Holiday 

CAUSE THIS IS THRILLER | COSTUME PARTY

@[Andante] 10-20-2019 @ 02:02 PM
#1
Icebreaker

Andante

RankBaron
LevelFour
ClassBattle Magus
Gender & HeightStallion, 17.3hh
Age & Season3 Spring ✿
Crystals 770  ✦
WriterKagome, 132 posts
Everytime you try to forget who I am
I'll be right there to remind you again
It was that time of year, when the leaves began to change color and fall upon the ground to form a vivid blanket of warm leafy hues. Ever since moving to Kur it made the dark hellhound appreciate the way the seasons looked just a little more outside of the frosty region. It was often hard to tell which season they were in given the more than generous amount of ice and snow surrounding them constantly.

Crimson hooves clacked against the frozen ground as he returned with a caravan of the final things needed for the little soiree he held planned for the evening. Halloween decor laced the inner workings of the crystalline castle. From paper bats hung meticulously from the ceilings, to multi tiered ice sculpted jack-o-lanterns glowing eerily in the dim lighting. An assortment of helloween themed treats laid upon several tables in a neat spread, accompanied by several choices of fine wines and other drinks. With the help of several commissioners within the city of bastion he was able to have music pour throughout the icy halls of Kur's elaborate castle.

Quietly he watched as the final preparations were made whilst adjusting several components of the costume he was wearing. Stepping toward a large slab of ice that acted as a full length body mirror he ran an invisible hand through the length of his sanguine locks, gelled backwards to give more of a vampire-esque look. A crimson vest with silver pinstripes clung to his muscular frame while a long dark and flowing ebony cape draped over his sides. With a deep sigh he turned towards the masses that were already beginning to pour in. Let the costume party begin.

---------

Halloween Costume Competition:
This competition is for anyone to participate in, not just members of Kur. All you have to do is describe the costume your character is wearing along with any accessories they might have. There will be two categories. Best costume for singles and then best costume for couples, but your character can only participate in one or the other. To assure all is fair the winners will be drawn through a random generator. Now onto the prizes!

1st Place:
- 150 crystals and a headshot by Kagome

2nd Place:
- 100 crystals or an item from the market of equal value

3rd Place:
- 50 crystals 

forsaken
@[Poppy] 10-22-2019 @ 01:10 AM
#2
Pathfinder

Poppy

RankPathfinder
LevelTwo
ClassMagister
Gender & HeightMare, 12hh
Age & Season6 Summer ☀︎
Crystals 20  ✦
WriterBane, 32 posts
There's a war inside my head
And i'm drowning in regret

A familiar shiver ran up the small fish's spine. With each step, the ice poked and prodded at her scaled hide. She wasn't entirely sure why she was here or what was even going on. Fearing the freeze would swallow her once more in the coming cold season, she left the water and scooped up rather abruptly by a group of excitable mares. She couldn't figure out what they were chattering about, speaking too fast for her to keep up most of the time, but their enthusiasm was contagious and she was easily brought along. Little did she know that they'd be leading towards the freeze, a land covering in ice and snow. It was as deathly haunting as it was beautiful. The women were adorning themselves in strange garbs as they continued in their foreign chatter, occasionally looking over at Poppy who had more or less followed them like a lost puppy. She began to pick up words they repeated and spoke a bit quizicly "Party?"

That seemed to finally get their attention, but more words were thrown at her that she didn't know. Kur? Halloween? Nothing was making sense, but they're faces made her think they were good things and just the expressions on their faces made her smile as well, nodding at them hoping to be included in what ever fun they spoke of. She caught onto a word that sounded familiar and her smile dropped slightly.

"Do you have a costume?" One of them asked as they all looked down at her small frame. That she understood, but she didn't. What would she need a costume for? Where they going to be performing?

"Nein, ich habe kein Kostüm." She said to a confused group who was now just as lost as she had been before she spoke again in a less confident tone, "No, no Costume." Well that simply was no good, not at all. And they couldn't allow her to attend a costume party with no costume! Not wanting to leave their new little friend behind, they all seemed more than eager to tackle this challenge and so they set to work transforming small Poppy into something entirely new.

