[Zentropy]

fable name: Xeingsha
answer: Xeingsha's curse is one that many wouldn't consider an affliction, but they aren't the ones who have to live its reality each day. Hair growth. Extremely fast too. Sometimes it feels as if he can watch it happen just by sitting still. Thankfully the kingdom is far in the north, so the temperature is colder than average, but still. The itchiness and discomfort when he lets it go a little too long between trims is very much not worth the warmth it provides. Xeingsha beseeches the scholars and magi to help him, but nothing has worked so far to lift this curse

[Stray Stranger]

fable name: Atlas
answer: Periodic Paralysis. Symptoms occur seasonally, usually beginning around late fall to early winter and ending in spring. Symptoms include debilitating pain in the legs and tail and loss of control in the limbs that happens temporarily for a few hours ta a time. Even when control of the limbs is regained, it lasts short, only jalf an hour to an hour, and the pain makes it impossible to do much in this time anyway. He relies entirely on his herd taking care of him to survive during this time. Luckily they also have a medic who found certain herbal remedies, teas and ointments, that soothe the pain. The dark coloring in his fur appeared when the curse began, and the pain feels like cracking bones and burning fire. The curse was acquired when a malevolent but powerful spirit demanded a sacrifice from the herd. It had asked for the youngest foal, and promised to leave until next year when it would again ask for the youngest foal. In exchange, it would leave the herd alone all year long, but should they deny it's request, it would torment the entire herd all year round, poisoning the water and drying out their pastures, making them sick and underfed, prone to disease, injury, rendering them incredibly easy prey. They would likely loose a lot more than just their youngest member. But Atlas wouldn't have it. No monster should be allowed to take innocent victims. He instead offered to fight it. If he lost, the whole herd would belong to the spirit, if he won, it would leave them alone for good, but it demanded to be allowed to ay least permanently scar him. He agreed. He fought brave and strong and somehow won. But as per the agreement, he'd be scarred for the rest of his days. The spirit made it clear to him that one day, their medic might find a permanent cure, but his suffering is part of the bargain, should he ever be healed, the her will belong to the spirit forever. But it was worth it to protect the herd. He never regretted his choice, on the worst days, he thinks to himself how if he hadn't chosen this, the entire herd would have to suffer like this, at least this way it's only him. He is well cared for, as his herd considers him their greatest hero for what he did. He can even still fight well on his good days. And the summer makes everything worth it.

[coolrat]

fable name: Aurum
answer:
Aurum had always been a quiet fable, uninterested in a grand life. His ideal future was one of humble serenity. Unfortunately, this wish got him into a world of trouble.
A witch came to his village one day. She was the most beautiful fable anyone had ever seen, and it was said that she could grant fantastic wishes: riches, fame, power, beauty. Aurum had no interest in seeing this witch. He nothing he wanted could come from her, and he wasn't even curious to see her beauty. The witch had other plans when she heard about the only fable who wouldn't see her. She went to him instead.
Aurum greeted her at the door of his cottage. "You must be the witch," he said.
"Yes. If you know who I am, why have we not met?" she inquired.
Aurum shuffled slightly, he didn't like how harshly she was staring him down. "Well, I've heard you grant wishes, but I don't want anything."
The witch tilted her head, "Everyone wants something." It came out like a growl.
Aurum wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere. "Uh-well, I suppose I want quiet," he stammered.
"Quiet?"
"Quiet, peace, I just want to live my life, you know?" he said.
The witch grinned. "Oh, I see. And since you wouldn't ask me for this, I won't let you have it." Magical aura erupted from her horn, surrounding Aurum.
He flinched, bracing for... something. He blinked, and nothing seemed to have changed. Nothing for the fact that the witch was gone. Confused, he decided to continue with his day as planned. He worried what the witch's spell could've been, but figured it couldn't be too serious, right?
How wrong he was. The moment he entered the village square, hoping to do some shopping, he was surrounded by a small mob.
"Aurum! Aurum!" "Let me buy you something!" "Will you get lunch with me?" "I love you, Aurum!"
He stumbled back. As soon as he'd come close, everyone in the square surrounded him, like he was some sort of celebrity. As he tried to process what was happening, voices clamoring to help him and offer him things swallowed him.
The witch's spell, no, curse. He could never have a quiet life. He fled the village square, rushing back to his home, vaguely aware of the fact that he was being followed. He had to leave town, hide in the woods, something. He knew it was no good, he would be found, but he had to try.
And try he did. He packed everything he could carry and left home, only to be followed and tracked every day. He was hunted by a brainwashed mob, determined to adore him. He gave up after a month of running, returning home surrounded by mad fans. He ignored their every word, but nothing deterred them. This was his life now. He had everything others would want, and he hated it more than anything.

