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Post by Krakenbox on Apr 28, 2021 10:28:59 GMT -8
Riley's performance was outstanding, and its effect was undeniable. As bodies poured onto the dancefloor to take up the Bright One's call, the gift of Ostara bloomed within the very heart of the Twilight Dancer, time stilling as the molt shimmered and peeled back, holding in kaleidoscope of an ink blot. What was once the budding of a passing crush, bloomed in the heart with the heat of the light. The ashen carapace crumpled as the clock spun forward, dissolving into pearlescent motes of dust to illuminate a dance of sparkling rays. The Moth's ascendance in Spring was met with a resounding cheer, the frenzied energy of the party kept high until the last hours of the evening. The courts began to splinter into groups for the Dive, officers and Knightsworn heralding entry through the Gates as they declared passage to the Valley of the Dead. Drunken revelers and stealthy trysts were slowly rounded up with the high and cheer of the Verdant Crown; it was time for the solemn Freehold Oath to be renewed.
Hail the Maiden, hail the Dawn. No matter the time they entered, the Freeholders emerge as one from the thorns to darkness. The mud is barren, blanketed with a heavy downpour that flooded the gathering. Attendees were quickly caked in mud and pelted with the icy shock of winter rain. The gnarled hands of corpses peak through the earth, grinning skulls gasping for life in the drowning field. Then, the prompt: All freeholders must plant a seed in the valley to maintain the Oath, into the mouths of bone and teeth.As the valley is sewn, the Spring Queen emerges from the Hedge, a curtain of light following her procession as she brings the dawn. She carries an egg, in facsimile of the Globus cruciger, and a bough of yew. Her entourage of bloodied, knighted huntsman follow with offerings to the Season and the dead. The valley is now teaming with green over a coat the decayed forms of the fallen. Philicia's throne is carved out of a great tree, bursting from the corpse of a giant, stone teeth turned to stairs of an alter. The flanking knights cut their arms and rain life into the steps, and the Archivist spreads the offering with a broom made of birch. As the Queen ascends, her bleeding prints bloom with crocus and thyme that pierce the nightly frost. Her black dress disintegrates, dressed with the Dawn as her naked form is almost too bright to behold, crowned in a circlet of golden ivy as her eyes trap the eons of potential futures. The Queen addresses the Freehold, in blinding white robes of airy quality. The first thing that is apparent is how small she is: her Knights tower above her, and her voice only carries at the hush of the environment, and the assistance of the wind itself. Spring Court promises an era of new beginnings, shedding the yolk of binding rituals that chokes the potential of progress.
The sacrifices of the mundane to feed the power of the unseen, will be a punishable offence that knows no borders.
The demands of the Wyrd will be fed by our own bloodied ambition. Trials of victory will be judged on merit, rather than the backs of the meek and desperate. Rituals of Freehold vitality will be reported to the Archivist for records and continued safety of our dual population.
We cannot wilt in the shadows cast by destiny. This is anathema to the Antler Crown.
A future on weak foundations will only rot our empires, collapsing into a sinkhole that we dug ourselves. This is an age of discovery, and will be rewarded in kind.
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Post by Rowan on Apr 28, 2021 10:42:43 GMT -8
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Post by The Wyrd on Apr 28, 2021 12:33:52 GMT -8
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Firebringer
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Elemental Ifrit, Presence 3 (Intimidating)
Posts: 634
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Post by Firebringer on Apr 28, 2021 17:50:25 GMT -8
There aren't words that are enough to describe Riley's dance, not in a way that does it any kind of justice. The Queen could be standing right next to Fire and she wouldn't spare a glance because her gaze is entirely transfixed on her partner, completely in their element. Each transformation brings a new deviation in mood, in expression, in energy. Something swells in the elemental's chest, a heavy emotional feeling, a feeling of connectedness to the message. Hasn't this what she's been thinking about? How to start new? Feel freedom? She supposes it is the true message of spring, but still.
They interacted with their audience and god did Riley look like they were truly alive, alive in the kind of way that actually inspires. They shed each piece, stripping away bit by bit of their shell, physically and practically spiritually.
