ICarinae's Comp Storage

[ICarinae]

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Hello and Welcome
to my Kalon comp storage
(DNP)

Kalons original species

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I am mostly going to use this thread to jot down ideas,
archive original stories before editing to fit word counts, or saving
stories that I would like to use for other characters from lost competitions.

most of this will be nonsensical to the odd visitor but feel
free to peruse :]

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index

2023 advent calendar day 23
2023 advent calendar day 25
Kal 2200 Workshop

January Kals won/tryout
Pending* | tryout | Won

February Kals won/tryout
Pending | HM | Pending

comp to enter
[url]link[/url] | link | link
* Special Kal/ does not count towards limit

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HMs
1|2|3|

[ICarinae]

ToDo List

▢ Kal 2200 Design
▢ Kal 2200 diary style story
▢ TH profile for Fawnie

Notes

∘ Character set on a planet with a moon actively crashing into it under a strange sort of equilibrium

∘ atmosphere twisting in a figure eight
∘ spin in opposite directions making clouds jet-stream out behind the moon
∘ various ecological disasters incl massive tsunamis
∘ shadow of the moon causing long nights along its path

[ICarinae]

Before Cuts:

Nicklaus trudged up the long dirt path that lead to the peak of the hill. Golden grasses incased by barbed fences flanked him all the way. He felt stuffy, the humidity did not pair well with his fancy new black suit, the ends of which were now caked in top soil. He kept his eyes latched to the ground, afraid that if he looked around him his childhood memories would come flooding in and he would start crying all over again.

The farm was quiet. As his parents got older and his sibling got increasingly busy, it became to much to care for a whole homestead's worth of animals. They were auctioned off to the surrounding farmers (who, without question, happened to count their money wrong. Leaving his mothers with more of a payday than they expected) 20-or-so years back. But, with his Momma gone five years now and his Mami's recent passing, it was all his.

Graciously, a stiff breeze sought to elevate some of the mugginess and swept through the grassy hills. Nicklaus took a moment to feel the refreshment. And gently, soft like a whisper on the wind, a ringing reached his ears. He heard it, across the fields as a small boy, reining in cattle. Playing with his siblings in the front clearing. Mami standing on the porch ringing the farm bell that would travel for miles over the grasslands. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, bedtime, school, visitor. It welcomed him home for the first time since he left to the city. And his vision blurred once more.

link to comp

[ICarinae]

Notes

old folklore-ish
something hidden in the woods
German dark forest vibes
resting under the tree to be swallowed by the woods
symbolic of something more emotional rather than tangible like old folklore
Poem?

Images




Structure
repetitive to emphasize cycle
kinda song-like, like many Christmas poems
Act 1 closely resembles act 3 but act 3 is more specific to subject's plight
speaks of the woods as having animalistic traits
act 2 and description of horrors break the rhythm somewhat
act 2 specifically to imply that narrator low-key hopes that the subject will break the cycle
able to be read once more upon finishing\ rhythm matches beginning to end in a loop

Outline:

Act 1
Start: A warning from narrator to subject
∘ tells the story of the last venturer
∘ set out to the deepest part of the pines
∘ There is said to be a creature capable of restoring the missing parts of broken souls
∘ venturer, instead, becomes disoriented and wanders the pines for a long time
∘ venturer rests under a pine only to be swallowed by the Earth
Act 2
Turning Point: Subject ignores warning and goes into the woods
∘ Narrator anguishes abt situation
∘ Calls a final warning to subject, who has already left, more as a prayer
Act 3 as told by narrator
∘ Subject enters the pine confident in their search
∘ The pines become denser and blot out the sky
∘ Subject begins to hear noises and, frightened, runs
∘ Subject runs until they can't, totally lost
∘ subject rests under a pine
End: Subject gets swallowed


Workshop
Needles and Sodden Leaves

Act 1

The spark so generous to the young
that I no longer know
Tell me the truth, if there is a way
to make the youth feel whole

No gracious green king waits you there
not treasure that you seek
To meet your end, just like the rest
all the pine will offer

Life fractured apart with untold grief
Seek what was meant to be
Many have come, many have gone
cast themselves to the night

