Current Prompt: Parched Rainforest
This page contains all the information and stories for the current Storyline arc. Submit an entry to the current Storyline prompt to sway the tides of fate. Please notice that when a Storyline prompt ends, it will be archived into a "Legacy" prompt. Legacy prompts may still be completed, but will not give the same rewards and won't have an effect on the story.
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A Trinket for a King
(Legacy) March 14th, 2023
“The Month of the Ether Hunt draws to a close. The carnival stalls are packing up their wares; the racing parties are coming down from the summit, laughing amongst each other; and the trodden paths are already beginning to grow over once-more. Looking up into the setting sun, you drink in the warm pinks, letting the joy – and tidbits of fear – from these memories sink into your skin. They dance with the comforting breeze, carrying the gentle aroma of spring soil through your lungs.
“Much like the ceaseless winter, it is time to leave the Sweetheart Summit. Spring is coming, and it is time to go home.
“But as you begin to take the dirt road out of Papurie, something glitters from the roadside. After just a pace into the grass, you find a strange trinket nestled in the grass before you. Its eyes glow a spring-green from its bed of grass. The blades around the trinket seem almost greener and healthier than those around it, and your mind fixates on the intricate carving. Before you even realize it, your paw has snatched the carving from its nest, where it now rests in your satchel as you cheerfully skip your way home.”
With a newfound trinket in hand, a new choice has been presented: do you wish to keep the trinket a secret or share your discovery with the community?
Without only a moment's hesitation, you have chosen to keep the trinket a secret. (4 users choose to be secretive, while the remaining 2 choose to share it with the world.)
Eyes of Ruby and Greed
(Legacy) April 14th, 2023
"You’ve chosen to keep the trinket a secret. No one can know about what you’ve found. They might try to steal it, or they may find you crazy, or for one of the other million reasons boiling in your mind. But the whispering is restless, rushing through your ears like the winds through a stone cavern. What was once a hushed murmur evolved into a whistle, and now a scream. Your ears ring and your mind burns with the weight of ten thousand syllables.
"It has become nearly unbearable, but still, the glow is too alluring. You bury the serpent and its jewel deep into the furthest recesses of your hoard, where the only hint of its presence is the earthly glow. No one can know. No one will know. No one, except for you.
"But even as you distance yourself from your hoard and the whispers emanating from within, whether leaving for the market or tending your gardens or wandering for a stroll, the strange words still drone in your mind.
"Suddenly your heart stops, as your mind clinks into a memory. You recognize a word. Without thinking, your paw extends, etching the word into the water-soaked soil. , the word for "reclaim". Suddenly, the whispers disappear, and you are pushed back by the wave of silence. You grab your head, ears ringing, head stinging. Something is coiling inside of you, wrapping its tendrils through you like roots. You flinch, looking up to feel a wrenching tug in your gut.
"Something tells you that you must return to your hoard.
"Without taking a moment to ponder why, you dash back to your home, paws thundering beneath you. When you reach the entrance, you see nothing amiss, but your whiskers retch in the magic fumigating your home. Your stomach churns as you blast through the entryway, streaking through the halls and into your hoard. Your lungs pool with rancid magic while the tang of bile nips your tongue. You wrench a cough from your throat, sliding into the hoard, glaring through squinted eyes.
"Your adrenaline mixes with the sands of time, clogging the hourglass and petrifying the world before you. Your heart pounds in your chest like a drum, echoing through your bones and numbing your skull. Your body slows with each foggy breath you cast. Foggy breath. The room is cold, and a shiver traces up your spine when your eyes settle on what’s amiss.
"A pair of beady red eyes vacantly stare back at you from the shadows, the glint of your trinket resting in its jowls.
"Suddenly, the hourglass sand breaks free from its frozen prison, grains crashing down like a waterfall. Energy surges through your muscles, launching yourself towards the creature in the shadows. Suddenly, the creature shouts an incantation and disappears as you tackle, not into them, but onto your hoard’s floor. You look up, dust glittering all around you. The creature is gone, teleporting far, far away. And with them, so went your trinket.