It hadn't even occurred to her that Riley might incorporate her into their dance, even after watching the way they interact with the others. Even if she had, she wouldn't have expected... It feels like an instant between Riley taking her hand, guiding her to a chair, and that whole instant is filled with the entrancement of watching their mask completely peel away, leaving Riley in their most elemental form. It makes Dani's heart feel that familiar tug again, like a faint whisper that is completely unintelligible.
And then the entrancing Moth, that is Riley is singing to her, her alone, and it should perhaps feel weird or awkward or something caught in such a sensitive position, but all she can feel is the thrum of the music, Riley's swaying movements as they absolutely destroy her dress with that black light paint, and this sweet, hazy buzz of ardor. Their song comes to an end and Danica just gazes up at Riley with what must be an expression between high, entranced, surprised, and bewitched.
Boop.
It wakes up the Elemental from their haze, "Oh. Hi. Um. Hello, there um. heh. You're- yeah, I owe you a-" The Fire's cheeks are now proper to her name, "You're incredible, you know that?" Her voice is barely a whisper. She smiles a little brighter.
Everyone soon gets rounded up for the lesser main event of the Spring coronation - the ritual for the changing of seasons. They are to plant their seed within the hillside of dead people... that's not creepy or anything. The seeds are for a particular flower she had a lot of trouble getting ahold of. Dahlia caballero, which are red and orange in color, looking like flames when they bloom.
And now we have blood being spilt for life? Am I back in church? Then she remembers she never actually went to church, but the question still stands in her mind. The Queen though as she sheds her dress and becomes like pure light, she can't even look at her. And that speech, renewing the oath that ushers in the spring? What in all entirety does that mean? It sounds fighty, which she isn't used to for Spring, but then, Spring in the City of Second Chances isn't one she'd experienced. She's ready to dive in head first and see where it all goes. What could go wrong?
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Eis
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Posts: 189
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Post by Eis on Apr 28, 2021 18:04:03 GMT -8
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Oren
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written by Hiver
Posts: 242
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Post by Oren on Apr 29, 2021 1:59:15 GMT -8
It's the Sunset Prince who washes over him, rioting every bone in his body. But it's Lucas that makes him want to move. The pair become a whirlwind-in-miniature. Careful not to upstage Riley. This was their night, after all. Oren knew more than anything that Spring was growing fat and full tonight. "With pleasure."
He liked to think he had a friend or two in their number, and he wondered what their faces would look like under the light of the noonday Sun. And then the mind wandered to what Summer could possibly throw together. Bloodsport? Obstacle course? Paintball? None of those things screamed party, to him, even though they sounded very, very fun.
The Mirrorskin counted his blessings, and dipped his paramour for the night.
And then the night is positively ruined. This Rite really spat itself in his face. He thought back to Linden's troubled face back at the table with scorpion bowls. Fretting over seeds. His mind focused less on the magic and more on the repercussions. Philicia and her Antler Crown. The gravity of her moss-ridden edict.
Well, fuck me.
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Post by Lucas Chevalier on Apr 29, 2021 11:34:00 GMT -8
Lucas spends 1 glamour to activate Binds the Dead during the Rite. (Occult +wits =5) Rolled 5 dice and got 3 successes.
