Writing

thecapturedplanet's picture

The Flower Diaries; Chapter Seven


A butterfly flutters, a silken wing brushing the nose of a small fawn napping in the sunlight.
A snort, leaves the child-buck's muzzle, blinking large sleepy eyes up at the insect.

"Hello butterfly" he stumbles to his hooves, giving a little chase before allowing the pretty creature to alight upon his 'antler's and feed from the sweet blue roses.
Sonata's picture

Solitude

Silver bubbles, such martyrs you are, making a point of showing your beauty only to cast yourselves above the water to your deaths.

He raised his muzzle, popping one before it had a chance to do anything of importance.
thecapturedplanet's picture

The Flower Diaries; Chapter Six


How warm the birch forest is.

A turn of ears, but aside from that, the blue-fawn seems calm, muzzle picking gently at the sweet moss that grows between the long blades of grass.

It is very quiet.
He enjoys days like this.
Jessic4's picture

Starting

Woah, I'm still trying to figure everything out with this game.
Yea I did start it this evening, and using the game info, I got some things straightened up, but I'm still bit confused with the game XD
Well, maybe I'll try again tomorrow:))
kovah's picture

Taking requests (rare offer) limited slots (closed)

I need to practice my people.

So i will do a picture of your deer in HUMAN form.

They will probably be sketches, might only be headshots.

Please fill in the following or risk being ignored:

Name of deer:
Rough human age:
Sex:
Human appearance (rough description):
Quick personality:
Link to deer bio:

Slots:
1. Kiowa
2. Flame
3. Murr
4. Tuhka
5. SilentOrosco
Rapheal's picture

Incendia


There is no beating of hooves to herald the corporeal beast's arrival.

There is, however, the effervesce of lava flowing beneath stygian skin, and the fetor of forever burning flesh and grass.

what causes such anger? the birds cry in wonder.

But there is no such animosity, no rage in the forever flaming eyes.

Fire need not company Magma flows over lips and great chest as the words are uttered.

Its movements are slow.

But that is fine.

Fire need not bend to time's will.
GingerNut's picture

The Story of Bartleby and Jergens - Part Six

Chapter Six – Sad and Stricken

The next day the servants of the Bartleby estate awoke to a rather strange situation. Their Master no longer had the quiet, subdued air that he usually wore, but rather had quite the spring in his step. If that wasn’t strange enough, they also woke the sound of a hideous screaming coming from the nearby dog kennel. However, injuries at the kennel were quite common, due to the ferocity of the hounds that lived there, so they just took it in stride. They were also greeted to the new employee, the young man simply called ‘Jergens’. He was a somber fellow, walking through the halls with a vacant look in his eyes, as if he were in a stupefied trance.

As Bartleby dined on some pastries and tea for breakfast, one of his servants came into the room and whispered into his ear. “Master Bartleby, the missus is awake now. She wishes to see you.” Bartleby nodded and followed the man down the spacious halls, leading him to a grand doorway. The man knocked on the door promptly and called, “Lady Bartleby, the Master is here.”

The door opened a little and a young woman stood peeking through at them, a childish light in her eyes. She looked to be in her twenties, with long creamy brown hair. Her shining eyes widened in glee as she threw open the door and flung herself on Bartleby. “Big brother!” she cried, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his cheek. “Ah, hello Nip.” Bartleby returned her hug, petting her hair affectionately.

Nippers Bartleby was her full name, actually. She was the first born between the two and resented for the fact that she was female, and therefore unable to carry the family name. Bartleby was born soon after though and Nippers was just quietly swept under the rug, guilt prevented her from being completely wiped out, but shame kept her hidden. Unlike his parents, Bartleby loved his sister immensely. She was the only person that called him by his first name, not even his own parents did that.

Balkis's picture

The Meeting part 2 (english version, this time, and shame is almost killing me because of my horrible translation)

(If you have suggestions for better translation... tell me please...)


“Do you know who the god is that carved the rock near which you're lying?" whispered Sinân to Chaman. And as he did not answer, she continued: “Tears are constantly flowing from his eyes, although he is always smiling. He is the Creator, the One-who-has-no-name.” Then the fawn asked the goddess: “Mother of Knowledge, what did He create?” And the Goddess, flying and twinkling around his nuzzle, answered: “Nothing less than the World and all the stars that surround it! All the gods are His children, and each being received life from Him. “And how did He create them?” Asked the fawn. “And why is He crying, though he seems so happy?” And Sinân ” I’ll tell you all, because His creation makes him sometimes laugh and sometimes cry, and it’s with his tears that He has kneaded the first creatures”. And Chaman, more and more astonished said: “And how did He do that?”
“In the Beginnings, said Sinân, there was no day, and the Creator was wandering in the darkness, alone and sad, until he shed two tears on the ground. And the tears became mud, and with this mud, He created two noble and powerful beings, two deer with huge antlers. Then He blew in their mouth, and gave them life. When He saw them running and jumping, he rejoiced and smiled for the first time.”
Then Shaman asked: "And what happened to the deer then? Because they had nothing to do in the great empty spaces of Beginnings ... "
"They fought. Replied Sinan. And their battle was so violent that they killed each other, flooding the soil with their blood and leaving their wonderful antlers planted in the earth. Then the Creator looked upon the corpses, and he repented of having created so beautiful creature to see them die in such a short time. This was the second time that He wept.”
“How unfortunate it is that the beginnings were marked by such a loss.” Saddened the fawn and he bowed his head, a light misting his eyes.
Alecsander's picture

The Moon and Pine Tree [A Forest Fable]

"Today I will be entertaining with a short fable about the beginnings of the forest.

It is loosely based on a tale that my great-grand mother once told me when I was young.

If you wish to join me at the ruins to rest and listen to the story, then feel free to.
I will not turn you away, though I may fall asleep. "

-Dewydd Rhys

:.{Shivering | Rhye and Madison}.:

[=10]
Shivering


The snow wasn't as thick as it could have been, but it still swallowed a deer's hooves whole and sent warning chills to their ankles. It wasn't really the snow that made the Forest cold; it was the cool air, and the freezing gusts of wind that slashed across unmasked faces like cruel blades of ice, that made it unpleasant to be without some form of shelter.
Rhye had expected it to be warm at least, really; from what he'd heard from other deer, the weather should have been kind to them. But the Gods followed no form of structure when it came to weather and time of day, clearly. Not one to hide away from rain or snow, the brown stag had ventured from his warm place in the Old Oak out into the Forest. He'd gotten to the river and the Crying Idol before realising just how cold he was, and was instantly desperate to warm up. Disliking the thought of running around, Rhye searched his surroundings for someone or something to help him.
After trotting about and nearly falling into the Pond, he'd given up on finding a warm spot in the Forest. The sunbeams weren't warm at all, the willows were damp and cold, and even the Oak, whom he had always considered 'faithful', was chilly. He couldn't find anywhere that was clean and warm and dry and suitable to his standards.
But fortunately, perhaps, he had a brainwave. Was body heat not the most efficient way to stay warm? And Rhye loved to snuggle. He loved snuggling more than he loved most things. His search began.
Conscious deer, it seemed, did not like his lack of personal space. And sleeping deer were cold.
The stag, now lonely, mood dampened, curled up near the river and slept. He slept for a long time.

When he awoke, he was very warm. Gold-hazel eyes opened and he lifted his head, magpie mask falling to the ground as he did so.
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