"The world slips away, falling eerily silent and still. Only your heavy breath and pounding heart accompany you as you stare into the nothing. You take a step back, a crunch sounding beneath your paws. You look down to see an insect, no larger than your thumbnail, twitching feebly. A lobster mite.
"You look back up into the remnants of dust floating down, a sense of dread plummeting in your stomach. Whoever just took off was searching for you – your trinket, specifically — and they just got what they wanted."
Somehow, someone discovered and has stolen the serpent trinket, and a new trio of choices emerge. Will you seek to find answers in the pages of the magic books in forgotten library, or from the assistance of a translocation-magician, or in the counsel of a High Priest?
You have chosen to begin searching for the forgotten library. (2 users hoped to locate the library, while 1 searched for the hermit. The guards and temple of the High Priest remain quiet with 0 users seeking their assistance.)
Trade of Tales
(Legacy) June 1st, 2023
"Your footsteps crescendo as the ground beneath your feet transitions from the leaf litter of autumns past into the tap of ancient cobble pavers. The morning sun swirls in your eyes, glimmering with the fervor of both a new day and a new discovery.
"After a fruitless expedition in the Sylph Falls, your thirst for knowledge has driven you in search of a fantastical library. It was supposedly only a folktale, but despite all odds, you’ve found it.
"The massive building is unmistakable and breathtaking as the firey sunlight dances through the canopy, haloing looming pillars and delicate carvings leading into the stoa’s shadowy retreat. The shimmer flitters from the varnish and catches your eyes in the magical way wooden structures do: how on this flooded island hasn’t the building rotten away; could it truly have been hidden in the spirit-realm?
"But these questions that murmur through your thoughts drift into silence as you ascend the stretching perron into the shelter of the stoa. Your pupils drink in the cool shadows, dilating only briefly from the dappled sunlight. Whiskers twitching and eyes glowing, you spot the entryway.
"You prance up to the heavy, double doors, noticing the intricate carvings woven into the wood’s rings from trees long-since cut down to serve the magnificent purpose of the entryway to the halls beyond. You lift a paw to push the doors open, but the weight forces you to switch to your shoulder. Summoning all of your strength, you push again, and the hinges open with the cry of ten thousand centuries, revealing the world inside.
"Somehow, the darkness is even stronger, the shadows weighing on your lungs like a heavy fog as you take your first tentative step inside. You pause for a moment, listening to the silence, then curiosity takes hold. You head further inside, imprinting footprints into the layers of dust blanketing the dark wood floor like snow. The particles dance into the air, catch your nose and tickle a sneeze, but there is no time to heed them.
"You stand in wonderment at the room around you. Books, hundreds upon hundreds of books spread throughout hundreds and hundreds of shelves, seemingly span into the heavens above. Where the circular room’s ceiling should have been is an infinite spiral of shelves that would take lifetimes to read. Overwhelmed, you redirect your focus to the shelf before you, and haphazardly pluck one of the many volumes from the shelf. It nearly disintegrates in your hands, its lightweight feel startling you into attention. Where you had anticipated heavy, stone tablets, you are met with the feather-like touch of paper. Real paper.
"The archaic pages drape into your hands and you settle to observe the ancient characters inked into the page, scarcely visible in the low light.
"'…and the final scale has been shed. Lazourus has destroyed them. The Benthon, hastily casting out the villain, plead innocence, but the people are restless and the Primlin—the symbol of truth... Lazourus has already run into hiding, and now someone else must bear the weight of the blame. I fear for the future of our Earthen brothers…'
"Suddenly, a pebble tumbles from above, jolting you from the faded script. The small stone skips and skitters to a halt before your feet. You stare into the slate-grey pebble, shifting your gaze into the infinity that is the ceiling. You notice separate floors, barred securely with oak railings that are carved in elegant shapes, a motif from the pillars outside, but there is no movement. The universe is still, as if the library has halted time itself.
