thought it would never end, just keep increasing in volume until it consumed him. There were times where he wondered if it did.

Xan felt his stomach begin to fester at the memory, pulling his eyes from the floor surrounding the first crypt. Anything that had died wielding a sword most likely had no intentions of welcoming death, why should they expect it to welcome them?

“You make a good point,”

Xan smiled at Tejara, eyes studying the sharp planes of their face. Shadows cast from high cheekbones gave them an almost statuesque quality, as if each thought that flickered across their features had to be chipped fresh from clean stone. When Tejara’s dark eyes caught Xan’s, he turned away, clearing his throat.

“This locket, though, do you think the flowers have any weight in this?

He gestured with a sloppy wave of his hand towards the two crypts silently waiting for the two of them to make a choice, almost mockingly, beckoning in their silence.

“Flowers of my life. Key to my heart,”

he repeated again, dangling the locket in Tejara’s immediate vision. It hung limply in the dead air.

“Orchids are native to Bandiama and other tropical climates. Flowers of my life,”

Xan smirked, eyes filled with amusement as he pointed a finger towards his bare chest.

“Tell me, Tejara, do those blue flowers look familiar to you?”

The sharp figure stepped forward, hunching down to examine the pastel buds. Teja nodded.

“Larkspur, maybe?”

The name rolled uneasily, with their tongue blabbering as a fish sucking air.

“I s’pose the name does not matter.”

They picked a flower up and sniffed it briefly before letting it hang limply from their taut fingers.

“It’s a Sebajan miracle,”

Teja joked, referencing some cultural lingo that Xan would likely be unaware of. They glanced at their partner, smiling with quiet pride, and then their gaze flitted to the crypts. A shadow dampened the lamp-ish smile on his face.

“Key to my heart,”

they murmured to themself, sniffing the flower once more with a frown furrowing between their brows.

Xan let out a low hum, the sound vibrating through open air. Tejara’s smile was returned in kind with an impish one of Xan’s, a gleaming half moon of white in the dark shroud of their atmosphere.

He shifted closer to Tejara, the tall frame of the latter forcing Xan to tilt his head upwards to maintain eye contact, exposing the tender flesh of his neck. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“If that’s the case, I guess the better question is--whose heart would you rather explore, yours--or mine?”

His dark eyes were bottomless pools of onyx, sucking in his partner’s gaze and mirroring back what they found within.

The wrinkles centered on Teja’s face unfolded as an accordion with an accompanying garbled song erupting from their throat.

“Um.”

The severity of their met gaze undid them, and they looked back towards the crypts, decidedly staunch in this look going forward. They played with the petal-ends of the delphinium. A small bit of pollen ground into the caverns of their finger pads. Their mind was a pinwheel before a dust-storm, whirring and whipping.

“How-”

they stopped.

“I have never-”

They rubbed the pollen between their palms as though clay and swallowed a sneeze.

"I have never seen Bandiama, and your company evaded me at the Welcome Masquerade?”

The amusement in Xan’s expression faltered, and his eyes drifted listlessly down to the indigo flower held captive between the pads of Tejara’s fingers. He was reminded of the Apollonion’s same mention to him the day prior. The acidity of his embarrassment stung his throat as he said,

“My letter was penned with a bit of a slower hand it seems. I didn’t make it to the masquerade.”

Swallowing, Tejara allowed their suggestion to remain implicit. A wayward glance at the swordsman’s crypt, and they heard the distant ocean in their ears and the wind of every arriving dust bowl. Heart racing and fingers jaunty, they struggled to place the blue bud in their shirt’s pocket and then fully turned their back on the crypt.

With their arm extended, they guided the way towards the one laden with orchids.

“Show me your heart,”

they quavered.

Discerning eyes caught the tremor plaguing Tejara’s movements. Each lift of their finger was a battle against nerves, their deftness eclipsed by a shaky skittishness. Xan’s eyes followed as their figure shifted in the fog, translucent swirls spinning off in their wake. There was a shadowy reticence laced in Tejara’s expression, injecting itself into their words as they once again suggested the second crypt. His eyes fell upon the stone wreath that hung victoriously upon the structure Tejara stood next to.

There was a hesitance to his reply, a pursing of the lips as the implications of his partner’s words registered within him. Key to his heart. Now it was his turn to be guarded. Xan’s posture shifted, warm clay shifting into hardened, cold, metal. When they opened the crypt, would Tejara like what they found within? Would Xan?

Dark eyes flickered over to the stone sword, standing silent and proud in the background. If these crypts were reflections of themselves, was Tejara’s a hint at something more macabre than they were comfortable sharing? His focus fell upon the myriad of scars littering his partner’s body, etchings of countless stories marked permanently in their flesh. His hesitation began to melt slowly, giving way to a more pliant agreement.

“Violent causes will have violent consequences, Xan,”

His mother’s words spit venom in his memory.

“You were a fool to expect any different.”

He cleared his throat before stepping forward to join Tejara at the crypt adorned with a wreath. Xan shot a hesitant glance at his partner before he gave a curt nod, and stepped inside.

MOOD

impish, guarded

OUTFIT

discord

LOCATION

graveyard

TAGS

demonology , Tejara

coded by xayah.ღ

cavitea · Jan 26, 2023

hisoki of tsusaye

"C

all me Zhi Kui," they had asked, a request almost childish for the tasks set in loosened threads before them. "I promise my mother thought long and hard ... naming me."

Hisoki couldn't recall the last time his lips had praised the body that gave birth to him, couldn't recall the last time she hadn't pressed the smile of a mask over drawn lips and pretended the order of conception hadn't matter. 'Secret', she had named him, held in sweat-soaked arms under the glimpses of a shy moon; it was the last time he could remember a smile, if at all. At the very least she had been correct in the nomenclature that made up wisped shadows and the fraying drops of flowers.

"Zhi Kui, then."

Eyelids could've closed after then, basked in the tickles of sun, relished in the spiderweb thrumming of a mystical sense reminiscent of nights spent prostrated on moonlit architecture. Melting shadows tossed themselves gayly around exposed ankles, slipping from grass to skin as oil on water as they had walked -- stomped, really -- towards their initial destination. Winding paths took them under the shelter of trees and to the absence of breathing life. A pause, hesitation as a bare foot narrowly stepped away from the gleam of metal peeking behind grass blades.

"This place has seen battle of some kind. Odd, an island devoid of weaponry ..." Softened syllables, an almost whispered tone compared to the stiffness of earlier. Too much of battle and war was known to the paling hands crept in a bend along the expanse of corrosion and metallic time. "It's foreign, bronze from other lands surely." Grey eyes spared a look backwards towards the other, observing the hand pressed to bark and body commenting on climbing.

"I think it'd be a good idea but I … I get the feeling we're not --"

Rare hesitation was brought into his folds and interrupted by the crackling sound of wood splintering, shards scattering as limbs molded themselves from sap and bark, sharpened to weapons of teeth and claws. They were childish in design, tottering totems clacking and stepping over worn metal with direct paths drawn towards both Hisoki and his partner. An inhale was all he allowed himself, sharp between teeth, counting a slower metronome in his head before an itchy jacket slipped itself from arms and tossed itself in disgusting weight at the closest creature.

Zhi Kui gave a yelp as they lept back, away from the tree that was suddenly come alive. First instinct, grab the nearest object and chuck it at the strange things currently crawling out of the even stranger tree— after all, they appeared to be partially made of wood, and perhaps cutting them in pieces would reduce their ability to cause any damage. Quickly, they glanced down at the ground, at the various bits and pieces that were strewn about, and quickly seized upon one that came to a point, grimacing at the grating, grainy feel underneath their heads as they gave a swipe at one of the creatures, before realizing that the point was not as sharpened as desired, and that they were about to be swarmed.

So instead, similar to Hisoki, they instead threw the object at one of the wooden creatures, before reaching down and grabbing a few more pieces of various shapes, sizes, and effectiveness at being hurtled through the air at strange things.

“Don’t suppose they know where we ought to be going?” Zhi Kui called over to the other man in a conversational tone. “Don’t seem to be the talking type!”

"I'd have to agree; though they seem terribly persistent." It hadn't even occurred to Hisoki that there was somewhere else they were meant to be. A one track mind had taken over the meticulous designer, an architect brought to his knees by a simple instilled need to fight back and win.

Unfortunate then it was with how horribly winning was going.

Every piece of metal picked up and tossed at the creatures did nothing but irritate them, if the gnashing of pointed teeth meant anything, anyways. Too close had they gotten and too careless was he becoming, a coiling of shadows propping up metal pieces on the ground for him to flick in his retreat backwards. In the corner of his eyes he was searching for an alternative, as little as he wanted to give up the ground on the splintering menaces.

"Without weapons I don't think we have the advantage. Although, that tragically comfortable jacket of yours did do a number on one of them." The light-hearted rarity came out before he could stop it, the memory of black cloth colliding with pale and the laughter that followed naturally flowing with the ridiculous situation. Smoke-filled eyes had already put their attention on the other before they swiped away in a bitten lip. "All the same, we'd probably do better with leaving these things behind us. You can run, I assume?"

There was that map in his head, a giant tree that spoke of mythical roots reached far in the earth and … water. Water was unsafe; it was where enemies came in through with their raised sails and promises to lay barren a crimson land.

“The tree, that huge one, should we go there?” A leg kicked out at the approach of a wooden puppet, cursing at the sure splinters to be had as his retreat became quickened and in parallel with Zhi Kui.

