Drop dance of the naiad


Age: 7 | Height: | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#1
random event
The water whispers secrets in the night.

And tonight the secret begs to be told. It is a time of change on the Sea of Branches - a time for one cycle to end and another to begin. Will-o-wisps lead the way along the shoreline, up and up and up to where the settlement on stilts thrives.

There is no toll to cross the river tonight, no - for tonight is very special indeed.

The tide is low, the sands are soft, and the Fae begin to gather. They are subdued, they are reverent. They are waiting - and you should be as well.



Welcome to the Longheat drop! You have 48 hours to respond with your character's arrival to get through to the next round.
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Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker

Age: 31 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#2


Are
Armed, armored, packed and ready. Soft boots with hardened plates, hobnailed soles like the neighbor had taught him, still they gave not more than fleeting grip on the wet sands. Still, the cobbler pressed on. A man, a warrior, trudging through woods far to eager to guide him towards the long shores.

Interloper, impostor, idiot. A cobbler shivering in the skin of a Northerner, yet the warriors hand was steady as always. Steady on the shield strap, steady on the axe frog, and finally ready to spring into action should the need arise. With iron determination he followed the lights towards what he had already decided would be revenge for the last adventure into the woods. No magical fire would melt his skin, not this time!
Lucas Copperhead


Age: 38 | Height: 6'0 | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 4 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 17 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 7 - Int:
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#3
LUCI

Well finally, something was happening that Lucas could attend without fear of being scorched to death. Wonderful.

The Ascended did not try to be stealthy, though he positively prowled through the night in the wake of the will-o-wisps, the rush of water beating in his ears. He had been out, naturally, trying to figure the ways of the tricksy woods, when the trees had seemingly let him here.

His three shadows twisted and danced about, conjured up from the light given off by the orbs that weaved about them. When dirt turned to sand under his feet, Lucas slowed his steps and lingered a ways back from the Fae, wary and interested in equal measure.
Ronin Taliesin
the Supernova


Age: 34 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 14 - Strg: 58 - Dext: 70 - Endr: 58 - Luck: 79 - Int: 3
SUGAR - Mythical - Dragon (Ice Breath)
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#4

Ronin blamed coming back to life for this. He often found himself awake during the night, stargazing or thinking or merely caught up in the wonder of it all (it all being the fact that he was still living, still breathing, still here). So he had been awake, or at least present for the sudden stirring of will-o-wisps, visible even from the Outskirts of the Hollowed Grounds.

It explained his presence at the Sea of Branches. What it didn't explain was the raccoon he carried in his arms, snuggled against his chest like a stuffed animal. "Sorry," he was mumbling to it - to Remi, really, trying not to seem as tired as he was. "Figured you wouldn't want to miss this. At least you didn't have to walk." He yawned.

RONIN
Darkness is a funny thing. It creeps up on you.
Remi Taliesin
the Bastion


Age: 31 | Height: 5'11 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 15 - Strg: 68 - Dext: 60 - Endr: 100 - Luck: 93 - Int: 3
ORIA - Mythical - Spriggan (Ghost)
Played by: Odd Offline
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#5
Whether or not Remi was a sound sleeper depended entirely on whose night it was to get up with Aoife. Since this was Ronin's night, Remi had decided he was more than allowed to ball himself up as small as he could be in their nest of blankets. And so as his friend scooped him up, Remi just cuddled closer (it was no different than most nights after all). In fact, being carried in Ronin's arms felt a bit like being rocked to sleep by the sea. It was only as the actual smell of water wafted into his nostrils that he awoke properly, glancing around with dark eyes which he rubbed at with his small hands.

Tittering slightly, he turned in Ronin's arms though at no point made an effort to get down.

cinnamon whiskey, boy don't kiss me soft and slow


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Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
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#6
The Woods were not so dark as once they had been. Still full of mystery, still full of tricks, but Jigano had ventured into them and returned more than once now, and his steps grew more certain with each successful journey. Tonight his steps were on four dainty paws, his fox's eyes better suited to the dark, and fox's ears tilted forward to listen to the sounds of the forest around him as his sleeplessness sent him exploring once more.

Tonight the trees were quiet, the will-o-wisps guiding travelers towards the Stonesong in echo of a prior evening, where fire and water had combined to play tricks and treats upon the children of Caido in the sweet chill of a Flowerbirth night. Isuma pounced and bounded along beside him, sleek and trim as baby fat burned away to juvenile muscles and feathers molted towards fledgling flight. The pair of pale adventurers slipped like spirits through the night, reflections of starlight through the leaves, half-wisps themselves as they followed their curious guide to the sandy banks of the Sea of Branches and the curious constructions that arced across the river there.