"A shiver trills up your spine for yet another time on this journey. Something tells you the answers about your missing serpent trinket may not be worth staying in these halls. You turn to leave, but stop dead in your tracks.
"Two beady, black eyes stare into you from behind a pair of menacing, steel tusks. The soul residing in the eyes reveres you with distrust, but light glitters within for the thrill of an intruder after so many years of silence. The beast, flat against the floor, still looms over you, its yellow mouth hissing static saliva. Its deep grey fur blends into the shadows, while striking gold fins weave up its chest into a mouth the size of your entire body, visible even against the scarlet sunlight haloing around its powerful form. Its elephant-clawed feet click quietly across the beige-tiled floor.
"You begin to step back, and the beast abruptly lunges. The pair of yellow frills around its neck flare as it launches an obsidian claw toward your eye.
"You're only able to narrowly dodge the strike as the beast rakes another piercing claw into your side. An electric singe burns through the gash as you’re flung into a bookshelf. The furniture trembles, sending books cascading down, but the wound is shallow enough, you manage to slide away from the paper landslide. The creature releases a bellow from deep within its lungs.
"Wincing, you leap aside as the massive form slithers its charge into the wall where you stood just moments before. The force knocks the bookshelf onto the creature, but the heavy wood shatters like mica, as it swivels to charge once more. Its body slinks like a barracuda in the waters, but you swirl left, and the beast is too slow to correct itself. The attack lands full force into the opposite wall, obliterating the solid wood. The fragments snap and clatter onto the ground, the hollow sound reminding you that with one wrong move, those noises could be fragments of your Soul Gem.
"At some point, your pains drown in adrenaline, and your mind races. Instinctively, you stumble to the door, but your heart plummets. The doors are tightly sealed, presumably having swayed shut from the creatures’ rampaging. Suddenly, the ground trembles around you, and you are smashed sideways, static ricocheting through your muscles. Your body flies into another bookcase, as your head aches to process the punishment for letting your guard down.
"The beast roars again, charging straight for you, but with electric spasms filleting your muscles and purple-blue bruises soaking into your skin, there is no way to evade the creature. You brace yourself for impact when, suddenly, a book falls open from the shelf above you.
"The world falls still.
"Then it erupts into a purifying sea-glass-blue light, blinding you. You hear the beast yowl, then the hiss of its slithering retreat. When your vision finally returns, the creature is long gone, and you are alone in the library. No longer is the room illuminated with the soft glow of a filtered sunrise. Instead, a blue light dapples the room like a zoo aquarium, all emanating from the books lining the ever-expansive shelves.
"Gnashing your teeth, you tremble onto your feet and slowly pad over to the book resting before you. Once again, the delicate touch of paper meets your paws. The letters themselves glow like magic runes, letting you easily read the text on the random page the book fell open to.
“'…I can feel myself slipping. I should have kept my Soul Gem, but how could I let her burn? Maybe I should have let the Inferno taken her. She will now live an eternity of loneliness, the last of her kind, because of me. Glory, if you find this journal—'
"Suddenly, the words begin to shift and swirl as though the ink were sucked into a vortex. You try to blink your eyes clear, but before you know it, the text has become a muddled scribble in the center of the page. You fear it is because you are on the verge of fainting, but this tidepool of congealed alphabet begins to animate, bubbling and churning. You lean in, trying to make sense of the scribbles, as the blue glow dims to nothing. Suddenly, a face springs from the ink splot, cackling like a starved wildfire.
"You recoil back, launching the book across the floor. Your fur prickles along your spine, the world slipping into an icy chill. In between the pages, a figure slinks through the ink. Another beast has found you, but the wounds of the previous force you to stay in place. It is in this moment that you begin to notice something.