When the time came for the party, they ushered in their makeshift master piece for all too see. Poppy's vibrant scales of amber and ivory were now covered in black fabrics. Some clinging tightly to her, accentuating her petite form, following the curves. Others, sheer black fabric with stars and constellations printed on them hung on her frame and draped off her. Tucked neatly on her head a large brimmed hat that seemed to perhaps once come to a point at the top, but now draped over. Dark, wine red flora was tucked gingerly on the hat, the subtle red only drawing out the reds and oranges of her scales out more.

The mares insisted she was a 'witch' what ever that was. In fact, many of the things hung around the castle interior as decor were new to her. She wasn't sure what any of this meant or what the celebration could possibly mean to the land walkers. None of it was making sense in her mind, but... it didn't have to make sense. Not everything had to make sense. Looking around as party goes began to pour in, she looked on with excitement. There were so many to talk to, to befriend. It was a welcomed change of pace from dodging boats. However, it seemed they were all dressed in strange costumes. None of which she knew the names of, though several looked to be dressed as monsters she'd never seen or even heard of before. This truly was a new world.

When the lights come down
Got an empty Crown


@[Euryale] 10-22-2019 @ 02:36 AM (This post was last modified: 10-22-2019 @ 04:44 AM by Euryale.)
#3

Euryale

RankPathfinder
LevelOne
ClassSorcerer
Gender & HeightMare, 16.1hh
Age & Season3 Winter ❅
Crystals 100  ✦
WriterIvy, 12 posts
my lover's got humour
she's the giggle at a funeral

winter beckons, wildly. its ragged zephyrs, pressing deep into the night; it breathes porcelain ruin against kur's castle walls, lending an ominous veil of beautiful deception against their frigid respite. its vampire caress, slips glacial fingers over the banshee's spine; the sharp kiss of arctic promise, shashaying along feral hips. descending, gracefully, against those wicked, crimson thighs as the whisper of snow, drifts - hush and wanton - tumbling, softly, over euryale's dark-kissed body.  in the winter chill, her lilac hair spills against her elegant collarbone; wild, stormy tendrils dusted in snow, gathering roughly across her feminine shoulders.  there is word across the street. conversations of an autumnal party, hosted in the heart of kur.  it's the rambunctious noise and light-filled interiors, that compels euryale to follow their music; the serenading bliss of pleasure, and ornate costumes, masquerading before this winter city.

euryale is a svelte figure, a lone wolf, bristling crimson heat against the voluminous crowd.  euryale is adorned in wildness. she has the taste of feral upon her lips and her skin smoulders with the fragrance of smokey earth and sweet, sensual jasmine.  she wears the garb of viking queens - her neck adorned in heavy, plush furs; bristling, with silk-strands of silver against the soft paleness of her breast. the wealth of supple, wolven fur glides smoothly across her spine; curving, darkly along her backline and ending just shy of her hips like a rugged, unkempt shawl.  eagle feathers weave into her hair, tugging wildly against her mane.  a halo of bone, dangles, sharply upon the crest of her nape; while her eyes smoulder, devilishly. oceans of fiery crimson, burning their heavenly allure against the khol-smear of obsidian war paint; how it darkens her gaze. cupping her feline eyes in a wealth of black, black curtain-lashes, that flutter in satin cresents.  smokily, dusting the higher curve of her ivory cheekbones, painting her a huntress of the night. a feral priestess of moonlight, bone and shadow - o, artemis.

silently, she enters the ice palace, ascending the polished stairwell; passing balconies, as their victorian marbles shine brightly, engulfed in all that wealthy splendor.  her shadow breathes along the frozen walls.  behind her, gothic candelabras wane their candlelight throughout the interior of the tundra palace. autumnal decor, filling the hallways in a sea of glowing lantern-lights, while glamourous patrons pour into the empty spaces of the dark citadel;  filling, the silence in a rancorous sea of music, beauty and ravenous laugher.  it's the seductive perfume of wine, liquor and spiced desserts, that deliberately coats the intoxicating atmosphere. the hot fragrance of cinnamon, vanilla and pumpkin spice, that wafts succulently between the warm bodies; pressing, sensually into the bewitching night.  her gaze passes over a tall, masculine figure, dressed in vampiric attire; the well-tailored suit of his adornment, suggesting a lord of authority; before skimming the petite figure of an amber-kissed maiden, who weaves gracefully like a witch.  euryale allows a soft smile to touch her lips, although the smile does not touch her eyes; instead, she reaches for a glass of wine, addressing the waiter with a smoky purr; maroon nectar, darkening her silky lips in their crimson sheen.  " - thank you."

