Author Topic: Lunar [Open*]  (Read 621 times)

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Offline Ori

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Re: Lunar [Open*]
« Reply #15 on: June 08, 2017, 11:40:43 PM »
In a fleeting moment, one millisecond of time, and the world was changed again.  You think that things are complicated, that things in your world couldn’t be rocked any harder then they have been.  You would be wrong.  You look to the sky, what was once bright, beautiful and full of bright, Red moonlight and shining White stars, is now overtaken by a color you can’t recognize.  Or rather the lack of color.  You blinked for what seemed like a moment, a millisecond, and the moon was gone, the sun... was gone.  All that was left was the dim flickering of the stars.  The stars used to accompany the moon, the constellations surrounding it, embracing it.

The moon emphasized the brightness of the stars, those flickering constellations, and without the moon they seemed lost, dim, flickering, struggling to find their light. 

However, it was the sun that gave light to the moon, and with both gone from the night sky, all seemed lost, hopeless, and dark.  As if the stars themselves had been suffocated, drowned, plucked from the sky itself.  The stars struggled to shine through the night sky without their source of light.

It was in the dark though, that light shined the brightest.  It was in times of hopelessness, which hope (as fickle as it was), though it may be crawling and maimed, bleeding, broken, and bruised, found its way back home.   

In the darkness of the meadow, staring up at the empty sky, through wet eyes (though he was unsure why he was crying), Ori saw the fireflies, his star flies, take up the place of those broken, dimmed stars. 

They lit up the meadow, flickering and shining brightly as ever. 

Offline Amalthea.

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Re: Lunar [Open*]
« Reply #16 on: June 12, 2017, 04:25:42 PM »
How many more would it take before she broke?

All Amalthea had ever really wanted was for her family to be safe and there. Anything, everything, else was secondary to that one desire and yet...A scoff was lost to the wind as stared out at nothing in particular; lot of good wanting did. And yet, somewhere deep beneath that simmering anger there was determination brewing in the youth. Too absentee, too fleeting a presence, Thea knew her faults well enough and knew that if she wished to protect then her own actions must first be bettered. Be around; make herself known.

Ah, but she couldn't do it alone and she was well aware of that (too soft, too pathetic Amalthea woulds sneer at herself). Someone out there, however, would be able to help her in this endeavor and as a smile would tug at her lips the girl knew she'd only need to find them to help set her mind at ease. So then with determined steps, and heedless of the oncoming storm, she would rise and leave her den behind and with it the reclusive soul she'd started to become.

These were her people, her family, and she would find a way to keep the closest to her of them safe. This was her new goal and Thea wasn't going to let anyone stop her from turning it into a reality.

Of course, talk is all well and good but only time will truly tell if her resolve will remain firm once the storm has broken. But Amalthea? Amalthea had just this once enough faith in herself to believe that it would.

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Offline Haize

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Re: Lunar [Open*]
« Reply #17 on: June 15, 2017, 03:58:17 PM »
All around her the world is changing. It’s always been changing. The desert had never stayed the same, always shifting, malleable. She clung to her anchor there as they all had, but a storm had unsettled them at last from their waypoint and scattered them to the wind. Funny, how so much always changes, but some things never do. Storms come in many different shapes and sizes, but they sure as hell come regardless, and when they do you’d better hang on or find yourself buried in their wake.

Some people didn’t have anything solid to hold on to. That never changed, either.

She’s surrounded by whipping winds and a sky gone red. She’s surrounded by old stories and new stories. She’s surrounding by crying mothers and wailing babies. The night is little comfort when the gale is upon you. She hasn’t cried since her mother died. She hasn’t prayed for longer. Gods didn’t care about the things that happened in Heaven or Earth or the liquid Inbetween. Well—there’s always room for change, isn’t there? No. Not tonight. Tonight she turns from highlands to lowlands and puts her back to the ocean, to the salt, to the spray. She turns from red sky and sun and moon. She turns from their stories and their tears. It’s just another tragedy. Another spot of blood soaking into sand.

Do you think you’re the only one that’s known loss, Gemini? This kingdom is old, but you—you are so, so young. You’ll grow. You’ll learn.

The rain starts to pour and she welcomes it. The wind picks up and she steers clear of the trees. Rain is just rain. They saw it so rarely in Tjenu. She would find shelter but the sand would not catch her, not here. Lightning crackles in the sky and thunder follows. In the flickering light, someone falls. Not her. Never her.