Zhi Kui gave a barking laugh, gleeful that the other man disliked that dreadful coat that he now had an excuse to never touch again, a grin gracing their face, dimple showing. In a joyous tone, they offered a jest; “Hey, maybe I can climb that one without consequence!”

Throwing one last item at the various wooden creatures (Zhi Kui was horribly curious about who had made them, wanting to pick their brain and understand how they had gotten the teeth and claws so sharp — perhaps a technique that they could be taught!), they reached down to yank off their shoes and toss them to the still bare footed man. “Here,” they yelled, “I’ve got socks!” and took off towards the other tree. Along the way, they reached down to unbutton their vest, turning around and seizing the opportunity to throw that at the various, strange marionettes that were clearly pissed at their behavior. They turned around and paused for a second to hurdle the bundle of unpleasant fabric at them, catching some of them off-guard and giving yet another hearty laugh, hands on their hips as if impressed with their handiwork before realizing, oh shit, they were still coming, and turning back around to run. As they approached another tree, one not swarming with creatures that seemed inclined to cause grievous bodily harm, they scanned for a low branch to swing up on and haul themselves off the ground, intent on offering a polite hand to Hisoki to aid him upwards as well.

Again the one before Hisoki was stripping off clothes, throwing the makeshift armaments backwards at the chittering beings and Hisoki himself. They were too big of shoes and too long a path awaited them, even as Zhi Kui scrambled up a tree along it, sure of themselves in some way that safety could be found in the branches.

Hisoki gawked, if for a moment as shoes discarded behind him and the raking of a wooden claw at his clothes made the efforts to join hands and push up strength even more important. "This is ridiculous, you're ridiculous." All passing comments as their wooden attackers fell at the base of the tree and their feet were already moving along the branches of the forest.

Only the magic thrum of a dominating tree could lead them, a path decidedly made if not unconventional. "Let us hope then," Hisoki would pant as the duo crossed through trees, free for the most part of their chattering pursuers, "that we have made a wise choice."

It was an insurmountably ridiculous situation; everything from creatures of bark to itchy clothes and a scramble across trees. Ribbon monkeys indeed. A bitter situation to the one with sticking black tresses and pursed lips if the adrenaline hadn't made it the most fun thing he'd experienced in years. Zhi Kui picked through their path and he followed, hiding the whispering smile on his face as they both headed towards their mystifying destination.

MOOD

tarzan time?

OUTFIT

discord.

LOCATION

the trees

TAGS

zhi kui

FloatingAroundSpace

coded by xayah.ღ

mother of sorrows · Jan 29, 2023

code by yousmelldead

The forest around you looks all the same. It is the smell of gently rotting vegetation and the howling chirps of birds.

You walk, though your footsteps make no sound. Overclogged mud sucks holes under sturdy roots and sadly growing grass, greedily making for any ankles it could twist. The trees have massive, weathered bodies, and branches that drag you back as if to ask you to stay just a moment more, really, just another word. It is not long before the top of a crumbling tower shyly peeks into view, half clad in greenery and - age. Dust. Cobwebs and broken glass. At once, you assume, this must have been an impressive defensive structure; as you see it now, it must have been left alone for centuries, its stones gone along with its memory. Spider silk clings to your hair and to the tower, though you quickly take note that there are many of them -

and they are not small. No, at the very top, in the shade of a broken wall, in the glimpse inside of the tower, you see an enormous web, one that is bigger than a fully grown man. Right in the middle of it you frown to see the figure of a... box! One that clung to the web like a child to a mother, or injustice to orphans. It seems as if you found a way up the stairs, you could reach it.

You do not get to think on it more. A tree above you rustles and a dark shadow veils over you, and you see the shifting of too many, countless legs.

''Lale, lale... what so dearly my little eyes catch...''

A voice speaks to you from above, scratchy and lullaby-like, distinctly inhuman and so soft it could crawl inside your ear. Something heavy erupts from the foliage of the tree-tops, and you see hairy, brown limbs clutched across a swollen body. It's a spider; a giant one, so large it could eat you in one bite, brown and disgustingly elongated; hot saliva drips on the ground from sharp mandibles, it's first legs rubbed together as if in anticipation. Beady, void-black eyes watch you with unreadable intent, and you cannot tell hunger from simple interest.

''Little princes, you must be. The only people that come on this island, yes.'' The spider drawls, an offer-of-cake sweet. ''You must be after the key. The key, key.''

You gain an uncomfortable sense that if the spider could smile, that it would do so now.

''Sad, sad. I cannot give it to you.'' It's black eyes shine at you, head tilting left to right and limbs rearranging closer to you.

Valen and Cesar are in conversation with a spider, one that could eat a human alive. It looks impatient.

iridescent. aeneas.

VALEN AND CESAR

mother of sorrows · Jan 30, 2023

code by yousmelldead

The roughly cut stone stairs are slick under your feet, and you have to hold on to the damp walls as to not lose your balance. Unpenetrable darkness surrounds you, silence ringing in your ears - you shiver as you descend into the final resting place of a person you have never known, enveloped by the black womb of the earth. You are uncomfortably aware of the tonnes of rock and soil shifting above you, and you have to squint to find your way to a small, echoing hall. You find no remains, and no grave.

Only a statue carved into the bitter wall, slimy with deeply-growing moss - you can just barely make out that it has the form of a human, though it's features have long been lost to time. Where was once a face, there is now only an echo.

It's hands are positioned as if to cradle something, but they are empty.

Whatever belongs there, you gain a sense you will not find it here.

demonology

Pepsionne

TEJARA AND XAN

neon reverie · Feb 9, 2023

code by yousmelldead

Death follows you in screeches usually manifested in nightmares rather than reality. Teeth clash to bite, claws swiping in air for blood; there is little kindness to be found in these bones made of wood, and even less mercy in those golden spheres, glowing in thirst. Speaking of hunger.

The ground rattles underneath and the trees bristle-- something about it feels as mocking as amused. The clothes abandoned lay in tatters and the creatures continue to chase and pounce, hoping to reach the branches you walk upon. The closer as you get to the large tree in the centre of the island, the stronger the pulse feels; it's like a beating heart, with magic flowing from and to its core. A haze you can't see, but feel lingering in the air. Overwhelming in potency, it strikes-- don't lose your balance. Don't fall.

Strange magic thrums within land and life here, feasting and feeding like gods do with fate. Up close to the tree, you notice this; blossoms that blush, deepening in hue each pulse, other creatures resembling that of a flower bunny, cute in appearance, possibly deceiving in friendliness, and close to them, the missing weapons of the armour you encountered before. A brittle sword and half broken spear-- it is not much, but you might not have a choice.

Time doesn't wait.

And neither does death.

If only you had magic.

cavitea

FloatingAroundSpace

HISOKI AND ZHI KUI

Sear · Feb 11, 2023

Renshu Faelen

T

he dance had only been the start of what Renshu could describe as an excruciatingly long stay, interaction after another and it wasn't ending anytime soon if his collision in the hallway after the night of the ball was anything to go by.

“You should watch where you’re going.”

Anita’s jaw dropped at the words, and she was grateful she had her mask to cover it. An accidental collision? It happens, she knew, and his response had been even more surprising, “You walked into me,” She pointed out, doing her best to keep her tone light, as though it was only a casual, friendly disagreement, and not let her building indignation seep into them, “Not to mention burned my clothes.”

“Good thing I fucking did,”

Ren snorted, jerking his chin toward the burnt shawl on the ground.

“That thing? That’s shit no one wants to see.”

Not to mention he wasn’t a fan of the color green either, but personal preference was personal preference. Even if there was a chance of his fault here - albeit slight - there would be no chance of him apologizing for him. She would have to deal with it, even if he was beginning to sense indignation.

“Right. Um,” Anita struggled briefly for her words, realizing he was serious about this. Every instinct in her was screaming for her to disengage, but at the same time, she couldn’t just let it slide. The emotions winning out, “And I did not want to see you here, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to light you on fire and not apologize for it.” She settled on, eyes meeting his.

Ren slowly exhaled, composure slipping for a split second to reveal displeasure curling underneath. Bending down, he picked his lighter back up, remarking as he did so. “Light you on fire?” That was an overstatement if he had ever heard one.

“Bloody hell, I truly did you a favor. Now you aren’t an eyesore so you should be fucking grateful.”

His fingers deftly slipped out another cigarette, the lighter clicking in his hands as he took a drag,

Anita’s brow furrowed. Who even was he, and if he was a guest here, who invited him to what was meant to be a diplomatic gathering? “You’re one to fucking— Look, I don’t,” She drew in a breath after biting in her words, trying to regain the composure she’d lost, despite it not coming back to her, “Want a fight here. I could have been watching my step better. But so could you have, I’m only asking for that acknowledgement.”

“Acknowledgement?”

Renshu’s eyes settled on Xiaoran as she appeared to interject, narrowed eyes staring at the hand gripped onto Anita’s shoulder.

“Keep dreaming.”

——— ☆ • ♧ •

• ♧ • ☆ ———

Keep dreaming Renshu himself did not. Whether it be due to the days proceedings, or the shockingly cold water that had been unceremoniously dumped onto his head by Valen, or other reasons that the night swallowed up greedily, Renshu was up at the crack of dawn with the cold of the room weighing on his bent spine as he adjusted a loose feather in Zeru. The bird hopped once in place, then again, wings stretched out to test the positioning with a flap that grated.

