Fantasy aurora borealis

[thinking]

the prologue

aurora borealis

word-bank

sombre, dangerous, candle-lit, flame, fire, death, gothic, soul, heaven, sad, sombre, misleading, cruel, daemons, snake, ape.

location

the sanctuary

tone

encapsulated with dispair, horror and excitment. Danger lays ahead filled with mystery, blessed souls, naivety

tag

bad wolf thinking Lord_Boreas stellamaris solarsaphia TenshuZninja SavannahSmiles

A quaint mistake leading to dire consequence, a subtle change in history.
the prophecy
"They with no soul,
repulse temptation,
deliver from the depths,
to find the truest form,
of daemon bond,
cut the chain of a child,
to be released from uncertainty

Seven children
and daemon,
blessed souls,
escape their world
to pay the price
of humanities sin..."​

---

death​

His hood was drawn around his face in a desperate attempts to conceal his daemon which was slipped round his neck, hidden in his veil. The man was breathless and without respect, perhaps injured? No, there was no visible limping or cowering and he did not call out for assistance; his cries would be a waste of effort. The hallways of this haunted Sanctuary reflected as a grand mirror maze and with each winding hallway their confusion grew.
"Briar it's time. She is coming and the children-- The children need to be protected from her and the prophecy-" The voice was a serpentine whisper.
"Shush, Eros, I can't bare to leave you. What if it isn't true, what if our death means nothing..."
"Do it. Do it now" The slender yet muscular snake-daemon, Eros, coiled her pitted body around Briar's neck, her voice growing more hurried and her anger was more wavering disapointment and fright. "We cannot continue this journey together, if you do not, I must." Her grip was becoming much more tighter around his throat and the serpent, too, writhed and weezed. "The key will open the vault of the New World, this is only the beginning..."
"Oh, my darling heart," Briar gasped, his fingers attempting to loosen her vice on his neck. "I will see you in Heaven."

It took around three minutes of silence before the snake vanished and the man collasped to the floor.

---

The fifty year old Scholar Briar, a fine master of medicine, law and exploration, now close and cold in his grave. Resting his cool, taunt face underground the worms will relish while he is now dancing the skies with his reptilian daemon. His soul, now at one and his body left down in Earth. Briar, in the past, was reknowned for his reckless ideologies and insane yet spectacular expression of mind. Over the past six months, did Briar become ever so reclusive, hidden and secretive. There had been speculations that the renowned scholar had become tainted, his mind confused and broken. However, dismissed where these claims as Briar's reputation was extremely celebrated.

To pass at half a century, is an uncommon feat (man is usually frail at one-hundred) causing speculation in the Sanctuary. His body, bore no marks of struggle and tests carried out by the finest investigators showed no use poison or ill harm. The only other option for his untimely death is possibly his daemon being killed by somebody else’s: daemons do not leave physical bodies after passing so this could never be ruled out. Why did Eros kill Briar and ultimately herself?

These conspiracies were halted after Her coincidental entrance into The Sanctuary's grounds. All was not calm, even before til her arrival: Though, having an unknown figure of authority with an extremely scary (and intelligent) daemon, waltz, so cooly into this place of education is likely to bring such dishevelment and unproserperic rumours.

---

scene​

The room was dimly lit with candle fire, a warm glow piercing the icy atmosphere, scented of parchment, ink, incense and dust. It was much appealing to those of traditional taste; not wired children and their daemons that restlessly shuffled and shifted. They were all uncomfortable, resonancing the ordeal of Ingrid’s personal probes. It was deathly quiet apart from the spitting from the candles and the crisp burning of a stick of incense. All seven of the children had been violated by The Last Question. To be removed from, or even consider going further than a few metres from you daemon was deathly sin never unfolded. Why did she ask them this? What was the importance of it? The way her daemon stared so hungrily at theirs: the look of a killer cannot be masked by a feeble and playful front.

---

information+more​

>The children in the room where the last to be questioned out of twenty-two others including some children of servants and librarians. They were seperated into four groups; "With" and "Without" parents and "Settled" and "Unsettled" daemons.

>The Sanctuary's minor scholars are not so dispelled by Ingrid's new order. They respected her, welcomed her and allowed her to muse through Scholar Briar's office and reside in his bed-chambers.

>The children also relished in her attention, how kind was she with her soft, exotic accent and delicate touch.
Ingrid, a woman of a true enigma, was only summoned in greatest despair. She was a cunning, calculative and regulation, not a saviour of children! Why did she show such interest in The Seven? Did she know of the prophecy?

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[thinking]

the aftermath

pax + zetta

word-bank

candle-lit, leather, touchy, worrisome, hurt, cold, night, dawn, grave.

location

the sanctuary's secondary common room

tone

damp, musty... Abhorrent, tense and tasting of metal.

tag

bad wolf thinking Lord_Boreas stellamaris solarsaphia TenshuZninja SavannahSmiles

A bloodied handkerchief was wrapped around his right hand in an attempt to remedy where he clasped Zetta’s porcupine tail. Fortunately, no quills had broken off into his palm and with extreme luck, the bleeding had already subdued. The skin on his face had a clammy sheen to it, one of pallor and illness and his soul was restless and obscured. Zetta was currently curled under his neck-ruffles as a little, defenceless hamster. She was looking at him, her eyes reminiscent of the buttons on his shirt.
“You should have said more, Pax. Leaving it blank like that is rather idiotic.” Zetta whispered, leaning her delicate paws on his chin. Her rather croaky and masculine voice was barely audible, it was like she was not speaking at all. Pax used no effort to reply, using his free hand to push her down into his shirt, masking her. He did not want to talk; let alone share anything when there were others in the room. Losing her patience, Zetta burrowed out his sleeve and her hamster form dissipated and was replaced with a heavy bodied skunk. She also did not bother to argue, they shared each other's mind and pain: they both did feel slightly nauseous from it.

