Fables ✧ Lore Prompts - Oct 16-31

[Snowflakette]

prompt: world - art
entry:

(click for full)


the great dragon migration, dated roughly 500 years ago. a flight of dragons travelled far from home seeking refuge from a large fire that brought upon deadly smoke. the picture is a recreation of a faded mural from tomb of the first fable empress that welcomed the dragons into their new land. this imagery is seldom shown nowadays, the history usually told through word of mouth and larger paintings that emphasise its spectacle.


—

prompt: character - art
fable: gong wu
entry:

(click for full)
his trusted steed travelling companion Isolde. she's not quite a donkey nor built like your average horse... he doesn't really know what she is, really, so that makes two of them.
"one time Isolde climbed up a cliff that, as far as I could tell, was slanting on an acute angle, surely! then again maybe I was hallucinating 'cause it was so worrying to see. anyways, she's turning eight this year— what would make for a good celebratory dinner?"

[Miavinn]

prompt: world - writing
entry: 318 words


Ages ago, a meteorite landed near the territory a herd of Fables called home. The landing scorched the earth, ripples of power wreaking havoc on the surrounding area. A being of dark and a being of light emerged from the foreign rock, stunned by their arrival on this planet. These two celestial beings had been at war since the beginning of time. Their battle of wills and power continued on this new planet. The planet’s cyclical day to night gave one the upperhand briefly until dawn or dusk approached. Back and forth these two gods battled.

Cast offs of their power were absorbed by flora and fauna of this planet, bestowing them with odd properties and powers. One of these offshoots of power from the celestial creature of light struck the young leader of the herd. From that day forward, his bloodline carried powers of flame and healing. Others in the herd, from their proximity to the frontlines, also were bestowed with powers. Some of flame, some of light, some other elemental gifts.

This is how herd Cindara gained their affinity for fire and healing prowess.

One day, a solar eclipse occurred, plunging the world into momentary darkness. It was enough for the being of dark to subdue the light. From then on, shadow beasts roamed freely, plaguing the surrounding herds.

Generations later, the small herd now flourishing, had had enough. The royal family, their blood still running thick with the power of the celestial light, decided they needed to make a deal with their own world’s fire deity for protection. She agreed. This arrangement worked well for a time. Cindara was well protected against the shadows. However, the celestial shadow creature caught wind of this force against her and began hunting the Cindaran royal family. The first few disappearances were chalked up to coincidence, and it was too late before they caught on to having been prey.




prompt: character - art
fable: https://toyhou.se/30156764.sanni
entry: art


A young Sanni gathering lilies. Her grandmother passed a long her love of flowers to Sanni, and still to this day she keeps a fresh bouquet in her home. The first few times Taejin stayed with her, he went into sneezing fits, he’s since gotten over that unfortunate allergy. They are Sanni’s favorite flower, and they hold many memories for her.

[feverdream]

prompt: world - writing
entry: the drowned city of the sairinne sea [292 words]

it is said that long ago, a city of marble and pearl stood on the shores of the sairinne sea. grand spires gleamed beneath the sun, towering over streets woven from salt and shell. it flourished, or so the stories claim, for the sea itself had blessed it; no storm dared lay a hand upon its walls, and and even the fiercest of waves softened against its docks.

some say the city was taken by the tide as punishment for arrogance. that its people grew too certain of their own fortune, and that a divine lesson was necessary. that something older than time itself stirred beneath the depths - a god, a spirit, the sea itself - and in the end, it reclaimed what had always belonged to it. storms came and waters swelled, swallowing towers and temples alike. by dawn, the city was gone.

some sailors still whisper that on moonlit nights, when the sea is still, the ruins can be seen beneath the water’s surface - marble columns shimmering like ghosts. waiting, always waiting, for something long lost to return.

the truth is far less grand. sure, there had been a settlement there once; a small coastal town, its cottages weatherworn and its docks heavy with the scent of brine. its temple was no grand cathedral, little more than a simple offering to the waves. it thrived for a time, but when the tides shifted and the storms grew cruel, it was lost. there were no wrathful gods, no ancient curse. only the quiet, indifferent turning of the world.

these stories of faerendell’s past have a way of growing, of twisting into legends. the tale of the drowned city of the sairinne sea lingers, half-truth and half-dream, a ghost lost to the tides.