The hint of lips curling upwards was chased away with an urgent rap at his door and Renshu straightened up, tugging together red fabric adorned in silver thread to look more presentable for the simple sake of formalities. The scowl chased away the servant, but not before a letter made its way into his hands.

Lusille of Vexira.

“What-”

He did not have the chance to burn the letter to a crisp before the world around him was twisted away from his hold, eyes fluttering shut with the taunting fear that maybe this would be how he finally went out. Fucking finally - and then the feeling of solid ground was once more under his feet, dragging him back into the world of the living. It entrapped him in its hold, imprisoning him with hushed promises that it was once-again not his time to be laid to rest and rot.

Renshu bristled with the realization of the audacity of the hosts to drag him from the safety of his room, and dump him in the middle of fucking nowhere. The heat of displeasure fared better in his consciousness than the chill that had pounded earlier in the depths of his chest. The breath that he allowed himself through gritted teeth whistled, but it chased away the pounding of his heart, bringing lucidity from the cobwebs cluttering his mind.

There on the edge of towering trees and spreading plains, he felt naked, stripped to the bare bones and unsightly even with folds of fabric covering his body. No amount of running a finger over his knuckles made the ring make an appearance, nor his cane which the difficulty in procuring air into his rattling lungs reminded him of as he looked around and caught sight of Lusille. Renshu did not have time to mourn the loss of - everything - when his adopted sister greeted him.

Lusille. If Ren had a choice in siblings, he would have chosen none of them and been an only child but Lusille still earned only a twitch of annoyance that translated into a grimace at the mention of the church misshapen on the other side of the river.

“No I don’t.”

The rejection came as soon as Lusille finished her offer, sharp and unyielding.

“Except we don’t fucking have a choice now, do we?”

There was that same bubbling sensation of anticipation imprisoned deep within a cage of bones, and he wrangled it back, fighting to keep his voice level as he stared at the church. Why the fuck can’t you collapse fully. Either the church does not care to hear his internal pleas, or the crumbling ruins maintain enough dignity to continue to stay upright for another moment longer. Running a hand through unkempt locks, Renshu can only miss his accessories with a pained heart as he gestured towards the church, softening his words marginally.

“Whatever, let’s go.”

mood

wtf seriously?

outfit

discord

location

here

TAGS

zhi kui

FloatingAroundSpace

coded by xayah.ღ

iridescent. · Feb 24, 2023

...

valen de malisio

(and Cesar too!!)

The more steps Valen took into the forest, the more the bravado from a moments ago wore off. There was no bravery left in him now, but he was determined not to let it show. Nothing except sheer force of will and not wanting to be embarrassed powered him forward. But continuing to actually move forward proved to be a struggle. The mud was so thick that he often found himself ankle deep before he could pull his feet out, and if that wasn’t enough, tree branches were constantly whacking him in the head. So it was safe to say that it was a mighty relief when the decrepit stone tower came into view.

Stone, rubble, and a lot of webbing. If Cesar hadn’t been needing a hike from the years cooped up in his office and study, he would have spent a little while longer studying the path they decided to take. “What secrets do you hide?” He asked only to be heard by the trees. They had reminded him of the fairy tales told to him by his elders; paths that grew darker the further you walked, a warning every foolish wanderer should take to heart. Cesar continued to walk forward regardless, how could he not when this was all a part of the hosts’ plans? He may be naturally defiant, but he was never uncivil—not as a guest anyway.

Valen practically fled from the foliage (as fast as the mud would allow him) and made a beeline to the tower. Well, it looked better from afar. Up close, it could definitely use some renovations. The stone was crumbling in parts, it was dusty as heck, broken glass from who knows what littered the floor, and cobwebs were everywhere. Huge cobwebs, not small ones. There was something in the middle of the cobwebs but he couldn’t figure out what. Deciding to poke his head in, Valen soon pulled it back out, coughing from the dust he’d just inhaled and looking as if he’d just aged 50 years from all of the things in his hair.

The sounds of his coughing unfortunately blocked out the sounds of the tree rustling, causing him to miss the initial hint that something else was with them. However, he definitely did not miss how the world suddenly went shades darker and jumped in fright. What he didn’t expect was for this shadow to start talking, causing him to jump again but this time backwards into Cesar. Words of apology were at the tip of his tongue when he spotted the incessant movement of eight legs and the words died right where they were. If he could have screamed, he would have. Not only was this spider gigantic, but it was also talking.

"Be careful." Hands against the other's shoulders from the prior collision and words hushed, Cesar murmured through gritted teeth—a reminder or warning as he slowly moved himself between Valen and their unwilling new host. The once pleasant walk of following his companion behind, quickly devolved into a challenge of survival. No longer was the Apollonian marveling at what he assumed to be once a grand tower. Now, he was internally nagging himself for not noticing the worrying signs earlier, for not being on guard sooner the second he saw the sizes of the webs or the intricate spool of spider silk holding up the box above.

"Lale, lale... what so dearly my little eyes catch..."

Any thoughts Valen had of commenting on Cesar’s blatantly obvious move to protect him flew out the window the second the spider began to speak. One, spiders were not supposed to speak (or at least the spiders in En Malis didn’t speak, maybe they did elsewhere). Two, the voice of the spider was so hypnotic that he didn’t think he’d be able to say anything at all. In fact, he’d be willing to do anything the spider wanted and—

The sight of two of the many legs rubbing together snapped him out of the hypnosis and a shiver of disgust ran down his spine. This thing was nasty. The next words the spider spoke should have caused alarm to rush through him, especially the ‘only people to come on this island’ which could only mean they were somehow transported off Mirror Isle. But the only thing he could focus on was the 'Little princes you must be.' Valen let out a tiny huff before he yelled “I’m not little!”

So much for careful. It took a great deal of self control not to grab Valen and run as fast as his bare feet could take them. Though it was not like they could necessarily get any far. Especially in their current position. Cesar was quick to scan their surroundings, study any crack or crevice they could weasel themselves out of in order to escape, and concluded with little to nothing. It was them and the spider, one who talked to them as if they were either children or breakfast no less.

For a moment, he considered attacking it. A battle with a giant spider could have been possible with his blade or any weapon for that matter—but certainly not with his bare hands. Without a weapon, he’d be just another fly trapped in its massive web. His own lack of self preservation and abundance of chivalry partially suggested to engage regardless of the fact. Just to give Valen ample time to escape for himself. Instead he settled for etiquette. “Good morning!” Nothing good about it now but Cesar could continue to act like it. Smiles and pleasantry. “Apologies for my friend, we’ve just come a long way, that’s all.”

The way Valen’s head whipped around so quickly at the “good morning” would have been comical in any other situation but this one. Good morning? Really? This was certainly not a good morning! Good mornings didn’t include the probability of getting consumed by a talking, man-eating arachnid.

"You must be after the key. The key, key."

“Yes, we are,” The subtle raise of a brow and slight shift of eyes over towards Cesar would have given away that they were not after the key, that this was the first time they were hearing of it. But thankfully the spider wasn’t paying attention to that and Valen went along with it as if they knew of the key and had been after it the whole time. This key was probably their way off of whatever island they’d ended up at.

"Sad, sad. I cannot give it to you."

A pout. “Well why can’t you?”

MOOD

v: sassy. c: exasperated

OUTFITS

on discord.

LOCATION

stone tower

TAGS

aeneas.

coded by xayah.ღ

Uxie · Mar 2, 2023

miyu of tsuyaye

S

wish. Moonlight strikes metal as it slices through air, whistling a merry tune in harmony with the breeze. Fine fabric flies in its wake, dancing with the gleaming blade in a fatal performance. The forest is an eerie resemblance to the ones she is familiar with. Still, she doubts forests really have the opportunity to be particularly unique— perhaps they do, and she is casting unfounded expectations when she has yet to visit many forests beyond her country.

How small her world is, and how far she must venture.

She turns the sword with a flourish, and runs a finger along the edge of the blade. Stolen from the walls of her new abode and obviously decorative, the metal is too dull to cut and so fragile she fears she might break it with one too-forceful swing, but it is the same familiar melody that it musters up when she wields it; Captured in an unflattering form on the polished surface of the sword, the moon is a misted vision of its true brilliance, but it is the same watchful gaze that hangs above her, an eternal audience.

Swish.

It is as comforting to hold a sword— the grip, brittle as it is, still fits the callouses of her hands better than any brush might— as it is to think of her gods; They are neither benevolent nor nosy, but she humours the idea that the delays in her arrival had been their attempt at a sign— if not the disappearing horse, surely the stowaway ape? But they fall on deaf ears and blind eyes, shielded by duty, desire, and destiny: One that she must seek if she is to call herself a Tsuyayen at all.

She twirls the sword once more, a fluid, fanciful motion, before the blade's tip plummets towards the ground. The sword cracks as it meets the earth, but the latter barely gives way. It is a truly pathetic display, and she watches impassively.

"How weak."

Her shadow crosses the blade's crooked own and disappears, with quiet steps, from the eye of the moonlight. Silence reigns for three held breaths, before a soft snap and a softer thud whisper through the twilight.

☽

Nichisu beckons, and Miyu answers without fail.