the only heaven i'll be sent to
is when i'm alone with you

@[Iracebeth] 10-22-2019 @ 06:31 PM
#4

Iracebeth

RankIcebreaker
LevelTwo
ClassInfiltrator
Gender & HeightMare, 16.2hh
Age & Season4 Winter ❅
Crystals 480  ✦
WriterSoupi, 75 posts

Iracebeth

it's a new dawn, it's a new day

Never before did time seem to spin so quickly. The wheel just kept turning, turning, turning and Iracebeth found herself dizzy with the passing. It gathered and gathered, piling into a heap of undefinable days that illustrated itself with the new curves along abdomen. Hiding the growing life within would be hard fought, fed by the passage of time and the mounting excitement. When Andante had mentioned commented about his inclination to host a party of costume, masks, and autumnal affair Iracebeth was colored curious and thrilled by the prospect of elaborate draperies and sweet treats (the little one more so for the latter).

Within the span of hours she watched Kur's transformation. Warm, orange fires fostered within the ice palace and city offered a haunting but inviting glow through the azure structures. The lights danced with deep eldritch shadows as servants and friends busied themselves with the decorations. Two or three occasions she offered to help, but only once did a maiden find it agreeable to let the rounding Iracebeth actually provide assistance. Slowly silhouettes of bats and ghouls found themselves strung along the high beams of ice, gauzy webs draped with across their yawning length with elegance but also friction: would you be brave enough to slip beneath their phantasmal touch for the tray of sweets beyond? Masks and costumes blossomed on the faces of those she'd previously passed until finally she realized - a costume party! She needed a costume!

Elated, delighted, and with the small of cakes and pies wafting through the halls Iracebeth's gilt hooves clipped to the rhythm as she disappeared into the living quarters beyond the eyes of pathfinders. Once she passed Andante, skipping by with bubbling, buzzing thrill and only pausing long enough to offer the gentlest of pecks to his cheek before flitting off. But she noticed, oh she did - despite the dazy spell of a holiday mystifying and seducing her Iracebeth had seen the tell tale signs of a vampiric garb. Not as creative as some of the adornments she'd seen already she elected for a minimal guise for herself.

Upon her return the whining song of haunting strings led any stray party goers to the festivities and her lustrous flints followed thematic runners down the halls. Her silver hair was pumped and teased into curious volume with clips of gilt chiroptera, their eyes burning with rubine splendor when caught in the mood lighting. A kitchen girl helped her craft an illusion of a bite along her neck - risen and swollen with false pain, a dash of deep wine dripped along their ridges and neck to offer a bit of aromatic staining. To the suggestion of another youthful mare her age, they draped her in tattered and torn fabrics, hoping to illustrate the struggle of life against imminent, fanged death. It was more than she'd originally conspired but she was sure her conspicuous attempt to mirror her beloved's choice would garner a smile, if nothing else.

Always awkward in the overwhelming bustle of the real party, Iracebeth took to her usual place: along the outskirts, greedily watching those who thrived in the clamoring, beautiful chaos of an event. Already her lips broke with small gasps at the intricacy of costumes; furs and viking aesthetic draped along a crimson pelt and fine black fabrics wrapped tightly along a piebald with a tell-tale pointed hat. She grinned, body buzzing with inspiration as she blended into the background along the tables of artisan delicacies. Their matte frosting and glossy coatings enticed her, and as others started milling through the baroque ice palace she couldn't help but lip and nibble at a spiced pumpkin cookie.



TAGGED: n/a
WC: 611
MUSE: 3.5/5
OOC: idk if she can compete pairing her costume with the host but lets have fun regardless!