"You watch as the creature furls and curls around the words, slinking through the pages that have begun to turn on their own as if a heavy wind were rushing through the library. A smile with too many teeth and a hissing tongue like a snake’s flickers in and out of view. The beast reveals itself, with whiskers quivering, its eyes are hollow and crazed, and a laugh is constantly rasping from its throat. While its movements flow like ink, its limbs are rigid and nearly lifeless. Your mind jumps to the shadow-puppet shows of your youth, but the mane and the creature’s build… Despite your doubts, this is no cryptid nor some entertainer’s toy. The long body, whiskers, and flowing mane give it away: an aqualox is living inside the pages of the library books. But where’s its Soul Gem?
"'Who are you?'The question escapes your lips before you even remember that you can still speak, and like a crow into the winter dawn, the aqualox’s cackle pierces your ears.
“'I am the one who’s been Lost to the Currents. I have been swimming for millennia, no longer bound to the tether of mortal flesh and bone,' hisses the toothy grin. 'I guard this library’s knowledge, young Child of Aysu, and I deem you unworthy of these writer’s tales. You are inferior to me. You are still humbled by the plight of famine and disease.'
"The laughing figure disappears into the edge of the page, reappearing on the box cover next to you. A hiss rings from its throat like a dragon about to spit fire.
“'Nevertheless, do you realize that you are the first in a century to be in these halls? I can sense that you have what I want: you carry secrets and stories on your frame,' the ‘lox cackles again, 'albeit they are not as expansive nor grievous as mine.'
"Without warning, the figure shifts out of the book again. You cannot see where it has gone, but the whispers echo all around you.
“'Share your stories, your worries and woes, young child of Aysu. In turn, I shall grant you a fragment of the knowledge you seek.' The creature whips itself into the book in front of you, and the glowing letters blare red light. 'But make it good, lest you wish to be fed to the Rok Guardian.'
"This sends the aqualox down a spiral of guttural laughter, as it twirls away into another book, dissolving from your vision once more, while the glowing letters slowly shift from red to blue.
"All the cold of the Northern Islands course through your veins, as your left reaching into your memory for a story to tell. "
You are now given the opportunity to ask the One Lost in the Currents a question. Here is a collection of all of the questions Lost has heard and been able to respond to:
Who is that Lazourus guy that was mentioned in one of the library's books?
-
Lost in the Currents whirlpools through the lettering, his laughter drumming with his flowing fin.
“Lazourus the Leviathan, the Phoenix, the Dreaded! A terradin with many titles and the last of your Earthen kin to align with the Inferno. His fractures like shredded wings. His mind singed with grandeur.”
Lost in the Currents stops suddenly, and it feels as though your heart has stopped beating and the breath has been stolen from your lungs. The smile across the One Lost in the Current’s face plummets into thought, and the cadence of laughter is abducted from the world. His whiskers sense the air (can he do that, from the paper?) and instinctually, so do yours. You sense nothing, but the grin on Lost’s face reappears, ten times as wide, and his chuckles surge in like a tsunami.
“He is the reason no terradins roam, why no primlins climb. By him, the plants have died and his brothers are petrified,” Lost in the Currents disappears from the page, and a dripping image of a map appears in the ink. “But don’t take my rumours for it: travel westward, child of Aysu, and you will find a Benthon village. Here slumbers the paver to answers, should you wish to find it.”
We are searching for a Safiran with red-eyes and the ability to teleport. Where can we find them?
-
“A modern question you ask,” Lost hisses through his teeth, “I am keen on history, not the political fluff between the Central Shores, from which you hail, and the Midland Marshes, from which your target comes.”
Lost’s eyes roll as it fades away into the paper, a map revealing itself again.
“Head east and delve into your hunt, but cry to me not when your prey has fangs of its own. I know little of today’s red-eyed aqualoxes’ principles.”
I found a strange serpent trinket. What can you tell me about me about it?
