You have to tell yourself it's just dinner. Remind yourself it will taste amazing later. Abby had gathered all of her herbs, a rather fat mushroom, and a few berries. She'd prepared a hole in the earth and filled it with little bits of dried grasses and birch bark, stones piled atop that to trap the heat. The tinder would smolder when she got back to light it. Her fire plough rested against the birch tree behind her, a chunk of ice near it if she so chose to use that method. Everything was ready for when she returned. Abby made sure to cover the hole with a piece of hard bark to keep anyone running through from tripping into it. As long as they didn't stand on the hole for a bit, even a large creature wouldn't get their hoof caught. Satisfied, the doe trotted off toward the heart of the First Forest.

It was a risky business, hunting. Even riskier still was hunting in a forest dominated by herbivores. How many would be nervous knowing that she ate meat? Would they think she would easily kill them too? Abby didn't know, or want to find out. A bait pile was meticulously spread on the snow. She picked up a stone and set it on a fallen log. Careful aim would be the difference between dinner and none at all. After that, the doe sat and waited.

Hours went by, only sparrows and songbirds to speak of. Soon, though, an average-looking dove floated down from the trees to land on the bait. It ate a bit, obviously happy to just stay there even though Abby stood up not far away. Why did the birds have no fear here? She didn't want to know, really, because it made her feel worse about killing this plump little animal. The doe gently picked her foot up. Taut muscles released as she sent the rock flying.

The sickening sound of stone thudding against flesh let the doe know she had hit her mark. Blood spattered the snow. The dove lay stunned on the ground, wing cruelly broken and ribs cracked.

Viewer Discretion Advised: Contains some mild references to bodily fluids, ritual suicide, occultist views.

Could someone tell me who that is? I am curious as to their actions, so want to know.

Little Star Child

The world was alight with smokeless flame. The beautiful emerald pigment had bled from the landscape. Only the bright gold and blood red of fire remained, accented with the hue of copper and a sky made of cold blue steel. The rut had seemed, like every year, to spark the flame that fueled the death of the landscape, each labored breath of the warriors fanning the blaze. The canopy fell more every day, crackling as it hit the earth... a thousand falling ashes to signal the death of summer. As if the smell of smoke hung low in the air as warning, animals skittered among these fallen emblems in search of provisions to sustain them, fearful for the promise that lay in every single fallen flag.

Autumn was a promise of terrifying beauty ahead. Winter: when the world would be blanketed in ice that glittered like diamonds, and rubies would become a visible sign of death on the ground that no murderer but the season herself could hide. There would be no food unless one stole from spring, digging deep beneath the blanket that hid the incubating season of plenty and pilfering the buddings of what could have been a lush feast a quarter year away. Or, one could simply strip the coats from the trees, killing them in the same way a predator would tear free the skin of his prey, exposing it to the icy cold. In winter, though, carelessness was the only way to get by. None could ignore the need for survival.

Carelessness has for millenia been regarded as a terribly negative feeling. Everyone ignored the gentler side of the term as if it were a blade with no master.

Quietly, a living creature moved among the ever-aflame world that the birch forest symbolized. No chroma of this world singed him, for he was already browned from something greater than the sun's heat. From touching the ravaging fires of fall, his tips were blackened; Horn and hoof. And yet, beneath a protective layer of polished wood and color, incubating purity remained preserved on his white-dominated face.

I think the twin god statues are in slightly different positions than they were.

So yeah... this is RP? Feel free to join. I'd appreciate, like with 'Awakening', that it be 1 big RP. Like... if there's an RP started that you think you can join, then do it because I don't want 6 different RPs going on at once. Join in whenever you want.

Also, as is my personal rule and has been for years, please know how to write. I really would appreciate that there be an actual, non-marysue story that goes on, since everything is usually recorded in War's biography after it happens. I'm trying to develop a character here. I want to be excited to continue the RP. No, that doesn't mean that we always have to go on some crazy adventure. Talks are exciting too, even if they are just playful. I just don't want to be bored by overused stories, you know? Thanks.

Summary: This is 1 big RP, not a ton of little ones. Join in as you please. Please use real sentences and unique stories. Please do not skim the intro, or I won't be replying to you. Thanks.


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OK, the RP

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Disclaimer: This biography contains a lot of writing and artwork. This page will get longer as the deer's life does. Nothing will be deleted without reason, though I may have to add a scroll bar at some point.

This character belongs to me. Its thoughts and reactions to situations belong to itself, so therefore are my responsibility and I take responsibility for them. Any issues can be taken up with me through email or skype. This biography is meant for tracking the progress of this character, and for continuing it through RP.

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Disclaimer: I am a literate RP person. Please, I would ask that you don't give me two-sentence mary-sue posts. Thanks.

Something resembling an abiogenesis airplane in size circled above the pond. Four long legs carefully stretched to touch the windswept ground in the only space open enough to receive the being's wide wings. Not at all graceful, the being's body lurched forward as he backpedaled to a more-balanced stop. The cob shook his body in mild frustration, the feathers throwing off a little bit of dust. He had been away long enough to collect quite a bit.

The swan-stag's long neck bent to receive a little bit of nourishing water. After a long flight, his body had grown warm enough that receiving the liquid was a real treat. He could feel it cooling his throat as it trickled toward his stomach. A low thrum signified his acute pleasure with the feeling. Hastily, greedily he gulped more of the liquid down. Only when he had developed quite the stomach ache did he decide it was time to stop. He shuddered, burping a bit.

Cygnus folded his wings to his sides, spun 180 degrees, and loped into the first forest. He did not feel like moving slowly, no matter how ungainly his giraffe-like movements were. Likely he would startle a few of the forest's more sensitive or curious folk, but like he wasn't in the mood for moving carefully, he wasn't in the mood to care either.

The beast lowered his head and leaped over a log. His body brushed low-hanging branches above as he scrambled into a thicket. As abruptly as his fast-paced journey had begun, it stopped with the stag throwing himself to the ground in exhaustion.

There, in the thicket, he lay and took in the sounds of the birds overhead and the bugs buzzing around. Again the beast thrummed low in appreciation. His jaw stretched wide in a yawn, revealing a toothless black mouth of hard material. He then chose to stare lazily at the small world he had found himself in.