@[Erasmus] 10-24-2019 @ 10:27 PM (This post was last modified: 10-24-2019 @ 10:52 PM by Erasmus.)
#5

Erasmus

RankPathfinder
LevelOne
ClassBattle Magus
Gender & HeightStallion, 18hh
Age & Season3 Autumn ☁
Crystals 180  ✦
Writerraum, 7 posts
What's a mob to a king
What's a king to a god

The wind upon the great mountains of Kur waxes ethereal over its peaks; their jagged silhouettes sharp and gleaming in the backdrop of starlight, of phosphorescent lunar glow. When the gusts whip the snowfall from their highest crowns, it ushers a flurry far below, so that in frosting upon the tundra drifts the breeze like ashes softly downed. The frost webs along the tendrils of his mane, delicate flakes melted into the heat of his flesh. In the wintry icescape that stretches far beyond the horizon, Erasmus stands in the shadow of the towering temple spires, admiring the ocean that roars with briny overspray and carves caverns into the ancient glaciers. It is soft here, quiet here, while the commotion continues far behind him as guests arrive at the door of the Icebreakers. He is lost to their wares, though it was their warmth that persuaded him to join them, the musky smell of flesh that pitted his core with pangs of roving hunger. It was hard to know what he wants, yet – if it was the tender way that meat cleaved beneath his teeth, or the satisfaction in the way blood filled his mouth and warmed his throat, or perhaps the intimacy of the kill, the hunt entirely, a part of him that dreamed of hungry rifts and dying planets. Regardless he had followed them to the steps of the temple, stopped at the ice gate by a guard who asked him, “where is your costume?”

Erasmus, an archaic thing of shifting shadows and cosmic horror, did not know of such simple pleasures.

And so, turning away from the gate, his admirations fell on the eerie way the distant auroric lights danced over the turbulent waves of the encroaching sea, and if only for a moment, hunger was forgotten for another world. Into the tundra garden he slipped slick as kerosene, all rugged contours that possessed of them the wicked reflections of stellar fire; his cold shadow falls under the towering ice, drawing long and thin as a wisping haunt. And o, the phantasmagoric trace of his features as they rest, like the dormant carvings of a musing statue, on the tumultuous darkness of the frothing, arctic ocean.

But he was not supposed to be here, and a young guard was quick to spot his stretching shadow against the great northern white.

The boy had been left to patrolling the perimeter, driving out the trespassers and the neckers that hid along the outskirts of the castle. It was a demotion, he felt, after having failed an exercise on the training grounds that left him humiliated and scorned. “Hey!” His voice called over the waves, though it couldn't be certain for how long or what length he called after the gaunt haunt's brooding silhouette, the soft, boyish tenor lost to the rage of the deep black waters. Erasmus did not turn still, not more than the flick of an ear that slid back to catch the noise like a bird flit through the tangled boughs of a mangrove. Even as a “You!” cawed louder, closer, and even as he could feel the hot breath of “Are you... are you here for the costume party?” Still his eyes stead upon the ocean, its vast starpricked terra of untread night, of its myriad waves crested one over the other, the ebb and flow against the icy shore and the reaches at its unending brink. Did the ocean, too, dream of starless night? Did it dream of the cold of space, of the quiet there, the suspension of nothingness, of being?

“Of course not. You have no costume.” Erasmus's brow furrowed, and at last the star-stricken granite piece moved – gargoyle flesh rippling soft against hardened angles, the sharpness of his features narrowed to a point upon the boy. Costume? The guard fumbled when looked upon, caught odd by the way the man's eyes cut and delved deeper than flesh, hotter than flame. “Do you?” the arrogance in his voice doubles back over itself, something that isn't quite fear and isn't quite apprehension but dances along the line of both, tempting each facet with marvelous dissonance. The aether thing devoured whatever it was that cavorted there, that sense of denial, that heady pride that sought desperately to lather the bubbling of foreboding that crept up his spine. Costume? The heathen's mind roved over the thought of Kur's decorated guests, their cheeky outfits and morbid robes, the odd way their clothes did not fit their skin. A tendril of aether smoke slipped over the boy's tender features, and there, oh there, the dread poured in as blood in water.