-
“From the description you’ve given, I can gather little,” the One Lost in the Currents chuckled at your attempt to explain the trinket and its whispers, “but I know of the creature captured in the stone. It is a primlin, the race that wound like ivy through the region of Serville Creek. They are gone now. The only trace is the dark frame of the Great Sycamore that pierces the horizon.”
The silhouette of a map drizzles onto the page, the depicted location burning into your mind, then Lost in the Current’s smirk replaces the map.
“Why it was stolen from you becomes a question of why you would let it be stolen, mortal child, if you thought it so valuable.”
Your demeanor falters at the taunt.
Forked along stork wings
(Legacy) July 1st, 2023
"Raindrops flicker across the ground, turning the soil to mud, but the aqualox trekking through it seems to care little, if at all. His mind is too deeply clouded in his own thoughts to care about the world around him. The messenger poco on his back signals the same message over and over.
"Caravan searched. Suspect escaped. Evidence remains. Assistance requested, its ribbons sign.
"The aqualox shakes out his whiskers, the droplets gravitating up to his mane. It's not like he could forget this message; who could when an entire aqualox seemingly dissipates into dust! But he can’t deny the company of his poco is soothing. It would be the only trace of familiarity that he could bring to the Temple of Aysu, save for the scales on his back.
"He was to meet with High Priest Romulus, the advisor to Lake Tide. This made Romulus the second in command to all of the Central Shores. The aqualox in the rain shivered. To one of the most powerful Safirans in the Eastern Territories, he was bringing hazardously foul news, and there was no shortage of rumour on Romulus’ temper. The High Priest was not the sort to express his anger, but you could feel the rage slither between your skin and nibble at your flesh like an oily leech in a shoe.
"Get in and get out, the messenger tells himself.
"He wants to be no more involved than he has to be, the contents of his satchel weighing his conscience down like a jester about to poison a king, except in this case, it may be an entire country he is throwing to the wolves.
—————
"The light in the library grows dim, the evening glow peeking in before waning into sunset. Your throat grows sore and your mouth has gone dry. It seems as though the pseudo-deity before you has also grown tired: the paper-bound aqualox’s movements have slowed, its coiling body has turned slack, and its ceaseless laughter has faded to a murmur carried on the library’s echoes.
"He seems satisfied with your stories, although he appears to be more intrigued by the questions you asked. A few questions stood out from the conversation, revealing to you not only locations on where to investigate next, but also a lead on your thief.
"'Red-eyed ‘loxes are not a commodity,' the One Lost in the Currents yawned when you inquired about your burglar. 'They are from the Midland Marshes. A particular family monitors the Ruby-Flesh Carp with the ferocity of a mother bear. Not all of the family are born with the trait, though.'
"You open your mouth to ask further, but the One Lost in the Currents whisks away from the book in front of you.
"'Come,' his laugh bounces through the hall.
'You wince, still a little sore from the Rok Guardian’s strike, but rise and approach the glowing book from which Lost’s voice emanates. Then, the book loses its phosphorus glow, and the next one takes its place. You approach that one, but it flicks off, but the next turns on. This happens again, and again, so on, and so on, until you have started chasing down a trail of illuminated books, lights flickering off and on down the hall.
'The light keeps darting away like an ocean dragonfly, when it zips around a corner. You swerve to follow, but skid to a halt before a massive canvas, hanging in the middle of the room by its four corners. The light settles on the paper, draping the ink in its azure glow. Breath heavy, you glance around the empty room, but there is nothing except this canvas. Your eyes settle on the print, every territory of Safira Island inked in detail you’ve never seen before. You stretch your paw onto the canvas, the movement causing the map to billow like a wave under a buoy. You notice the canvas is not made of traditional paper, but instead a massive layer of manipulated leaves and bark. Suddenly a single fleck illuminated the center of the canvas, and you notice the silhouette of the One Lost in the Currents appear on the corner of the map. He looks dwarfed against the scale of the world.