───── ⋅ ✦ ⋅ ─────

prompt: character - writing
fable: pomona (featuring sylvaine)
entry: [278 words]

the orchard hums in the breath of early autumn, boughs heavy with crimson apples and dusky plums. pomona kneels beneath the branches, hooves moving without thought, plucking ripe fruit one by one. she hums, low and tuneless, the way she did when sylvaine was small, when her laughter wove through the rows of trees like a song.

sylvaine is gone now, drawn to the towering halls of feyllune’s grand academies. the orchard is too quiet without her.

pomona does not tell her daughter “i miss you” - not out loud. instead, she tucks these words into little bundles, care packages sent off to her new world. wool spun from the coats of her neighbour’s livestock, soft and warm as a mother’s touch, knit into thick scarves and sturdy gloves. she seals them in a parcel alongside glass jars, each filled to the brim; blackberry jam, peach preserves, spiced apple butter. she includes a note scrawled in tidy script:

"for the cold, and for when you need something sweet."

at the market the next morning, a fable remarks on pomona’s apple tarts. “they taste like home,” she quips with a light chuckle. pomona only nods in return.

love, she has learned, is something you fold into dough, let simmer in a pot of sugared fruit, stitch into a loop of yarn. it lingers in the warmth of fresh-baked bread, in the weight of a carefully mended sweater, and in the quiet act of setting aside the ripest fruit for someone else. it is something given freely, without need for anything return.

and when sylvaine writes back, “thank you, mama, they remind me of the orchard,” pomona knows her daughter understands.

[molotov]

prompt: world - art
entry:



A fable of valor burdened with a bloodline of sin, the family tree—his legacy—rots and festers under the icy grasp of spited kin.



prompt: character - art
fable: grimshire, and imogen, owned by alphanea, and done with their permission.
entry: shrek and donkey



grim shows his love by tolerating imogen’s presence. he summoned them by mistake in the bouts of his aimless study of spells, desperate for magic strong enough to break his affliction. a curse that laces his very blood, and causes all living things to rot and decay upon long periods of contact with him. not even the ground he steps upon are safe from his putrid touch, where a trail of lifelessness is sure to follow. imogen however, being an otherworldly presence, just so happens to be the only one immune to the effects, if not enticed by it’s capabilities. grimshire outwardly wishes to dispose of them, as the imp’s very existence appears to center around bothering him. nevertheless, behind that grouchy facade, grim quietly finds an odd comfort in his new company.

[kyeza]

prompt: world - writing
entry: the amalgamation


the blight of fablekind was a simple one, at least at first. it began slowly, one single fallen soul drawn back into a fading form, echoes of enchantment ringing clear through earth and sky. unnatural. and it was with this disruption in the order of the world, in its cycle of life, that it happened.

one single life and death, one single wrongful spell. it catapulted forth a sense of triumph, of invulnerability, and as such, brought with it the beginning of a new dawn: an era of experimentation with the very nature of the world itself.

but of course, that which is not meant to be would have its consequences; and consequences have this way of bringing themselves about, whether one likes it or not.

it started slow, just as the entire ordeal had.

the creaking of oak was accompanied by the clanking of steel, banging and clanging deep into the night for countless moons. it was a beautiful creation, really, a perfect replica of the living crafted from nature itself and imbued with the essence of life. but alas, it was never meant to be. over time, it grew mangled, a mess of limbs tangling themselves into a mismatched form, odd parts growing forth and taking their place amongst the once-marvelous. wings of wood, horns of metal, hooves of stone.

but its eyes were the worst. they were an unnatural, fiery red, and all-seeing. they were a window into the creature's soullessness, but not only that; it could see straight through your mind and soul, predicting your every move with uncanny accuracy and hunting you down for life.

and there it would lurk, a haunting presence in a realm of decay, the dense foliage of the wyrmwood welcoming it warmly. it was said that it was waiting for something—for someone—and it would search to the ends of the earth until it found them.


[ 317 words ]



prompt: character - writing
fable: melui (featuring aella)
entry:


melui had always been bad with emotions. it was something she'd grown to accept, over time, something she'd learned to live with. it wasn't as if she'd had a choice.

but today? today it was hitting particularly hard. it'd been a year, now. an entire year's time apart, forced to stand as strong as she possibly could to try and keep her head above water. but it was a losing battle, really, against a swelling sea of distress.

she couldn't bear it.

and as stupid as it was, her first instinct was always to run to her other half. so that she did. to the marketplace she fled, clattering on cobblestones, fables staring after her as she wove through feyllune streets in a panicked blur, coming to a sliding stop before the stand she dreaded. the owner, off to the side, was immersed in a conversation with her friends, flowers framing her sleek figure like a portrait frame.

melui buried her nose in the flora as they looked over, busying herself, feeling their eyes burning into her back. a pause. someone approached from behind the counter. "... can i help you?"

her gaze snapped up at the sound. that voice, oh how she missed it. "i- um, i just... wanted to get some flowers, for a friend," she mumbled under her breath.

stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid—

but she'd looked. she'd seen her, acknowledged her, spoken to her..! even if that was all that ever came of it, it was worth it. it was worth every ounce of embarrassment, every drop of burning shame. she'd come every day if that was all it took to get her attention. every day.