”Somebody? I-I-I’m s-s-sorry, I-I-I got… scared…”

She looks down at the indistinct figure in the squall. The wind whips, strong enough to strike the heavy bells in the towers. They ring, deep and ominous. She lowers her dark head—yes, Iaera, she is a chanting shadow, black as pitch—and shoves it into the fallen wolf’s shoulder. She offers a boost and a grunted, “Come on, lady, get up.

We offer a hand when the storm comes. The same was true in the desert. Strange and far flung as we might be, the sand never quite leaves your fur. Home follows you even to the farthest reaches. Funny. “Let’s get out of the rain,” she mutters, neither a mother’s sweet lullaby nor a soothing balm, but a focal point in the rising tides.

She’s an anchor. She offers Iaera a chain of woven links.

This way.
« Last Edit: June 15, 2017, 04:07:24 PM by Rhiow »

We're the underdogs in this world alone
I'm a believer, got a fever running through my bones.
We're the alley cats and they can throw their stones
They can break our hearts, they won't take our souls.

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Offline Christopher

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Re: Lunar [Open*]
« Reply #18 on: Yesterday at 03:26:17 AM »
weak little lion man, you're not as brave as you were at the start

An undersized slave boy had turned a year old.  Many of his home had spent eons compared to him imprisoned in the same walls, the same tree trunks and red petals.  They measured time with frivolous prestige, generations sectioned by the bodies that offered up to the strangling red crown.  He almost wondered how Queen Serrate would have taken him had she still ruled.  Would he be beaten and bloody, nothing but a small severed head to decorate an overzealous sibling's wall?  Would he be swaddled and protected just like the boy king, lifted up above the crowd to watch them cheer his name.  Red tattoos burned into his face and scrawled their own markings across the bridge of his nose: WE OWN YOU, NOW.


He had prayed to every mystical fable that if anywhere, his uncle shared the same prison as nephew.  He needed him, lying lifeless within the sea of poppies, his hopes tied to the fantasy of Dexus sniffing above him.  Old, cataract-covered tattooed eyes to widen, for him to snort angrily and yell at the boy.  Yelling, even, he welcomed, just for a glimpse of his lost family.

Had he known what he'd lost, how hollow he would feel, he never would have kissed the castles and fairies goodbye.  He felt power turning the dials of fate and shouting in the face of the parasite that fattened itself with the sons of Gemini.  He charged head-on into the unknown, expecting great adventures and the shining golden globes of fireflies, the pull of his feet towards the path his heart knew to take like a keystone.  The crimson devil made itself known with a guttural chortle and swallowed him whole without another word.

The children and specters of Gemini would barely know the jutting cheekbones, the scarred eyebrows, the red scrawls that would return with the vague familiarity of a long-passed friend.  Would he ever return, the yearling boy thought now with uncertainty clouding everything, everything he could see.  Does his family think him dead, and where was Tauro?  Ah, but alas, exhaustion-induced phantoms vanished once he slept more than a blink.

He would fall into the clutches of Banshee and Vulture, spectral whispers covering his woes with SURVIVE AT ALL COST, talons tearing apart his magician's cape and his sparkling flowers.  Dragged through the mud, he could still taste the blood.

Once upon a time, he was a fool, but they made him cruel.

The boy that came back to Gemini was a shell of what he had once been.  He had been a babbling, overly excited and attached "kiddo", adorable in all ways.  Now he sobbed and lamented more, singing broken hymns and no longer reciting mystical spells.  He lay motionless below the moon, his crown of thorns tightening until he thrashed his body upward.  He saw no clear sky, but he could bathe in beams of silver from between wooden Celtic knots and thick foliage.  No longer an ugly brown gash in the poppy field, he lifted his head to the sky.

A boy prayed as a queen rose.  They witnessed her ascension.  They kissed her good night and tucked her in.  She fought for every step she took, and she took and took and kept taking until she took too much.  The rhythmic thumping of his feet drummed across the flowers.  And he uprooted, he trampled, he tore everything in his path, just to get closer to it.

To mother.  To father.  To a friend he'd never see again.  To a girl he would never quietly glance at when tears stung his cheeks.  To a struggling queen.  Dragged to a shipwreck, thrown to the wolves, a boy that changed every day screamed and accused the moon.  WHY ME?  WHY COULDN'T YOU TAKE EMAROSE OR RHODES, WHY COULDN'T YOU --

The sons kissed her forehead.  The red demon ripped his heart from his body, and fitted a volcano in its place.  Stewing, bubbling, uncontrollable.  He cried alone.  Alone.


Weep for yourself, my man,
You'll never be what is in your heart
Weep little lion man,
You're not as brave as you were at the start
Rate yourself and rake yourself,
Take all the courage you have left
Wasted on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head