She finds herself awake just past sunrise, even with the change in decor and foolishly soft mattress, although she quickly discovers her mornings are far less busy. Tranquil, even, if only she had not dedicated nearly half of her life to being a workaholic. She is restless even as she sits by the open window, hands fidgeting with the weighted, elaborate gold of her new gift while her body remains motionless. Her sorry attempts at meditation are interrupted twice: The first by a bird who cawed with such passion and resilience she was certain it was trying to bring down the heavens— it flew away quickly when a rock, conveniently, nearly took a leg off— and the second by the quiet pitter-patter of footsteps approaching her room.

She is in motion before they come to a halt, body restless and mind curious.

The wood creaks as it swings open, and Miyu finds a deer-like thing standing at her doorstep, frozen in the action of a knock. Her sharp gaze takes in their figure in a matter of seconds, from their dusty brown hair to the mansion's pristine uniform, and most interestingly, a letter. Inaction holds for a moment too long, and she raises a brow. The subtle move seems to reanimate the servant, and their gaze flees as they present the envelope.

"For you, my lady."

She takes it from their outstretched hands, weighing the paper on her palms as her other hand reaches to shut the door.

"Thank you—"

Their hand reaches out, pressing lightly against the wood as they bow. "I apologise, my lady, but I am to see you open it before I may return." Once more, her brow lifts, though the motion is accompanied by the beginnings of a scowl on her lips. Her grip on the letter tightens indignantly.

"I do not wish to be surveilled while opening my letters."

The servant's head does not lift, and though Miyu senses nervousness, their answer does not change. If it wasn't enough that the hosts knew more than they should, heavens forbid they spy on her even further. She eyes the servant a moment more, but relents with a low huff; she is a guest, after all, and she had no plans of overstaying her welcome. Yet.

Careful hands unfold the letter as ebony gaze surveys enigmatic, nonsensical words, and a thumb brushes gently against the elegant calligraphy of a name. It sits on her tongue as the afterimage of a thought, a murmur that is swallowed so quickly by the ambience of the wilderness.

Wilderness?

A frown slips onto her face. Gone are the hardwood floors of her bedroom, its flowery scent replaced by foul stench, edges of her silk gown stained with grime, and bare feet now in contact with soft mud— it has certainly been a while since she had to trek barefoot— and the servant is nowhere to be seen when she lifts her head. In their place stands a woman, and Miyu studies her with interest. Her features are elegant, pretty— familiar— even if her expression is twisted into a scowl of distaste and profanity spills from her lips.

The woman may look like a Tsuyayen, but as she straightens her posture to meet her eye, it becomes clear that is where the similarities end.

"Miyu, I presume?"

Her voice comes loud, demanding. It is certain she wields power; Miyu wonders of what sort.

"And you must be the Vexiran,"

She recalls the letter, and bows her head in a brief greeting,

"Xiaoran. It is truly my pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Irritation seeps into every word as Xiaoran continues,

"It seems that the hosts desire us to trek through a bloody swamp. I say we find dryer land first; anything less feeling like straight-up mud will do."

"A sound plan,"

She offers a smile, one that does not reach her eyes, as a hand gestures around loosely,

"Although I will admit I am not particularly optimistic about finding any sort of dry land here."

Her gaze searches the surroundings, seeing only drowned marsh and foul swamp, though one is significantly more waterlogged.

Miyu moves without much warning, bare feet squelching through the mud with every step and hand reaching out every so often to graze and brace against thick bark. She looks ahead, but her peripheral gaze remains trained on her companion with a careful wariness. It is no more than a few moments before her voice sounds again with a question, just the tip of the iceberg of several more that would never see the light of day; but Vexirans tend to run their mouth, or so she hears, and Miyu is more than pleased to take advantage of that.

"These hosts,"

she begins, head tilting ever so slightly towards Xiaoran,

"They like to do this often? Did you also go on little vacations in the past days here?"

MOOD

hi :3c

OUTFIT

discord (soon)

LOCATION

SWAMP!!!

TAGS

neon reverie

coded by xayah.ღ

neon reverie · Mar 3, 2023

code by yousmelldead

A crumbled sight of old worship lays ahead of you; shattered glass on dusty white cloth meets fallen stone, half eaten by nature yet half standing due to nurture. The wind wails, a prayer on its lips but with no god to go to, the words of gospel long gone. A weeping willow bends, looking like a body crumpled by grief or a disciple bowing before the indifferent eye of divinity. Walls bleed sunlight in ways some holiness drip false hope onto weathered hands, giving just enough to feel its warmth but still feel cold.

Is it faith or fate that beckons you?

The open ceiling brings you a glimpse of grey skies or breakable heavens, and there is a slight scent clinging to grass blades-- an omen that spells nature tears and rumbles deeper than graves. Perhaps the gods are simply gathering to see what kind of mortality has decided to enter this threshold once more, restless of boredom and lonely in eternity. More rotting wood greets you inside; some beams you dare not to walk under, lest they finally fall and take you with them. Time shows no mercy, and yet, at the foot of god, you find something so fragile to be whole still. Cursive ink spreader across paper; the writing is a mixture of bolded sentences and crossed out words. It is a letter of love and despair.

"My [crossed out, unreadable name] dearest,

Tunes dance well under the movement of my fingers, but none of them sound as sweet as when they are guided by yours. I know it by heart and yet I am unable to capture what yours has ~~sung~~ given me. Oh, what a gift it was, both song and memory. I wish I could recreate it as lovely as I remember it, but it has occurred to me that perhaps the essence lays in what I am ~~longing for~~ missing the most: you by my side. It has been so long, a constant hunger has taken ahold of me. Sometimes, I e~~ven~~ feel as if I'm nothing but ~~ache~~ want.

Tell me, do you ~~miss me too?~~ will come again soon.

My and my heart await you always

Yours

Your muse"

[on the lower right corner, a symbol is scribbled, one you don't recognise]

Upon gazing further around the church, you notice a seraphine standing in the corner, right where the roof offers some shelter still. Whether or not it is able to play music still, you don't know, but there is something awfully figurative about this being the one thing spared.

Sear

blue-jay

RENSHU AND LUSILLE

mother of sorrows · Mar 4, 2023

code by yousmelldead

You can't tell if the spider is amused or filled with loathing for you. It titters anyhow, but it does not sound friendly - the laugh clings to your eardrums like melted toffee. The spider seems more interested in the man that stands in front, though you gain the sense that it is paying attention to the both of you. Its many eyes move like marbles in ink, watching in both directions at once. ''Nice, not nice. You have not heard of exchange?'' It towers over you now, its limbs stretched out like meaty strings, mouth closing and opening with hot, damp gasps. ''For any thing there has to be a gift.''

There are tiny sounds behind you. Left to you. Right to you. You can't turn to every direction at once, but you see glimpses of pulsing, throbbing bodies moving through the bushes and grass. Much smaller than the spider in front of you, but the same laughter echoes in your skull.

''You are guests. Guests, what would you give me?'' The giant spider's hairy legs rub together as if in expectaction. ''Something for hunger?''

Valen and Cesar are in conversation. The spider seems as if it is playing with them...

iridescent. aeneas.

VALEN AND CESAR

FloatingAroundSpace · Mar 5, 2023

Peng Zhi Kui

Z

hi Kui watched the other man start climbing up the tree, making an impressed noise at the sight and grinning widely, hands on their hips, the image of pride. It seemed that the stiffness of Tsusaye was over-exaggerated if one of their members was so quick to climb a tree, an action that was relegated to children as far as Zhi Kui could tell (ignoring the fact that there were still sharp, gnashing teeth in short pursuit behind them— at the moment, they were simply enchanted with the other man’s disregard for the supposed manners and formality that their mother had told them about).

“Well, whaddya know!”

they crowed excitedly,

“You’ve got some surprises in ya. Didn’t think you would be the type to start us off on our journey upwards.”

They took the offered hand, utilizing it to heave themselves upwards, one socked foot finding purchase between branches before another did, clearing the ground, grunting in effort and nearly sending them both toppling back down onto the ground given the effort that was needed. Quickly, they let go— even if Hisoki was eager to climb, it did not mean that he was eager to be manhandled. A hand shot out to wrap around a branch to balance themselves, before the other one raised in front of their face in a thumbs up, a massive grin splitting their face before their attention was snatched away by the broken sword that was now hovering off the ground, the tendril of shadow clutched around the hilt.

“Woah!”

Zhi Kui half-whispered, shocked and impressed. They had not seen magic like this before. “Awesome!” they breathed out, turning to look back at Hisoki, their mouth now slightly agape with true delight, enchanted by something so simple as the ability to wield objects away from someone’s body.

“That’s so cool! I’ve never seen anything like that,”

they offered, compliments and excitement spilling out of their lips, ignoring the situation, the tension, the threat of death hovering so close, nipping at their heels.

At the remark about the rabbits, they turned their head to examine one of the closest clumps of flowers, giving another exclamation of,

“Oh, wow, they do look like rabbits!”

before reaching forward to wrap a hand around some of the buds. They leaned in closer to it, now realizing the strange pulsating feeling that the branch they were holding onto, which they now realized could be felt underneath their feet as they stood, and be sensed from the clump of flowers their hand was wrapped around. Intrigued by this sensation, and certain the rabbits may dislike manhandling as much as the other man trapped in this tree with Zhi Kui, they instead glanced along the branches for something that appeared a bit less… anthropomorphic, plucking a leaf free from its branch and finding that it glowed even in their hand.

