[Alkene]

fable name: Kingfisher
music: Wasteland - Royal and the Serpent
about them:

The Beast slinks forward, every step calculated, as if thought out moments before. His mind is numb to his surroundings, eyes honed in on a hunched figure before him. As if a puppeteer steers him closer and closer to his doom, Kingfisher moves with glazed eyes and a mouth agape.

"Plea- Please don't hurt me," the injured man laying before him stammers.

There is no answer from the equine creature.

Instead, Kingfisher continues his graceful approach, head lowering to look at this man face-to-face.

A burning sensation stirs him even closer, as if he had no other choice. He grunts in pain, mouth opening wider as he feels a small piece of his soul being sucked out from deep within. A bright blue mist escaped Kingfisher and is funneled into the wounded man.

Suddenly, the deep gash across the man's thigh closes underneath his shredded trousers. The only trace of evidence left was dried blood.

Kingfisher breaks out of his trance, wheezing and sputtering for air.

Recipient number 31. One step closer to salvation.

He spares only a quick glance back at his soul's receiver and silently leaves the way he came.

"W-Wait....Please?"

Kingfisher can hear the wonder and confusion in the man's voice, but he continues his trek back home -- back to her. The sooner he got back, the sooner he knew she was safe and still snoozing within the hollowed tree he had left her in.

The burning in his chest returned, only this time, the pain rises to a crescendo and causes his steps to falter. The muscle above his right knee sears and stings unbearably. He nearly collapses right there, but forces himself to keep thinking of the child back home.

Behind him, the healed man is mortified at the sight, but Kingfisher doesn't bat an eye when one of his wings molts all of its feathers and morphs into a more devilish form. He certainly feels the pain of his skin tightening and changing, but this did not come to him as a surprise.

Another piece of him, gone.

And one by one, his features will eventually change into a cursed form, turning him into a true beast.

—

Eons ago, Kingfisher was a human prince who attempted to steal a high-fae’s powers in order to slay a rival. Instead of death, the fae punished his selfishness with an agonizing proposition. The terms were simple:

Whoever is suffering within your path, you must give up some of your life-force to heal their pain. With every exchange, you will become less and less like yourself and feel what they suffer from, ultimately becoming a gnarled beast. When all is said and done, you will ascend and be rewarded a peaceful slumber.

While the prince played along for a little while, every exchange left him gasping and wishing for a quick conclusion, but the fae kept tabs and did not let him out of her clutches.

Now the chimera roams a dystopian wasteland, a war waging within himself as he tries to figure out which path is more worthy: racing to the finish line, or finding a loop hole.

While the world is marred with ugly scars, he’s seen the wonders hidden beneath — animals playing, lovers finding solace in quiet villages, and a dainty fae child, who sees the good in even the ugliest creatures such as himself.

She is bashful, soft, and oblivious to the world — the complete opposite. And yet, when faced with this patchwork horse with an unruly temper and chaotic episodes, she gravitates towards protecting him with every little bone in her body.

Yes, this small child is the reason why he continues to question which path he wants to take.

She has no one but him, and he has no one but her.

[☼ morgana]

fable name: Merlin
music: mr. fox in the fields - alexandre desplat
about them:



Journal Entry #479 \\ Date: Minden, Year 6:13, 3rd Moon \\

Dear Diary,
Being a wizard has it's ups and downs, and I look the way I do because of a magical mishap or intentional one - aka - the ups and downs aforementioned. Today was the most ups and downs I've ever had, but my were they fun! I've never looked so interesting! Allow me to explain what happened, dearest of diaries...!

I am Arthurian's only wizard, so a lot of folks come to me for spells, brews, quest items, you name it. Once, even the King of Arthurian sought out my brews! That's a story for another time, of course, lest I get distracted and don't tell you today's relishing tale! Where was I? Oh yes! Because I'm the only wizard, many often refer to me as the legendary sorcerer, but, heh, well, just look at me!

Today, my first customer was a fable named Saturn - gosh, what a trifle it is to be named after a day of the week! At least it's the first day of the weekend! Anywho, where was I? Oh yes! Saturn came in because she discovered that one of her wings were irreprehensibly itchy! Is that how that word is used? Regardless, you get the point! Her left wing was itchy and it would not stop!

"I'm no doctor, you know," I told her. She nodded in reply. How silly of my old friend.

"I know it. I've been - to the doctor I mean! There's no lumps, bumps, hives or bites of any kind!" she stated, frustrated.

"May I?" I asked, gesturing to her wing that itched. She nodded and outstretched it. I very gently nudged it with my nose to feel out her ley lines. In my vision I saw each ley line working through her body - those that were aligned correctly glowed a subtle blue; her itchy wing ley lines were an intense red.

