[bezel]

entries accepted until 6/1/25 8pm est

how did the fire start?
interpret as you wish. answer in either ~500 words max. or one art piece


Code: Select all

fable name:
answer:





base: windswept
horn: med. branch
wings: lg. feathered
ears: soft
tail: short feathered
extras: smoke, piercings

[kyeza]

fable name: rhys
answer:


the flame of the forge flares high above, but that is not the only fire he stokes.

the split had cost them greatly, but it couldn't compare what they'd gained in the process. constructs—newly-wrought creatures of iron and insentience—had come into being and that had changed everything.

it wasn't his original intent, no. he'd only been trying to comfort his dear friend, to ease the burden of loss faust had been left to hold. it'd started with condolences, whispered close and kind, but when those failed to fill the gaping hole left behind by their sprite companion, rhys had to change his tactics.

it was never meant to devolve into this, but he couldn't say he regretted a thing.

it was a simple idea, in theory, but one that had never before been attempted. see, it was the nature of sprites to have fleeting existences, lifespans that drifted by like a feather in the wind before the eyes of fablekind. it was how it'd always been and how it'd always be. many try to interfere, to bring back their beloved companions from the beyond, but to little avail; a malformed soul returned at best.

but what they hadn't done, you see, is place that consciousness they roused into something else. something other, something unlike anything anyone had ever considered before. it was genius, really. and faust was right there with him the whole time, eager to try anything to bring back his dearest little friend.

or they were, that is, until the end. until they realized what it was that they'd created.

a monster.

and that's where they differed, where the line was drawn. rhys saw the value in their findings, in the creation of this new, constructed type of lifeform. faust, decidedly, did not.

he was scared, afraid of what they'd accomplished together, horrified at the fact that somewhere behind the amalgamation of mangled metal and warped wood and battered stone laid the consciousness of someone he once held so dear. he was too weak-minded for this, rhys determined; too hesitant, unable to bring himself to follow through the next steps.

so instead, rhys did. it was never meant to become such an ordeal, he'd just wanted the world to see what they'd done, how they'd breathed life into inanimacy. he couldn't help that the elders of maravil dreaded such change and couldn't see how much good it'd do for them. he couldn't help the fear on the faces of those around him when he presented his newest prototype of shining steel, bound to his command, a hound at his mercy.

while the other closed himself off to the world, guilt-ridden and fearful of his own creation, rhys spread their boon like wildfire, constructs reaching across the globe, sparking revolution far and wide.

and if faust wasn't strong enough to stand by his side to witness it, then so be it, but he'd fan these flames 'til the day he died.


[ 494 words ]

[Exitium]

fable name: Hephaestus
answer:
A spark, an explosion. Fanning the flames of our youth in real time. Who started this fire, burning so bright and tall? Destroying the evidence of a nation once proud and prosperous, now crumbled like ashes under foot.

Hephaestus stood tall, once. Now hunched in defeat, looking over the ruins of his workshop, he closes his eyes and exhales. Snorting in annoyance, Hephaestus switches from fable to "human" form. Stepping carefully over rubble and crackling embers, he wields his hammer, dousing the flames with his other hand. Who started this fire? Why? It made no sense. He knew more than his workshop was up in flames. All of Mount Olympus had fallen.

It wasn't a titan, or some hideous beast from the void. No. This was the work of "man", cruel and unforgiving. The Heavens stood tall, watching from above, pitying the minor deities of Prismatica, yet they did not interfere. The Underworld cast their gaze silently from below, new souls ushered in from this chaos. They too, pitied the deities. Pitied Hephaestus. What was their fate, then? Without Olympus, the deities were bound to walk the earth with mortals.

A fire of great proportions, from a little flicker to one of great destruction. The fire started by the hands of man. Mortal hands. Neither The Heavens nor the Underworld were involved. No, this was not by fates hands. Not predetermined by strings pulling everyone in many different directions.

Hephaestus asks why. Why was this fire started, destroying the home of minor deities like him. Ones born from mythology of man. Well, the answer is complicated. Some simply wanted anarchy, others were fed up with the "Gods", whilst others had the eager urge to corrupt a nation. Bring it to its knees before The Heavens and the Underworld.

The fire began at dusk, spreading through til morning, into day, before being doused by mortal firefighters. Fables in human form donning gear meant to protect them from such danger. Documents, history, and homes were destroyed within just one day. A nation broken, never to be glued back together. Hephaestus would rebuild, surely, but what would happen to his fellow deities? Surely not all of them would recover amongst the mortals. They were too full of pride to do so. To admit this was their own doing by refusing to conform with the times. [392 Words]

[jensen ackles]

fable name: sisyphus
answer: lightning
big ole wip

[néktar]

fable name: valor
answer:

“do not yield!”

he heard his mothers voice above the thunderous sounds of war around her. the beating of hooves the clacking of horns clashing against one another, and the horrific sounds of muscular bodies slamming into one another. bellows came from the warriors beside him, those of who had protected her for most of his life. above all else she could hear the rushing of blood in his ears, the pounding of her heart, and the heaviness of his breath in his gold plated helmet.

the fire of war burn all around him, his blood was liquid flame that rushed through his veins. the soldiers beside him fell and he soon stood alone. he stared across the once beautiful meadow outside his kingdom, the flowers were trampled and the grass stained with both enemy and ally blood alike. valor felt his breath catch in his throat as his ears picked up a familiar voice,

“valor! get down!”

he felt the full strength of his mother as she shoved him aside. taking a flaming arrow to her back in his stead, her eyes filled with sorrow as she gazed at her son’s agonizing expression. “you must get away my love.” it was a last wish she whispered to him. he was young and had always listened to his mother, her desperate plea tore through him like an icy cold breeze. before he could register what he was doing, valor fled the battlefield. none of his mothers army was left, she was the last soldier standing that valor saw before disappearing over the charred hills.

