Fantasy 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐚 ; ic

[miyabi]

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  intro

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  iron

  
  
  
  

  woodkid

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  CHAPTER ONE:
  CALLING THE BLACK ORDER

  
  
  
  

  I

  n the shadows, beyond the reach of man, a creature lies in wait; in the veil of whispers are the jaws of death itself; footsteps near the danger that seeks, awaiting in the darkness—licking its teeth.
  
  The gravel crunches beneath their feet clad in leather boots; metal against metal; dampened voices fill the cavern, as does the slight glow of the torch squeezed between calloused fingers. And whispers: whispers of hysteria, pain, suffering, the souls of the lost tethered by a beast that consumes all in its wake.
  
  “Tuli, I don’t think this is a good idea. We should head back,” a voice bore through gritted teeth with a slight echo; the tint of worry painted itself along the words leaving cracked, dry lips. There was a moment of silence, one in contemplation; a choice was to be made and made is what it was: to continue along the path in foolishness. Had it been arrogance and foolishness under the shroud of bravery? Nevertheless, the pair walked onward under the command of Tuli, a man veiled in armor. And despite this air of confidence, the smaller man trembled, unsure of the order but following along in trust—one that cost him his life.
  
  Darkness engulfed the flame of the torch.
  
  An endless snarl of words—some that twisted into meaning, some into babbles; the victim, as much as one would like a positive outcome, met death. And, death then, was excruciating. It wipes away the blood from its cheeks; no one has heard a thing, it seems, and as the creature departs, lies the body contorted in sorrow. Pale moonlight engulfs the body, illuminating its features--the blood is drained, yet the flesh still glistens; meat hangs off the bones, ribs are torn open, and the heart still beats.
  
  Those who seek the secrets of the cave may never come out alive.
  
  — Old Feller’s Cave, Wolftrenk, Hesta
  
  The wind is cold, grass damp with droplets of water. Unlike any other day, the sky is dark; as if the universe was aware of the cruelty stricken the nights prior.
  
  They arrive with heavy hearts and surround another corpse. Much like the others, the victim’s mouth is agape, limbs contorted; the poor soul must have suffered greatly. Smoke surrounds them as guards light their torches and in the center of the circle of men is Tuli, a lone survivor of the events that had unfolded prior. “I’m telling you now! I am not lying. I saw it, heard it,” fear crept into his throat as words attempted to claw their way out. Shock, a wave of it, enough to be felt by the group; whatever he’d seen in that cave was no ordinary beast. It couldn’t have been.
  
  “Pale-faced--no. No face at all.”
  
  Silence fell within the circle; death, doom, whatever it was, this case was one familiar. It was deafening, the quiet--not even the falter of a breath: however, it was broken quickly by the commander: Glane. A tremble runs up the mountain of ridges along his spine; his eyes belong to the cracks in the dirty, never to leave them, even as he speaks. Even the pinnacle of bravery was no match for the monstrosity ahead. “We’ve heard of them before; Weeps. Those who survived them were never able to speak after,” hazel eyes shot to Tuli, obviously shaken--his face, however, bare of expression. With further examination, there are claw marks, yet not a single sign of struggle--only the scent of sulfur. “Take this. The cave formerly belonged to a group of bandits, this map should help you navigate,” Glane gritted his teeth as he handed the team's Captain a scroll covered in shoddily-drawn paths.
  
  “I can take you. My friend, he didn't deserve to die like this. I'd like to help if I can."
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
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  cast

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  cast.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Y. Yaotsai

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  miyabi

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  S.Moi Rai

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  @Shadow

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  N. Tcha

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  mother of sorrows

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  J.S. Han

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  @robbie

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  S. Qara

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  miyabi

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Father Leone

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  mother of sorrows

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  C. Zhen

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  LowkeyLovingLoki

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  C. Nwakali

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  blue-jay

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  s.a.burhaan

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  @fancries1

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  B. Sassaris

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  Abendrot

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  H. Li

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  xayah.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  s.v. wocjiech

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  bad wolf

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  v. mrakovina

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  mother of sorrows

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  x. yi

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  Abendrot

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  l. phuong

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  ravensunset

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  --

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  --

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

intro

cast

hope died in heaven,

and the sky

wept

time

0600h, dawn

day

friday

location

wolftrenk, hestea

status

open; not accepting

cs

lore

ooc

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[miyabi]

by bad ending.