Set out with a certainty unchecked
stripped away by the trees
Terrible cries, untold creatures
unfathomable t'thee

Troubled soul came not long ago
Hunting what you hunt now
Ran out of breath, ran out of hope
til at last-

The jaws of the maw
the sharp of the teeth
Lost to the distant, calls of the deep
They found what they sought, there
under the tree
The end, of their life's misery

Heed,
heed my warning to you

Act 2

Young, brash, full of vigor
bitter, to tales long spun
To many I have had the pleasure
many, after you're gone

Love? Wealth? Some other boon
Soul, fractured in two
Tell me what ills you have and I'll
dissuade, the path you're on

Turn your back to me
walk straight out the door
Sacrifice this life, to search for more
Go find what you seek, there
under the tree
Your end, needles and sodden leaves

Heed,
heed my warning to you


Act 3

Regardless to the deceptive night
Begrudged to fearful flights
Despite warning, despite wishes
desperate for sanctity

Cold cutting sharp against armored guilt
but not one to waver
Follow the moon, regarding coldly
down into the valley

Pines crowding out a darkening sky
unknown creatures calling
Hours pass by, moon stood sentry
where day should be nearing

Closer now echoing vicious growls
an assailant foretold
Crash though the trees, jump to your feet
a race through the threshold

Heart thrumming with the falling footsteps
the end was surely near
A quick respite, would end the night
much too early-

The jaws of the maw
the sharp of the teeth
Lost in familiar, calls of the deep
Did you find what you sought, there
under the tree?

[ICarinae]

Design notes

Traits:
[nr]
[s] hair, custom shine,
[c] fur, tail
[uc] ears, tongue, eyes
[r] revmunch, paws, halos(cloudy stepping stones?)
[l] Water/cloud element? Wings? Exposed bones?

Ideas:
∘ Bird based markings but with ocean/sunset colors
∘ Cloud patterns with water element
∘ Dark ocean themed but with wings
∘ Merkal with cloud element hair/fins

writing notes

diary/log entry
abzû style trippy structure/spirit world
Annihilation-esque
an opening at the bottom of the ocean that beaks into and endless sunset sky
explorers/researchers living at the bottom of a never before explored trench, where resides a window

Recovered pages of a log book belonging to previous researcher (A.K.A. gonna have to butcher some of this to fit the word limit)

800 max

-----------------------------


My last bit of company set out for base camp today. They cited a growing concern for the wellbeing of their pet cat as reason, but unease had been radiating off of them like a sonar for days, assumedly, it's hard to tell at the bottom of the ocean. The window emits a pink-gold glow, unrestrained from the pressure. I would watch them stare at it when they thought I had my back turned.

Regardless they are a historian/archeologist here to study the surrounding ruins. With much of our focus being on the window now, they more than fulfilled their usefulness.


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The not-quite-frigatebirds from the other side hunt the lanternfish from my own. Their talons sprout from the sea floor and pull the fish down/up into the endless sky. They must eat on the wing.


-----------------------------


I did something I wasn't meant to.

I push my head through the window, the lack of resistance is unnerving, like I could as easily tumble into it as I would from my bed as a child. My head breaches the surface and my hair, much to my perturbation, slides to my relative left. My ears suddenly clear to birdsong harmonizing with a shy breeze that makes my scalp feel cold.

I was never one to get thalassophobia, the pressure always added to a sense of presence. There was something there, compressing, holding me in place. I imagine that the way people with thalassophobia would feel if they awoke from a dream to find themselves miles away from the closest shelf would be similar to the way I felt as I panned my gaze over that endless sky line. The water above/below me made a perfect mirror, I felt as though I could fly just as easily as I could fall. The window on the side of my world was only two square yards at it's widest. I fear to wonder if the diameter on the sky's side is the same. Or what would happen when it ended. A stone formed in my throat as it overwhelmed me, restricting my breath. I could breath, something so natural and mechanical felt out of place.

In a horrifying moment of vertigo, I felt like I was slipping through the window, so I ended my expedition there.