The room smelt strongly of leather from the sofas that had been arranged neatly to make a broken rectangle around a fire. The Sanctuary’s secondary common room (were the seven children- and daemon- resided) was similar to a library: grand walls, high ceiling and ridiculous amount of shelves containing books. Being candle lit, it was rather dim however snug and hospitable it may appeal to the scholars. The building was not a place for children: it was boring, close and musty. Though, before his death, Briar had sworn to turn The Sanctuary into a retreat for those lost, in need or orphaned. It was currently almost 8pm with the sky almost completely hazy and grey.

Pax was never one to disclose personal information, thoughts and feelings to anyone other than his daemon. Though, he could not help but feel pitted inside from everybody’s faces. Some held gloom more slightly than others but everyone did look solem. Unravelling the aid around his hand, Pax twisted it into a knot while he laid slump on his back on one of the sofas. Zetta more visibly restless; her white fur stood completely on end as she attempted to relax. She was also slumped, with her back pressed onto the sofa’s support, as if she was sat up. With her larger front feet (made for digging, not preening) patted her tail fur down, attempting to be presentable and calm.

Right now, Pax felt like he did the other week. When the pair visited the graveyard where Briar and other passed scholars laid to rest. While exploring, he had noticed there was only a little engraved symbol for their daemon: no actual grave! To think that the deceased’s daemon must be in the same coffin as their counterpart was a rational way to believe. Pax’s naive and uneducated mind had yet to realise daemons disappear into nothing if either pass. Why did he think so fondly of fortnights ago? Why did death suddenly plague his imagination?

Pax sat up from his half-slumber and observed everybody with his wide and innocent eyes. He knew most by name and was especially fond of the older teens (Althea, Delwyn, Astrid, Raphael) yet held himself partially jealous by attention received by anyone of his similar age (Lucia and Rose!). Pax was not someone who kept himself to himself, however almost anytime he engaged in even the most harmless conversation, he’d find that his anger decided to spill over. He was not the most approachable: hating how they mostly took pity on him, disguising their repulsion with love. Although, Pax could not split himself up with the small group of children: they are his friends... Family even. Now more than ever he knew he had to strengthen their bonds with each other.

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[bad wolf]

the aftermath

delwyn & love

word-bank

candle-lit, night, books, leather, hearth, fire, warmth, dusty

location

the sanctuary's secondary common room

mood

anxious, restless, jittery, distracted

tag

thinking Lord_Boreas stellamaris solarsaphia TenshuZninja SavannahSmiles

Delwyn sat still and pondered Mrs. Ingrid's questions for only a short while afterwards. Each one marked like a brand, burning a whole at the forefront of her mind until she could no longer figure a cause for them, only a feeling. She leapt out of her seat. Her fingers tingled and danced along the spines of a dozen different books. Her heart still fluttered in her chest, ascending to her throat were she very nearly choked on it, eyes wide and watery, her words trapped behind the swell she swallowed around. When she could breathe, she drew the air in quickly and held it for as long as she could.

Love sat behind her, his back pressed to the sofa Pax laid in. He had tried to calm her down, pressed his nose reassuringly to the palm of her hand. But all she did in response was raise them higher, searching the books on higher shelves, out of his reach. She stood on her toes, stumbling some as she craned her neck back to look at the names, delicately grabbing the bookcase to steady herself. With a heavy sigh that turned into a groan, Love turned his head and rested it on the arm of the sofa, sniffing slightly at the smell of dust and blood and dread in the room. His yellow eyes studied each occupant before firmly resting on Pax's injured hand.

"Ah ha!" Delwyn plucked a plainly bound book from the shelf. Flipping it open to the title page, her expression brightened some. "Herbal remedies, medicines, and lots of pictures." She walked around the sofa Pax and her Daemon rested by and sat in front of it, sweeping her skirt around her as she lowered herself to the floor. "A good book always has pictures," she promised. "Tinctures and ointments... Maybe a poultice. No… Something sweet and comforting before bed, hm?" She talked to no one in particular, mostly murmuring to herself as she turned the pages. "A pot of chamomile, a drop of honey..." She turned to Love and leaned forward to touch her nose briefly to his. "Your favorite: lemon balm and lavender. What do you say?"

As she drew back to look at the book again, Love's tail thumped very softly. His voice was a low rumble, even and unbroken. "A darling idea, a pleasant nighttime treat," he whispered, scooting forward to read over her shoulder. Delwyn's lips were pressed very thinly into a smile and she still held her breath at odd intervals. She was almost afraid to look up for fear of meeting the bonobo's empty stare and Mrs. Ingrid's prying inquiries.

Love stood guard over her, looking up and keeping watch for the both of them.

"A spot of tea... That'll do us all some good," Delwyn said very quietly, her eyes still watery.

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.