[ 278 words ]

[Northstar.]

prompt: world - art / writing
entry:

In the beginning, there were 3 moons over Hessepeia - one in the eastern sky, one in the western sky, and the smallest moon hung over the middle of Hessepeia. The three moons were the balance and the continent prospered - the seas were calm, the land was bountiful. Cities sprung up, populations bloomed. Then the storms came - brutal thunderstorms covered the land from coast to coast for 100 days, spreading torrential rain, powerful tornadoes, and fierce lightning. The moons grew concerned for their people below. They did not know what to do and discussed amongst themselves as the days passed.

The smallest moon had an idea, a terrible, brilliant idea. The other two moons would never allow it, but the smallest moon had to do what he thought was best for the lives below.

The smallest moon made a decision and fell from the sky, piercing through the storms and creating a crater in the Portisa Mountain Range. The storms dispersed and sunlight shone over Hessepeia for the first time in 100 days. It was far too late. Cities were covered in mud and debris, fires spread across the lands, and the buildings slowly sunk under the earth. The old world was destroyed and it would be another 500 years before Fables settled in Hessepeia again.

This is the story told to young fables - of the moon's sacrifice, of the destruction of the storms, of the last people who lived in Hessepeia, and who's structures and cities are now found underground. And underground is dangerous. (254)


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


prompt: character - writing
fable: Delune
entry:

Delune's affection is earned through his stomach. A poorly made treat from a friend tastes even better than the same treat from a high end bakery. Delune appreciates the effort and the love put into cooking by his fellow fables. It's a talent he sorely lacks. Delune is a terrible cook and his go-to meals are usually from the inn or Grandma's, or the little bakery near the castle.

Delune gives affection by helping with little tasks - he often helps with the upkeep of his friend's gardens (he has a green thumb though he rarely uses it.) He's helped Grandma keep her rose bushes healthy and her wisteria tamed, and occasionally swings by the castle in the early morning to tend the mapmaker, Amal's, sad little plants. (He find Amal is terrible with plants from what he's seen, her ivy is always shriveled and ivy is easy.)

Delune also enjoys learning his friends hobbies - he's made a new friend with someone near the docks who juggles swords(some adventurer or other, and there's plenty of adventure in Hessepeia.) Delune is terrible at anything that includes coordination, so he failed at learning that for his friend. Delune, though, will attempt anything once. He enjoys sharing experiences with his loved ones, even if they're a failure. It's the journey that matters after all.

Now, if Delune really enjoys the company of another fable and values them highly, he will pull out all the stops. As in - he will pull out his precious flute and play them the mostly lovely, haunting music Hessepeia has ever heard. He's renowned in Falacar Capitol for his skills with the flute, though most don't know it's him as he plays in the dead of night. (287)

[rabbit...]

prompt: world - writing
entry:

The port cities are always thriving with life, trade, and chatter. The seagulls eagerly cry their demands to the wind while the waves rise higher to see what is happening on land. They are attracted to the sound of life and energy just as the Fables are. The market square feels like it is overflowing with wayfarers and eager patrons.

The port of Dimena is one of the largest as it draws Fables from around the continent. Yet when it only started out, it was a small fishing village known for its prized oil lamps. The fisheries collect the oil and fat reserves from the fish they catch to burn in iron wrought cages. It is tradition to carry these lanterns through the mountain pass with a red robe tied between members of the party.

It was said that the first village leader may have disturbed something as he watched the mountain pass. He would see lights weave in and out of the trees and wonder at what they may be. When he followed too closely, they vanished. The village thought nothing much about the lights, they may be someone else’s magic spell to guide their way or some such use. However, travellers started to go missing when they were traversing the paths at night. Not just that, they may reappear. The same, but different. They seem disoriented, incoherent and restless. It is typically not long after when they disappear for good. The ones that make it through the pass recall seeing lights a fair distance away but were also not sure what caused them.

The village leader was chilled at the thought. He provided suggestions, first pretend to be one of the lights, second keep a close eye on the group members, and third tie a rope to ensure none is spirited away from under their noses.

Fables were sound of mind after that. It is as such that Fables must carry lanterns when taking the pass to Dimena otherwise something might take hold of them to never return whole again.

prompt: character - art
fable: Elias
entry: Here - He loves his notes and bulletin board filled with connections that may or may not be true. It’s something to go try out!