"I diagnose you with ley line fever. Now, don't panic," I started, meeting her gaze. She didn't reply, only listened. "I can brew up a potion that will put your ley line's back on track. Have you noticed that on top of being itchy, your wing feels oddly warmer then the rest of your body?" I asked her. She nodded.

"Well, don't let me keep you - I'll get the brew done in just a moment," I strode over to my cauldron, her eyes following me as I worked. Putting in this and that, the pot boiled and bubbled, a flash of light filled the room. In a moment of shock, all I could do was blink and let out a sneeze, before I heart Saturn stifle a giggle.

"Sorry," she said, smiling. "It's just that... well... your wing?" she pointed with a hoof. I looked down to see a newly minted bat wing instead of my usual feathered. Oh. Oh! How neat!

"How fun is that!" I said jovially, meeting her gaze. She let out a raspy, high pitched giggle. For a moment we laughed together, and I added one final ingredient to the potion, the bubbles softening and slowing. Into a teacup I poured the mix, offering it to her.

Saturn took a sip and immediately relaxed, her condition visibly changing her body language as it soothed her ley lines.

"Oh my, thank you, Merlin! You're as wonderful as they say!" she said, gleefully. "What do I owe you?" she asked, eyeing me. I opened my mouth to answer before she interrupted me. "And you can't say nothing!" I closed my jaw bewildered and thought for a moment.

"A game of chess sometime next week? I hear you're awful good!" I inquired, smiling at her.

"You'll lose, like always," she huffed, smirking. I returned her smirk as I bottled up more of the potion for her, corking it and sealing it with wax.

"That's fine by me. Here, in case that insatiable itch comes back." I said, handing her the bottle. "I'll see you next week," I added playfully. She smiled and thanked me again as she turned to left.

The shop was quiet for naught a moment before my next customer came in. And a royal guard! The captain no less! I had heard she was stunning, but seeing her literally give off light as she entered was a sight indeed.

"Captain Amalthea, ma'am. What can I do for you?" I asked as she stepped into the space. Unlike Saturn, Amalthea was named after a very special legend, of one who drove back a red bull so fierce it dared steal away all unicorns. I've, uh, have always had a bit of a crush on the Captain, you see. She lives up to her namesake well.

"Merlin, great wizard sir," she said cordially, her stunning hazel eyes meeting mine. "I appear to be, well, I'm too bright!" she proclaimed, a light stomp of her hoof on the hardwood.

"You want me to... quell your vibrancy?" I asked questioningly. "And who said you were too bright?"

"My ... former partner, Minden, said that I... shine too brightly. So... we broke up a while back because I didn't agree..." Amalthea admitted, her ears falling flat against her head in sadness. That was part of her ex's problem! He was named after a day of the week everyone hates! From what I can recall about him, he's an insufferable brat who got his position through his rich father. Nepotism. Need I say more? Where was I? Oh yes!

"Any who wish to dim your radiance are simply jealous, my dear," I said earnestly, once more meeting her hazel gaze. Her eyes lit up, a subtle blush arose on her cheeks. Oh! I... quite liked that. I don't think I'll need to make her a potion, but maybe some cheering up is in order?

"You astonish me, wizard - finding the most unusual times for compliments." she replied, giggling.

"My specialty. If you like, I can revel you in more," I offered, smiling at her. She blushed brighter.

"Merlin, you musn't!" she insisted, trying to hide her rosy cheeks with a hoof, giggling.

"I don't know, Amalthea, I think you deserve to know that your radiance is a joy to any who see it." I replied, smirking. She blushed even harder. "It's like you said yourself - you didn't agree with Minden saying you were too radiant. It's because you aren't. You fought your way into being Captain of the royal guard. You're a hero any young fable can aspire to! You're loving, compassionate, kind. So many shining traits for anyone to look up to. What I'm trying to say is - you don't need a brew to lessen your light. It would be a disservice to you, my lady." I met her gaze once more.

In her eyes now were tears and the flowed freely. "Thank you, Merlin. I needed to hear that..." she said, brushing away her tears with a stroke of a wing, folding it neatly back against her side. "Would you at least make me a potion to help me sleep a little more deeply?" she inquired after a moment.

"I'd be glad to," I said, striding over to my cauldron once more to get to work. With a little magic, it was empty, and I got to work on a fresh brew. Many ingredients later, the brew was nearly complete, and in another flash of light, it was ready. I blinked and sneezed once more. I've really got to stop leaning over my cauldron as my brew's near completion. Wouldn't you know it? Magic up the nose is just like inhaling pepper.

Blinking away the light spots in my vision, I heard a giggle lighter then air. Did my magic change my physical appearance once more? Why it did! My hooves were now a variety of different animals, but they didn't feel unnatural. How interesting!

