[bezel]

entries considered until 11/5

This one has a dearly beloved. Please, tell me about their fable companion and how their relationship has evolved over time, through art, writing, or anything you feel like adding to the post. The companion can be any kind- partner, friend, relative etc

The winner gets 2 fables, because I will make the companion for the winner as well. Thats why more effort will stand out. If you describe the companion i will take inspo from that. This competition might have rewards for honorable mentions

owner: Kitsune.
name: Eki



base/fur: short mane
wings: med. feathered
ears: horse
tail: short feathered

[feverrr]

mark omg,,,,

name:
answer:

[lumy]

marking!

[Knickknacks]

name: ista (+kyrie)
answer: [1300 words]

It had been hardest of all to get used to the noise.

When Ista first moved into the village, situated within the walls of a great fort, closer to the center of the lord’s power, the constant bustle of her surroundings had been an annoyance- something so different from her previous wooded solitude. There was so much happening- and where she would normally be curious this was too much, all at once. Going to sleep after that first, long, loud day had been a relief- night activity in the fort was concentrated at the center, the outskirts where she lived graced only by silent guards standing sentinel.

Or. At first she had thought they would be silent.

As it turned out, the coordinated march of hooves and shifting of armor could cause quite a cacophony. Needless to say, Ista’s first few nights in her new home had been of the sleep-deprived sort, leaving her blurry and irritable and certainly not fond of the city guard. Which perhaps was unfair of her, to hold it against them for simply following orders too close to her window, but. The grudge did not last long anyways.

She does not remember what first caught her eye, really.

Perhaps it was noticing with amusement that the fur beneath one guard’s armor matched the color of the metal near-perfectly- steely gray, with faint hints of a tarnished- looking brown color at their edges.

Perhaps it was something in their posture, not quite as razor-sharp as their compatriots.

She cannot recall what the first thing was, but Ista remembers these things in combination and an accidental locking of eyes with a particular soldier as she watched the afternoon change of the guard, a bit sourly.

The guard startled a bit, and in a subtle gesture waved one feathered wing at her before falling back into line. A brief friendly look from beneath the armor, and then they had melted back into rank again. It had passed before she even managed to raise one wing in a halfhearted wave herself.

She’d not thought much of it, at the time. The small act of friendliness had brightened her day a bit, but she assumed it to be something in passing only. A guard is not meant to stand out- and not meant to associate with those dwelling inside the fort. This much she had learned, in her brief stay- while a guard donned their armor, they were to be entirely focused on the defense of their home and the residents within, not succumbing to any form of distraction. A harsh standard, for certain- one upheld seriously enough that she doubted it would happen again.

What she had not expected was, the next day, to pick out the same armor-and-rust-colored fur in the afternoon changing of the guard. It was as if in seeing them once, she wasn’t able to unsee them. It became almost a little game to her, while going about her daily business- to see if she could spot the guard who didn’t stand as straight as the others.

She didn’t see them every day, but it was enough to make her curious about what kind of individual lay under the armor. A distant sort of speculation, and nothing she thought would ever be answered. It was not proper for guards to be distracted on watch, nor for civilians to approach them.


- - - - -


It was only by chance that their paths crossed. Several months into her residence, Ista found herself at one of the many small market stalls clustered around the town’s center. The enclosed nature of the fort did not lend itself to great variety in crops the residents were able to cultivate, and though her home garden was enough to keep her fed, longing for some variety (and missing the abundance of fruits from her previous forested home) saw her making semi-regular trips to a particular merchant of fruits who conducted trade for produce from the outside.

One moment she was trotting happily away from the stall, bags at her side pleasantly weighted with fresh blackberries, and the next she found herself bumped from the side, rearing in surprise and barely managing to avoid spilling her purchase.

“Watch where you’re going, you-” she snapped, whirling around to see who was responsible, and-

-a familiar shade of gray-brown fur loomed in her vision. She stopped, snorting with surprise. The other fable blinked at her for a moment, apologetic, before recognition seemed to dawn.