YMIR YAOTSAI.

Barren and devoid of life, Aclait Valley had had a sudden resurgence of tragedy; death at every corner--from both sickness and beasts; personal anxieties and beliefs that caused rifts between denizens; the clash against good and evil at the hands of humans themselves. Far beyond these worries came mystery--who, or what was tearing apart the veil of false security had yet to be discovered. That was the unsettling truth, one that Ymir would’ve rather had been tall tales than the former. Losses were sure to happen in Drasira, but with Wolftrenk’s increasingly declining population, a case like this had been all the more devastating. For the past week, she’d pondered upon her own ability; being assigned the captain of their unit, Ymir--although confident in her abilities--remained doubtful of her own leadership. One wrong move and she could lose someone--or everyone. Perhaps it was fear, the crushing loss of those she trusted remained at the skyline of her thoughts.

Ymir had woken up far before dawn, the unsettling feeling in her stomach had grown. To lead was an honor, but a nerve-wracking one. The weight on her shoulders had gotten heavier, no doubt about that, and, unfortunately for her, the only way to truly cope was to work herself. Training day and night, distracting herself from the burdening thoughts that continuously bombarded the crevices of her mind.

The truth should have been easier to accept. In no way would anyone during these adventures come unscathed; with the limited amount of knowledge from the guild to their unit, there was no way to tell the degree of danger they were truly in. Nobody was ever ready, not even the most seasoned of monster hunters; however, there was one thing she was determined to uphold: to hold onto hope even in the darkest of times and ensure that her unit would not succumb to the tragedies of loss upon one another.

She wanted to be hopeful; she had to be, as foolish as the thought may be. To be truthful, however, Ymir wasn’t the hopeful most would’ve expected from her optimistic and jovial exterior. The woman was already tortured by the inner turmoil and recounts of possibilities regarding her family; to keep up the facade was exhausting but one most necessary. In her eyes, Ymir had to keep it together for the sake of everyone else: should she outwardly express her own melancholy, Ymir wouldn’t know how to look them in the eyes. It wouldn’t be out of shame, but to save herself from the pitied gazes she thought she was sure to collect. A leader had to be strong; if she wasn’t truly capable of it, Ymir was going to make sure that she was damn good at faking it.

In her own turbulent heart did she suffer in silence.

Her thoughts were louder than the galloping--hooves harshly beating against the gravel that once had never been touched by death. And for a while, during their small trek to the scene, Ymir was silent. Had it been her own internal monologue or recollection of trauma, she wasn’t quite sure. Not only had she had her own issues to deal with, but to think of dying in such a manner— Ymir felt nearly sick.

They'd finally come to a halt. After collecting the varied information from Glane and Tuli, there was one thing left to do: track whoever, or whatever, was the source of this devastation. Ymir, heavily clad in specially crafted armor, pressed a firm hand against the Medallion of Nazor. There was something unsettling; she, however, couldn’t place a finger on it. But there was a tug that Tuli hadn’t been telling the whole truth. “Keep a close eye on this one,” Ymir whispered to Vas’ka, eyes narrowed at the tall figure. He looked like he’d been crying, only not: the lack of tears and redness in his eyes, and the fact that he’d been eager enough to go back into the cave. No.

Maybe she should have faith that they wouldn’t be wronged, but the tiny inkling in her chest protested against the thought. Deep brown eyes followed the rest of the team—gaze lingering longer onto Nowa, and with this gaze came solemnity—before falling onto the abyss that beckoned before her; as unsettling as it was, Wolftrenk needed to get rid of this problem and so be it—if there was a group of people that were capable enough, it would’ve been them—she was sure of it
.

outfit: bonk
mood: bonk
with: bonk
where: bonk
WORK
WORK
WORK

THE WARRIOR.