The guard was dressed himself in nazgul robes, tattered cowl gathered about the clammy breadth of his nape. Its leathers whined as he moved softly away from the touch of aether, and a crackled voice returned with the battered ego, “Do we have a problem?” Ah, Erasmus sighed, prying fingers of aether smoke slipping through the dark, musty fabrics, brushing his dun skin lightly with the otherworldly hum that fell like waves, like torrents, like an impending storm. Ah, he breathes, pulling teasingly at the folds of black cloth, plucking the steel buckle on its leather belts. A costume, yes.Yes.” his voice is hot, bourbon smoke – it is so unusually smooth, baritone, so suave and patient that it catches the breath in the boy's throat for a moment, before a gulping second washes his quivering chest in hot, sinking wavelets of despair. Another step back, and the shadow of the spire falls across the boy, pinned to the white at the edge of his hooves. “You... need to leave.” every word clambers for its former heat, its gusto that cried from the peak of machismo, its conviction. But oh, the closing darkness of the ocean is all he sees, edged to edge with hungry, bone-white teeth. “Leave, now. Láta af!”

Erasmus grins, and it is a grin that is sharp and hot and blackened with a hunger the guard will never come to understand.
---------------------------------------------------------

The halls of the ice-kingdom rise up before its denizens as a temple of celestial grandeur – heavenly, in its lofty spires, in the immaculacy of its architecture. All its guests are bathed in an azurean glow, and it is a persisted atmosphere of such impeccable flawlessness, its cold long left at the welcoming doors. Here there is warmth in madness, in intimate throes of conversation and laughter that carry their echoes on high – up, up the spiraling steps, or out into the vast ballroom that swells with delicate classica; each nuance is victorian, is refined, is an art. Candlelight, the only dampener to the blue cast the diamond walls of the castle pulls, flickers softly from the corners, down the halls, and whispers from the bellies of jack-o-lanterns' icy leers. The smell of wine is faint, but it carries from citizen to citizen as they pass through the busied ballroom, mingled all too sweetly with the aromatic sway of perfume and confectioneries. All beneath lilts the gentle scent of spice, and the great castle of ice is warmer than ever. Warmth. Yes. their accomodations are set for their impassioned guests, for the sensuality endured, divulged in wanting procession – in closeness, in heat. The pleasant aromas do not leave nature undisclosed, and the salt of sweat permeates throughout.

The tattered cowl itches at the nape of his neck as he enters the ballroom, tentatively observing the mass of huddled bodies that saunter and sway, the tender curves of necks, of shoulders, the glistening whites of teeth and eyes and the hotness of entangled vein beneath all – oh but he is full, isn't he? His eyes rove to an approaching waitress and the way her smile falters (only slightly, slightly) before reclaiming its former brightness in addressing him. An ear flicks back the hood from his crown, and his lips curve ever amiably to receive her. (faintly, there is the distant drip, drop, but he has forgotten.) he does not just see her. There is the wide array that exists beyond her, above her, the celebratory drunkenness of their congregation alluding to a bliss of ignorance he has never yet had the pleasure of knowing. He allows it in, now, when she says, “My... quite the effects, sir. You had me fooled for a moment.” her voice is ever as soft and sweet as the ambiance around them, and when he is done deciphering the rhythm of her words and the plumpness of her lips he tilts his head. “Your costume. The blood, what is it?” Her eyes are as cold and blue as the world around them, but there is a warm curiosity in them, devoid of accusation. There is iron on his lips. On his tongue. It is cold now, but it is there, and he now realizes the distant sound of droplets is a small bead of red on the ground beneath his chin. Ah, yes. Another waiter passes by, silver platter clinking with crystal glasses of sloshing red. “Wine.

He thinks of something bone white on the ocean shore, but not quite as white as snow. It is almost pink and fragile, and there are rows of them. It is curious, how vibrant red can be when it settles on the stark wintry white, even in the dark of night. Would wine turn such an odd shade of vermillion? Would it sink to purple depths, pin drops of royal bordeaux?

Ah, but she is smiling again, that great tundra smile that is not nearly pink enough. “Would you like some more?” His tongue rolls behind his teeth, savoring a taste that is leather, salt, and metal. “Yes, please.” His voice is cordial, savvy, a feigned innocence that finds its flight with the theme – a reflection of her own, this cunning mirror fiend. And she eats it with naivety, with a benignity that would feel like falling should he attempt to emulate. So instead he allows her to turn her back before he laps his tongue across his lips, cleaning the dried ridge of red. Oh, but there is a stain that drips down the arch of his neck and mingles with the black gossamer fabric, a dark cabernet vein that runs over bronzed flesh, a small splash smeared across the gold on his shoulder. He allows the cowl to fall back over and waits patiently, black eyes devouring each silhouette that sways along the ridge of bodies.

