Weaving Threads - Printable Version

Weaving Threads - Printable Version

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Weaving Threads - Belladonna - Jun 01 2015

She had taken to exploring outside of the Orion room once the lights turned on, enabling her to be brave. She never went where it was still dark, fearing the rush of panic that came when she couldn't see, that feeling of too-tight walls, of shortness of breath, dizziness and loss of control. It was terrifying to be terrified, and she wanted to avoid it at all costs. She hated the dark and its shadows. but perhaps not Ji'Bassa. The Bassa was Bassa. It was unpredictable and wild, perhaps in a good way, maybe in a bad way. Bassa was Bassa.

Coming into this new room, with its never-ending trees and deceptive earth that promised even footing but in actuality dunked you into a shallow water. Her legs were a nasty brownish black from her accidental treadfalls, and she wished desperately for a bath.

She laughed a little at the thought, and thought again of Aza and Beau and....her face felt hot. And Wolf. Too be together with Wolf....it was.....

But she had something else to ponder at the moment, something of great importance. The dreams were pestering her waking mind more and more and she had to let them out in some peace and quiet, since she couldn't experience them while she slept. They were like wisps, unable to fulfill their purpose when she was asleep, so they haunted her.

Settling at the base of a tree with relatively dry moss underneath, she sighed and pondered. Where to start? There were the evil shadows that wanted to swallow and chase, led by the clever one with sharp amber eyes and a quick toothy grin in the dark. There were dreams and other halves captured in the reflective ink, but who put them there? There was laughter and bubbliness, not alltogether graceful, but loving nontheless. There were rulers and kings, and water-soaked wings, wanting to fly away but trapped by those that loved them. There were long-legged folk that inhabited a long-lost kingdom, now left to the ages, whispering its mystery to those that came.

"Thhh-theere was onc-once...." She started quietly, then she stopped. How could she tell a story with her horrible stumbling voice? "Thhh...tthhh...thhhere...there." that was better. Better to be slow and careful than to stutter. "There....w-was...once...There...was once...There was once."

"There was once....a shadow." That was a good a place as any to start. "It was...c-cruel, but hon-honest in its cruelt-cruelty."

"This is how I speak."

OOC: Tag: whoever wants to join, but Farrah should come and listen. c:

RE: Weaving Threads - Fisher - Jun 01 2015

The ground bellow was a milky blanket of mist. So high up, it was almost impossible to see the world that most gembounds walked. Among the tree branches was safety, a personal little haven for one of the smaller creatures that lived in the cave.

Fisher wasn't that small, of course, but he was quite tired and the muck even started to drag him down after a while. His birth home of Cetus was cool and quiet, filled with the soft white noise of bubbling creeks and gentle wind caressing the branches that he now walked with ease. His claws dug deep into the thick arms of the impossibly tall trees, the canopy his new favorite way of travel.

Thhh...tthhh...thhhere...there...

A soft voice carried up through the mist and drew his ears twitching attention. The fiery orange of his eyes glistened as he scanned the white fog bellow, only able to see the occasional fern and glowing patch of mushrooms that reached up out of the dark, foggy world bellow.

The mustelid crept forward, towards the sound, until he spotted a white ghost of a hoofbeast-- a deer-- nestled up in the roots of a tree. His heart sounded low and deep in his chest, echoing through his ears, as he slipped on to the neighboring branches of that tree, and eventually found his way close enough to slip above the deer and nestle his body against the trunk, peering down at the doe who seemed as one with the fog as the rest of the forest.

For once, the energetic, obnoxious, overtly friendly gembound did not bark out a hello or bound down to meet the stranger. Instead, he stayed silent as a sleeping baby, his eyes focused on the deer and her gentle story. The words rose up around him, echoing distantly among the tree's weave of bark and timber. His tail curled around the branch, his claws sunk in deep into the wood, and slowly, he found himself lost in the story just as one might get lost in the very mist of Cetus.

There was once....a shadow... c-cruel, but hon-honest in its cruelt-cruelty.