MOOD

excited, intrigued

OUTFIT

modified from this

LOCATION

unknown

TAGS

cavitea

coded by xayah.ღ

neon reverie · Mar 8, 2023

code by yousmelldead

Magic clings to this land, sharpening wood and rattling bones older than yours. Fate and necrosis intertwine like twins; step by step, hand in hand, it inches closer and closer— can you feel it kicking in? Nature smells fear best, devours it like one hungry beast does its prey. It likes to see you fail, but hates to see you fall.

Not yet.

A sword rusty and ruined still manages to glint before the burning sun, its golden eye watching you both with a sense of indifference and protection. Fight. One might hear it whisper, brought by a voice of divinity. You don’t know if the sword on its own will be of any actual use; the creatures, while small and timber, look exceptionally durable. If you look close enough, you can see slight indents in its blade; it looks like it has gotten stuck multiple times into something tough before. Perhaps, wood…

The rabit-like creatures seem to pay no attention to you or the danger closing in; grass blades disappear behind tiny mouths while dirt is being kicked in the air. It is only when a glowing leaf lands in a hands that their heads perk up, blinking green orbs and twitching noses. In hops, they draw closer to Zhi Kui; the bunnies seem awfully interested in what they hold.

The pulse of magic never stops.

cavitea

FloatingAroundSpace

HISOKI AND ZHI KUI

demonology · Mar 9, 2023

mpiady tejara

T

heir eyes roam and devour the sad state of moss. It's clumped together, giving the dim echo of a living soul. It reminds Tejara of a different memory that echoes across the inner recesses of his skull.

They step forward and edge a meaty index finger at the moss. Their moonlight skin is striking against the lush emerald of the shadowy foliage. It is a stark contrast to the concrete-colored ash that bathed the bodies Tojo and Tejara found all those years ago.

They were working along one of the dusty oasis-temples that Sebaja was known for. They reside in the middle of nowhere, with only desert in all directions. They typically had no sign of life, but they were breath-taking. Tojo had asked them to run over. Instead of it being a run-over, hours passed, and they were still working along the bleach-white ruins. Tojo ran his fingers along the carefully carved out lips and edges of the crumbling buildings. He stopped to look at the embedded jewels and beautiful tile-workings. He noted to Teja how much he wished they had a camera or some paint and a cavas. He wanted to take it all down, to commit it all to memory. But Tejara had been watching him, stone-faced with a heat of a blush brewing beneath their skin.

They were standing a few steps away as lithe Tojo worked around a destroyed wall, trying to get a closer look at a crevice. Tejara looked to the side, briefly, and they saw something strange in the distance. Working closer, squinting, the fuzzy bit in the distance revealed itself to be gray bodies, covered in volcanic matter.

"Who knows how long they've been there?" Tojo said in disbelief.

Tejara only grunted and nodded, once and very curtly. They stepped forward, slipping their clumsy footwork between the ashen bodies that laid so close together.

"They had been sleeping," he told Tojo. His eyes were low, downturned at the mishapen, dented faces of the lovers caught in an embrace.

Now, they step forward, back towards Xan. "Let's see what's there in the other crypt."

Tejara walks past the other man, their body heats melding and playing off the walls of the narrow stairway. The moment passed quickly, and Tejara quickly jogged jaggedly up the stairs. They wait at the top for Xan to join them before moving towards the mouth of the twin crypt.

MOOD

paranoid, anxious, conflicted

OUTFIT

here

LOCATION

The graveyard

TAGS

Pepsionne

coded by xayah.ღ

L3n · Mar 12, 2023

maharani archana

A

rchana’s limbs were peaking sporadically out from under her thick comforter. Her body was angled into a position only a cat could find comfortable. In her tranquil sleep she had managed to twist herself upside down, leaving her blankets and colorful throw pillows a mess in her wake. Her light snoring could be heard over the morning sounds of Wandukur, curtesy of her magic room. If one listened closely they’d hear the distant clank of pots. Families began to prepare for breakfast. Doors creaked open, and the shuffling of slippered feet accompanied the chirps of local birds.

She could smell fresh dosas.

Archana shifted in her sleep, stretching like a starfish in her cloud soft bed. Her slumber faded away as if slowly being let out of a long peaceful embrace. Her body laid there, soaking in the last warm minutes, before begrudgingly sitting up.

If her life was a play her thick hair would have perfectly kept its waves throughout the night. Reality always had a way of humbling, however, cursing The Maharani with an incredibly strong case of bedhead. Archana could vividly recall the first time her mother had come into her room, kissed her forehead, and cooed, “Good morning my little rats nest.” It stuck with her till this day.

With a dragging hand she reached for her bedside table. First, she snatched her nath and fumbled with putting it on. Second she stretched back to the orange wood and began to pat down the surface for her brush. Her tired fingers made contact with a piece of paper. It seemed that while she slept someone had left her a letter. Archana swore she had locked her door. Perhaps she was more tired than she thought after the masquerade.

Archana tore the envelope open and skimmed the contents. She paused, trying to make out the scribbled ink words before giving up and reading the name she had received.

Alon of Bandiama.

All at once her surroundings changed. Her room had disappeared from her sight, leaving her plopped down in front of a tall entrance. The bed underneath her had turned from mattress to soil, dirtying her red nightgown. She quickly scrambled up, reaching for her hair to smooth it down in a feeble attempt to look presentable.

Archana yelped out profanities as a jarringly cold breeze wafted from behind her. The Maharani turned, her wide eyes falling upon a huge hole in the ground. Her only way across was an archaic hanging bridge. She was trapped between two courses she wished to not pick from; dark mines or dangerous heights.

“Fuck this,” Archana said as she headed into the dark abyss of the cave. Her arms wrapped around herself trying to hug away the cold. “Not even given a five minute warning.” She made a face in annoyance as she continued to grumble some more, kicking her feet as she walked. Archana’s frown furthered as she realized if she wanted to keep going into the darkness she’d have to hold onto the gross wall. “My Gods if anyone looks at me before I reach a brush,” Archana mumbled her threat before realizing she might not be alone. Her jumbled appearance was reason to be embarrassed enough, the last thing she needed was to be caught cursing to herself.

Ahem.

Archana shuffled a bit deeper into the depths. “Anyone there? Alon? Creepy crawlies?” The Maharani tried to will a response back.

MOOD

>:^(

OUTFIT

(tba)

LOCATION

who knows

TAGS

Wandering Owl

coded by xayah.ღ

neon reverie · Mar 12, 2023

xiaoran liumei

A

nother lunar being from the lands where mist deepens and humility whispers. It is an odd coincidence, Xiaoran notes guardedly, to be paired up for the second time with a Tsusayen. Is it human minds tying these threads together, or ghosts from a history that sounds like a death march and smells like war? Flowers may have been planted on top of these graves, but Xiaoran knows best how beneath pretty veneers, wounds could still fester. And ichor they drop, feeding soil that could only grow thorns for blood, and ivy for poison.

Power may crumble empires, her father would tell her, cold eyes and colder timbre, and coin might move minds— but never underestimate life. There will always be seedlings and scions, growing even in the darkest of corners and most decaying light; weak and worthless as they might seem, they could still slit your throat or poison your tea. They could still be your undoing. That's why security comes in blood splatters against your skin, and how safety can be found within the quieting of screams, the stopping of a heart.

That’s why you never leave them alive.

But Xiaoran is not here to silence the voices her forefathers could not kill. Ambition tiredly crawls out of duty’s womb, hands and feet sticking to a path someone else has already placed. Interest as fickle as a child, it quickly wanes with insipid matters; there are tales told to be remembered and tales worth remembering. It all depends on how kind time is, how well it can weave aureate future. Xiaoran is only mortal, but Liumei shouldn’t be. Thus, the Crimson daughter silvers her tongue when she has to, socializes with nations of clashing pasts, and regards the Moon with a shadow of angled intrigue.

The Tsusayens wear mystery well, she must admit. Smiles that show little and tell nothing, words of diplomacy wrapped in elegant, silk voices; the guardedness is less subtle, which makes Xiaoran think her companion to not share the same nobility status as the other one. Perhaps a warrior then? Miyu’s ease in the moving of limbs through less ideal landscapes and lack of discomfort one her face leaves crumbles of information, ones Xiaoran picks up and pockets as if to chew on later.

"They like to do this often? Did you also go on little vacations in the past days here?"

A bite for information; Xiaoran does not know how much she exactly knows, considers how much she should tell her. Wonders what she could get in return. Nothing is free, and there is no such thing as true kindness in a heart sharpened before it could ever soften. Nevertheless, in some circumstances, something should be given before one could take. Call it a welcoming present, a show of rapport born from the dreadful situation that is currently binding them.

Xiaoran responds, the edges of her lips tugged into half a smile.

“The hosts have certainly been gratuitous in the organization of interesting events. But all you have missed is a masquerade of blurred identities and idle chatting. Although they did shatter our masks, so it was not so much a masquerade at the end. And, this is a word of advice from previous observations, if you will take it: the hosts seem to know more than they let on…” words linger in the air— the present’s strings pull.

“Speaking furthermore of the masquerade, I’ve had the privilege of dancing with one of your princes. His name has slipped past me, unfortunately, but I am curious if life has chanced you to have met any of them before?”

MOOD

let's exchange info

OUTFIT

[discord]

LOCATION

a swamp.