"Don't you know that inhaling pure magic is like inhaling pepper?" Asked Amalthea through giggles. I laughed with her as I bottled up her potion.

"You'd think I'd learn after all my years not to lean over my cauldron all the time!" I replied with a hearty chuckle. "Here's a month's worth of potion. Just a sip will do each night before bed." I instructed her. She tucked the bottle under her wing.

"What do I owe you?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Dinner with you perhaps?" I asked. Go me. That was smooth. I watched as a blush rose to her cheeks in realization.

"I'd like that very much, Merlin. Thank you, and I'll be by this evening to collect you." Amalthea said, smiling. Now it my turn for my face to turn beet red.

"S-sounds lovely!" I said, stumbling over my words. She giggled and nodded, turning to leave.

"Oh, and thank you again, for telling me all that. I needed to hear it." she said, pausing her steps in the doorway one last time. I nodded to her, beaming at her.

And that, dear diary, is not only how my body was changed, but my heart too. Dinner together went splendidly, and we've another date coming up soon! Oh, you probably want to know about the horns don't you? Well, that was actually the first change my magic made to my body, when the King sought out my brews. I really must stop leaning over my cauldron! I bet it's me inhaling magic that changes my body.

That's all for today diary. I'll see you again tomorrow!

[leopia]

fable name: calamity

music: [ feist ost - particularly 1 - 6, and especially 9]

about them: calamity has never quite fit in.

he is unlike others, an amalgamation of unknown making, and has always been somewhat avoided for his strangeness.

so, this life has been a lonely one.

he can barely recall the well-spring nursery from which he drew life, the soft birdsong that welcomed him into the world. but, as for the fable responsible for him, he has no memory. he has simply always been... alone. for many years, he held a deep-seated thorn of bitterness in his heart for his maker -- for how could they create such an abomination and then leave it to fend for itself? nature knew not what to do with him, and neither did he. the woods were often silent as he wept, offering no solace apart from the rustling leaves. however, as he has aged, watching the seasons change in his solitude, learning the lessons of the forest, his resentment has tempered into grim understanding. he was made, and therefore meant, to be alone.

he named himself after what he believed must be his birthright.

he has wandered for an age, finding purpose in caring for small woodland creatures and living for the joy of music and magic. his abilities manifested some time ago, an affinity for vibration and sound, manipulating air and pressure and energy to create synchronizing waves. birds seemed to follow him, after all, and he would sing and play the pan flute for those brave enough to listen. he also took well to divination, and if ever he could surmount his inability to associate with others, he might make a fine fortune-teller. still, melancholy seems to live indefinitely behind his crimson eyes; those not immediately off-put by his mismatched form usually flee from the creature's haunting gaze, as it studies and reads them incredulously. living on the fringes of most fable societies has taught him to observe, and to commit to memory every minute detail. solemn and unaware, he has no social graces, for he never learned, and though he speaks with an ancient tongue, there is little wisdom to be shared, as he fumbles over awkward silences with curt and indelicate words.

at his core, he longs for connection and kinship, one day.
he watches, and he waits, and perhaps sometimes, some nights, he prays, for a friend.

border

[BelieverInChrist]

fable name: Ezri

music: The Gathering of Deer - Black Hill + Archmage, Goatherd - Louie Zong

about her:

Stats
- Diet: Vegetarian
- Height: 13 hands (1.32 m) at the shoulder
- Weight: 348 lbs / 158 kg
- Gender: Female

Current Life:
Ezri lives amongst a band of traveling harpies, unable to find lasting company with anyone else so far. They are kinder than any outsider would have led her to believe, and have taught her a great deal about botany and scavenging for food. She helps them rob travelers when the need arises, but they usually do well enough by living off the land and migrating with resources.

She can keep up with them in flight, for the most part, as long as they’re not traveling very long distances. The time may come when she can no longer keep pace with them in the air, and she has already started considering what her choice must be then. Would they wait for her, if she tried to catch up on foot?

Origins:
Before finding a home amongst the harpies, she wandered alone for an untold time. She knows her mother was the golden-horned hind of legend, the very same which Hercules once set out to hunt. She did not know her mother very well. A hind must always be on the move, and keeping foals around presents its own difficulties. Her father is a total unknown. She has no wish to locate or even identify him.