"'You will be here,' the light twinkled in the middle of the main island, 'at the spark of dusk’s shadow.'
"Suddenly, the floorboards slip out from beneath you, your paws squelching into damp soil. Startled, you look down at the rainforest grass spearing around you. You turn to the One Lost in the Currents for answers, but you meet the bark of a mangrove instead of the canvas of a map. The walls surrounding you are gone, and the starry night sky begins to paint the sky above where limitless bookshelves should have been.
"'Choose your next step wisely,' a chuckle rings in your ear before the drum is replaced by nocturnal toad song.
"The library is gone, and you are left standing alone in the middle of a rainforest. You begin to wonder if it was all a dream, if you hallucinated the parting words of paper aqualox with no Soul Gem, but a gemstone clucks at your feet. You lean down to grab the amber brooch, two lights fluttering within like a firefly compass.
"East or west? you almost hear a voice ask."
You have chosen to go far east to chase after the knowledge of primlins at the Great Sycamore. (1 user chose to pursue the Great Sycamore. 1 user chose to head to Khaulcaster, but the border was closed off. Peculiar...)
Tone of the Bells
(Legacy) August 2nd, 2023
You weigh the options on where to go next, and figure it’s better to find answers about the serpent trinket before chasing it across the island. The Great Sycamore, the gargantuan tree that stakes down from the heavens into the horizon, is your next destination. The area is rumoured to be haunted, but that doesn’t stop you as you trudge through the dense underbrush.
Eyes, ears, and whiskers alert, you watch for any signs of a clue towards the extinct primlin race, but nothing emerges from the underbrush or hints at a civilization from before your time. It is just silence, where even the wind’s breath on the trees is faint. The closer you get to the Great Sycamore, the more still the world becomes, as if the forest itself has died. Although as a thorned vine snares your paw, you realize the plants are doing fine. More than fine, in fact. They are thriving, rivaling even the sky. The element of Life drowning out the Air.
You look around uneasily. This is no place for a Water-aligned species such as yourself, but you choose to stay. There is no reason to turn tail now; you’ve been afraid before, but you can sense you're getting closer to unraveling this mystery. It’ll just take a little bit of searching.
—————
Lake Tide huddled herself into the corner of her room, surrounding herself in a shelter of her work: dozens of messages and conferences recorded onto many different types of stone tablets, tax reports from the bazaar shops, lists of new hatched ‘loxes quickly growing too old to remain in the Shelter. Lake Tide picked up one dusty slab and began to read.
Then a knock came from the entryway of the doorless room. She lifted her head to see a pastel aqualox peeking around the edge of the doorway.
“Percival?”
“Hello, Miss Lake Tide,” his voice barely reached Lake’s ears. “Romulus was hoping you were available for a meeting in the southern chapel.”
“Did he say for what reason?”
“He did not, Miss.”
“So we can assume the matter may be trivial?” Lake returned to her tablet. “He is like that, you know. Taking other’s time as though he is Aysu herself, although we all have strong ties to our goddess.”
Percival said nothing, and Lake looked up from the tablet again.
“That includes you, Percival.”
“My connection to Her Greatness pales compared to Romulus’, and even more so your own.”
Lake withheld a scoff. “You are simply inexperienced. I’d give it a few more years before writing yourself off.”
“You seem to believe strongly in us.”
“We live our lives as priests, Percival. It is our job to have faith.”
“And if we do not?”
Lake remained quiet, staring into the horizon veiled by the marble stone wall.
“Tell Romulus I will be down in an hour.”
“I will see to it.”
Percival, who still stood in the shadow of the doorway, bowed and turned down the hall. As his footsteps faded, Lake Tide sighed, setting aside the tablet she had grown too distracted to read. Something tugged on the threads of her mind and plucked along her whiskers like a harpist. The air was amiss, and she began to truly wonder for what reason Romulus’ was requesting her so late in the evening. She stood up with a stretch and then began to slowly make her way to the chapel.