RE: Weaving Threads - Farrah - Jun 01 2015

---------
For a moment, the young female had found herself lost in the mist of this new room that they walked into. Surrounded by tall towering plants that went up high forever, trees. Head titled up, attempting to see the tops but the mist made it almost impossible to complete that task. Those small paws carried her all over the roots of trees, moss covered logs and around black water. Spooky. That was a word she could connect to this place. Also eery really, but she hadn't been here long enough to form a strong option just yet.

This place seemed almost quite, but then a soft voice made it to her ears. "There was once....a shadow." Ears perked forward, trying to locate the direction of the words. Shadow? The shiba froze in place, but eyes soon caught sight of something, someone, under a tree. "It was...c-cruel, but hon-honest in its cruelt-cruelty." Curious, she inched closer to the figure trying to make out their appearance better.

The white one looked nothing like Charming or the little kit she had met before, they seemed to be something completely different. But differences were good, means a larger variety of friends! Once she was closer enough, the young thing was silly enough to call out. "Why is the shadow cruel?" Head sticking out from behind a bush, wide brown eyes watched as her tail wagged back and forth.

----------

"speech"
Thinking

OOC: words words words

RE: Weaving Threads - Belladonna - Jun 02 2015

"Why is the shadow cruel?"

She startled out of her thoughts and her head shot around to the newcomer. There was someone listening? But she wasn't ready to have someone listening, she wasn't even ready to let someone hear her speak without practicing properly! Her face felt hot in sheer embarrassment.

But...her good eye fixed itself on the newcomer. It looked like a prettier, brighter Wolf, with a happy expression. It looked....interested in what it had heard, and she had no idea whether to feel happy or more ashamed. Did the happy wolf-thing honestly want to hear, or was it just being polite?

"I...I-I-I..." She stuttered, at a loss for words. Why was it cruel? Because of its past circumstances? Because it was just created that way? What created it? What was it even trying to do? She didn't even think about the shadow before she had spoken about it, hoping it would come to her along the way, and now she felt too jarred to continue. The threads of the story she had started to beckon had scattered away.

She looked at the pretty wolf-kin, and felt the sudden urge to cry in embarrassment. She had no idea what to say, and as the seconds passed, it only grew more awkward for her to begin. Silence dominated the quiet glade, growing thicker and heavier, but the wolf-kin waited patiently for her reply.

Slowly, slowly, the wisps started to whisper again, like the dawning of a sweet music. Insisting on how it was, how it was meant to be. She took a deep breath.

"The...the ss-ssss-ssshadow once b-b-belonged to an incredibly cruel creature who had p-p-passed away, long ago, killed by the many enemies it made."

She said, her voice the only noise. It intimidated her, the quietness, which was the reason she had come in the first place, for she knew that she was the only thing to focus on, but the happy wolf-kin just smiled at her, nodding, encouraging her. Her eyes fall to the forest floor and she let them unfocus.

"The shh-shadow hh-had been atta-attached to their master's bones for a ll-llong, long time, playing tricks on those that p-passed by, jumping them, scaring them, whispering sweet words to them afterward, and enticing them to stay, till they passed away too and left their bones and their shadows behind with it for company."

The words came easily now, even if they were almost half-whispered, her eye only seeing the room of bones she had visited before. "The shadow never lied, answering every question honestly, but still, the passersby knew they were trapped by those words, never to leave again. And so the shadow accumulated more and more friends, till the ground was littered with bones and shadows."

But why was the shadow doing this? She asked the wisps.
Well, that's simple, the wisps replied.

"The shadow longed to be free to do its own bidding, and hoped that with others to help it, it might accomplish its task, but to its dismay, each shadow it gathered, each one turned out to be silent and afraid. 'Afraid of what!' the shadow cried, but none answered it.

Then, one day, after it was growing weary of the silence, for none dared to come near it, the king of shadows availed it. The king was quiet and quick, and the only things that showed were its clever amber eyes and its easy smile. No light touched it, and immediately all the silent shadows swarmed to it, clothing it, becoming his long ink-like cloak.

