#also I love that I can sort of throw geography rules out the window to some extent?

[mcalhenwrites]

Are they named after trees and plants and such? Idk seemed familiar

Some are, yes! :D Long post ahead. :') So simple explanation but dragons are keepers/protectors of their region, which could be a section of a continent or an entire planet. Depends on the dragon's experience and size of region/planet. Now, humans have sometimes named dragons, and those names stick. Humans don't know about all dragons, so you'll have some with more complicated names. Tessa's name? Not her actual name! No one would be able to decipher it. ;) Here's a conversation between Niven and Tessa:

          “Did Methla teach you how to talk in human tongue? And what is your real name?” Nearly all the humans who had ever heard the language of dragons lived thousands of years ago. Not even priests and priestesses could claim they had ever heard it.

          She responded to the last question first, using a guttural noise that filled the air like the rush of a waterfall. Niven had to clap his hands over his ears. Despite that, he grinned.

          “And yes, I learned your language from Methla,” said Tessa casually as he lowered his arms.

          “Humans could not speak their names, and so placeholders were found.” Niven paraphrased the common knowledge all children learned in the nursery. He giggled. “Does that mean you didn’t know we called you Tessa until Methla told you?”

          Tessa snorted so much that it created small waves in the water in front of her. They lapped against Niven’s rock stack.

          “It’s a simple name, yes. So is your language. It has had so much time to evolve, and yet you have not the words for some emotions, no word for the tickle of a tail touching scales.” Her lips curled into what must have been a dragon’s smile.

Anyway, humans sometimes go with "what a dragon seems keen on" too. One of my dragons, Dirkka, likes... Dirks. Swords. Knives. Sheathes. (Dragons, hoarding? Yes haha~) Mind, he's equally touched when humans offer him sentimental items of no monetary value, like their children's first cut locks of hair. My art post included Bircha, for instance, and the birch tree influence. I'm glad I finally got to draw him. That led to a funny convo with a friend, who didn't know the word for birch tree in English but still sent me a picture of birch trees to say Bircha reminded her of them. :') Afensi isn't really in a fen, but it's a marsh-like area, and I came up with a name around "fen" easiest. Mydas is interesting, because if you look at his design and hop on google images to search "mydas"... okay wtf I'm getting bugs now, I'll add "sea" - AH THERE WE GO:

(Apparently google has figured out I like to identify bugs, so that must've skewed my results.) Mydas is the name of the planet he built, and the seasons are divided by sea turtle breeding patterns. (Which aren't super realistic, based on my research, but it's a fictional world/that's the system I wanted.) I also have Tempra, who looks over a region called the Spicewood, and it is a temperate rainforest! So yes, location/plants/etc usually do have a lot to do with their names. Just not for all of them. There are a lot of planets. Dragons have had planets destroyed on them (main plot of The Hostile Credence, and it's an unfortunate ending to the planet the first story, The Will of the Whispering, takes place on) and have to rebuild, or they go work on a new one, what of it? Their looks often change if their tastes do. :') They're basically a bunch of artists having a blast with building planets in space together. They also make space highways by the time humans start traveling in space. :D Some are named really affectionately, I think that's where Affie's name comes from. She's about the size of a bobcat, maybe slightly bigger, and just walks into random houses in her region and spends the night. Basically like a neighborhood cat that no one owns. She accepts wine offerings. So drunk aunt cat who crashes at random houses? (They love her, and she's one of the most commonly seen dragons on that planet, whereas others are elusive. No one actually knows Vionne exists.) I love talking about my dragons so much, sorry for the huge reponse haha

[danyka-fendyr]

As the Raven Flies: Part 1

Did I edit? No. Is this probably terrible? Yes. Did I at least crank out approximately 2500 words of my brainchild in like, 3 hours? Yes. So we’re calling it a day. Please forgive me. (And yes, the series title is a reference to one of Frank’s many, many different alias’s/codenames/nicknames. Full disclaimer, I have yet to actually see the Punisher since I’m still working my way through Daredevil S2, so some of this might be a little (or a lot) OOC. Just think of it like an AU.) Big thanks to @dreamwritesimagines for letting me ramble out the entire concept of this to her through a series of anonymous asks because unfortunately this is just my side blog and my main blog is completely unrelated to any of this. Also thanks to @rhabakoli for laughing at my preview and appreciating my lame sense of humor.

“Matthew Murdock, if you drink milk straight out of the jug one more time, I’m telling your priest.”

Matt slammed the jug down on the counter, barely avoiding milk sloshing over the top. 

“I’m blind. How am I supposed to know where the glass is to pour it in?”

“You and I both know that excuse won’t work on me, Mr. World-On-Fire.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “I let you live in my house. Shouldn’t you be...I don’t know, grateful?”

“You’ve got me there.”  There was a pause, and Vivien leaned up against Matt’s counter, perched on the edge of her seat while Matt put the milk back in the fridge.

“So...how have you been doing?”

She didn’t answer.

“Vivien...please? Talk to me,” he said, turning and setting his palms firmly on the counter across from her.

“I’m fine. School is good. Spanish class is interesting.”

“Well, that’s good. Maybe you can teach Foggy something.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

He asked that question every day. How was she? How was someone supposed to answer that? Vivene didn’t know. So, she deflected, and Matt let her. She guessed he must have some idea how it felt. After all, the man didn’t have any family of his own either.