What's a god to a non-believer
Who don't believe in anything


@[Dvalinn] 10-29-2019 @ 10:51 AM
#6

Dvalinn

RankPathfinder
LevelOne
ClassInfiltrator
Gender & HeightMare, 15hh
Age & Season3 Winter ❅
Crystals 15  ✦
Writerdee, 3 posts

in the lonely corridors of dvalinn's heart, there sprouted something new. fresh, and green; urged to split the divisive aches writhing there. something new, a yearning. some unnameable want that she'd no inclination to define. others might know it, for all it's simplicity.

it was a desire to belong, a soft-sweet song colliding against the deafening quiet of dvalinn's more reclusive nature.

not one borne of inherent want, but a need. a shield, poorly crafted. the rudiments of an un-clever child. with age, and the maturation of such unkind upbringing, something new needed to be made. and it was with that in mind she found herself at the breast of kur's manse. she approached it's atrium with building apprehension; regret forged deeply in her heart, regret and the flighty impulse to forget it.

her pallor suited the tundra; her figure lay stark against the pale, a contrast deepened by the aphotic cloak at her shoulders. from it rose thickened layers of black iridescence. this, held at her breast with her sapphire brooch. feather upon feather, creating a blanket of oil slick on starless skies. as they caught torchlight, they danced cerulean and perse shades, touched by the crimson cast offs of the warm lighting. at her sides, the cloak was held in a way to suggest wings--wings that dvalinn so dearly wished for. wings that may carry her in life as they did in dreams. at the end of her spine, woven into her clipped tail were others; longer, ornately placed as one might find tail-feathers on a bird. atop her head rested a crown, blackened spikes framed by a raven-esque fan. light, and catching the subtle breath of her movement they bobbed and swayed. her look was completed by its' keystone. the giveaway: a beak. it rested across her face, hanging low to cover her lips. a mask that, though black, was more matte than the gloss of her cloak and adornments. and while it brought her better comfort in joining society in celebrations, it served to complete her ravens' flair.

she strode past the guards, assuming as ever, with nothing more than a nod as she did. she stood at it's entrance way, dumbly taking in the gathering and feeling ever the intruder. a wallflower by society's doing, she moved towards the fringes of the great company, eyes cast low as she went in search of a place to stand.

clumsily, and beyond what felt good and natural, she was at odds with this gathering, and in being there. the throes of comfort shunned for a night, she wondered what it might bring. quickly then, she settled on a place, fighting off the desire to shudder and flee.

@[Storyteller] 10-29-2019 @ 10:51 AM (This post was last modified: 10-31-2019 @ 06:46 PM by Spoupi.)
#7
Moderator

Storyteller

RankFate
LevelVirtuoso
ClassEquine
Gender & HeightStallion, 10hh
Age & SeasonImmortal Spring ✿
Crystals 960  ✦
WriterNPC, 182 posts
Ooh, shiny! You have happened upon an Autumnal Ruby! All characters receive +1 event currency.
@[Bram] 10-31-2019 @ 02:13 PM
#8
Bonecarver

Bram

RankNoble
LevelOne
ClassBattle Magus
Gender & HeightStallion, 20hh
Age & Season0 Winter ❅
Crystals 70  ✦
WriterKiwi, 8 posts

bram

















Bram had been bothering Bones all day asking when they were leaving for the party. His undead status allowed him to not require sleep and so he had been up before dawn pestering his father. At first Bram had been unsure of what he wanted to go as but it had come to him. While some dressed up spooky and scary for the holiday, Bram had decided he wanted to go as someone he admired. (Even if he often acted like he was embarrassing and old.) He was pacing impatiently in costume while waiting for one of the Esentu guards to accompany him to Kur as his costume was a secret. Finally the guard stepped from the plumes of shadowy smoke. He was dressed like a knight in full plate armor which Bram thought was a little too on the nose. He could still see the insignia of Vromme etched into the shoulder plates that had been worn down through many years of use. "That's not a costume," he said flatly, rather disappointed at the lack of excitement from his guide.