“Um.” His ears laid back with embarrassment. “Sorry about that.” His voice was softer than she might have thought, and his appropriately sheepish expression, along with her own shock, had Ista’s anger dimming almost instantly. The stranger raised one wing for a flapping little wave, an echo of that first odd exchange.

“Am I allowed to be talking to you?” She blurted without further thought. The stranger snorted softly in amusement, shaking his head.

“I’m off duty,” he said. “So it’s alright. Us guards have got to run normal errands sometime, you know? As long as you don’t try and knock me off my hooves while I’m working, we won’t have a problem.”

“You ran into me.” Ista corrected. “Aren’t you supposed to be protecting the citizenry?” Her voice turned amused. “You almost made me drop my blackberries.”

“My sincerest apologies.” The guard dipped his head, half-serious and half-mirthful. “I wouldn’t want to waste any of those, either. It’s been awhile since I’ve tasted blackberries.”

The invitation slipped out before she could think further on it. Ista was deeply curious about the stranger- taller than her, for sure, but still with that not-quite rigid enough posture. Beyond that, she was lonely- her neighbors in the fort were nice enough, but the specter of external conflict brought a serious atmosphere to the place that made it a bit hard to foster friendships. She thought she saw a similar loneliness in the faintly wistful look on the stranger’s face.

“Do you want to share these?”


- - - - -


The stranger’s name, it turned out, was Kyrie. He was around her age, and had been enlisted for just over a year.

“My parents owed the fortress lord a debt,” he explained. “My service was the only currency that would allow them to continue living here after paying it off. Families of guards get lodgings paid for.” He laughed at that admission- a hollow sound. Ista thought of the circumstances forcing her to move into the fort, and saw the specter of war affecting them both, tightening its claws around the whole wall of the place- something even the guards could not defend from.


- - - - -


One visit turned into another, then several- and before either of them knew it, their weekly meetings had become ritual, ingrained into their daily habits. Kyrie and Ista had stumbled their way into becoming genuine friends, even as word circulated that tensions outside the fort were mounting, that they might not be so safe as the guard would have them be.


- - - - -


“I would let you know,” Kyrie promised, “if I heard of a genuine danger. I’d give you time to get out.” That in itself is an admission- guards are supposed to value the whole of their charges the same, to protect all of the fort without preference. “You could take my parents with you.” To say such a thing was a crack in the anonymous mask guards were supposed to wear- a mask that, Ista supposed, she had already gotten to see behind.

“And what about you?” She asked. “Would you come with us?”

He did not answer. Sensing his hesitation, Ista reached out to brush his wing with the tip of her own. He did not lean into the touch, but did not pull away either.

They stayed like that for a long, quiet while.

[gardog]

Marking ^^

[ExVenor]

name:
answer:

coming back for the form ouo

[chromatic.]

Mark

[sammybenny]

Mark!

[blackhoeses]

name: Stella
answer:
Stella meet Atlas one day when she was younger, she was out flying and saw the storm coming but thought she would be able to make it to a friends cave. Unfortunately she had miscalculated and the storm wiped up fast. Soon she was just trying to stay in the air, the rain began to soak her thick fur and even her feathers. It got so bad that she had to make a emergency landing, she spotted a small opening. On the way down a strong gust a wind knocked her in to a tree. She did not remember much about the rest of the fall, its all a bit of a blur of wind, rain and green. The next thing she remembers is another Fable nudging her to see if she was ok. Stella was very bruised and her right wing was defiantly sprained. The other Fable introduced himself as Atlas and told her she could come stay with his herd. It was slow going but soon they were back with his herd. They started to really bond with each other while waiting for the storm to pass. Stella was so different from the other Fables he knew in his herd who just wanted to be near him for his looks. Stella did not care about this and was even able to get Atlas to tell her about his love of exploring and charting new places. Most of the Fables in his heard thought because of his looks that he was vain and aloof. When in fact he was just nervous by the other Fables only wanting to gossip and talk about other shallow things. Finally after 2 days of rain things started to dry up and she was finally able to see Atlas without all of the mud and waterlogged fur. Atlas has large antlers, wavy fur that shifted between amber and dark amber with hints of copper especially on his horns and hooves. His eyes are the color pale jade and his tail remined her of a wispy unicorns tail. Stella and Atlas spent many hours together exploring the area around Atlas herd. But all to soon her wing was healed and it was time for her to leave and go back to her own heard. As she flew off Stella knew that some how some way she and Atlas would meat again. And she was right a week after she made it back to her heard Atlas came walking into there home meadow. He had even found a compass on his journey and it was now hanging around his neck. Most other fables would not even know it was there with his think wave main of fur. He had also traded one of his maps for a charmed piece of stone that would change colors as a storm approached. Needles to say these to have been inseparable since then and if you see one the other will be near.