THE PAIN IN MY VEINS IS HEREDITARY.

 

[mother of sorrows]

mood

on guard

location

old feller's cave

outfit

peep my fit!

interact

ymir, everybody

velivir

the ranger with a curse on their back

Velivir has seen the face of evil when they were just a child.

It is a given, when you live in a land as strange as Sredzym, that you will find things older than the oldest ancestor of you. There is something, something about the primal darkness enveloping the land - the dark of a womb - that attracts such terrifying sights. Is the ice not so old? Are there not gods sleeping beneath it, their slumber lost somewhere below their feet? It took their breath, to think about it. They are walking over bones of ballad-kings and monsters so cruel they had to be slayed with swords of heaven-fire and hell-stone. You have to watch your step, when you do; you do not want to disturb the snow, or the sleep of whatever is buried below it. Srezdym is a land of sleeping things , and a land of monsters as twice as odd as any other. They and their father would trek, sometimes, to the edge of the island to hunt for fish; when the season was just right for them to birth out to the open ocean. The sand there is void black, black void and the sea so cold it only hosts the most resilient of fish. There are stories of sailors sailing out in this part of sea, hunting for whales deep in the waters; and coming back wide-eyed in the face of nature's brutality, bringing tales of creatures so incompherensible words fail to describe them.

Velivir would have thought it an exaggeration, had they not seen it themselves.

Their webs pulled in a two-faced young whale once, their faces distorted. Human teeth, glistening with blood beneath slick lips and eyes that poked out of their sockets. What was the most strange, however, were the long, twisting lines on it's stomach; Veli had tried to follow them, even as their father slayed the beast, but it's shape slipped beneath their eyes like slick oil. Like no matter how much they stare, the lines refuse to be understood. If there is some natural logic behind the twisting, constantly shifting lines the whale wore, it is not a logic Velivir understands. It's call was long and shrill as it bleed out on the black sand, round eyes staring at the grey skies above; a call like a human child's, yet it's pitch put Velivir's teeth on edge.

It's family sang long into the night, swimming close to the shore. They hear it still during moments of awake-yet-not, if they ransack their brain for the memory.

The music of monsters. The God-forsaken things Velivir has been training to kill from near childhood.

They would not say the land is corrupted; to say that would mean Sredzym is unique in it's plight. Monsters are everywhere, jaws open for prey and teeth sharp to tear flesh. Perhaps it is the isolation and starless gloom that invites such thoughts, when you only have your family and a fire to beat them away. This accident - of a woman-beast stumbling over the muddy streets of Wolftrenk, leaving behind half-eaten bodies and warm blood still speckled on the walls - left an unpleasant pit in their stomach, memories of days gone by making their presence known. Velivir thought he had left Mila back in Sredzym, back in their home woods of sharp mountains and freezing waters.

They should have known she was going to rise back to life one of these days. Mila is an unburied corpse in their mind, rotting and bloated, but what is Drasira if not a place where even the dead may walk?

An animal scream, cutting through the cold, endless night like a red hot knife. Velivir startling from their sleep, hiding under warm furs with their siblings still stuck in their dreams. Them tracking over freshly fallen snow, to the edge of the house, where they kept the elks.

A giant beast of exposed bone and sinewy muscle, a baby elk limp in it's dripping maw. Hot blood and saliva pooling on the woodboards below.

And a too familiar face staring back. That part never changes, no matter how often Velivir dreams this again and again and again and -

It is as if Mila was never truly gone. She is always there, scratching at the back of their mind like a wolf at the door. What a start to their life in the Black Order - it was all too close to things Velivir would rather not remember. A snake eating it's own tail, truly. Velivir could laugh themselves sick.

