[alphanea]

xxx.owner: - Caeleesi
xxx.fable name: - Cinder

full base: hearth + gargoyle
extras: extra wings (l bat)

is that a demon? whatever this is - it surely isn't a local face!

to win this fable, describe/visualise their homeland/where they came from - drawing the fable is not necessary if you opt to draw their homeland.

!! the design of the fable will be based on the winning prompt !!

no word/art limit - but keep in mind, short and to-the-point is preferred over long and meandering!
no AI-generated content should be used in forms!

you may include non-visual extras to your form (songs, connections, extra info, coding).

ends 15th>16th Jan. on rollover

[Reiemye]

fable name: Col
prompt: (516 words)

The Lost Isola

The Silence was an isola of vast, still lakes surrounded by dense fog that never fully lifted. The water was dark, deep, and so calm that it reflected the sky perfectly, creating the disorienting effect of endless space above and below. Those who lived there learned to navigate by sound rather than sight, since the fog obscured everything beyond a few body lengths.

It was quiet in a way other isolas weren't. Sound didn't carry properly: voices fell flat, hoofsteps muffled, even wing beats seemed absorbed by the air itself. The Others who made it home developed a culture around whispers and small gestures. Loud noises felt wrong there, intrusive, like shouting in a library.

The landscape was mostly water, broken by small islands of pale stone and silver-barked trees that grew horizontally as often as vertically, roots tangling into strange formations above ground. The trees never had leaves, just bare branches year-round, smooth and bone-white. They reflected in the still water like skeletal hands reaching both up and down simultaneously.

There was no sun visible through the fog, but light existed, diffuse, directionless, the same grey-white glow at all hours. Time felt different there. The Others claimed minutes and hours blurred together when every moment looked identical.

The settlements were small, built on the larger stone islands, clustered close for warmth and company in the endless fog. The Others there were fishers and writers, maintaining records carved into stone tablets that wouldn't rot in the damp air. The Silence's stillness made it perfect for preservation, for work that required absolute focus. The fog kept the world simple and contained.

Fable groups passed through occasionally, but never stayed long. The lack of wind made flying difficult. The disorienting reflections and muffled sound unsettled them. They'd come during hunts, take what they needed, and leave quickly. The Others didn't mind: fewer visits meant longer periods of undisturbed quiet.

Then the drift began. Slowly, so slowly that most didn't notice at first. The reflections in the lakes started showing places that weren't there. The fog began moving in patterns that defied any current. The islands shifted positions overnight. The trees grew in directions that weren't up or down or any recognizable orientation.

The Others started losing time. Hours would pass in what felt like minutes. Sleep became difficult, then impossible. The ground felt temporary underfoot, like it might dissolve while they rested.

The settlements vanished. Boats were loaded with stone tablets, supplies, families. They rowed through fog, leaving behind homes that had stood for generations. Within months, the Silence was empty of living beings.

Except Col. Being a construct, she was bound to the isola in ways the Others and Fables weren't. Created there, tied to it through whatever ancient magic or lost technology had made her. When the Silence drifted, she drifted with it.

Now it's lost. Drifting. Sometimes touching other isolas for brief moments before slipping back into the spaces between voids.

The Silence still exists. The stone settlements still stand, empty and fog-shrouded. The lakes still reflect impossible things.

It's just not entirely here anymore.

[thefunnyrabbid]

dropping out of this, sorry :,3

[roadkill.]

fable name:
prompt:

markkk

[ChxosAngxl]

fable name: Valerio
prompt: He comes from a country that exists on the edge of the sky...or at least other folk say that. His homeland is known as Veilreach, a smaller city from a kingdom called Skyborn Kingdom. Veilreach is known for its floating plateaus, drifting stone bridges and slow moving clouds. There is no true ground there...not really...only layers of suspended land with pale grass and curling crystals that chime softly whenever the wind is a bit stronger.
Veilreach is under perpetual twilight and a massive ringed moon hangs motionless high above, bathing everything in its lavender hue. Stars are visible even during the "day" and auroras are constantly seen across the sky.
Water falls upwards here...yup you read that right.
From vast lakes beneath the islands, glowing streams rise into the air and flow gently towards the plateaus. These inverted rivers spill into shallow pools, filling this city with mist.