Seeing the gathering of Fae in poses of reverence, Jigano coaxed Isuma into her best manners and eeled his silken, vulpine way to a place near the front of those gathered, so he could watch what was to come. The pair settled back on their haunches, paws placed primly in the sand, and the white fox bowed his head in respect for what moved their silent hosts, curious and watchful but attempting to give no offense by either changing into an unwelcome human form, or behaving in a way that would disrupt whatever ceremony was occurring.
Ianto Dea Arduinna
Merchant

Age: 30 | Height: 6'0 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Greatwood
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#7
Ianto
A fox prowled low in the undergrowth of the riverbank, peeping out across the soft and moonlit sands. No one much checked the riverbank for foxes. And so he settled there, paws tucked close, ink-tipped ears perked forward, eager to see and to hear.

But not as keen to be seen or to be heard, evidently. The fox watched the people as they began to file in; Fae and those from beyond the barrier. More and more, the folk of the Greatwood would have to start to realise that this was the new norm.

The fox waited.


Coding base by Sky!
Samuel Wordsworth
Book maker/seller

Age: 34 | Height: 5' 5" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 10 - Strg: 28 - Dext: 25 - Endr: 27 - Luck: 25 - Int: 1
MIA - Regular - Ragdoll Cat
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#8

Samuel
Tell me little dear if you've only lived here,
have you ever really lived at all?

Sam had been sat up in bed, watching out the window with a cup of tea, just considering where he was and where he had been, when he noticed a lot of people headed out towards the edge of the barrier. Or to a party at that end of town, but he felt in his gut this was something more and soon found himself getting out of bed and dressed, hurrying to join and follow.

He was scared to escape the barrier or go into the woods, but he was even more scared to be left behind in some kind of mass exodus. Turning invisible so that he could be more protected he followed until they reached the river.

The sight of the Fae and the wisps shocked Sam out of his invisibility, a little gasp escaping him. He stood and waited, as always not wanting to become the centre of attention.







Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
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#9
DEIMOS
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame
The will-o-wisps called again, ushering their haunting lights, bordering on the Outskirts, a wail, a bellow, a hymn, unsaid and unsung in the rush of luminescence. He’d been led before, time and time again, lured when he thought he was strong and enduring, beguiled when he thought himself incapable of temptation, enticed when he’d once been so utterly indifferent. There was a balking mechanism to his lifted head, to the curiosity, to the memories shifting in his mind; because he could recall unearthly, ethereal stirs of another world at their hastening, and a woman laden with fire in another, criss-crossing and aligning themselves on the meticulous tethers. Resistance played a part, and he’d always been capable of tossing defiance and ensuing sedition, a bold, favored rebellion in the heart and lungs of cruel manifestations, swinging an ax, a sword, a hammer, into the chests of men; but here and now, the inquiry, the iniquity filled him again. What now? were the series, were the cycles, and like a ghost, like a phantom, like a wraith, the buoyant radiance scattered their beams and bulbs, hastening a follow me requiem.

He did.

But not without his weapons, his knives, his daggers, hastened and clustered to his belt, not without his motivation, his fire and fury, his menace and audacity, his insurrection and upheaval. He maneuvered, wandered, a Reaper on the move, down into parts of the Fae world he’d yet to visit – eyes fastening first to the structures built on stilts, above and beyond the wild water, then to the river itself, free and unburdened. He saw the Fae, watching, waiting, as if called and summoned, and then he pondered about sacrifices again, looked for Amalia, for Kiada, for the rush of blood to not go pulsing and pervading through his machinations, his mind, his Mephistophelean regard without some sort of warning or omen. But everything was quiet and still; his breaths sharpened, gaze swinging to those he recognized, all lingering too – Ronin, Samuel, and countless others, brought and shepherded here. Why? He composed himself too, along the embankments, looking out over the tides, eyes narrowed, suspicious.
master of nothing place;
of recoil and grace
Melita Najya
the Honeybee


Age: 26 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 10 - Strg: 57 - Dext: 58 - Endr: 58 - Luck: 57 - Int: 1
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd SILA - Mythical - Dragon (Fire Breath)
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#10
MELITA
The honeybee girl was no stranger to temptation – lived in it, thrilled and enthralled by its containments and adornments it, chased it down with fangs and claws, howls and roars, dins and chaos. This was no exception – eyes lingering on the will-o-wisps pulsing their eye through her sights. A mere gesture of forward, of advancing, and she was a goner, Fangorn warned and leaping after her, running in rampant, fervent exultation as lights danced and carved their way across forest floors. Come back! she wanted to say, still so much a child, forgetting about monsters and their lures, misplacing those vital experiences that told her not to race after the hollowed voids, that urged her to command some sense of danger amidst the temptation. But she was a tempest, a storm, a mercurial breeze that couldn’t be curbed; and when they reached the beach, the soil, the sand, she loosened a gasp.