-----------------------------


Before the archeologist left, I went walking with them among the city ruins scattered around the window. They diligently took notes on the types of building materials, design motifs, unique artifacts, and the like. We were largely quiet, I have never claimed to be the talking type. And while I have learned more about them than I would have preferred, even hidden in their task they were unusually silent.

We traversed for about a mile and a half, winding our way around base camp in a crescent shape. They stopped taking notes at some point, and we just wandered the remains of back streets and bazaars. They paused for a moment after we turned a tight corner which opened up into a courtyard, at least I had assumed. They spoke to me then, turning to face me, “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“No… I don’t”, I said it a bit more harshly than I had intended, the surprise conversation felt like a breaking pact.
“ I don’t either, but… sometimes, in places like this, I can almost get it.”
“Places like this often come with a sense of superstition,” I offered.
“Yes but, that’s not what I mean. When I enter these places it.. it feels like time is condensed. Like as if all this history and life collided together into the focal point that is this moment. These fragments are all the lives of all the people who have ever walked the same road we do now. Sometimes, I like to think that that is what people see as ghosts, some kind of interference with the past.. I guess.”
I nodded, not sure that I really understood what they were getting at.
“It also makes me wonder, if it works one way, then it must work the other way. I wonder if someone caught a glimpse, in the corner of their eye, of us right here.”
“Wouldn’t that make us a part of the past, to be perceived in the past, like a ghost story.”
“… I guess so. But I don’t think that matters much. We’re already a part of the past to the person that stands in this spot next.” The next expedition after us.

I find myself taking the archeologist's place, stood sentry, watching the light bled from the window ripple with the subtle ebb and flow, constant motion that makes the ocean feel like an organism. That would make the window what? The maw maybe. there doesn't appear to be any transfer between the two... locations. No pollutants that I had tested for came back positive.

Will there be a next after me. For some reason that idea disturbs me. What will be left? Will they read this log book? 'Over dependence on flowery language, but the information is sound'. That's what my teachers always said about my papers anyway.

Maybe an ear. Although that implies some transfer of information. If not physical, then what information is being transferred?


-----------------------------


My days have completely broken apart. The ever present twilight does nothing to aid me in keeping track. It used to be the routine that counted the day. Time sectioned apart into eat, work, sleep periods. But, I find that with the lack of anyone left to keep me accountable, the routine quickly crumbles. My days are shortening immensely, many hours of testing and observation followed by three-or-so hours of sleep, then back to testing. I eat when I can manage to tear myself away from the window, and I rest my mind even less frequently (my sleep has become too troubled to call it rest). The only way I can guess what time it is is by the daily migration of the lanternfish, their luminescence like swirling starlight.

I've taken to dipping my head through the window more frequently with the motivation of studying the sky's own time cycles. I have noticed the not-quite-frigatebirds also ebb and flow with a set time, somehow coming to mirror the lanternfish. It makes me wonder how long this niche has been developing, it seems much older than the previous records show.

I realize that the reason for my overwhelming vertigo is the sudden shift of pressure between the two locations. Though it doesn't really bother me anymore, not that it has subdued, just that I have become acclimated to the feeling of plummeting. Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine that I am racing though that open skyline.

It has become apart of my resting moments as well. When I sleep I fly amongst the not-quite-frigatebirds.


-----------------------------


When I turned eleven, my mother took me out to a park I had never been to before. She sat me on a bench to eat lunch, then handed me a gift wrapped in glittering foil. Opening it reveled a book on local flora. She sat on that bench and watched me catalogue every plant I could find in my notebook. It wasn't until the sky noticeably dimmed that she pulled me away from the woods to go home and stop for ice cream on the way.

I can feel her tugging on my shirt the way she would when I was too lost to notice her. The way she did that day. Telling me that it's time to go home. But she is not here, and my head is filled with clouds.


-----------------------------


An inverse Icarus, too close to glory. Where he reaches for the sun, I do the same. Where he plumets to the sea, I am already plummeting. I understand his elation, I feel the same. There would be no life without the view from the peak, the warmth of it all. I understand the lesson, I refuse to learn it. When I close my eyes, I am ascending. The idea of the precipice will not shake me.