Interesting facts:
-Gravity here is lighter and uneven, making things like rocks, plants...drift freely like balloons
-Veilreach is home to windrays (pale manta rays with swirling patterns), cloud jellies (light colored jellyfish that that light up when touched) and star moths (moths with star patterns that are drawn to crystal light)
-once every few decades, the moon aligns with the auroras causing, the islands to glow. This is called the Skywake and its when most fables migrate to the main island

[Shisou]

fable name: Ephialtes (Meaning nightmare in Greek)
prompt: Ephialtes hails from the realm of dreams or rather is trapped there now, a world set between the realm of the living and the dead a realm where dreamwalkers like he used to be tend to the dreams of other fables. The realm of dreams is a exact copy of the the waking/living realm with the exception of portals that lead to individual dreams of fables who are sleeping but to Ephialtes the realm of dreams is no longer that. What was once a beautiful place has become a dark twisted and decayed version of itself that's shadows watch your every move waiting to pull you into the dark. The sky's once purple and pink hued are now sky's of a black and red hue that crack with the sound of thunder. The realm of dreams forever changed for Ephialtes and every other dreamwalker once he and many others became nightmares.

[Ricocheted]

fable name: Koel
prompt:

Koel lives in the land of Dunhull a boring name for a futuristic landscape. He specifically lives in the city of Neotropolis, a glorified cesspool of filth and corruption. An overstimulated mess a color and advertisement that span the tall spires. Skyscrapers that tower over the less fortunate, and crime at every digitalized street corner.
This cyberpunk city is his home, and Koel couldn't leave even if he wanted too.
________________________

Extras

Now playing.....
My Only Chance and My Little Dark Age

Cyberpunk (Melodies)
by Daniel Corcoran
Cyberpunk melodies from a broken shell.
Fishing a crooked coin from the wishing well.
Slanted rooftops slash and burn.
How the trapezoid takes its turn.

Scaling heights beyond the skies.
Some are dark most are lies.
Miscalculation to the Nth degree.
All we really want will never be free.

Reality melds with fiction.
When it suffers from inproper diction.
The glass stained with blood and light.
Is it wrong because it's right?

We categorise our lack of society
With a gross abundance of impiety.
Never ill always well.
Cyberpunk melodies from a broken shell.

[kyeza]

fable name: helke ("ice" in quenya!)
prompt: a ghostly guardian lingers where the cold seeps into your bones and the wind buffets your mane. glaciers reach high up into the sky above, expanding as time flows on, much like the frigid water beneath them. a constant layer of snow blankets the shores of the winterrim and leave tracks from any unlucky enough to pass through. just barely visible in the distance, through the snowfall, are the peculiarly placed mountains that the fables of house soloron call home. they rest in a vaguely circular shape, jutting outwards from a central crater and its lone mountain pillar in the very middle. to the east, another mountain range calls, one in which the villagers of snowmelt reside.

a dragon's corpse lurks far below the frozen sea, a remnant of an era long lost—when fablekind were naught and creatures of flesh and blood ruled the lands. the only sprite life to be found here are snowbears and iceseals, and the occasional other sprite that wandered too far into the cold. wintercrest ferns offer warmth for passersby, melting away the ice and snow in a small radius surrounding them.

though magic runs throughout all of faerendell in leyline form, the magic here is different. it flows honey-thick, wild, and free; being part of the idyllwild—the term for the lands outside the bounds of faerendell—this region is largely untraveled, its magic untouched, untapped, and alive with power.

this icy, ghost-like guardian's goal is simple: protect the winterrim and its wild magic from fablekind itself.

[ylesia]

fable name: Samael
prompt: Soundtrack

It is said that the planet's fresh waters are inhabited by Naiads:
beneficial creatures with incredible healing powers.

Rapid streams splash their water on you when a humble stone obstructs their path.
Cold, icy, burning water.
You want to escape, but those figures — are they real?
Or are they a figment of your imagination, a rebellion of your spirit?

A desire to be healed?

Healed from the flames burning inside you?

The flames of your homeland, a proud land.
A land where rivers are not cold, but boiling hot.
Where vapours are not tiny droplets of water, but ash.

Where there are no beneficial healing creatures, instead...

[leopia]

fable name: raksha
prompt: Raksha makes their home in an ancient temple within the mountains of Avalon’s southern isles. Like their home, much of Raksha has withered with time. The dark stone pillars are weathered, battered constantly by the frosted, mountainous climate; much of the structure has worn to rubble, yet it still maintains a powerful and ominous presence. The skies churn constantly with dark storms at all hours, and the air hangs heavy and cool. The rocky ground slopes down into the basin below, the icy waters reflecting the storms above. A shroud of unholy gray mist clings low here, shifting and roiling as if it were a living thing, sneaking about between the disheveled stones. The only light that betrays any life persists here is the pale, sickly blue flames that burn in the hammered braziers lining the temple, tended to with care, though the memory of whatever god they once burned for has been lost. Still, Raksha remains in solemn vigil, guarding over the place they were born; carved from and bound to the hewn stone itself.