Their breakfast, meager as it was, could have been made of rocks for how difficult it was the ranger to eat. Their stomach refused to cooperate, forcing Velivir to settle it with tea made from herbs and roots picked from the black soil. It did not do much to give them strength, but Veli, to their credit, is used to harsher terrains than this. Velivir's pitfalls are large indeed, but nobody can deny they're tough. Being raised in Sredzymi wilderness, where the nights are long and the forest just as infinite, will make even the weakest turn to stone. Even as they've trekked into the depths of woods to search for anything that could be seen as evidence, the bad feeling that's tearing them apart has yet to leave. With the murders fresh on their mind and the fog clinging to their little group, it is expected to be on edge. Putting aside uncomfortable familiarity, Hestea's wildlands are a beast for themselves; their training here is not enough to prepare them for every danger there is to be found. Veli grimaced under their mask as their horse trotted along the others, watching the traitous twisting roots with suspicion. One wrong more and it would be disturbingly easy to get lost.

And if you get lost here, well.

You have to hope the Gods are feeling merciful.

Micmic was flying overhead, her shrill calls the only sounds of birds in the area. A too silent forest was never a good thing, especially here; it seemed as if all the animals were holding their breath, bracing for something to happen. Velivir watched as she circled the skies above, their eyes on the sky. She is trained well; her eyes were twice as sharp as any of the group member's. Fog circled around them like a tiger watching a wounded deer, their hair standing up with tension. Their horse neighed nervously under them, skittering ther front foot as they rushed to a halt. Ymir stopping drew Velivir's distracted attention, bringing them from their somber thoughts. Perhaps they were overthinking this; they were trained for a good while, after all, and Veli has the honor of previous experience. They're in a group of trained members, one they are familiar with at this point. Following suit, Veli stepped of their horse, it's head swiveling to look at the surroundings. Heavy fog, gloomy trees stacked together like an army of men, a beaten path; and distant whispers gnawing at the edge of their hearing, making their lips tighten. They know better than to listen to the things that go bump in the night.

Aclait Valley, as terrifying as the tales of their childhoods. Veli offered a small smile at the others, before remembering it goes unseen under their mask; replacing it with a quick nod. ''Are you all ready?'' Eaugh, the cave was about as smelly as the rest of Hestea. Not that they would say that out loud. A shriek stole their ears and eyes, however, as Micmic swooped in - Velivir held out their falconry-glove clad arm in half-instinct, the owl landing on it with practiced ease. The bird's white wings fluttered as she gained her balance, her face (a mimicry of a human one; their father called such owls blessed by the Gods, rare as they are) gazing at the group. Her lips formed words, too quiet to understand - but Velivir understood her body language as well as their own at this point. Something up ahead - footprints of some kind, it seems, along with tracks.

''Something must have made it's way deeper down the road recently.'' Velivir added, petting Micmic gently on her round head. She chirruped, straightening on their glove. Her heads turned endlessly, eyes wide and bottomless. Leone has made no secret of how disgusting he find her; something Velivir is very touchy about. She is just unique looking, they will insist, as if the thing doesn't have a human mouth and nose. It's a never-ending topic of arguments between them and the priest.

The mouth of the cave beckoned, inhuman and dark. Veli remembers the local folklore of caves being entrances to Hell below. It's hard to not see their point, with the jagged rocks and impenetrable, primal darkness. Ymir looked as put out as the rest of them felt, but their captain is one of strong will and discipline - if anybody can lead them through this, it would be Ymir. They might not be closest of friends, but Veli does trust her to do what is right for all of them.

Tuli - the scared, scared man that Ymir eyed with some suspicion - was to lead them into the gaping, labyrinthine insides of the cave; it did not do much to inspire Veli's confidence, but what is there to do but to descent? The ranger's grip tightened on their weapons in anticipation, stepping off their horse with practiced ease. ''If anybody is scared of the dark, they can always hold my hand.'' They joked in some half nervousness, stepping closer to the cave.

Inside their head, Mila laughed.

Bad memories, huh?

nine lives