TAGS

Uxie

coded by xayah.ღ

draconicheart · Mar 15, 2023

katherine toussaint

T

he preceeding two days after the masquerade was spent wasted, locked away in her room while pouring over the memory of the first night and scrutinizing her every move. How, when the night drew to a close, she reached out with determination to make herself known to her date and every ounce of courage flitted away from her outstretched hand as the dancehall emptied and left Katherine quite unfulfilled in her duty.

Normally, the girl would be all abound to explore her new and unfamiliar abode; instead, she spent the better part of the next days pacing about her room, talking with a patchwork frog.

"... It's not as though I had absolutely no interaction with my partner. He had every opportunity to approach me but he did not. Why is the burden of interaction entirely on my shoulders, anyways? Shouldn't it be the man's duty to take intitiative. Had he the manners or mind for it, he could have easily asked what my purpose was for being there. I clearly wanted to talk with him! And our hosts likely understand the temperment of the man I was partnered with, so they shouldn't be feeling any slight towards me. I still enjoyed myself, just with another - isn't that right, Henry?"

The frog sat lopsidedly on her bed. Its black buttoned eyes reflected her own hopeful gaze back.

Katherine sighed and collapsed into her wooden chair, head in her hands. She felt that familiar pull under her ribcage, anxiety welling and threatening to spill out past the dam of her heart. She closed her eyes and counted.

This is all really quite juvenile; she hadn't have this many near-incidents since she was a young girl. Perhaps her father was right - that this event was far too much for her to handle.

Sharp knocks on the door pull her out of her meloncholy thoughts. She stands and answers. Only when the door is pulled ajar does she realize the state of undress she's in - white sleeping gown, hair in disarray. She stumbles her way through an acknowledgement and display of appreciation before taking the delivery and all but slamming the door on the poor servant. How rude.

She hides her burning face for a moment before shakily opening the letter.

Ah, a new game is afoot, it appears. While Katherine agrees with the sentiment of peace between nations, there is a nagging weight at the prospect that it might not be as easy to keep with some of her more volitile peers.

She thinks of her masquerade date once more, and the pang of sympathy she feels for him is still not enough to absolve him of her judgement.

There is a name given at the bottom of this page, it's bolded appearance as if it hide a scribbled mistake prior to its writing drawing her back to the moment at hand.

Leksei of Sevyershina.

Katherine blinks, and before she can fully put a thought to the feeling that blooms in the pit of her stomach finds herself not in the comfort of her room any longer. She looks blankly at the page whose familiar feel beneath her fingertips she kept anchored to, but whose contents changed to a colorful unfamiliar illustration. Wet earth clinged to the bare soles of her feet, grass tickles the calves of her legs. She nervously looks away from the cursed letter and meets the gaze of another - a gentleman, whose appearance stands out from their surroundings based purely on his proximity to civilized society. Embarassingly, no name immediately came to mind when she looked at his face.

An odd hiss permeates the thick air of silence that had settled over them, causing both to jump in a brief moment of fright before they realized the source was a stationary plant, odd and unfamiliar but pulsing and gurgling with life nonetheless. Katherine made her way towards its stalk, eyeing it up and down.

"You must be Lady Katherine,"

she barely registers his voice (and the improper title used for her) in the back of her mind, accompanied by a rustle of clothes, a shuffle of feet.

"I'm having difficulty ascertaining if this plant could be a part of the Nepenthes or Sarraceniaceae family, but I suppose the two are hard to tell apart regardless. They're commonly known as 'Pitcher Plants' due to their resemblance to a water pitcher, like so,"

she traces a finger in the air about the gurgling, pear-shaped plant, as if drawing it on a large canvas.

"Both species are noted for trapping and digesting bugs for sustinence, which are unique attributes for plants as you can imagine,"

Katherine cocks her head,

"Although this is much larger than the species I've seen described... It's possible the sounds we're hearing is its digestion of its latest capture. We should likely be safe, provided we don't grow wings and get too curious about a spot of nectar at the bottom of a colorful pit."

There's a beat of silence that passes between the two as Katherine continues to take in the sight of the strange flora before she recalled her manners. With a bit of a gasp, an abrupt heel-turn and curtsy, Katherine blushes and fumbles out a greeting,

"You must be Sir Leksei then, of Sevyershina. I did recieve a letter."

She approaches him, holding the letter aloft a safe distance away from her. She was all too aware of the squishing of mud between her toes, and how unkempt her hair must look. She sheepishly attempts to avoid eye-contact.

MOOD

embarassed

OUTFIT

here

LOCATION

the wilds

TAGS

mother of sorrows

coded by xayah.ღ

cavitea · Mar 21, 2023

hisoki & zhi kui

F

rom the treetops Hisoki continued to fight, a hand directing shadows that seemed to melt off of him in increasingly cascading waves as a sword clattered almost helplessly along the wooden automatons after them. Years of training alongside Tsusayan warriors made the growing sense of defeat only increasingly pathetic to an already tarnished pride.

Another slash that stuck like summer honey to wood and he knew the efforts were as fruitless as he had been thus far. A drop, darkened in its red path on paling skin made its appearance as the sword wavered in the air and dropped from the receding shadows.

“It’s not possible, not the way they are now.” Hisoki’s hand shook as shadows seemed to crawl in a fading grey back onto his skin, wrapping in wilting threads around the skin they had clung to only minutes before. “The further my magic goes out the weaker it becomes, I’m afraid …” He couldn’t admit to being useless all the same, he refused to think for a moment he’d admit that to someone he just met and made such silly promises towards.

Zhi Kui glanced at the other man, watching his skin fade into a rather unpleasant shade, their own mouth dropping open in a shocked expression at the effect the sword fight was having on him, eyes following the drop of blood.

“Well, well,” they were saying in a hurry, glancing about themselves, at the blossoms that appeared so much like real creatures pressing in on all sides, their eyes focused on the leaf clutching in between their fingers. “Well maybe these guys can help! They look,” another glance through, “not the most intimidating, but you never know! After all, you shouldn’t ever judge someone simply by their appearance,” they declared, in the same tone that their mother would lecture them about the importance of friends and kindness when they were a child.

Hoping to prove this point, they lifted the leaf up over their head, watching the eyes of the blossoms follow it, before gradually moving their arm out towards sharpened gnashing teeth, towards long claws that threatened to tear at their flesh. The bunnies continued to follow the leaf, filling them with confidence that perhaps they could at least entice the creatures to be some sort of fluffy barrier between themselves and the strange mechanical-magical automatons that wished to break them as badly as the old weapons on the ground.

“Go for it,” they yelled, and threw the leaf downwards as if attempting to get them to fetch it like a dog. At first, all seemed well, with the creatures surging towards the leaf in a cascade of pinks and whites that brought a grin to Zhi Kui’s lips, a hope that perhaps this would work. After a few moments though, one bunny managed to swallow the leaf whole, and they soon all returned to their perches, as if none the wiser.

Before they could find themselves too downtrodden by their failure, they took note that there was a faint pink glow within the bunny that had managed to beat out its brethren to the leaf.

“Oh, it’s the leaf, not the bunnies,” Zhi Kui declared to themselves, slapping themselves against the forehead with one open palm, laughing at themselves. “Ah, tricked again by the blessings of nature,” they remarked to Hisoki before grabbing a fistful of the leaves and shoving them into their mouth. They wrinkled their nose as they chewed, their eyebrows coming together in a vague look of displeasure— consuming vegetables in such a manner was never their favorite. They preferred them to be spiced and sauteed by their favorite chef, the smell of garlic and ginger reaching them first before they could taste any of the leafy vegetables.

As soon as they swallowed the less-than-delectable leaves, they felt a strange sensation moving down. It felt so potent for a moment, almost like it wanted to burst out of their body— this does not happen, and glancing down— a faint glow, just like the bunny.

“Leaves,” Zhi Kui declared, grabbing another fistful and shoving it towards the other man, as if he was incapable. “Leaves!” they insisted, offering no further context nor steps in a plan— they rarely had one, anyways.

"You're …" Insane, Hisoki wanted to say among a selection of many words that couldn't seem to describe the Vexiran nearly as well as he wanted to. He had still witnessed the glow with his own eyes in a way that was undeniable, magic that stretched and tickled along the hairs of a neck as if to beckon and draw him forward. "Leaves," he murmured, the swirling ink on his hands a cool mist that fell on the outstretched arm of Zhi Kui before he took the offering of leaves, a sheepish look stretched on his face.

Leaves, although there wasn't really other options he could see. It was against his gut, against teachings and rigidity beaten into training dummies, slapped at wrists that made mistakes. Zhi Kui smiled all the same at him and it was just as fatal, a push that pressed leaves into his own mouth.

Magic seemed to pulse in his blood, shadows dripping with a newfound blackness as the same shade of pink pressed itself cozily against the skin of the chest that still peeked out and glowed. "Ah," was all he could push out, eyes meeting into another's before they moved down to the wood gremlins and furthermore the sword that lay abandoned once more.

"I have an idea, I think." The words were at Zhi Kui but the Tsusayen didn't look back, legs already shuffling from their perch in the tree as a mapped route almost sprang to life before him. "Grab as many leaves as you can I think -" His hands twitched and as blood fell from his nose so did a healthier amount of inky swirls, revitalized in some sort by the already fading surge of magic. "Let's hope I'm correct, yes?"

And the prince jumped down from the tree, shadows already reaching back out to a sword.