[leopia]

prompt: character - writing
fable: royah
entry: expressions of love

royah shows others that she cares for them through spending quality time with them, setting aside an afternoon or multiple days if needed. she is always there for her friends, and loves to be relied upon. she especially enjoys providing acts of service for her loved ones, family and friends alike. she is a caretaker, a giver, and a lover at her core, and tries her best to make all who spend even some small amount of time with her feel welcome and comfortable; sometimes that may be through sharing some lemon tea and shortbread cookies, talking about life – the dreams and stresses, highs and lows of it all. sometimes, it’s through her magic. it’s not uncommon for those close to the mottled fable to find little totems in or around their dwelling places after a visit from royah; sleep sachets weaved from lavender and lyrebird feathers tied to bed posts; warding charms of twig and bone hung in entryways and fence gates; protection poppets of beads, flowers and string in the pockets of every coat. royah finds great joy in providing this care – as for what makes her feel most appreciated, the fawn enjoys receiving little gifts, but she is most demure. trinkets of any kind fill her with delight, but homemade snacks and handcrafted momentos in particular fill her with such emotion. they made that for her? though bashful, royah is sure to quietly gush over even the smallest gift for hours after receiving it. for those closest to her, those who know her heart, she also greatly enjoys platonic physical touch; holding hands, embraces and hugs and cuddles, especially under her magical security blanket? oh, yes, she’s quite fond of all these ~

[Woodchip]

prompt: world - art
entry:
A visual of one of the first recorded human and fable interactions. A curious traveller, who was in awe of the large creature in front of them, offered a few berries they picked as a small peace offering. The fable took interest in this creature. This event marked the beginning of a long and prosperous relationship between the two races.


prompt: character - art
fable: Ištaran & Nirah
entry:
They love taking naps laying down in the grass on cool, but sunny days during late spring.

[knickknacks]

prompt: world - writing
entry:

It is said that, once, all beings in the world were built of flesh and blood and bone.

Nearly all fables grow up knowing this tale, but take it more as a child’s story than the truth of their origin. Most go their whole lives thinking it as such- and a few curious souls circle back around to study that foal-tale, to see if there is truth in it yet.

It is hard, it turns out, to find proof of such a legend. It would have been so long ago, and no records exist, but-

-the stories say that all creatures that walked and swam and flew were once clad in fur and feather: ancestral fables, and all others like them. They lived and died and ate and drank and lived in such cycles of death that after many, many years, nature itself looked on its creatures and felt a great horror. To save its creatures from such a cycle, it bid them leave their flesh and bone behind, and the animals of the world left their bodies behind. Now instead, the world is full of sprites- echoes of the creatures that came long before, carrying out a mimicry of their lives. Only that- they do not truly live, and cannot truly die. Only the fables remained in their physical forms, destined to watch over the new cycle of nature.

This is the story told to foals who ask, meant to explain why they cannot ever catch the wispy little butterflies they see, or why the wooden beast does not react if its leg were to crack. They take it as a wonder and do not question their role in it. But there are those who still study, seeking the answer to how living beasts became echoed sprites. Some seek the truth of the tale with hope, that one day fablekind will follow the same path of ascent. Some study the legend with trepidation, fearing what might become of them if they do. For sprites do not truly live, and cannot truly die.

[343 words]

prompt: character - writing
fable: kyrios [also mentioned- my struma and feverr's sylvaine]
entry:

When he was young, Kyrios only cared for the love of his mother.

It was hard to catch Struma’s eye, because she was so busy trying to catch the eyes of others. He saw the way that she preened under their stares, and so he preened under hers. He saw the way she showed him off, eager, bursting with pride at her brilliant young son- and so he puffed out his chest and fluffed his feathers and did his very best to be impressive, to fit the image she spun for others.

And after they were gone, Struma would smile at him. She was not often warm, but in those moments he would sink into her praise.

As he got older, Kyrios began to notice more.

He noticed the way Stuma tried to catch others’ eyes, and the dark look on her face when she did not. He noticed her disapproval when he did not play the part of her perfect young heir, when he talked for too long or smiled at the wrong person or said something she had not anticipated.

He noticed all these things and was disquieted by them- but still, he loved his mother.

And now- it is not just his mother.

Now there is the shopkeeper Sylvaine- a sibling, the spitting image of Struma. She says that he is the spitting image of hers, so there really is no room for doubt about their relation.

He did not feel immediately comfortable- her shop was cluttered, and not at all like the wide ornate spaces he was used to. She was both different from his mother, and so similar in small ways that Kyrios would find himself on edge without Sylvaine having done a thing at all.

Over time, though- he comes to look forward to her cluttered shop, to the way she pages through the books he brings, to being able to just sit and not worry about being anyone’s perfect heir. It is in all of these ways that he comes to love the sister he did not know he had. These, and one more.

The greatest way he tries to love Sylvaine is to keep her away from Struma.

[366 words]