[molotov]

name: Bellevue
answer: Above the barren land, dark forest of gnarled roots, ancient trees, and jagged mountains lay a kingdom in the clouds. In this heavenly domain did pegasi fables roam and rule the skies. Though never did they interact with the land below, for they had all they needed up above, they were too proud, too righteous to consider dabbling in the affairs of those who did not have the ability to touch the clouds and sky. “You may explore all of the heavens, for it is ours to rule, but you may never set hoof in the woodland below, for it is filled with many dangers, and those of land are not to be trusted.” Warned the elders. Young Bellevue did not share this sentiment, far from it. For her spirit was wild, and her curiosity far too great. With every warning and tale that sent the other young pegasi squealing, her inquisitive nature only grew. If those with wings were never meant to grace the land, why did birds dot the earth, flit through the treetops, and nest within their safety? She often pondered these things; sometimes, when she found herself by her lonesome, she would part the clouds and admire the shadowy land below. There, she watched a dark silhouette slip between the treetops; ‘the beast’ is what the pegasi called it. Sometimes, she’d even catch the figure stop and stare. Soon enough, Belles eagerness to explore overcame her. So, late that night, Belle parted the clouds as she often did and descended to the earth below, soring lower, lower to the land, her wings keeping her mere inches above the ground. Mesmerized by this new world, she barely made out the figure standing before her until it was too late. She collided with the other body, and no sooner did everything go black.

However long she had been unconscious was unclear, though as she stirred in the comfort of a bed of flowers, she woke to a second presence. There the beast stood, a towering, figure with a bristly mane, horns like twisted thorn, shadowy fur that blended with the woodland, and large, distinct tusks that patruded from his maw. So this was what she had been warned about? Belle, at first, flinched at his approach. That was until the stranger bestowed upon her a rose in an offering of peace, and assurance that no harm would come to her as she recovered. Upon closer inspection, did she make out hooves that were not unlike her own. Closer still, the softness in his eyes. This was no beast at all; in fact, he was a fable just like her. He was kind, gentle, patient; she reciprocated as much, her eyes alight with exuberant curiosity. She boldly introduced herself, and shyly did the stranger finally offer her his name in return: Bromathiel. A lone wanderer of the forest, who spent his days tending to the flowers.

For many days they remained together, taking in the new sights, scents, and sounds, exchanging their knowledge of their lands; so too did Bromathiel’s gaze grow warmer and their bond ever stronger. Alas, it was not to last, for Belle knew she must return to the sky or otherwise risk turning her kinds aggressions upon him, she would miss the land, the flowers and the company at her side, but for his sake her mind was made up. “How may I repay you for your kindness?” She inquired upon the day of her departure. “Well, now that you mention it,” he started, his soft voice combating his ragged form, “if you might part the clouds more often so I may see the sun, the moon, and the stars, I would be most grateful.” Confused, Belle peered at the cloudy kingdom above, casting a perpetual shadow over the woodland. “I had never considered.” She realized. And so, it went for many seasons apart. Belle would part the clouds for her love to admire the sky, and Bromethiel, in return, would nurture the land for his beloved to cherish from above; with time, the barren grounds flourished with greenery, the forests brightened, and the land took on a newfound life under the shared sunlight. So, too, did the freed clouds quench the land in rains, and the waters give right back to the clouds in a perpetual dance between the earth and sky and an unspoken declaration of love and a promise between two fables to one day meet again.