The shadow shouted and exclaimed at this, for the king was stealing its silent companions in the eternity without its say-so, but the king simply smiled at it. 'They are mine,' the king hissed, swishing its tail. 'They have always been mine, and so are you.'"

The wisps chuckled, and her fur bristled. This story was taking a dark turn and it was starting to scare her. A long shiver went down her spine.

"The shadow said, 'I am not afraid of you. I have taken hundreds as my captives.'" Her voice had grown stronger over the course of the story, but she was barely paying attention at this point.

The wisps' smokey and churlish voice overlapped hers in her mind when the king replied. "The king laughed and said, 'Who was it that led them to you? Who was it that kept them there for you to devour?'"

Her voice demanded in the silence, "'This is an outrage! I will never be manipulated! I am the night!'"

The wisps smiled cruelly, and she couldn't distinguish the wisps from the king. "And I am the king of the night. Bow to me, and be free."

"This is how I speak."

RE: Weaving Threads - Fisher - Jun 02 2015

Fisher had been fairly tired, and in the beginning of the story, when the young doe's voice was soft and sweet and just murmurs in his rounded ears, the mustelid could have fallen asleep in his branch. The cool mist clung to his fur as he lay above, drifting into the world of this gentle storyteller's tale, dew forming in pockets and drops on his coat.

The white blanket became a dull, dark grey as his eyes closed, his paws twitching. To him, the story became almost real, and he was a shadow among bones. Bones, the awful, nasty things that had hurt him. He was the shadow, and so he was tormented to rattle the bones and be trapped there, with only his new silent friends. He saw them, vague memories of those who he had met so far.

Afraid of what!

The voice had become loud enough to rouse the fisher from his slumber, half-waking nightmare. The bones were gone and the soft comfort of the fog surrounded him... Yet, his thick, dark forest fur bristled, the strong words ringing in his ears. The memories of those he had met, his friends, pulled away into the white mist as Clover began to speak of the King.

A sense of dread overcame the poor mustelid. He didn't want to be an evil, cruel shadow, but he saw so much of himself in the thing, the thing that was now being told it was just a pawn. He found it hard to grasp reality, his mind addled by the strength of the story. He was drawn in, and filled with fright and anger, the poor fisher cat curled up on himself, glaring down at the ghost of a doe.

This story was horrible, and it made him feel horrible, yet now he could not escape it. He had to hear the end, he had to know what this King wanted. His claws scrapped at the wood he was on, hearing the soft, powerful words of the storyteller surround and suffocate the air around him. His heart was racing, and he struggled to keep it under control with his magic.

"I will n-not bow!" Fisher half-encouraged, half-input in a bark, realizing as he spoke that he was trembling. Embarrassment swept like hot fire through his fur as he realized he had given himself away, but it was much too late to do anything about that.

RE: Weaving Threads - Fallah - Jun 03 2015

(I was just following along, but I got interested and decided to throw Fallah in. I hope you don't mind.)

The cat wasn't all together paying much attention to where it was going. It always seemed to be hanging out either in the foggy lands or the green lands. Both felt comfortable and nice to Fallah. The lynx climbed on the large trees freely in both lands. The trees were so large and easy to maneuver once one actually got up them.

As the cat climbed about, it was suddenly stopped by a voice. When it found the voice, it saw a white knobby being speaking with a golden not-cat listening. Fallah went to continue on to wherever, but then the question arose, "Why is the shadow cruel?" Fallah turned back slightly, one ear swiveling to hear the answer, "I...I-I-I..." the thing started. The lynx did not move as it waited, "The...the ss-ssss-ssshadow once b-b-belonged to an incredibly cruel creature," the thing continued. The other ear swiveled to listen, "who had p-p-passed away," Fallah's head turned to look back at the ghost deer, "long ago, killed by the many enemies it made." The lynx turned on the branch it was on, blue eyes widening slightly with interest as the story continued.

...