[EchoIre]

Mark!

[honeybunchesofoats]

fable name: Victory aka Vic or Cap
answer:

Victory watches his crew from inside the cabin of his ship, muscles tense and a sick feeling of longing twisting in his gut. The sensation one gets when tears well in their eyes burns behind his lids, but he is well past the point in shedding any. It’s finally been a week at sea and Jules stands atop the wood rail at the head of the ship, wings unfurled and ruffling in the wind and spitting rain. He throws his head back with his eyes closed and whoops a rowdy howl. The boys on the boat cracked open the first barrel of rum to celebrate and immediately preyed on the people pleasing city man, aiming to make him a drunken fool. Who wouldn’t have guessed he would not be able to hold his liquor? An annoyed scoff sounding across the room brought Victory back to himself, he turned to face Bishop, who scowled and sneered at the very same scene.

“I don’t get it. What in the world is so special about this guy? He’s a stuck up lubber who wouldn’t get his hands dirty if it were to save his own insignificant life.”, Bishop looked to his captain, clearly expecting him to share in his sentiments.

Victory rubbed his face with his dirt caked hands, smudging gray on his full orange beard. His blue eyes were dull and he felt the familiar ache in his shoulders throb. He bit back a hiss, mouth filling with a coppery taste.

“Aye Bishop let the lads have their fun with him. They’re happier than they’ve been all week messing ‘round with the buffoon.”, Victory snapped. He had no intention of doing so but he had come in here to be alone, not to cater to the lament of his jealous navigator.

Bishop’s jaw twitched, body growing rigid as he made his way to the entryway of the cabin. Victory sighed and opened his mouth to excuse his outburst but he was met with a gloved palm inches in front of his face.

“Save it Cap. See you at first light.”, Bishop stormed off, his intense anger still fizzled in the air even after he was out of sight.

A sharpness in his chest made Victory double over and desperately cling the support beam closest to him. Now that he was alone, he unlaced the top of his breezy shirt and slipped it over his head. He stumbled his way over to a floor length mirror and dug bitten short and jagged fingernails into the skin at the base of his ensnared wings. The dark, inky looking curse that spread over half of his body burned hot as coal. He cursed under his breath and tried to control his breathing, beads of sweat rolling down his temples. After a moment, he was able to look at himself in the mirror.



Gulls cawed overhead and Victory ducked, covering his head with his arms as he raced toward the sea, his hound dog Ranger right on his heels. The voice of his father calling to him from a ways back, telling him not to go too far out. His bare feet sunk into the cool mush of wet sand on the shoreline and scraped on various small shells as he ran as fast as he could, the ocean breeze ruffling his wings. Victory already had large wings for his age. Sometimes they got in the way of things, he often knocked over important objects like family heirlooms which would break and he would have to grovel for forgiveness on his knees. But at the beach, he could stretch out every muscle, freedom from the confines of life in his cramped village.

He spent hours doing cartwheels, playing fetch, and building sand sculptures. His favorite activity however, was doing specifically what he was advised against; seeing exactly how far out to sea he could get before the tide started to tire him out too much to successfully swim back to safety. Typically he was a good judge of his limits but as soon as the water reached his chin he felt himself being pulled under the current. An intense struggle ensued and Victory wasted most of his energy clawing his way back to the surface. As he floated closer to shore, breath ragged and raised veiny strips of dark matter burning on his back, Victory caught a glimpse of something that surely must be his imagination.