—————
You kicked a clod of mud into the air, sending it plummeting into the river with a scattering splash. You’ve been searching ceaselessly for any type of clue to the primlins, drifting as far as the river beds of upstream Seville Creek, but you have found nothing. No sliver of writing, no fragment of a charm, not even the eroded remnants of a building. It’s as if whatever Lost in the Currents sent you to find has simply evaporated. You’ve scoured the underbrush and fished through the fourth dimension with your whiskers, but you are now really beginning to believe the library deity has steered you wrong.
Panting, you suddenly realize just how tired you are. When was the last time you slept? Legs trembling like a withered sapling, eyes blinking into a blur, you slowly trod to the base of a nearby tree and slump into the embrace of the surfacing roots. Your breathing evens and your heart slows as you slip into a deep, dreamless slumber.
Something shifts in the bushes, and you jolt back into waking. From within the glowing underbrush, a glimmer of light catches your eye. As the creature emerges, a memory does as well. You are able to recognize this golden creature as a Bellji. It stares at you with its single, glowing eye, but you remain level-headed. Maybe the sleep has yet to fully waft out the windows of your woken mind.
The Bellji tilts its head, revering you for a moment. It then shakes itself rapidly, freeing a pair of objects from the cavity of its mask-esque face. The Bellji adjusts them on the ground in front of you, pushing one away from the other. It then returns to the center, plopping down onto the earth, each object an equal space away. It looks at you, unwavering and unbreathing. You glance down at the two objects.
To your left is a tangled thread, like a strand of fishing line scrambled into a misconfigured nest. Hidden deep within the entanglement seems to be some kind of charm.
Meanwhile, the object to the right is a perfectly round fruit, no bigger than one of the digits on your paw. The sun-golden yellow berry carries the aroma of a ripe peach.
The Bellji looks patiently at you, its eye flickering like a candle. Does it… want you to take an object?
You have chosen to take the bone carving. It seemed the most logical choice for your goal, after all. (Only one user participated in Tone of the Bells.)
Parched Rainforest
September 6th, 2023
You have chosen the bone carving. As you take the tangled threads into your hand, they unwind, and the bone sliver taps like a pendulum into you. Staring into the eroded carving, you feel the Bellji’s eye watching you, preening apart every strand of fur and staring into your soul. You look up into the eye’s scrutinizing glow, but the Bellji does not waiver.
Then the metal creature seems to decide something, flicks its tail, and trots across the grass and into the dense ground cover. The glimmer of its golden shell disappears into the shadows, but you can see the foliage shake with every step. Shoving the pendant into your satchel, you begin to chase after the shivering ferns.
As you take off into the forest’s fog, a yellow-bellied bird flutters to the ground, snatches the berry, and quickly flees into the branches above.
—————
Romulus was already perched upon the frontmost church pew as Lake Tide entered. He remained motionless, save for the pulse of his mane, as the sound of Lake’s pawsteps echoed through the marble room. A breeze drifted through the unglazed windows, fluttering tapestries in its wake.
“You’re early,” the elder ‘lox commented without turning.
“You knew I would be,” Lake replied.
Lake paused at the end of the aisle, tentatively kneading the maroon carpet, while she watched her advisor with flickering eyes. She could have sworn Romulus was born from stone, had he not needed to be aligned with the Seas to serve the temple. Only after Lake stood for two minutes, motionless as stone herself, did Romulus’ distant stare drift to where the High Priest waited. He shifted his tail aside, and Lake crept into the opened seat.
Without another word, Romulus summoned a large albino-leather satchel and coaxed out a single, decaying leaf. He slipped the fluttering page over to Lake. She craned her neck to see the contents, recognizing the type of parchment before the script.
“A pafolus?” Lake hadn’t seen a primlin artifact in half a decade. “Where is this from?”
“The Midland Marches. A—“ Romulus hesitated, “—random search pulled it from a supposed merchant’s wares.”