[alphanea]

fable name: Monolith
answer:

it was a gift from the gods,

A creature with a coat like dusk and eyes of molten gold lived peacefully alone in the mountain range - unlike the many great beasts of the country, they held no claws for warring, no bite of poison, no armour of stone. A creature, pure and innocent, Monolith enjoyed the bounties of the ashen forests.

But as all good things do, their days of delight would come to an end.

Abberations invaded under the guise of creeping winter, twisted abominations made from black ice and malice, their serpentine bodies twisted around mighty trees, snapping them into two like mere branches, their frostbitten venom left the ravaged forest barren of life.

Monolith, who had a burning flame of fight within yet no means to retaliate, fled deeper into the forest until their wings grew too tired to carry them. Hiding beneath the roots of the oldest ash tree, they wept for what was lost.

“I would gladly give my life,” they whispered, “to protect this land... if only... My wings and my hooves would not harm the invaders - my home burns, not with fire but with frost while I await my fate.”

While their whispers were barely audible to any but Monolith themself, somehow the words reached the gods who overheard the most humble pleas.

From the skies fell a single ember, emitting an orange glow, a shard of a divinity that was gifted to the mortal below. It flew and sank into Monolith’s chest, where it lit a fire beneath their breast.

In utter silence, they could hear the words of divinity:

“You who have asked not for vengeance, but seek only to protect... The Flame Eternal is yours to be your guardian, just as you shall be its wielder. It shall burn with you until your very last breath.”

Their feathers turned akin to the embers, eyes ablaze, their breath became smoke - they rose from the ashen roots like a glorious Phoenix and took to the skies.

From their open wings rained down flares like a hailstorm. When Monolith soared, the sky lit up as if the sun had risen in the pitch of night. The creatures of malice were unmade beneath Monolith's righteous wrath. By dawn, the ashen woods were silent, its inhabitants slowly returning to the surface from their hiding places.

The wielder of the Flame Eternal remained a beacon of hope as stories of their resistance spread among the woodland folk, and they chose to use their gift bravely and smartly, never again to cower when a threat rose.

[leopia]

fable name: azar
answer: [wc: 499]

For a blissful moment, it was quiet. Calm. I can’t remember the last time I felt… cooled. The heat in my chest, the constant roar of fire, had lessened after its release. A brief respite, for I was expecting the little light approaching from the distant stars—an angel.

“Hail, Azar – Sunkiller, Flamesinger…” it speaks, seven voices overlaid as one, descending to sit in the sky beside me. There’s some formality—perhaps reverence—in how it addresses me. Those titles, lost ranks, ring in my ears, chasing away the coveted quiet.

“Are you here to reprimand me?” I can't help but sneer.

“Passing judgment is not in my jurisdiction,” the herald answers matter-of-factly and doesn’t meet my gaze. Instead, its many white, pupilless eyes look out over the burning mountain range below us. Crimson peaks surge and sputter with another eruption—rock and flame arcing high into the heavens. A picture of marvelous ruin, painted by my hand.

“How did this happen?” The angel asks, taking methodical notes with quill and paper, not offering a downward glance. It moved like a machine; unbothered, simply observing, documenting. It doesn’t care—can’t care—and that’s why He sent it. Not my brothers, not himself. He knew this would vex me.

“How?” The word is hollow in my mouth as I repeat it with a scoff. The absurdity, the audacity… As if to answer, my eyes sear red-hot as I stare at the unmoving, unfeeling winged beast. “You know full well how it happened.” I had happened.

“Why, then?” It presses, in its voice of many voices. “Do you not see how this looks? Like a childish scheme, a ploy for attention? He has already requested your return.”

My jaw tightens. The heat blazes back too easily. “Then perhaps he should not have cast me out in the first place—BECAUSE I NO LONGER ANSWER TO HIM!” Flames snap and spark around the words as my voice rose to a roar. The fire, this rage... I’d learned centuries ago that nothing could quell it. The mountains seemed to groan in response to my fury, erupting again, sending molten gold streaming into the sky. Beautiful.