His father was standing over a grotesque…creature, he finally settled on. It looked almost human, which was the scariest thing about it. Gnarled limbs and seaweed hair twisted in knots. For a split second, he was able to see its face. Black soulless eyes with a thin pale face, leading to an abnormally unhinged jaw with several rows of sharp, mossy teeth. Bile rose in Victory’s throat as he washed ashore and realized his father’s hands were covered in blood.

“Dad! What did you do? What is that…what did you do?”, he repeated as he took labored steps toward the frozen figures. Once he reached them, and noted the blood was from the creature whom he assumed was dead at their feet, his father’s hands trembled, the whites of his eyes growing bloodshot with fear.

“She called out to me. I didn’t want to but- then I was right in front of her like she had bewitched me. A spell.”

Bishop felt both cold and hot simultaneously. Ranger barked for them in the distance but refused to come any closer.

“Bishop your wings.”, his dad muttered as he grabbed at his back. His wings were wrapped in thick tendrils of something immovable and impenetrable, tied down to Bishop’s body. They wrapped down his arms, torso and legs. Horror flashed across his father’s face.



Beneath the waves where shadows creep,
Your father's soul is mine to keep.
But you, his blood, shall know my wrath.
For fate has twisted a cruel path.

Your wings once free, now bound and tight,
In tendrils' grasp, devoid of flight.
No song will call, no freedom’s breeze
Just endless night beneath the seas.
You cannot flee, you cannot rise,
For in my grip, your spirit dies.

Victory repeats the hex until he is able to move past the flare up. He sucks in the salty, damp air and moves to sit on the bed, bowing his head between his legs. Ten years have passed since that day. Ten years he has hated his father for leaving him cursed. Ten years to plot his revenge to regain his freedom.

page decor credit

[Joke's On You]

fable name: Somnus
answer:

In the realm of Gilverûn and its four kingdoms, some Fables are born with special abilities. One of the more well known abilities that one can be born with is the ability to conjure a special sand that when sprinkled into the eyes of another, is able to bring about sleep and beautiful dreams.

Fables with this ability are known as Sandmen and are highly regarded across Gilverûn as they are trained by others of their kind to become more in tune with their ability so they may later serve on a special taskforce that was founded with the sole purpose of protecting Fables across the four kingdoms against a Fable that calls himself the Boogeyman, who just so happens to be only Fable with the ability to conjure nightmares rather than dreams.

Somnus was one of these Fables that was in the process of being trained by various mentors involved in the taskforce to become more in tune with his powers as a Sandman and use them to combat the evil of the Boogeyman. Somnus was a promising student that was even more so well regarded by his mentors.

The curse that befell Somnus happened on a day where he decided to wander away from the protections of the other Sandmen, in a secluded area within the four kingdoms. Finding that he ended up working himself a bit too hard, Somnus chose to simply rest beside a tree, finding comfort of the shade alongside the cool breeze against his fur. When sleep eventually overcame him, the Boogeyman, who had sensed Somnus' power, was laying in wait just a distance away. The Boogeyman saw his opportunity to strike, and used all the power he could spare to clog Somnus' head with nightmares. The one thing that he was meant to protect against.

When Somnus awoke from his slumber with a jolt, he discovered that he could no longer conjure his sand. He was quick to run to his mentors, looking for their aid, but to his dismay even his mentors had no idea how to reverse the Boogeyman's affect against their magic. Though his mentors assured Somnus that not all was lost and that they would figure out a way to return his magic to him.

To this day, Somnus is still without his ability to conjure sand. Over time, he has tried to cope with the frustrations and disappointment of being cursed to live without his magic by diving into various books in order to potentially find an answer on how to reverse the Boogeyman's effects. And while he turns up emptyhanded most of the times, his mentors still encourage him to keep going and keep on learning. They are determined to break Somnus' curse someday soon.

[Thaye]

fable name: Fallow
answer:

"colder, colder, frozen soon. what used to smolder, now in a mute cocoon.

they cannot make a sound, cannot converse with those around, and no matter what, they cannot be found."

