• Graded • The Call

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Thysbae
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Race: Mortal Born
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Re: The Call

Mon Mar 25, 2019 7:56 pm

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The flowers weren’t blooming and that caused only mild distress. Bae watched them valiantly, hands fisted at his thighs as he stood over them. Thelma had told him once already that they would open up just fine, but he couldn’t help the uncertainty that crept into them. The others - a jasmine of some kind that he couldn’t remember the name of - had already bloomed. Another yellow flower - a tulip? - had opened up and glowed a buttery color. But yet the pale pink petals of this particular bunch of flowers remained closed. The mortalborn had moved them from one spot to the next with the shift in the day as the suns traversed the sky. They went from one window to the next and it was in this latest move that he felt it.

A strange pulse that left his whole body thrumming with pain. It had been a few bits since he’d felt it, tears still at the corner of his eyes as he moved on from it. But then it came again, more intense than the first time. A punch to the gut was what it felt like, a headache following not long after. And the tears - they came on more easily with each pulse. Like something had ripped inside and taken every sad part of him, the tears came and they did not stop. Not as the clay pot slipped from his hands and shattered with the next pulse. Not as he felt every part of his body tense up as though it were trying to keep from being torn apart.

A whimper left him as he fell, curling into himself. Thelma might have heard him, or maybe she had not; her hearing wasn’t all that great. But when she turned around he would gone, with the broken pot and soil scattered about in his place.
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Loque
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Race: Ithecal
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Re: The Call

Mon Mar 25, 2019 8:50 pm


The trial had seemed not unlike any other to Loque. The lithe little wyvarnth tended to their chores as they always had, keeping the home clean and presentable for those who lived within and those who might visit. This was how Loque spent most trials, after all, remaining out of sight and possibly out of mind of the master and his kin. This trial was no different, or at least, started off as such. Loque had resumed wearing more conventional clothing; a simple shirt and trousers with the blade gifted to them by the master strapped beside their tail- out of the way, but reachable on the horrible off chance of some ill fated intruder bringing ill will to the master's home or kin.

It started almost like an odd static, a tingle against their skin as though they'd slept awkwardly on their arm-- and yet this sensation covered their whole form. They didn't give it much thought at the time as it passed just as soon as it had arrived, and did not impede their tasks. A stray thought, however, bring pause to their efforts. In these long trials prior they had learned and seen far more than they had in their time as a freshly captured and... trained slave. The master seemed a chaotic man, and yet Loque felt no differently to him than to the animals they respected-- rather more-so fond given such likeness. So many concepts buzz in their head, Becoming? Hone? Magic? They were all so new, so strange and so confusing that Loque could only barely understand them as general concepts, let alone actual practices that the Lotharro they'd met put to use. Even having seen the runes of Hone dance on their skin to erase a simple bruise, and watching in horrific awe as the master's form burst from man to mammoth beast, it was so very much to try and grasp as reality.

Again the strange feeling hit. This time a bit more noticeable as it start as a strange tightness in their chest that ripple outward across their form like stinging needles pricking their scaled hide before ebbing into numbness. Loque stop moving, remaining still for but a few bits as the sensation pass and leave more confusion in its wake. Perhaps it was simply the excitement of the past trials catching up to them? Not being near any of the inhabitants of the home, Loque move to seclude themselves in another part of the home-- it was not Fridgar's, but Rhostus' dwelling that the lizard was in current care of. A secluded place to lay down, to perhaps try and balance out whatever was causing this oddly numb pain that seemed to wash over them and subside in but trills.

Another pulse-- a pulse, that was perhaps the best way to describe it. As though something were reverberating off Loque's core, sending ripples of its energy cascading over them and setting their nerves alight with a suddenly increasing pain. Rhostus had not been seen this trial, nor any others that Loque trusted. A slave outside their home without permission or orders was unheard of-- to seek help was pointless. No, Loque was confident this would pass.

Ba-dum. Gripping at the front of their shirt the ithecal tense on the floor, their tail seeking out and curling itself tightly around the leg of a table-- anything to ground themselves as gravity seemed to become a foreign concept. Ba-dum each wave was coming sooner and sooner, more intense than the last, synchronized in a way with their own heartbeat to further set their senses alight with a previously unknown agony. Ba-dum Faster now, more, more, a sense of panic began to creep in like shadows to the corner of their vision. Where was this pain coming from? Was it their heart? no-- the pain was too far spread, it was as though every fiber of their being was being rend and set aflame.

Ba-dum

"M-master Rhostus.... h-help...." their voice sound foreign even to their own ears, meek, raspy, aired, little more than a pathetic whimpering whisper in desperation as they reach blindly for anything to grasp, writing and trembling on the floor. The pain was near constant now, washing over them in waves of intensity cycling up and down but never relenting. Fear set its claws and set them deep, a familiar sense tickle at the back of their mind, dancing about as though to try and bring some sense of comfort and yet only managing to plunge their heart through the stone below and chill it so wholly that it bring a new ache and sting to their eyes.Their green eye soon found nothing but black, matching to their other perfectly in blind nothingness. The pain so overwhelming it was indistinguishable if the tears were of suffering or sorrow, with a ragged gasping breath Loque give a final plea to the air as though it were perhaps the last thing to keep even their memory tied to this realm.

"Fridgar.... Sorry...."
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word count: 862
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Pegasus
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Re: The Call

Thu Sep 12, 2019 1:01 pm

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The Call: Thread Review


Overview

Ok everyone, this is the first of the reviews but I figure, since everyone posted here, this is the one to start with so you all get a start! I'm so impressed with the level of imagination in these posts - every single person dealt with the unique nature of getting involved here so well.

The way I'm going to do this here is that everyone will get the knowledge they've asked for (up to 20 of them). However, in these threads I'm also going to be throwing in small rewards, so please check the reviews thoroughly. Thanks everyone - and thank you for the patience and understanding you've shown in this event. Appreciated!

As always - if you have any questions, don't hesitate to PM me. Thank you muchly!!

Luther
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Sephira
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Hart
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Maxine
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Cervantez
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Tio
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Wald
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Sybil
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Llyr
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Varthakh
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Vega
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Kisaik
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Arlo
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Velaine
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Rabu
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Praetorum
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Ricky
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Thysbae
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Loque
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word count: 3003
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"Red in hoof and claw....."
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