“Perhaps,” its voices are soft as it finally sets its many eyes upon me. Even after all this time, even after unshackling myself from celestial rule, under that scrutinizing stare, I still feel it—a seed of dread, of fear, sprouting in my core. Its next words almost sound pleading. “You will be at fault if this wanton destruction was not in service of a greater command… This could be avoided—”

“No.” I shake my head. “Have you forgotten me so easily? What I am, what I was made to be?" I exhale smoke.
"I am unavoidable. An inescapable, inexplicable certainty.” I stretch my wings wide, letting the heat rupture from my chest. “Tell my father I will see him at—”

“The end of days, yes,” The angel interrupts, trite and weary. It bows deeply, its three sets of wings flaring. “Armageddon awaits us all."

[wind song]

fable name: aquila
answer: [500 words]

A story of falling in love | featuring Vero - npc / fable yet to be

The seeds of affection are frail. They smell of earthworms and wait for rain.


Aquila considered himself a cold, loveless creature. Born in the darkest corner of the city with twisted magic. His ability was to take away and he could take whatever he liked - another's spell, memory or sense of self. Such eerie skills fell to eerie hands - the city's hound, serving those who knew how to use him. He saw the dirty underbelly of the court’s shiny edifice. He learned the cleansing rituals. But that's another tale.



Seeds grow into saplings. Their limbs reach towards the sky. Roots pierce down deep.


His everyday life was rather unexciting. Despite an ominous reputation, Aquila knew little of solitude and spent the sunlight hours in good company. Aloof and unattached, he was rather charming. He enjoyed how others’ stories quietened his mind, the sharp humor of the guards, and the way they'd flinch when he focused his gaze. Among them was Vero - a mage that seemed immune to Aquila's intensity. His presence held its own, undeniable weight.



The trees drink up sunlight. Sap bleeds. Heat dries the heartwood.


They were an odd pair, but to any outsider’s gaze they appeared as friends. Aquila couldn’t seem to shake him. Vero was cool-headed, apathetic even, but always close. Some ancient secrets brewed beneath his surface, but Aquila was not privy to them. It was he who was affected by Vero’s words and actions. He wanted to draw out every new emotion, to see him unravel.



Longing breeds courage and fills the world with oxygen. A breath sparks the kindling.


Vero often traveled and left behind a misshapen gap. On those days Aquila felt old. An unfamiliar anxiety grew with every absence. Did he miss him? It's not like they did anything special. They’d walk the grounds and talk, but mostly shared silence. Sometimes exchanging glances, Vero’s eyes revealed he knew exactly what Aquila was. Instead of judgement, he found resolve there.



Smoke rises from the forest. Branches sway in protest, but fail to soothe the rising flames.


When they brushed past each other, he felt uneasy. As if lightning that found him vulnerable, he couldn’t hide from a recurring thought. In his presence, Aquila became bold and playful. Anything to faze him, to make Vero look at him. When he caught himself in this game, he scoffed, confused. What was it he really wanted? Why was it becoming difficult to breathe?



The fire burns, fierce and bright. And you can no longer imagine a time without.


It was much too late, once he realized it. This love refused to be repressed and Aquila was exhausted from fighting with himself. How did the fire start? It seemed impossible to retrace his steps now. He looked at Vero and felt warm. It was as if the world remained the same, but he was an odd new creature. He didn’t want to take, anymore, but to give away. Everything.

The fire burns on. It will sustain.

[sleep token]

fable name: Ignis
answer: [147 words]

it starts with a spark, as all good stories do. short lived but beloved.

then that spark turns into a head of roaring flames. it consumes all it can. burning burning burning. constantly burning. the eyes are a deep spessartine garnet, the reds and oranges mixing together to form what you think is too human for a flame.

the flanks expand and contract as if it’s breathing in and out with you as you watch it. the obsidian body wispy, almost as if vapors are pouring off it.

the wings are great wisps of smoke, black and inky, spread out over where you are. it’s hard to breathe.

the hooves are embers, glowing steadily. it sees you, truly sees you.

————

you remember the funeral pyres of your homeland, how they burned into nothing more than ash come morning.

this village is no different.

[ylesia]

fable name: Aillen
answer:

The sky was so red that it looked as if the dunes were on fire. However, it was a nice, normal evening on the sands. This beautiful scenery was reflected in my eyes as I watched my beloved Desert. This was my home; the place where I was born and the only place I had ever known. I couldn't imagine life without these dunes.

I stood up to go back to the Cove, but at first, I didn't realise what was happening.

I could feel it burning inside me. It was only a matter of moments. Then, there were only ashes.

There were ashes everywhere, yet I could still almost perceive the burning pleasure that had consumed my heart. What were those ashes? Or whose?

I didn't tell anyone. Was that the manifestation of my magic? At the time, I didn't know. I didn't realise that I had changed, that my inner self was different from a moment before.

I continued living as usual, burying my worries in the everyday mundane. Then it happened again. And again. And again.

What had initially been pleasant was becoming increasingly frustrating. I could feel something inside me changing every time the fire started. What was I becoming?

Over time, I realised that those ashes were mine. Part of me was burning, but where was it going? And why? What was inside me?

One night, I had a dream. There were flames everywhere; I could see nothing but fire. Then the dream ended, but I could still feel the flames inside me. They have never stopped since that day. They constantly burn inside me.

I have learned to accept them. They are part of me.

Even today, I still don't know what I am. What I do know is what I am not. And that is enough.