[Oceanfosh]

- The heart that fuels it is not of this world. truth
- There are names carved into the wood of its body, but it has forgotten who the names belong to. lie
- It has never died. truth

tentative but. yeah getting that down before i forget agAIN

mark!

[funnyfarm96]

fable name: Birk
Prompt:

[Mnemosyne]

fable name: (The) First

────────── the heart that fuels it is not of this world.

It all begins with a calm, quiet winter's day and an impatient god.

She, in all her Glory, has shaped this world, made it in the palm of her hand like a toy. She has sculpted its mountains, carved its seas, and painted its rivers. She has created its inhabitants, too. Tiny birds, to flit through forests and fill them with their song. The largest of whales, to swim through the ocean depths in serene grace. Even the smallest of insects, to scamper across leaf litter. It's beautiful and peaceful. She is bored.

So she thinks. What better than to bring something to life that can understand, that can speak? Something that can hold thought and truly enjoy this creation she is so proud of?

And so, upon this land, she bestows a gleaming gem. It is a shard of ice, but within its depths is a seed, brown and innocuous in its shell. She has pulled it from one of her favorite trees, frozen stiff in the cold of the winter, and added to it the smallest spark from a dying star. She does not yet know what will grow, but she is curious. And so this frozen heart lies, alone and quiet, upon the forest floor. Its time will come.

────────── there are names carved into the wood of its body, but it has forgotten who the names belong to.

The Being does not know when it comes to its consciousness. All it knows is warmth, sunlight and water and clean, bright air, and then it knows. There is a voice in its head, though it does not know where from. "You are my First," it whispers. "You shall explore my creation." And so it does, wandering through trees and standing on the edges of cliffs. It tastes the ocean breeze and smells the sweet scent of drying grasses. It knows, somehow, the names of all the creatures it sees. Magpies, with their iridescent feathers. Beetles of countless shapes and sizes. Deer, which stare through the trees and move on quiet hooves.

But it does not know its own name.

────────── it has never died.

It sees on its travels, once in a while, a small creature that has died. It understands death. One something has ceased to be, its body may remain, but the soul, its essence, has gone. This is evident in the bleached bones of a whale lingering on a shore, pecked at by seabirds. It wonders if it will die, though it has been an indeterminable time since it first came to know life. The voice in its head whispers that it will live forever. That, too, seems to be its own kind of cruel fate. But perhaps that is what will be needed in order to see the whole of the world in which it has come to exist. It does not need to eat, like the many creatures it encounters. It does not need to sleep, instead traveling under the moon and listening to the sounds of the night. It is its creator's plaything and whim, and it will not die.

[iskadeki]

mark!

[canada]

fable name:

wip!

[Lilac Dreams]

fable name: Katsura

out of order cause I wanted the lie at the end since the other two tie in, hope that's ok...

The heart that fuels it is not of this world.

True... Katsura's heart was bestowed upon him by a deity many many years ago. A gift or a curse, dependent upon who you ask.

It has never died.

True... he was about to die once, but the deity took pity on him and saw a spark that could be helpful to others if correctly nurtured and put to use.

There are names carved into the wood of its body, but it has forgotten who the names belong to.

False. He remembers every single one who's name he bares as well as the one who wrote it. He remembers the exact date that they were all carved, remembers if the one carving was happy or sad, angry or lost. He remembers it all, cause how could he forget? When he feels the emotions every time he looks at the names? The feeling of despair from the young man who had lost his love. The feeling of elation when the woman came with her newborn. The rage that soared in the one who'd been betrayed. The confusion from the child who lost their bird... this being the most special story to him personally, since the child wished his pet's safety and the bird's spirit has been with him ever since. He remembers every person, every feeling, and every story, he is incapable of forgetting. Maybe because of the heart the deity gave him, or maybe he simply just needs to remember. Remembering has given him the ability to feel these things himself, he wasn't able to feel emotions until the first name was carved, the first names... the young couple that had just gotten married. He had sat there expecting nothing more than the scratching of the tool, but instead felt the complete blissfulness of two who's souls were interwoven. It had been so strong that if he hadn't been so well rooted in the ground at the time, he would have collapsed from it. Ever since, every new name has allowed him to feel a new emotion. So yes, it could be the heart, but he knows he clings to the memories either way, out of fear that he may go back to not being able to feel if he forgets even one.