"Let's go!" He shouted excitedly, his booming voice echoing in the vicinity as he turned and raced for Kur. One of the perks of reanimation was that he did not sweat, though one could not say the same for the armored guard tailing him. He raced across the rock and crag of Esentu before it would eventually give way to Kur. The chill of the snow was lost on him as he bounded through it excitedly, his teeth clattering together in excitement.

Eventually, Bram found his way to the party and entered the hall. He looked up and around in delight, a gasp falling from his lips...or lack thereof. "Wow." A few moments later the armored guard appeared, breathing heavily with wide eyes peeking from behind his face plate. Bram chose to ignore him and instead move forward into the party, excited to show off his costume.

It was completely hand made by the young noble himself, and he was quite proud of it. He wore a dark cloak that extended from just behind his ear all the way down to his tail. The edges were cut unevenly from the inky black fabric. Along the spine were pieces of white felt sewn along, much like a spine. Standing proudly atop his antlers sat all manner of black candles flickering with (unfortunately) red flames. His tail was wrapped in a dark bandage with pieces of felt tied around it to give the illusion of a long prehensile tail of bone. A small bit of hair stuck out at the end, painted blue. Bram had traded in the bones that he normally wore on his legs for a bandage wrapped around his left front leg with a few pretend bones poking out from the wrapped fabric.

  @[tagged] 

@[Storyteller] 10-31-2019 @ 02:13 PM (This post was last modified: 10-31-2019 @ 06:46 PM by Spoupi.)
#9
Moderator

Storyteller

RankFate
LevelVirtuoso
ClassEquine
Gender & HeightStallion, 10hh
Age & SeasonImmortal Spring ✿
Crystals 960  ✦
WriterNPC, 182 posts
Ooh, shiny! You have happened upon an Autumnal Ruby! All characters receive +1 event currency.
@[Bones] 10-31-2019 @ 06:40 PM
#10
Bonecarver

Bones

RankBaron
LevelThree
ClassSorcerer
Gender & HeightStallion, 19hh
Age & Season16 Winter ❅
Crystals 855  ✦
WriterKiwi, 65 posts


Bones of


Vromme


Normally Bones would not have been attending a costume party simply because he didn't understand the premise. He was learning, albeit at his own snail's pace, and he was trying. Bram however had been so excited about the prospect that he had not had the heart to tell his dear son that he would not be in attendance. Bones had not been allowed to see Bram since he had begun to get ready for the party. And thus he had no idea what the reanimated soldier would be wearing. With the assistance of some of his citizens Bones had come up with, what he thought, was a satisfactory costume. A bat! How festive, he'd thought. (At least once someone had told him the meaning.)

The massive and beautifully constructed bat wings were fastened around his girth area and stretched up before arcing down to connect at his shoulders. With each step he took the wings would flutter ever so slightly giving him the illusion of working wings, as long as you did not stare too long. They were beautiful crafted and embroidered with fine thread and detail work when one would get closer. The fangs that peeked from the inside of his mouth were in fact real teeth and were shoved among his 'ordinary' teeth with his own magic. His mane was braided tightly against his crest, the excess portion hidden behind the wings. His forelock hung loosely but was dyed an inky black for the festivities.

Somehow Bones had managed to arrive before Bram and had been quietly standing in the corner when his son had entered. At first the misfit king was unsure what manner of ghost or goblin Bram had come as though a flicker of realization across his face signaled his recognition. The former sovereign's eyes shook slightly and softened, no doubt a thread of tears veiled thinly. He stepped across the floor, a wide smile across his face exposing his terribly mismatched teeth. "Bram," he pressed his nose to his son's cold bone face and sighed deeply. "You honor me."















Mild power play allowed, ie touching and entering personal space.
@[Storyteller] 10-31-2019 @ 06:40 PM (This post was last modified: 10-31-2019 @ 06:45 PM by Spoupi.)
#11
Moderator

Storyteller

RankFate
LevelVirtuoso
ClassEquine
Gender & HeightStallion, 10hh
Age & SeasonImmortal Spring ✿
Crystals 960  ✦
WriterNPC, 182 posts
Aaah! Masked hooligans have jumped from the shadows and scared you! The next character to post is the victim.
@[Halani] 10-31-2019 @ 08:32 PM
#12
Pathfinder