TRY 2


Classification level: Restricted

Recovered log entries from expidition I

Subject: Ecologist ---- ----

Relevant entries disclosed:



I did something I wasn't meant to.

I pushed my head through the window, the lack of resistance was unnerving, like I could as easily tumble into it as I would from my bed as a child. My head breached the surface and my hair, much to my perturbation, slid to my relative left. My ears suddenly cleared to birdsong harmonizing with a shy breeze that made my scalp feel cold.

I was never one to get thalassophobia, the pressure always added to a sense of presence. There was something there, compressing, holding me in place. I imagine that the way people with thalassophobia would feel if they awoke from a dream to find themselves miles away from the closest shelf would be similar to the way I felt as I panned my gaze over that endless sky line. The water above/below me made a perfect mirror, I felt as though I could fly just as easily as I could fall. The window on the side of my world was only two square yards at it's widest. I fear to wonder if the diameter on the sky's side is the same. Or what would happen when it ended. A stone formed in my throat as it overwhelmed me, restricting my breath. I could breath, something so natural and mechanical felt out of place.

In a horrifying moment of vertigo, I felt like I was slipping through the window, so I ended my expedition there. Wrenching myself back into my familiar watery world. Centuries old ruins and lanternfish reassured me that I had returned to a world I knew. The sudden shift in pressure made my head hurt but I fought through it.

I wasn't meant to do that.

Our expedition leaders back on the mainland strictly denied us any direct contact with the window. We had no discernable evidence of what would happen to any individual that touched it. We were to conduct studies and tests from a safe distance lest we may face some unknown consequence. I just dunked my entire head into it. I wanted to laugh.

I was the only member of the expedition left. The last person to go was the archeologist sent to study the ruins of the sunken city surrounding the window. The hope being that therein would be some history to the phenomenon, some eroded stone tablets or depictions of the not-quite-frigatebirds that would sometimes, unfortunately, launch upwards into the sea through the window. No such discovery was made. The archeologist was largely listless. In their last couple days(-ish, in sub-twilight its hard to tell), they had taken to standing sentry over the window, staring into the pink-gold glow it emitted, unrestrained from the pressure. Watching the light that bled, ripple with the subtle ebb and flow, constant motion that makes the ocean feel like an organism. They were gone soon after.
What was I meant to do really? Go back to the mainland with nothing? I was the only person left. Could I live with this mystery gone unsolved?
Everyone else fled.

I reluctantly understand. My breeching through the window was the first time, but I found that it wasn't my first time seeing the other side. I don't sleep much anymore, my dreams have become more restless than my waking moments. When I sleep, I am there. When I sleep, I fly amongst the not-quite-frigatebirds. The light, that seems to emanate from everywhere all at once, grows brighter and brighter until all I see is white. When I awake, sunspots invade my vision.

...

When I turned eleven, my mother took me out to a park I had never been to before. She sat me on a bench to eat lunch, then handed me a gift wrapped in glittering foil. Opening it reveled a book on local flora. She sat on that bench and watched me catalogue every plant I could find in my notebook. It wasn't until the sky noticeably dimmed that she pulled me away from the woods to go home and stop for ice cream on the way.

I can feel her tugging on my shirt the way she would when I was too lost to notice her. The way she did that day. Telling me that it's time to go home. But she is not here, and my head is filled with light.

...

How am I meant to understand the unobtainable, discern the indiscernible. These instruments of knowledge and reason can do nothing in the presence of the divine. The only hope they have is to submit themselves to a higher meaning. Categorizing, dividing the indivisible. The only truth there is, is of the whole.

...

On the archipelago I called home, the mainland as it were, There were stories mothers would tell to children about a long gone god. They were said to bring the rain that grew our livelihoods as well as storms that ravaged them. I was told that when this god was formed, they fell into the sky to forever traverse on the bottom of clouds. At the time, I found that sad.
Now though...
I plumet as they must have centuries ago, there are no clouds to catch me. I reach for the sun as they must have. I feel the elation as they must have. I understand now, as they must have, that there is no life without the view from the precipice. How could I ever resurface.

[800]

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shaping, shifting
forming my wings