The cat was lying on the branch, one front leg hanging leisurely off to the side. Its eyes were glued to the deer as the story darkened. Fallah's heart sped up, clinging onto every word. At the end, Fallah blinked, not sure how to react at such an amazing story.

"I will n-not bow!" a voice exclaimed, startling the lynx out of it's relaxed state. Fallah jumped up, paws grasping at the limb as it skittered upwards onto the branch from its laying position. Bllue eyes shot around as the cat looked for the source of the noi- was that long brown friend? Fallah's arched back began to relax slightly, though its heart continued racing. Why wouldn't they bow? Then they would be free and could do whatever, right? Fisher seemed to be more than opposed, however, "I would." Fallah stated quietly from the tree limb, relaxing back into a neutral sitting position, "Did the shadow?"

"speak"

RE: Weaving Threads - Farrah - Jun 05 2015

ooc: go ahead and skip me, just pretend Farrah is staring in awe of the beautiful story.

RE: Weaving Threads - Belladonna - Jun 06 2015

She looked up into the boughs of the trees, only half-seeing them as listeners in the bone room. That was all she saw, the bones surrounding them all, the struggle between the king and the shadow. She smiled up at her listeners, her previous shyness temporarily forgotten.

"The shadow's desire was to be free, to follow his own whims and concerns, but to bend a knee to his manipulator, to someone who had the power to set him free but chose not too all these long and lonely years, his captor, would make it so that all it had suffered was for nothing. So the shadow snarled and said, 'I will not bow. I will never bow.' And it spat at the king's feet.

The king shook its head and stepped forward, its cloak slithering against the bone floor. 'That's your decision?' It asked quietly, and the shadow suddenly grew afraid, and tried to back away. 'Such a pity,' The king picked up one of the shadow's old bones in its talons, to which the shadow was attached to. The shadow felt fear accumulate in its throat, too terrified to speak. 'But I can use you either way.'

The king reached to the shadow's mouth, where the fear was, and pulled it out of its mouth, a tangible thing, long and sharp. The shadow crumpled as if it had lost its backbone, its spine, and fell to the floor. The king laughed and used the fear to cut the shadow in half.

But the shadow did not die; one half slowly rose, angry, furious, denying death, denying the king, and rose up to attack the king. It spat its defiance in the kings face, roaring, putting its claws to the kings face. Soon they were locked in battle, clashing teeth and sword.

The other half, the one with no backbone, hid and watched with wide eyes. Its other half was losing the battle, only being a half of itself, and the king soon gained the upper hand and grabbed the shadow by the neck and took it to the nearby pool and drowned it till it resisted no more. The lesser half ran away lest it be given the same fate.

Everywhere it went with water, it saw its other half in its reflection, staring back at it, judging it, quietly asking why it didn't stay and fight. But the shadow kept running.

It ran and ran and ran till it was out of breath. 'This wasn't the freedom I wanted!' it cried, collapsing near a river. 'I wanted to escape my prison, but this-' The shadow hugged itself. 'This prison, this is worse.'

'And why is it a prison?' A soft voice asked, as if it was coming from far away.

The shadow looked around and then to the waters, where a little twinkling light sat underneath the water in the riverbed. 'What are you?' The shadow asked.

'I am a star that fell. See my sisters up there? I wanted to escape, to be different, special, singular, unique. But when I escaped one prison, I only gained another, and now I am alone.'

The shadow looked up to the ceiling, where a great many stars shone at it, then back at the fallen star. 'Well....you achieved your wish. You are beautiful, away from them all. And now you are not alone.'

The star looked up at it in wonder. 'I'm not, am I?' She said. 'Would you take me with you?'

'I can try,' the shadow said. But when the shadow reached to touch the star, its form faded away under the light. No matter which way it tried to move around and pick it up, it claws lost their form, and reformed when it pulled them back into the dark.

Staring at the water, it saw the little star twinkle through its own half, its reflection. It saw its determination glaring back at it.

