[tigressa]

WHAT IS A BLEUB?

Bleubs are a species of felid-like and almost gecko-like creatures known for walking like a kangaroo. Their key characteristic is their softer more fleshy underbellies and noses (think peach fuzz). They have small fat tongues that are extremely sticky and are used for grabbing berries and nuts from trees and bushes. Their tails and back legs are extremely strong and they are very nimble in maneuvering tough terrain. Very friendly and loved for their soft fur and skin, Bleubs have been growing in popularity and people have encouraged the spread of their adoption.

Hey!! Look it’s my first adopt as trial artist aa I’m so excited to be here!!
Day 9 will be here soon but for now........

This bleub acquired a kingdom that is in disarray. What is/are the issue(s) and how do they fix them?

Code: Select all

[b]Username:[/b]
[b]Name:[/b]
[b]Issue(s) with the Kingdom:[/b] 500 words max
[b]How do they fix it?:[/b] 500 words max

Ends Christmas Eve (December 24th, 2018) @ 11:59 PM EST
- no extras
- prettying up the form is fine & won’t affect judging but keep in mind that I’m on iPad lol - so sometimes formatting is wonky

Edits:
very common // pupil edits (none)
common // fur edits (neck), different shape of fleshy underside
uncommon // hair edits (below jawline)

[hiraeth + hound]

nvm, gotta drop, gl to everyone else though!!

[_silentsiren_]

Username: _silentsiren_
Name: Saint Nic
Issue(s) with the Kingdom: 500 words max
How do they fix it?: 500 words max

oh my GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD

[FluffyBirdie]

Username: FluffyBirdie
Name: Cyth Cadeyrn
Issue(s) with the Kingdom:

Third day of the Febuen month. Early morning. Hunting accident.
Twenty-first day of the Juno month. Noon. Falling.
Seventeenth day of the Septimo month. Midnight. Robbery.
The young prince grew up in a kingdom plagued by fear of these notes, small slips of paper that determined the day a person died and how. There was no set date for when it appeared: some received it almost 12 months before, some on the day written. The deaths were seemingly unavoidable; those that had a predicted death by falling avoided ledges, or refused to get out of bed, but the roof would collapse on them. Others refused to hunt, but a hunting dog would turn feral, or a horse kicks off its rider to run over the cursed man. A hunting accident, theoretically. Falling 'of the roof', technically. These deaths, fated in beautiful cursive, were set in stone.

King Faldor Cadeyrn, the ruler at the time, was torn between solving the issue and letting it be. For they all knew the cause: the city and the royal family had angered the God of Fate, and he has decreed that all members of the kingdom would experience knowing the future. It would be difficult to mend their relationship with the God, but it was doable. Yet many wished against solving it. After all, knowing their death date meant they could make amends, wrap up business deals, make peace with themselves and their family on the days before. There was no fear of death, once knowing its inevitability, and there was, in some strange way, comfort, in having such a determined date.

Prince Cyth, having grown up with these notes fluttering around the city, was content with them. He saw the positives of these notes and guessed he would feel comfort as well when his note appeared. But he never thought of how he would feel when his father's date arrived.

Eighth day of the Novouen month. Midday. Poisoning.

It arrived on the first day of the Novouen. 7 days before the foretold date. In a week, the prince witnessed his proud, willful and stubborn father wither into a mild, resigned man. From a force to be reckoned to into someone who has lost all energy and will to live. The kingdom was treating him as if he was already dead, grieving and making preparations for his burial. King Faldor passed without any fanfare or outrage, though his death was far too early, and he had done so much.

The experience changed him completely. He suddenly saw only negatives of the 'blessing', saw that the entire kingdom was lifeless. Why do more, when your death is due? The people who had received notes were treated as the living dead; their friends only gave consolidations, jokes were abandoned, future plans canceled. Cyth suddenly hated everything about the papers, the knowledge of the future, and left the kingdom in the care of a regent, to seek the God of Fate and undo the curse.

[500 / 500]

How do they fix it?:

Asking the God's priests would not be enough. Cyth wanted to meet the God at his great temple, to demonstrate his willingness and determination. Although part of the blame laid on the people, he knew the curse stemmed from his ancestor's greed for knowledge, so he wanted to leave his people out of whatever bargain he might make; it was his family's fault, and his role to fix it. His people had suffered enough.

It took a month for him to reach the mountains where the temples of Gods and Goddesses stood, riding across vast plains on his fastest horses. The prince -- now king -- went alone; a convoy would only slow him down, and the longer it took, the more the people suffered. He had a sense as well, that God of Fate was watching him, and wouldn't allow harm to come to him. Blind faith it may be, but he was willing to throw away everything he had, including his life, to have the curse lifted.

It took a week to climb the mountain; the path was rougher than he remembered when his father brought him here to pay homage. Sensing it was a test, he continued to climb relentlessly, having shed his royal garments as they snagged on the jagged rocks. He was near collapse when he finally reached the pristine temple, having rested little and bearing many wounds from cuts and scrapes. Yet he strode into the main chamber of the temple with the regality of a king, his expression revealing no hint of pain or exhaustion. It was not the right weakness to show the God; Cyth was sure the deity would only laugh if he stumbled in, wincing.

The king stopped before a great statue and knelt, rehearsing his speech one last time before he spoke. But the God spoke first.
"I know your proposal, and I have some amendments. The curse will be lifted; I cannot make those who already know forget, but no more warnings will arrive, from this day on. But this curse will die with you, for your ancestors have wronged me greatly, and justice must be served. You will know the day and method of your own death, as well as all events set to occur until then. You cannot speak of these visions; you can only watch them happen as I have foretold. Your family wished for knowledge; am I not generous in giving it?" The God of Fate paused here, watching for a response, but Cyth was silent, his head bowed and face blank. Laughter is heard, before the deity continued. "Do you accept this judgment?"
"Yes."
"Then it is done."