So... what do you believe? Did the deity give him a gift or a curse?

[minifun990]

Marl

[Equinox Von]

Fable Name: Sentinel

The Sentinel of the Woven Heart

It is said the Sentinel was not born — it was forged

When the Heart of a Dead Star plummeted from the heavens, its molten core found an unlikely resting place: the noble skeleton of a long-dead stag, embraced in the eternal cradle of the oldest grove. The roots of the ancient trees spiraled inward, compelled by celestial heat, and wound themselves around the bones like veins weaving a body from memory. The Star-Heart fused the elements together — and in that moment, something impossible stirred.

The grove’s spirit, grieving her fallen kin, carved into the new creature's bark-covered hide the names of every guardian she had ever lost — gifts of memory for a mind not yet born. But the star’s cold, alien fire was too vast, and time was too cruel. As centuries passed, the Sentinel forgot. The names became nothing but beautiful scars, and the creature stood silent — an empty engine made of wood and bone, fueled by a heart from another world.

Until the Sky-Blue Wren arrived.

The tiny bird built a nest between the Sentinel’s shoulder and the base of its vast, branch-like wing — the safest place in the entire forest. Her inky wings fluttered daily against the Sentinel’s wooden face. Her fragile heartbeat pulsed beside the silent Star-Heart.

And unexpectedly… something awoke.

The cold starlight within the Sentinel began to flicker, shedding its emptiness. The alien mind, once too vast to comprehend life, began to feel — because something so small, so alive, had chosen to trust it.

For the first time, the Sentinel turned its head.

—✦ —— ✦ —— ✦ —— ✦ —— ✦ —— ✦ —— ✦ —— ✦ —— ✦ —— ✦ —— ✦ —— ✦ —— ✦ —— ✦ —— ✦ —— ✦ —— ✦ —— ✦ —— ✦ —

Two Truths and One Lie

The heart that fuels it is not of this world - Truth

The Sentinel’s core was forged from the Heart of a Dead Star — its power is literally celestial.

There are names carved into the wood of its body, but it has forgotten who the names belong to - Truth

The names of lost guardians are etched into its bark, but the vastness of its immortal awareness erased their meaning over time.

It has never died - Lie

The Sentinel was never alive in the mortal sense. It did not escape death — it simply began in stillness, and endures in purpose.

[Vinson]

fable name: Cerebrum

Before it was how it became, glossy
and decayed as all things in the world become,
it was small and soft and warm
and loved
and arguably alive. It danced
on delicate hooves among daisies and dandelion,
felt the shade and the sun
and the sheets of rain on its shoulders,
fawned and frolicked and flew
so close to the sun
that it felt the flicker of its heat
caress its face.

In the end there was everything.
And in the beginning, there was nothing
but a spark.

Before purpose, before thought, before limb and lung,
there was a heart -
started with a shock, hum drum thrumming away
with the quiet
and electrical impulse that runs
through the hearts of all creatures, great and small.
Despite it all, there was something odd
and something different about this one -
maybe it was the broad bundle at the base,
or the aching arch of its apex
or the sliver of silvered string strung and threaded
through each quivering chamber.
Whatever it was, it beat strong and sure,
and knew fear and
knew joy
and grew large
with its love.

And by each love it was shaped,
etched, carved,
tended to tenderly and
deadheaded with a deft blow
to blossom anew by another.
The wind wrote her name in the woods of its antlers
as the river carved a new path with a swirling eddy
lapping at the base of its wings.
The sky opened up and the rain’s fat droplets
dripped tear tracks from its burdened shoulders.
And despite it all, and the heaviness
of all their expectations,
the wind whistling and whispering all
their sweet nothings to its soft ear
as they weathered and withered it down
and carved their names into its body -
despite it all, daisies sprouted
small and gentle
from the moss that matted its back
even as it morphed and molted
into something unrecognizable to itself.

It stands still and silent.
Its ribs creak and quiver with each intake
of air into its hollowed chest,
whatever animalistic instinct telling it to breathe
ignoring the absence of lung
and the woodiness of bone
that springs
from its chest.
Having once carried the weight of the world upon its shoulders
it had lived long enough
to become the weight carried upon the world’s shoulders
and thought, perhaps,
for all involved,
that death may have been kinder than decay.

[bezel]

extended to 11/21 by request
this will be the only extension