Other:
- Ezri hopes, secretly, that she might encounter one of her siblings or half-siblings someday (if they exist.) Despite her lack of interest in her parents, she suspects that if she has any siblings out in the wide world, those individuals might understand her with more sympathy. Her wanderings may bring her wish to her; we’ve yet to see.
- She has a natural tolerance for a specific type of poison berries, which she discovered by accident. Among the harpies, she was informed never to consume any part of the Nightshade plant. She’d already been eating the black berries of this plant since foalhood, unaware of their classification, with no ill effects.
- However, the more she learns about botany, the more afraid she is to test this poison resistance on other berries…
- She is grateful to have friends who are taking an interest in her “education,” as most of her learning so far has been through solitary trial and error.
- She has been mistaken for a classical chimera by many traveling poets. She figures she may as well call herself one, at this point. She has never met a “real” one.
- Other creatures tend to feel neutral towards her. She doesn't attract much attention from wildlife, especially since she doesn't smell very strongly of anything. She's startled more than a few grazing deer or wild goats by happening upon them suddenly.
- Her coloring makes her well-suited to camouflage underwater. The harpies have tried to suggest she use this to her advantage in ambushing hapless travelers, but she has a great fear of the water, and cannot be persuaded. Water is the only thing she fears.
- She only sheds her antler on a yearly basis. The curved horn is permanent, and she worries that it looks a little silly without its companion in the wintertime.
- Her bones are honeycombed, like a bird. (Curiously, this makes it harder for her to sink in water, so her fear comes from something more instinctive and primal than a paranoia about drowning.)
- Being overly-cautious has made her a rather solitary creature in the past. But, it’s also preserved her from harm, and there’s a sense of childlike sweetness beneath her quiet and tentative exterior.

[this entry is complete]

[Evils]

fable name:
music:
about them:

WIP!! MY LOVE

[Echos]

fable name:
music: ress soul sanctum - hollow knight
about them:

[EchoIre]

mark!!

[molotov]

fable name: Viceversa
music: dance of pales - castlevania
about them:
xxxxxx Short story.
“What might you be?”

If Vice had an apple for every time he heard such a preposterous inquiry, he might as well have had an orchard. A dangerous notion to provide one so bent on sparking mischief with a fruit capable of starting wars, or so the myths foretold.

“A question of rarity!” Vice exclaimed nevertheless, his words doused in cryptic irony as they often were. His mismatched wings flapping eagerly, and his lips parted in a Cheshire grin as though he held the answer, though if he did, it never left his mouth. Instead, an awkward silence followed, prolonged and tailor made to make the curious stranger sheepish for daring to utter such words. Nothing but the mismatched beat of leather and feathers sounded in what should’ve been an impossibility to hover.

The questioner’s ears pricked in anticipation for a clear distinction, then dropped when she received nothing within the expected time limit of fable social standards.

“I art thou.”

All at once, in the bat of an eye, the beat of a heart, his form mirrored the one who faced him as though he had assumed her very reflection. The fable spooked with a yelp of horror, dashing off from whence she came as though the very devil were nipping at her tail. Vice merely stared, his features shifting back to their former glory with a shake of his hide, as though shaking off a could have dust, then huffing with mock offense, he cocked his head. “Goodness, what a rude way to end a conversation,” he snorted, pausing again. “Perhaps, my jest was in ill taste?” He stroked his beard with his draconic claws, then rose his shoulders in a shrug of indifference, “Certainly not I! tis a lesson to mind one’s manners before uttering such inquiry, I see no fault.” He purred, enjoying the sound of his own voice as he strolled along.

Off he went, ignoring the distant screams in favor for the pleasantness of his own mind, occupied in the delight of former thoughts of fruit and disarray.

xxxxxx Other information.
- Vice is a shape shifting spirit born of mischief and mirth, whose memory of his original form was lost with age. He now assumes a mismatched form of which he thoroughly embraces with both pride and humor.
- Vice is good natured at heart, though that doesn’t stop him from causing trouble whenever the opportunity presents itself, he likes to keep fables guessing and often maintains an enigmatic and mannerly disposition that contradicts his thirst for trouble.
- He has a naturally sarcastic voice, possessing ambiguity in the sense it can’t be differentiated as either male or female. Like his body, his true voice has been lost.
- Vice has an avid fascination in myths and legends, and studies the beasts of bygone in his spare time, often assuming forms that mirror these interests and their depictions within the tales he hears and the features he still remembers.
- A story teller at heart, Vice, in the times he occupies the company of others, finds great joy in the exchange of epic stories and ancient tales. Fables of all ages gather and delight in his ability to preform alongside his narratives, assuming the form of his characters gives all viewers quite the immersive experience!
- He is otherwise distant, and favors the company of himself over others, a desire brought by his ancient age, to spare his mind from the torment of another treasure lost to time. Still, the value of time well spent had yet to leave him, and the drive to keep sprints high and bring mirth and mischief to the world presses onward.
- Vice is a terrible singer, this doesn’t perturb him from singing at every opportunity available. Most assess this as the desire to be annoying, though in truth it simply helps him keep the memory of past alive in the younger generations to come, inspiring inspiration and muse to create better sounding songs. His image of this is far more grandiose than reality.

[koegami]

Mark!

Orion for the name c;

[DarkestWerewolf]

Mark