The shadow reached into the water and covered the little star with some of the silty riverbed dirt so that it could come near it, then reached its head under the water and picked up the star with its teeth. "

RE: Weaving Threads - Fisher - Jun 07 2015

Fisher's heart beat became slow and regular again, pulsing strong and deep in his ears. A small voice from bellow caught his attention as his magic worked, well, its magic on his pounding chest. His eyes lit up as he made out the shape of one of his friends, the one who had helped with the rushing water that had come from his home. Fallah. That was her name. He felt his tail wag as he spotted her, though as she admitted that she would bow, he felt a bit indignant. Well, maybe that was just because he could probably handle the king and she couldn't! Though Fallah was a fairly smart and nice gembound, as far as he knew. It wasn't fair to think badly of her.

The story continued, and once again Fisher was drawn in. He almost immediately forgot about the lynx, or even the doe that told the story. The white ghost of a hoofbeast told such wonderful stories, and he was trapped in her beautiful world once again. The Shadow decided not to bow, just as he had, and confidence soared as he felt connected to the main character like the Shadow was him. It was scary, sure, but reassuring all the same.

The King spoke again and he felt rattled almost immediately. His skin crawled and he scraped at the bark under his claws, trembling as he felt his throat tighten. Could a thing really pull out fear from a creature? The Shadow didn't die despite losing his fear like a spine. Fisher's copper eyes sparkled as he leaned over his branch, peering down at the milky ghost in the mist, wishing he could help the Shadow fight the king. No one bellonged to anyone, especially not a bossy old king!

"Get him," Fisher murmured. "You can win, Shadow," he whispered to the shadows, but no, they were not to win. A fractured part ran away, and Fisher knew the feeling of defeat and felt the bitterness rise in his throat. He had lost a battle before, he knew what it was like to be defeated and to hate yourself for running instead of pushing yourself to death no matter how irrational it was...

Fisher settled down on his branch, chin on his paws, as the aftermath of the fight brought sadness to the mustelid. He wished he could comfort the Shadow, the part of him that connected to just a fake story. He knew what it was to be trapped in the Cave, with everything fighting him and judging him at each step. He knew what it was to want Freedom.

This prison, this is worse.

And why is it a prison?

His ears pricked as a beautiful, light voice came up from the story. Who was the star? He wanted a star friend, he wanted someone to help him. Someone to make him feel less alone in this awful world. Someone who knew what it was like. He bristled and listened intently, determined to hear the end to this story. A tickling sensation of fear pin-pricked at his paws... Would the Shadow hurt the Star, in catching her reflection in his teeth. Would it be okay? Teeth were sharp, teeth could hurt. He just wanted the Shadow to be happy. The Shadow and the Star, happy together. Was it so much to ask?

RE: Weaving Threads - Fallah - Jun 08 2015

The long brown friend, Fisher, noticed the lynx and the lynx looked back, giving a small nod before turning back to the deer. The creature continued to weave its story about the shadow. She told how the shadow didn't bow and Fallah was confused. Bow and be free after all those years? Why not? Why wouldn't it? Fallah would, definitely. At least, the cat thought it would bow for sure, but to be honest, it wasn't really all that sure.

The deer told of the king ripping the fear out of the shadow, slicing it in half. Fallah shifted, "Serves it right," the lynx hissed under its breath. The shadow should be miserable. It had passed up the chance to be free. It could have been free. Fallah was angry at the shadow, something that was so simply solved had become a huge problem because the shadow refused to bow.

The shadow ran, complaining that this wasn't the freedom it wanted. Fallah hissed under their breath. The shadow then found a light, and the cat was drawn back in, mostly forgetting its anger at the shadow. What would the shadow do to get the star? The lynx was laying all the way back down, its neck craning off the branch to look down at the deer with wide, blue eyes. The shadow covered the star then picked it up with its teeth. Why not use its paws and claws if the star was now covered? Fallah was betting on the stupid shadow shattering the star or swallowing it and disappearing completely. That would serve it right for not thinking this whole time, wouldn't it? The lynx listened silently and waited for the next part with baited breath.

"speak"