“You pillaged another Midlander’s trade cart?”
“Seized hazardous wares’, not pillaged, and it was not unwarranted.”
Lake shook her head. “How are we to remain at peace with our neighbors?”
“If you redirect your attention back to the script, you will see why we believe it was in our rights to confiscate the wares and apprehend the merchant.”
Lake did as she was told, gaze sifting through the pafolus before her. The paper was well-weathered, and the writing was fragmented, but the High Priest recognized a few of the primlin’s words etched into the leaf. She delicately turned each word over and over in her mind, translating slowly. Meticulously.
Coil. Churn. Clot.
“A… spell? Romulus, this seems faux,” Lake said. “In spite of the language, the script is more akin to the bilefolk’s casting than to a primlin’s.”
“A spell for poison will always remind one of the bilefolk,” Romulus hissed. “The Midland Marshes wish for an ecological war.”
It was then that Lake Tide laughed. Romulus flinched back and his fins flared at the unexpected response while Lake’s cheeks pillowed around her glittering eyes. The brief lapse of shock dissipated from Romulus’ face, while Lake shook her head. Settling back to the matter at hand, Romulus’ paw returned to the albino satchel, rummaging around tablets and supplies, as Lake spoke through her chuckles.
“Romulus, you sound like an ancient terradin. Have you met Queen Miamosa and her censfi?” Lake asked. “Those two are not the kind to foolishly chase after victory at the cost of innocent lives, and they would not allow their people to do so either.”
“I warn you of war not based on the queens’ actions, but of the ones made by the company they seek.”
Romulus then tossed a wrapped parcel into the space between them, and Lake’s smile plummeted as she nearly choked on the magic emanating from within the linen cocoon. Curling her whiskers further into themselves, itching to command Romulus to return the bundle to his satchel, Lake draped back the covering. She jolted when the green luminescent glow of a coiling serpent trinket pooled in her eyes.
“What—”
“High Priest Lake Tide, as your advisor, mentor, and more importantly, an aqualox who cares for our people, listen to what I must say: the Midlanders are searching for the primlin’s gods. They are searching to destroy the balance we had fought so hard to reclaim,” Romulus lifted Lake’s chin to meet his eyes. “The Midlanders are searching for war.”
—————
In spite of the blanket of foliage blocking your view from the skittering Bellji, you manage to follow closely as it scurries beneath the branches and thorns. A few times your paw snag and tumble over covered roots, but the Bellji is seemingly waiting for you, as it perches itself atop a branch.
This way, this way! You can almost hear it say. Follow, follow!
And then it dives back into the underbrush, leaves shaking in its wake, and the chase continues.
It feels as though the Bellji is leading you in circles, with the tiny creature making constant clockwise turns, but your surroundings lack familiarity. In fact, with every step, the forest appears to be withering, and the air turns hot and dry. Slowly but surely, the Belji becomes more visible in the shriveling underbrush, and the greenery wanes until there is nothing left but parched soil.
The Bellji stops, footprints skid in the dead, grey soil. You yield behind your guide, feeling your paws brush aside the dusting of soil before halting against lifeless, compacted earth. A jagged line of small, slate pebbles lay before you and the Bellji.
The golden creature turns to you, a hollow wind shifting the dust across your paws. You look across the land beyond the stones. It is a barren wasteland, so deathly that even the sky is void of life.
How did you end up here? There is no desert near the Great Sycamore — you're certain of it! but the Bellji has no answers for you and has instead seemed to have grown distracted. Something on the horizon has caught its eye. You squint, trying to catch a glimpse of what awaits atop the dust dunes, when something shimmers in its place. Suddenly, a plume of dust and debris erupts into the sky, blotting out the sun and rumbling through your bones.
A sandstorm courses towards you like Death’s river, and there is no time to think! In this brief second you have, what will you do? Do you choose to turn tail and run, or will you stay and hold your ground?
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