“Hey, it was my idea first!” Zhi Kui declared, looking mildly offended at the fact that their declaration of leaves hadn’t been a clear battle cry. “And I’m always right,” they added with confidence, shoving a fistful further into their mouth and chewing, jumping down themselves to seize the spear, spinning it about in their hands for a beat or two, to understand the weight, the feel, the heft of it. The tree behind them, the roots they stood on, seem to pulsate with their own breaths now, the branches seeming to sway with their movements as they whirled the weapon about their head before pointing it at one of the wooden goblins with a wide grin, and plunging it forwards.

Together, in the manic state of eating leaves and an almost childish riff as to whose idea it truly was, Hisoki too took up the mantle of the sword, dragged along the ground by shadows until it settled comfortably in his hand. Comfortably and well-known, a thought only briefly touched on by the prince as he too pressed more leaves into his mouth and joined alongside his companion.

MOOD

huzzah!

OUTFIT

discord.

LOCATION

fighting goblins.

TAGS

zhi kui

FloatingAroundSpace

coded by xayah.ღ

Wandering Owl · Apr 9, 2023

alon magsino

A

lon sat on the edge of the pond, legs dangling over the edge, idly kicking ripples into the smooth surface of the water. Faint rays from the windows glinted and refracted off the surface of the water as the circles spread, intersected, faded.

It had been almost completely dark when he'd first awoken, barely able to make out his room, blinking into the blackness to avoid falling into the waiting water. They'd sat here as their eyes had adjusted, and the light began to trickle in. Always a restless sleeper, always prone to late night awakenings, always drawn to this pale, quiet solace, just before dawn. Their head was whirring, as it seemed to ever since they alighted on this island. This morning, it played back thoughts of the ball so soon before, of frost-lined masks and hidden depths, and of all the possibilities the future could hold. Every little action, constantly rippling outwards.

A sudden knock at the door, and the splash of a literal knee-jerk reaction, shattered the patterns. Alon shrugged on a robe and a polite demeanor, and went to answer, though some of the artifice softened to genuine when they caught the familiar patterns of a servant’s uniform. No doubt here on someone else's behalf - the staff were still pawns in this great game they’d all been entangled in, after all - but it meant a relatively indirect interaction, allowed them to let their guard down just a little. They held a quiet admiration for how much the servants put up with, judging by what they'd seen of the other guests.

“So early? I must be in high demand.”

He said it with a backing of laughter, hoping to provoke some reaction to confirm or deny his suspicions, but there was nothing. Just a hand and an envelope, pushed forward once again. They turned, instead, to the letter’s contents for insight.

The flowery tone lent the words little purchase in their brain, already more drawn by the name at the end. Archana of Wandukur. Eyelids flickered closed for a second, snagging threads of piety, of one elevated above their provenance; trying to extract an identity out of a crowd of masks and scattered glimpses. Just for a second- but a second was all it took.

Once again, Alon found himself blinking into an enveloping darkness.

At first, it registered only that something was stomach-turningly wrong, like stepping down a stair when they had expected flat ground, like brushing back a strand of hair already cut short. He froze, going still and silent by some deep-rooted impulse. They shouldn't have lowered their defenses so easily, even in the safety of their own room. Maybe then they wouldn’t have ended up alone in some unidentified cave-- no. Not alone, actually. The sound of footsteps was suddenly very clear. A second of gut-deep panic, before they caught the voice. The words were indistinct but the tone sounded uncertain. Not some new threat, then. He took a step towards the source, and the next words came back clear. She knew his name, and her accent sounded about right for Wandukur… that was enough to put the pieces together. The thought of the Maharani asking about “creepy crawlies” was certainly amusing, though.

He took a few more steps, making no effort to be silent now, one hand on the wall to steady himself, wishing there was some way to speed up the inevitably slow adjustment of his eyes.

“Ah. Archana of Wandukur, is it?”

A tremor tinged their voice, hovering somewhere between trepidation or amusement, suppressed either way. The cold breeze whipped past once more, and he pulled the robe tighter around himself.

“I don't suppose you’re any more… enlightened about this situation than I am?”

MOOD

oh no

OUTFIT

somewhat underdressed

LOCATION

mystery cave

TAGS

L3n

coded by xayah.ღ

mother of sorrows · Apr 26, 2023

PAX ROYALIS

iii. THE STAR SHIFT

Like stars trailing back to the horizon with every sunrise, the representatives find their ways back. With no small difficulty, they have seen the island's lakes, sea, memories - heard all the qualities with which the island's voice speaks. Whether their challenges brought them knowledge or ruin, or whether they are now closer or further than ever will show in the turn of the future. They are only given a day of rest before they are given another invite, this time to the Peacehall; a sleepover. Risque for such highly guests. One has to wonder what the hosts must be thinking to organize such an event.

Especially now that there will be strangers joining them, ones that have stepped off the boat only a day ago.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

White silk sighed in the light, salt-warm breeze, hugging the pillars like a pair of lovers dancing to a tune only they hear. The brilliant floor is covered under the soft depth of cloud blue rugs and the moonlight only has enough of a glimpse through the drapes to jealously peek inside. There is enough space to comfortably move about, though the hall is not meant for dancing tonight; portable beds have taken residence under tent-like curtains. They were not the ones peasants use on long, winding travels, but something much more refined, with pillows softer than flour and snowy blankets. Enya was a bit too smug as she counted each one, her smile flickering up with secret satisfaction. Her dress gleamed like a dying planet, eyes dropping with sultry black lashes; oh, she is not naive enough to reveal her thoughts, but they made her smirk to herself anyhow.

''Enya?'' Innocenzia's bitterly annoyed voice made Enya roll her eyes, turning around with a raised brow. Her sister was the exact opposite of her, dressed in fabric that whispered in silence - she looked more harrassed than Enya, cheeks flushed from running up and down, fixing a flower here and there. ''Are there beds all done?''

Enya smiled again, though not at her sister. She only glanced at the hall with the pride of a sculptor waiting before a show, expecting applause and glory.

''Don't worry, Innocenzia.'' Enya's eyes shone with pleased glee. ''Put a bit of trust in me, would you?''

myl

erzulie

sollie

mother of sorrows · Apr 26, 2023

code by yousmelldead

The second crypt is no less oppressive than the first.

Still darkness hugs you and you find similar carved stairs that take you to a chamber, the ceiling made from twisting roots. Loose dirt shudders down on the pair. On the lonely altar they find a statue, this one distinctly humanoid; an imitation of a person with its arms open, curved as if to cradle something. Just barely, they make out words carved beneath it;

From you I grow.

Relief and disappointment were a potent toxic seeping into Xan’s blood upon entering the black void of the crypt that was to be--well, what he thought was to be the inside of his heart. His eyes narrowed, skepticism heavy in their depths. What game were the hosts playing here? Was the objective to bait Xan and Tejara into sharing truths neither of them seemed eager to part with?

Displeasure coated his tongue. The truth was not a concept Xan looked upon with kindness. It was not something he found humans to hold in high regard, especially those within nobility. What use would it be here, then?

The ex-noble’s footsteps were barely audible as he padded behind Tejara. The large frame of his partner obscured the object of their focus. Xan craned his neck, curiosity greeted by a thick wall of moss. If he squinted just right, he could see the subtle curves of a human form suffocated by the erosion of time. Their hands were poised to cradle something within them--but were left in the company of empty shadow. Well this seemed quite underwhelming. He eyed his partner’s form as they passed him, but Tejara’s expression was just as cryptic as the faceless statue embedded in the wall.

The other crypt was no different. A silence so loud it blanketed every nerve ending in his body, snuffing them out and reshaping his senses into a uniform sense of vacantness. His throat was dry despite the damp air contained in its stone prison, and he brushed a crumble of dirt from his shoulder.

Xan’s brow furrowed deeply, carving out confusion across his features. “From you I grow?” His eyes flickered to Tejara, then to the cool feeling of the locket still prisoner in his possession. “The flowers,” he announced, realization bursting within his dark eyes “what if--what if we placed them within the palms?” He gestured with a lame throw of his hand towards the statue resting expectantly in the shadows of the crypt. “If the flowers are the key to our hearts, certainly it’d justify something akin to growth, don’t you think?” He smirked, eyes alight in amusement when he regarded his partner.

Tejara looked down at the soft, waxy-petaled bouquet. From you I grow. There was something close to wisdom laced between the small spaces of the letters etched together. It reminded him of Tojo, and it only worsened his mood. They huffed and nodded. “That makes sense to me,” he murmured.

He glanced at the staunch, hard shape of the palms outstretched. Delicately, the flowers were nestled into the statue’s hands. For a moment, eternity sings. The air goes stiff.

And the statue starts to crack.

Like a spider uncurling from death, the cavern starts to shake violently, a low rumble erupting from somewhere down below. Before a voice could scream, the deepest part of the chasm starts to crumble into itself, dragging the ceiling along with it. Soil rushes down towards Tejara and Xan like a wave hungry for new bones, steadily filling the room.

“Fuck!” Xan heaved, the pointed blade of his voice sharpened by shock. Fuck—did they fail? Or was this the goal of the hosts all along? Wide eyes turned to Tejara in a panic, but he couldn’t make out their expression through the veil of dirt that blanketed the air in an attempt to smother them. The ground shook, targeting the weak points in his formally lax posture. The ex noble tumbled to the ground, his form quickly layered by thick piles of soil knocked loose from the ceiling. An arm unearthed itself, waving wildly until he collided with the rigid muscle of Tejara’s leg. Desperation guiding his grip, Xan clawed at his partner’s clothing until he could gain enough leverage to haul himself from his temporary grave. The man arose, shuddering at the cold pieces of damp earth that still clung to his face and limbs.