The kingdom and its people were free. Only their king was cursed, but no one knew, and though many rejoyced, there was a great backlash against the new king, for making a decision without including the opinions of the people. Rebellion rose, and the kingdom again fell into disarray.

But Cyth knew this, and knows its ending.

[500 / 500]

[lysander]

x

　


lysander • i s a i a h • male

────────────────────────────────────────────────────

This is the kingdom of the night— the sleepless, the dreamers, the lost.
With walls as white as pearl and pillars to hold up the night sky.
This is your home, hanging high from a canopy of stars.

Inside, a hundred halls lined with a thousand doors. Each one the gateway to a heart unknown to you— something so tender, so raw, only you, the prince of this place, hold the key. A precious treasure made your ward, under your careful watch in a castle where no sound escapes.

It's always so quiet. No servants to tend. No family to hold. You are a being created for the sole purpose of guarding this kingdom, borne or wrought from an unseen hand with no mortal warmth.

It's lonely here.

Sometimes you find yourself staring into the grand chalice— a fountain, a grail of yearning. Every drop a wish and every wish spoken like a lover's a bedside, or a mother's sweet lullaby. It's so warm, you think. Mortals made of flesh and blood, with hearts beating beating beating with the force of life— truly alive. You watch from your castle as the world turns below, gazing into the chalice's glimmering depths— and you wonder what it would take to join them. A mere passing fancy, of course. After all, how could artificial life betray its purpose?

Purpose. What a strange word.


When you were created, three laws were engraved on your throne:

  Thou shall not touch the chalice waters.
  Thou shall not open any door.
  Thou shall not leave.

When you were younger, you searched aimlessly for the palace entrance. An action so contrary to your purpose, yet, something drove you forward. Be it will, desire? You didn't know. All you knew was that the labyrinthine halls of your home were unyielding and endless.

Eventually, you gave up. You took your place at the throne and, for thousands of years, watched the world's dreamers through myriad mirrors lining your chamber.

One day, while you were cleaning, one fell and broke. Shattered. Into pieces.
You bent to pick up the shards, but in the frame was one last piece reflecting a familiar light.
Reflected in the glass was the fountain. The grand chalice. The key at your hip swings like a pendulum.

Something clicks in your head.
And slowly, slowly,
with baited breath and trepidation,
you walk.

closer,

 closer,

  peer into the waters,

   then dive in.


at the bottom lies a door.


\\\




Years pass. You don't know how many. All you know is that, from the very first moment you left the palace, everything changed. You opened your eyes from a world of darkness to find yourself in the arms of a mother. Someone unknown to you, yet someone you could feel the pulsing heart of, beating with you, for you.

You were their child. With every memory of the palace intact.
Your wish was granted after all.

From that day, you lived as a mortal, a changeling child whose body did not reflect the ancient mind that resided within it. They called you Isaiah. A name that was not your own, yet fit like a worn glove. When you were created, you were given no name— merely the title of dream keeper. You didn't need a name to do your duty.

And yet, this small token of warmth, these three simple syllables meant the world to you. Because, in all the world, no one would say them the way your mortal mother did.


One day, you found her standing beside a wishing well. These, you knew well— one way pipelines to the chalice in your castle. Every wish supplied it with its contents.

It takes a moment for you to realize she's crying. Tears fall into the depths.

Mother, what's wrong?

But she merely smiles, shakes her head.
Clasped in her hand is the locket with her husband's face tucked into its center. A wartime casualty before you were born. You hear her sobbing at night, unable to sleep, plagued by nightmares of his death. And they only get worse— her pallid visage growing older by the day, dark circles forming underneath her eyes.

You know what this is. The palace is in disrepair. It needs its keeper.

Every moment spent amongst the mortals was a gift you didn't deserve.
Every laugh, every tear, happiness and sadness in equal measure— you understand now why you were meant to protect it all, why you were born, alone, in a palace so far up above.

So perhaps it's time to right this wrong.


You visit the well again, when she isn't watching
climbing onto the rim and peering into the darkness below
then, you toss in a coin,

 make

  a

   wish,

    and dive
     into light.


(did you have this key with you before?

no matter.

the lock turns.)


   Welcome home, keeper.

[triplethesix]

possible mark

Username: jughead jones
Name:
Issue(s) with the Kingdom:
How do they fix it?:

[trans]

res mybe :3c

[vanilla bean.]

Username: uwu.
Name: Lord Farryn of the Liadon Family (Farryn)
Issue(s) with the Kingdom: The Curse:
A curse was placed on the Liadon family many moons ago that when the 1st child of the 3rd ruler was born, horrendous plagues would besiege the lands. Without fail, this cycle repeated, always bringing famine and suffering amongst the poor and rich alike.
How do they fix it?: The Cure:
The only way to reverse this curse was for the child to strip away their status and become one with those in poverty. While the suffering brought by the curse was wretched, it allowed for the nobles to remain humble, always keeping the plague within 3 generations. Because of this, the laws put in place by the Liadon family were always in benefit of ALL, and each plague forced new innovations and growth.


Big wip!! I just wanted to get a skeleton idea for what I wanna do, this guy is gorgeous

[vympyre]

markin' - very prettyyyy

[Ohpossums]

huuuuge res