Fae were lined up, ready, for whatever was to come, and she wanted to bear witness, become a part of the mystery, the enigma, stretching itself across the land. She glanced at the stilts, at the village, at the wood rising from the deep, from the fathoms, and wished she could do the same – inching closer to Ronin and his raccoon friend (seeking out the familiar, the safety of others), a myriad of questions hastened across her tongue, but incapable of giving them voice, afraid to disrupt the strange, lilting peace and repose settling along the enchanting abyss.
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: shark Offline
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#11
AMALIA
Amalia is not the first to arrive; nor is she the last. On starlit wings the owl glides, flying with Jyoti through warm LongHeat night, drawn by strains of magic and untold things. Endlessly curious, effortlessly engaged, the avian girl is a watchful thing, carefully alert and eagerly engaged. She is not made for stealth - not with the whale calf sparkling alongside her, seas of cosmos in their wake - but she is silent nonetheless, a winged thing in the waning dark who glides in to observe.

She lights upon a branch nearby, wary yet curious, wide eyes staring intently at the surroundings. Many of the gathered are familiar faces: she lands near a fox, hooting softly to make herself known to Ianto before turning her gaze back on the others. The sight of Deimos makes her heart rise in her chest; for a moment she considers taking wing to land upon his shoulder, but hesitates, talons clawing gently on the branch. Instead Jyoti swims ahead, cooing as she circles each of her friends, able to recognize them through her bonded's affection: Ronin and Remi, Jigano and Isuma, before finally settling onto Deimos' shoulder, peering out on the assembled Fae from a nest she has made in the man's dark hair.
You are flesh and blood
And you deserve to be loved
and you deserve what you are given
And oh, how much
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
General of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 47 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 61 - Dext: 60 - Endr: 61 - Luck: 58 - Int: 2
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
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#12
WESSEX
There’s something heavy in the night: an air of expectancy, of waiting and watching and bearing witness to nature. For Wessex, she can feel the world about to shift. Soon the days will be shorter, if only by minutes. Soon she will be able to walk around again without her damn cloak and hood. Soon they will begin to reclaim their time. Whilst others bundle up and hide, the Ascended will walk freely.

She slinks through the forest, nowhere near as quiet as the Fae, but a great deal more furtively than some. She pops up next to Deimos with nary a word - just a steady, quiet, and calm presence. To wait. Because that is all they seem to do these days.
No, I’ll be the stone
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
Lily Balfour
Entertainer

Age: 34 | Height: 5'9'' | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#13
lily
from what i’ve tasted of desire
i hold with those who favor fire


She follows first the Wil-o-Wisps and then the flow of people from the Settlement to the Sea, letting the moon and the dancing lights guide the way. Without hesitation, she crosses the river and continues on - farther than she’s been before. In the back of her mind she knows she’s mean to have explored this area, but there is so much to do in town that it is always an afterthought. Perhaps when things settle down…

But then there is the smell of salt and the grass gives way to sand. Lily smiles at the feeling of it between her toes. She spots a familiar head and slips through the waiting people -giving a small wave to Melita before sidling up to Lucas. “Maybe this time I’ll have to save you,” she murmurs to him before stopping at his side. A slight wave of her fingers reaches out to brush his hand or arm - or not, it doesn’t really matter.


Age: 7 | Height: | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#14
random event
The Fae gather; you gather; waiting is as much of a privilege as what is to come. And finally - finally - the will-o-wisps gather about the shoreline, illuminating the Sea of Branches in all of its glory. Something is coming down from that settlement on stilts - a gilded litter, borne by four Fae, male and female alike. Within the little, the Naiad sits. Beautiful, ethereal, her dark hair long and loose, her almond eyes beatific.

She sits as she has done since she was but a babe - but now a woman grown, her time has come to pass her sacred right down to the next generation. It is time for her feet to touch to the ground, for the first time in her fifty years of life.

As she approaches, the litter lowering to the warm sands, the Fae are jubilant.



The Naiad approaches! It is time to pay her your respects. Or don't. Who's going to stop you, really?

You have 24 hours to respond. (Yeah I changed the time limit. Badmin over here).
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