Under normal circumstances, Xan might’ve taken the time to think about the irony of such a task. Death–burial, the collapse of something deeply internal. The floor around Xan’s foot began to soften and fall inwards, his stance slipping momentarily. Under normal circumstances, he might’ve thought deeper about being buried beneath the cold silence of the earth, however momentarily. How it might’ve been deserved. But these were no normal circumstances. Now was not the time for wallowing in such thoughts.

“Now! We need to go!” He gripped Tejara’s wrist, tugging harshly at the anchor of their body.

Trapped to the floor in fear-bearclaws, Tejara was mesmerized by the collapsing that occurred before his eyes. Unlike Xan, they were consumed by self-desecration and the ideas that perhaps this was fate. More than anything, they regretted any act of simplicity or affection or grace that their hands had ever committed, such as with the delicate placement of the flower that caused this collapse. Their palms made fists, and the sinews and veins of the wrist that Xan held onto flexed under his touch. This was deserved, this was expected, and Tejara had been a fool to think that an isle intended for peace would give them anything but.

Still, like any trapped living thing, they sweated against death and thrashed-crawled away from it desperately. It registered in them that this was such a scenario and took to action immediately.

One long leap and they were ahead of Xan, tugging him along and tempted to pick him up if it made the escape easier. The inclusion of another person, however capable Xan was, made Tejara wish for their twin blades. More than that, it made them acutely aware of how near the black depth from which monsters, evil, and the end came was calling out for more than just Teja. The grave collapses completely seconds after Xan and Tejara stumble into the gray world outside, the air expunged by dirt sounding like a dying groan. Along with it sinks the grave, stone overrun by moss now eaten by black earth and with it the plot is destroyed.

If there was a story to be found in there, it is now forever taken and lost. In the rubble, though, something shines - a round ball of painfully clear glass, perfectly intact despite the damages that surround it.

Burning lungs heaved in mouthfuls of graveyard air once above ground. Xan instantly doubled over when his feet planted on solid, dry earth, waiting for his vision to clear from the blind panic that had dominated seconds prior.

“I guess there’s our answer,” He said dryly. Like a bloated fish dying under the searing heat of the sun, Xan flopped onto his back. He ignored the sting of rough dirt biting into his skin, too exhausted to compromise his moment of respite.

“From you I grow,” Xan murmured to himself. His gaze floated to Tejara, the flashing blue memory of larkspur accompanying them in Xan’s mind. The cryptic words engraved in the locket found previously still plagued his mind. ‘Flowers of my life’ If there was a thread there, what would happen if he pulled on it? He didn’t like to venture forward in the thought that something so representative of Tejara’s home, their life, could bring about such a devastating collapse. Had they truly gotten something wrong? Or was it terribly right?

Ambient sounds of the jungle in its full morning chorus swelled to a crescendo in his ears. Xan sat up, neck damp with sweat from a humid night that broke into the thick air of morning. Mali and Vikal were still sleeping soundlessly behind him, heavy limbs tangled as they fought for dominance within the small bed.

Soft footsteps brought him outside the small cabin to a shoddy porch hastily attached to it. Damp wood pressed against his skin when the man leaned his weight into the railing, ignoring the protesting groan that the structure sounded in response. The jungle was full of life, sound and endless color. Yet Xan had never been more isolated. His home, his prison. A sleep laden gaze tracked outwards, into the thick foliage that crowded around the clearing he was situated within. A bursting splash of vibrant purples fought back against the myriad of green vegetation. Curiosity hummed from his chest in a low growl. An orchid, thriving and isolated. Xan sucked his teeth in disapproval and walked back inside.

“What is that?” He asked Tejara, attention having shifted from the depths of his memory back to the grim graveyard the two still found themselves trapped within. His eyes had caught the glint of something smooth emerging from the dark piles of soil that the crypt had collapsed under. Xan shuffled forwards on all fours to close the gap between him and the new object. His hand sunk into fresh earth momentarily before reemerging with a smooth, glass ball held firmly in his grasp. Twisting back towards Tejara, Xan offered the sphere into his partner’s immediate vision. He blinked, and the object was no more. In its place, the surface still smooth against the flesh of his palm, was a compass.

Heavy brows shot upwards, gaze flickering from the new object in his hand to Tejara. “Well--worth a shot don’t ya think?” He smirked.

A new and familiar stoicism wormed its way onto Tejara’s face for the first time since coming to the Isle. He had been warding off this sort of feeling, this miasma that grew from their stomach into their tonsils and out through their nose. It was the sort of mood that often brought on the worst of the monsters, of the nightmares, and of fate. In times like these, however, it could not be helped.

Delicately, they pulled the object from their partner’s hand. The needle rested peacefully and diligently in one direction, pointing towards the reddened section of its face. Tejara grumbled, face of a pallor that matched the grayish rubble around them. “Yes, I agree,” they told Xan and passed back the compass. “Let us work our way back carefully, though. I’m unsure what to make of crumbling graves. It feels like they wanted us to be caught with our pants down.”

Tejara strutted forward in the direction that the compass pointed. They started to mull over what might wait for them: a band of hawks that would tear their flesh off the bone as they heard Xan scream, a swarm of honeybees that were actually manifestations of the maleficent soul and would cause horrid illusions to take root in the mind, or perhaps a type of poison flora that would leave them itchy and unable to defend anyone from a demonic mountain cat that waited just beyond the pines. He would have no way to defend himself anyways, as his scabbard laid bare and his back was light.

More importantly, something stung inside their body. Up their veins, working from the sore ankle that had been twisted in their fall. It zipped and sung thunderously up his thigh, around their sore hips, and energized their heart. It was unclear if it was magic or survival that hummed. He looked to Xan, suddenly out of breath and leaning against a headstone.

“You know–” Their throat wheezed. “I have yet to actually know your heart, despite it all.”

Xan blinked once, twice, caught off guard by Tejara’s sudden question. They wanted to know of his heart? I hope you rot for this, Xan. Every inch of you. Xan’s mind stuttered at the memory. His mouth opened, then closed promptly after without a sound. Words crashed hand over foot in his throat, building pressure until all that escaped was a wheezing laugh steeped in his reticence. A single eyebrow shot upwards, a mask of impishness patching over any crack in facade previously. “Why don’t we worry about that after we take care of your ankle, yeah?”

Tejara’s posture, once consisting of hard, straight lines, was now softened and curved as they slumped their weight against a headstone. Sweat beaded across their skin, taut muscles gleaming despite the oppressive gloom. Xan kneeled down by their cradled ankle, fingers ghosting lightly over the injury. He titled his head upwards to take in the level of Tejara’s pain. Were the hosts attempting to marry them off, or kill them in the process? Xan sighed. “We still have a lot of walking to do, you won’t make it like this.” He drew his hand away, resting it on a bent knee. “And I’m no doctor.”

With deft finger pads laid delicately against their knobby ankle bone, Tejara looked at Xan through hooded eyes and curtain lashes. A dark laugh chortled out of him, though he wished they could rest languidly. “Yes, I s’pose you’re right.”

Teja was not yet ready to face the hosts that wanted them dead or worse than dead. He was no good at deducing strategy, and there was a small bit that yearned for a blade, a roast of small game, and the illogic of Sebajan night wraiths. They removed their ankle from Xan’s grasp, self-conscious and aware of these desires and the way in which he stirred them up within Tejara.

Teeth chewed his bottom lip as Xan danced around a solution. With his magic, it was possible--but Xan hadn’t used his magic in the company of another since--well since he had chosen to live in the jungle years ago. Sheepishness ate away his resolve, until Xan was rightening his posture and nudging Tejara’s arm over the expanse of his shoulders. His body was engulfed by Tejara’s radiating heat and sudden proximity. “Come on, I’ll help carry you. Try to keep your weight off of it, sound good?”

Surprised by the cool form adjoined at their hip, Tejara grunted and nodded. There was a vermouth’s shot of warmth that danced across their cheeks and nose drunkenly. They suspected it was as close to a reprieve or kindness as either of them would get.

“Thank you,” Tejara murmured.

demonology

Pepsionne

TEJARA AND XAN

Fantasy ´ 𝑷𝑨𝑿 𝑹𝑶𝒀𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑺 ` 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

a secondary antagonist

𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒚𝒕𝒉.

ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀ ᴅɪsᴄɪᴘʟᴇ

𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙜 ; 𝙜𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜

oi oi

𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧

𝘮𝘦𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘻, 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘣 𝘮𝘪𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘵

𝘮𝘦𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘻, 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘣 𝘮𝘪𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘵

ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀ ᴅɪsᴄɪᴘʟᴇ

chaos in a trenchcoat

𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧

𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙜 ; 𝙜𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜

ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭* ੈ‧₊❀˖°

ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀ ᴅɪsᴄɪᴘʟᴇ

𝘮𝘦𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘻, 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘣 𝘮𝘪𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘵

Three Thousand Club

ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀ ᴅɪsᴄɪᴘʟᴇ

𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒚𝒕𝒉.

your moms a hoe

ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍᴇʀ ᴅɪsᴄɪᴘʟᴇ

🌿

𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧

It just matters that someone was listening.

𝘮𝘦𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘻, 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘣 𝘮𝘪𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘵

𝘮𝘦𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘻, 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘣 𝘮𝘪𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘵

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