Halani

RankPathfinder
LevelOne
ClassBerserker
Gender & HeightMare, 14.1hh
Age & Season7 Spring ✿
Crystals 30  ✦
WriterKiwi, 17 posts
Halani had finally felt comfortable enough to leave her dire form. Though she still found herself turning lupine while she slept, just in case. The mare had made her home in the Waldenwood but had been recently disturbed by the many children running about looking for the witch. She had half a mind to dress herself up in moss and sticks to chase them off. Though she decided hanging from trees and yelling at them had been enough. Now there was talk of the witch and the weird unicorn that hit so and so in the face with a pine cone. Laughing to herself she supposed the creepy witch should have been her costume. Halani hadn't considered coming at first, however she'd finally gotten fed up with the youngsters and made her way up to Kur. The snow was annoying at first but with some high stepping and using the already forged paths of taller horses, she'd finally made her way to the castle.

Halani had come not as a werewolf, but as their mortal enemy. A black cloak hung from her shoulders and reached with wisping tendrils for the floor. A set of fake fangs glinted behind her pale blood stained lips. Kohl around her eyes accentuated just how unnaturally bright blue her eyes were. As she was making her way across the floor a pair of young colts jumped out from the shadows wearing masks. The yelped and Halani could not help but reel back, her hooves clattering across the floor. Her ears pinned against the thick curl of her neck and a deep growl seemed to emanate from her vibrating throat.

"Fenedhis lasa," she cursed under her breath before righting herself and shooting them a narrow-eyed glare. She recognized them from the woods and this was no doubt their form of revenge. Well, she'd have none of that. She trotted past them, bumping one of them into a horse dressed up like a swamp creature who seemed none too happy to have spilled punch all over his detailed costume. "Pardon me," she said before slinking into the crowd.
@[Storyteller] 10-31-2019 @ 08:32 PM (This post was last modified: 11-02-2019 @ 08:16 AM by Spoupi.)
#13
Moderator

Storyteller

RankFate
LevelVirtuoso
ClassEquine
Gender & HeightStallion, 10hh
Age & SeasonImmortal Spring ✿
Crystals 960  ✦
WriterNPC, 182 posts
Oh my, could it be? That is a Touch of Autumn pendant! The next character in line to post finds and receives the award.
@[Aurora] 10-31-2019 @ 08:48 PM
#14
Pathfinder

Aurora

RankPathfinder
LevelOne
ClassSorcerer
Gender & HeightMare, 16.2hh
Age & Season5 Spring ✿
Crystals 50  ✦
WriterKiwi, 12 posts


aurora















A party! Now if anyone was well versed in parties, it was Aurora. She couldn't think of any reason Percival could have for her not going. While the costumes might have been scary, she was probably safe from any spooky scary skeletons while in a group. She had spent the better part of the day getting ready. While most of her beautiful fabrics had been destroyed on her trek through the bifrost, she still had one that she weaved into the long braid down her crest. It had been her mother's and it was a beautiful deep red, perfect for a positively eerie evening.

Aurora had been undecided about what she was going to go as for some time before finally settling on a queen. Now that she was no longer a princess it was something she would never become. There was no harm in being as strong and beautiful as her mother for one night. A beautiful, but definitely fake, crown sat atop her head and glimmered with bits of polished stone. A ruby red cloak lined with snow white fur hung from her shoulders and was folded up over her back so it didn't touch the ground. Beneath the cloak sleek white embroidered fabrics were woven around her chest and legs, almost unnoticeable against her pale coat from a distance.

She had been standing outside the venue for quite some time trying to drum up the nerve to enter. A handsome gentleman came by, offering her a lovely autumn pendant which she accepted gratefully. The trinket around her neck gave her a boost of confidence that she needed and Aurora stepped into the party.
@[Storyteller] 10-31-2019 @ 08:48 PM (This post was last modified: 11-02-2019 @ 08:16 AM by Spoupi.)
#15
Moderator

Storyteller

RankFate
LevelVirtuoso
ClassEquine
Gender & HeightStallion, 10hh
Age & SeasonImmortal Spring ✿
Crystals 960  ✦
WriterNPC, 182 posts
Ooh, shiny! You have happened upon an Autumnal Ruby! All characters receive +1 event currency.

Current time: 11-13-2019, 12:46 AM.
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Omne: A Fantasy Animal Roleplay BIANDRI.