__________________________________________

You have always known there was something.... wrong with you. Or maybe it was the others. You do not know what has caused the wrongness, but all you have tried has not worked. It is as though you are merely the air the others breathe; they stare right through you. You have tried speaking to them. They do not listen. It has been that way since you were born. You sigh heftily, looking out your window, which was perilously close to the sheer cliffside that overlooked Boreau. Boreau was an old-fashioned town; the fables who lived there lived much like theyre ancestors, and stayed far away from the modern technology that had been rapidly been evolving in Alstroeu. Wood and iron built up the city, though at night there was not much movement except the few firewatchers and civilians' automated snow-melting pulleys. Boreau was nestled in a small valley within the mountains, and your rickety shack was perched in the mountain above the village, with more mountains rising behind it. It was really a miracle that you have never encountered an avalanche.

You turn your gaze away from the view, finally giving your hunger the attention it craved. Your house had been abandoned long ago, and nobody ever cared to come up here. It was a hassle, which helped keep other fables away, but also made it a daunting task to get down to Boreau. The thing you had needed most from the town was theyre snow melting pulleys. It was a fairly complicated machine; a rope with a little sphere of what you think is the striking surface of a matchbox attached to it. The sphere is swung down to the wood beneath a pot of snow. Using some automation mechanism you do not understand (though it uses a lot of complicated gears and a whole lot of other things you do not have a clue as to what they could be) the pile of wood can be lit multiple times, without having to use a single match. You had tried replicating the machine, but after pathetically failing an obnoxious amount of times, you just stole one of the out of use pulleys in the junk yard and fixed it up.

Cooking was hard with only your hooves; you knew you could probably steal a meal from the fancy diner on Frost Street, seeing as anything you picked up seem to temporarily disappear from any nearby fable's memory and become invisible to them, but you knew you'd feel awful and probably return it anyways. After burning yourself on your stove more times than you'd like to admit, you settled down outside with your plate of cooked potatos and beans. You liked enjoying the view from outside, in your warmest blanket. You'd gotten used to the cold, and it doesnt disturb you after years upon years of living there, even with your light protection against it.

The night air bites at your coat, and a light breezes sighs across the mountains, playfully tossing your mane. Stars litter the sky like, oddly bright, but the southern pole-star glittered the brightest of them all. For a while you'd wondered why whoever founded Boreau didnt place the town directly underneath the pole-star, but soon you'd heard gossip of a recent expedition to the southpole, where the patrol had come with only a thin jacket each, but had gotten hypothermic on just the outskirts of the south. You'd brought your phonograph with you, and now you started the rusty thing up. You only had one vinyl; it was an instrumental of the anthem of Boreau. It was a beautiful song, and you loved it with all your heart. All the lonely days it'd kept you occupied, all the times you'd played it to sing along to the distant murmur of the entirety of Boreau gathering on the side of the valley opposite to your home and celebrating Founding Day.


You finished up your meal, and return to your house.

[curse: Fallow cannot be sensed in any way, and longevity! they (havent decided on gender yet) were cursed at birth ]

[molotov]

hello everyone, I apologize for the long absence, it took me some time to read through all of these captivating responses. the amount of thought that went into these curses has been of great engagement, and after much consideration, I have come to a decision for the winner!

congratulations to‪ Nanorat, such a gripping and unique curse!

i would also like to reward tickets to the following users
🎟️: honeybunchesofoats, Harm&Ease‬,‬ kaju, coolrat, Thaye, and Joke's On You

thank you all for participating!‬

[honeybunchesofoats]

congratulations nanorat! your entry was fascinating and i really enjoyed reading it! i can't wait to see what you do with Rufus.

thank you so much for the ticket molo, and congrats to everyone else who won tickets as well <3

[Nanorat]

Oh my god, thank you so much! I cant believe I won this beautiful baby, everyone's entries were so amazing and creative!
Congrats on tickets, guys!

Fun fact, his name comes from Canis Rufus, the red wolf. And the curse's idea was my attempt at making a cross between vampirism and lycanthropy, two of the most common curses in media! I tried exploring how this kind of magical affliction would affect a cervid and be viewed by their socium, as compared to humans.