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Deleted
Deleted Member
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Post by Deleted on Apr 29, 2021 12:34:56 GMT -8
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Post by Wayland on Apr 29, 2021 15:58:53 GMT -8
It’s a complete tone and mood shift when the event finally moves to the ritual site. There had been a moment before, when Ivory and Wayland lingered on the dance floor in the wake of Riley’s performance. With Ivory’s warm, scaled hand on her cheek, unexpectedly familiar but not unwelcome. “I’d really like to kiss you right now,” Wayland had said. “Would you like that?” As her wristband said, consent is sexy. Ivory's expression had softened, her hand remaining where it had been. In the pause that had followed, the Pale Dragon's free hand moved upwards, resting on the Maker's other cheek as the Spring spoke. "Would I have followed you all this way if I had wished to leave you wanting?" she’d teased, her tone warm, "Of course, I would like it." The Ogre had needed no further prompting, and the moments that followed were marked by the meeting of her lips against the Dragon’s, by Ivory’s hands upon her cheeks and Wayland’s hands settling against Ivory’s hips. A moment of each fulfilling their own Desire and each other’s, a perfect way to ring in Spring. But then came the Dive. The passage to the Valley of the Dead. The wet and the chill and the mud is all somehow familiar, almost comforting. Even the bones strewn around the field, reassuring in a way that is also disquieting. It’s like she’s lived here before, or someplace sort of like it. Something buried deep in her memories. She takes her seed, gifted to her by a friend newly met, and further muddies her already ruined suit by kneeling to press it into the soil behind an open cage of teeth. The ingot of pattern-steel in her pocket seems somehow heavier. Neither muck nor damp nor chill seem to bother her as she rises, hair and clothes plastered to her skin, as she goes to watch the consummation of the ritual. Phillica’s beauty is so great it is terrible to behold. A trait she shares with many Fae, or so the stories about the Fair Folk claim. Looking upon her Queen, Wayland can believe it. It is… fitting, somehow. That the safety of Las Vegas is dependent upon someone being terrible. They might value it more cheaply had it anything less than a dire price. Her address draws mixed feelings from Wayland. It speaks to great changes in the coming days. Great challenges. Aren’t the rituals being shed those that have protected them? Yes, it seems more… moral, and ethical, that mundane folk not be sacrificed for the protection of the Freehold, but is there a viable alternative that was not available until now? Phillica perhaps intends to be inspiring, Wayland can understand that, it is even a little bit effective in that regard. But in her, it mostly raises questions. And worry. Her eyes narrow and her brows knit as the gears within her mind turn and turn, searching for answers and predictions. One thing seems certain; things are gonna get weird.
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Ivory
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Pres 4 (Regal) - SL 1 (Noble) Fairest Hunterheart
Posts: 588
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Post by Ivory on Apr 29, 2021 16:24:57 GMT -8
Ivory had followed the party into the Hedge, splintering in with her fellow Springs as the groups began to divide for the crossing. The mud quickly ruins her white sneakers and even splatters upon her calves as the Pale Dragon marches on, her arms hugging herself as she shivers in the rain in her iridescent ensemble. Soon, Ivory finds herself in the valley of the fallen alongside the rest of the Freehold, gravitating to one of the many skeletal corpses which rested there, just cresting to the surface.
Then came the prompt.
Fishing out her seed, the Pale Dragon kneels, her naked knees becoming slick with the cold mud that permeated this place, and, delicately, dips her fingers into the mouth as instructed, sewing the seed gently into the cold earth. Her choice had been simpler than others. The Pale Dragon had a fondness for medjool dates and thus the choice to gain their seed was an easy one. To her, the seed itself mattered very little. It was the intent.
As Philicia and her knights exited the Hedge and passed, Ivory witnessed the green teem across the fallen dead that had been before her. It was beautiful in its way, but it prompted a thought in the Pale Dragon. Was this to be the fate of her should she fall in the service of the Verdant Crown here in Las Vegas? To be placed here so that her silent bones can help to safe-guard the Freehold Oath with the passing of the seasons? And... was that really so bad? The idea of serving the ideals of the season in death brought the Pale Dragon some comfort. Even at the end of her days, she could be of use.
Ivory's musings were interrupted as she caught the bright light that was Philicia shedding her dress. It was easy to become entranced in a way. The small monarch radiated power and the favor of Spring upon her was clear as the winds carried her words to the Pale Dragon's attentive ears. The talk of blood was an interesting one, prompting Ivory to look to her own muddied hand and back to the monarch as she questioned whether she was meant to gift some of her own to the offering. It's not that the Pale Dragon was unwilling, quite the contrary. However, this was the Freehold Oath and Ivory had no intent of mishandling it.
Thus, the Pale Dragon stayed where she was, kneeling in the infant greenery as the cold mud on her legs began to dry. Ivory's gilded gaze roved, watching to see what more seasoned members of Spring would do in response to the decree. Her expression was one of thought rather than hesitance. After all, if Ivory was to bleed, finding an implement to do so would also be necessary.
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Post by Krakenbox on Apr 30, 2021 18:56:10 GMT -8
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