[=#006400]
She must have thought me very silly. I was working on the final poem for the scavenger hunt (Hooves crossed it goes well; it turns out I have one less poem than I thought I did. Oh dear.) when Sage arrived, to see me muttering and pacing. She didn’t laugh… But as I explained my woes to her, the idea formed and struck me like lightning, the words a pitter-patter of rain in my heart. When I write a poem, I admit it: I am not thinking. Not in the way that I think normally. All the parts of me that worry and fret move aside, and what moves in me is pure words. It’s editing when the thought comes back. Still, to spend so long pacing, and then be over in so little time…That’s odd to watch, isn’t it?
Still, when we were done, we went dancing again. The strange dancing, the slow-dancing that I showed her once; we’d both been thinking about it. We began to try and work out some signals – follow me, for example. In fact, that’s our only example. Just as the thoughts began to slide into the movement, into the cardinal-flush of her fur, into delightful play of language made of eye contact and a nod of the head, the first and truest language of the forest…
A little fawn came up. We happily danced with him, and until a second one came running, we even made a small attempt to show off our dancing to an audience – I wonder if the little fellow thought it strange?
But with two fawns, there’s no way we could focus long enough to do much more. We quickly fell to just goofing around, running and hopping in circles, gaining and shedding fawns like leaves. I think at most, we had 3 with us at a time, and total, we had 4; we’d occasionally stop to cast some antler magic, or take a break for me to sit and take a note or two for this entry.
I didn’t know their names, and for that, I’m sad.
Seed had been pondering this for months: do another scavenger hunt? Well, it was not so much if he should, but if he could; could he find enough places? Enough poems? Well, he felt he had, in the end. He had worked and pondered and, at last, he had found enough poems.
As before, he took a great strip of birchbark and a berry-ink on his antler-tips of his own design, and he wrote out a note in the language of the deer. He left it unsigned; anyone who didn't know that he wrote last time wouldn't know who wrote it.
He liked it better when people didn't know he wrote it.
And it said:
[=#006400]
[center]To All Dear Forest-Dwellers:
In the interest of letting poetry be as it was meant -- a surprise look at the world, a delight to reach and understand, and a part of the community -- I have gone forth once again and spread some of my poems throughout the forest, with each poem tied to its location. To each poem, I will release clues. Should you fail to find it, you may just find another clue to its location. I will release them gradually, so that I will be able to preserve them for my collection in case no one decides to hunt them out. Each wave of poetry will get, ideally, harder to find: you who can find the last poem will, without question, truly know the forest. You'll have truly gone and looked around, and been fully aware of this world. I applaude you, and applaude you all who love treasure hunts and pretty words.
I'm just going to use this is apologise in advance if I see anyone and use emotes that might be seen as negative, I'm still learning and trying to work out what it all means
I found the dance emote though, and managed to put flowers on my head, and other peoples! Yay for having plants on your head XD.
I don't seem to be getting my registration email, I've checked the spam folder in case and I've not got anything new. I know these things aren't instant, but I registered over an hour ago. Is there something wrong? Or am I just impatient?
No freaking idea what to name this so la da da da da~
Anyyyyyyyyyways, Keekster and I have been coming up with different concepts of what their baby would look like. Though everything is still up to change.
This is up for others - if anyone has any ideas - to share what they think Nix & Angel's baby would look like, and everything given here will go into consideration.
We're not sure if the baby is a male or a female yet, so make a concept for either/or if you wish.
The only thing we wish for you to include in their concepts is the butterfly markings from Nix & also a long tail like Angel's <3
This will be bumped every half/full trimester of Angel's pregnancy ♥
Reference of Nix: x
Reference of Angel: x
Concept Ideas (Don't want to be losing these ♥)
OrinococFlow: x
Acer: x
Proudwolf: x
Carry: x
magnanimous: x
Wingeddeer: x
AutumnPhoenix: x
EternalHeart: x
Heavy hooves made no sound as they tread along the sulfur and limestone laced earth underfoot. Every now and then a burst of steam erupts from the burning yellow ground, whistling hotly as hot air touches lower temperatures. The thick and foul smell of the peculiar ground below was enough to make the Necromancer wince. Regardless of his profession and abilities, he was never fond of the certain odors of the netherworlds.
His black and white pelt, marked with the pattern work of a deer’s skeletal system, appears faded and gray in the steam and smog the ground produces. Six crimson eyes stare straight ahead as he walks, looking with determination for the soul of one he had dealt with over a year ago. Whether it’s still intact or not is questionable to him. Every now and then he shakes his head from one side to the other, using his massive red antlers to thin and fan away the hot smog. If the humidity became too much for him, he could also fan the steam away with his long, fluffy tail. In doing so, he would also often brush away a stray soul or two.
Once the smog became almost entirely unbearable, Archelius finally found his man of interest. A smile appears on the necromancer’s long mouth, flashing his shark-like teeth briefly. ”Illic vos es. Illic est postulo sciscitor quispiam vestrum.”
A deer sits in the heart of the smog. Bright, lime green eyes flicker in the darkness. Slowly he raises to a stand, having previously been sitting with his nose to the ground… as though breathing in the extreme bursts of heat in a manner one would take in air from an underwater position. As he comes close to the necromancer, it becomes clear that the deer is naught by a skeleton himself. He wears a black cloak over his bones, and in his mouth he carries a long rapier. His horns, bleached white with age, are grand in size and designed like six mighty rapiers, much like the one in his mouth.