She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. Matt’s apartment had character, she’d give it that. If you ignored the bloodstains Matt smeared all over the place, and the ironically blindingly bright lights just outside his fricking huge windows, it was almost nice. In a grungy, trash sort of way. And it had been very poorly lit before Matt found her on the streets and took her in. Bleeding heart never could resist a pretty face, even if he couldn’t see them.

“Bought more cereal.”

“Aw, for me Matty?”

“For us,” he corrected.

“Mmhhmm,” she said, reaching over his arm to grab at the newspaper and scan the front page. “Hey look! It’s you again. Awww, and all your little friends. I love to see you playing nice Matt.”

“Ha, yeah. I guess you could call it that.”

“When are you having them over for dinner?” she asked sarcastically.

“I think Jessica would come to a formal dinner-or, any kind of dinner with all of us-over her dead body, Luke would eat me out of house and home, and I’m afraid Danny would try to do some kind of Feng Shui on my house but like...Tibetan monk style.”

“K’un Lun.”

“Isn’t that the same place?”

“Geography is important to me Murdock.”

“Uh huh.”

“You didn’t mention The Punisher.” 

Vivien had never actually met the guy. Her stay with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was...a recent development in a long series of twists that had turned her life into something she was no longer sure she could recognize.

“I think Frank would come to anything Karen asked him to, and be grouchy the whole time.”

“So it’s true then? He really does have a thing for her?” Vivien leaned forward, slipping her lower lip between her teeth.

“Not that he would ever admit it, but yeah. I’m blind and even I can see it.”

She laughed. “Well, now she has to invite him. I have to see this with my own eyes since I can’t trust yours.”

“Good luck getting Karen to invite him just so you can prove he likes her.” Matt came around the counter, flopping onto the couch in that perpetually exhausted way of his.

“Well, I won’t say it like that, moron.”

“I’ll have you know I graduated from Columbia.”

“All on looks, I’m telling you. It’s a good thing you’re pretty, Murdock.” Very pretty.

Vivien hopped down from her stool, picking up the leftover takeout containers from last night that they may or may not have been too lazy to throw away then.

“So, are you going to let me patrol with you tonight?” she asked, throwing the takeout containers in the garbage and picking back up her newspaper before joining him on the couch.

Matt frowned. She knew he didn’t like the idea of her patrolling at all. Had fought her on it for the first few months of their...whatever this thing was. Arrangement would be the legal term, she guessed. It sounded legal, anyway. Eventually, though, she started sneaking out while he was out patrolling, and then he had to give in. And thus, she had started patrolling with Matt since he figured it was better she go out with someone than alone.

“I don’t think so. Frank is in town right now and I think it’s better if you don’t cross paths with him in uniform just yet. He can be a little...intense.”

“I can handle it. It’s not like I haven’t had worse. Remember, my-Oh my gosh Matt look at page six!”

“What? What? I’m still blind, Vivien!”

“They gave me a name!” she squealed, slamming the newspaper down on the counter.

“Oh, is that all? I thought something terrible happened.” Matt relaxed back into the couch, the cushions practically swallowing him whole in the spot he had sat in so many times there was a Matt-shaped indent.

“Matt you don’t understand, they gave me a name.”

He smiled, looking at her with those glassy eyes. “Well? What is it?”

“It’s just a temporary one for now. Since I’m seen with you so often, they’re calling me Hell’s Flames.” She frowned. “And then they talk about how small I am and call me Hell’s Sparks. I’m average height!”

“For an 18 year old girl? Maybe. For a vigilante? I hate to be the one to tell you this, but we tend to be a tall crowd. Especially the ones that aren’t superpowered.”

“That feels pretty heightist to me. You realize you’re average height, right Matt?”

“Superpowers. I’m an exception to the rule.”

“Well, maybe I have powers you just don’t know about.” Vivien flexed her fingers.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Take me out on patrol tonight. I want to give them a real name to call me.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, but nothing’s come to me.”

“Well, I can’t really help. I didn’t get to decide my name.”

“Yeah, I’m not letting that happen to me. We can’t all be pushovers, Murdock. And before you can argue with me, I have to meet Frank at some point. Why not now?”

Matt deliberated, picking up his cane from the coffee table to fiddle with it. After a long moment, he spoke.

“Fine. But stay by my side, and follow my orders.”

“Ay, ay, captain!” Vivien saluted cheerfully.

“And just so you know, I’m only allowing this because it’s a weekend!”

“Buzzkill.”

Speaking of buzzing, that was a good word for what Vivien was doing right now. She was going out to meet The Punisher. Potentially.

She knew Matt would try to steer her away from him, but honestly, Matt had never been that great at keeping her in check. She was a little too wild for him. She smirked, pulling her fingerless black gloves over her hands. She had been begging Matt for a real costume, not this, “I am the night” all black ensemble, but he insisted that all she was getting was a whole lot of matte bulletproof.

At least the gloves were leather. That was cool. And the boots. The boots were awesome. They were some weird cross between regular boots, combat boots, and hiking boots. Vivien wasn’t sure that there was really a word for them, but she liked them.

Finally, last but not least, there was the whole name issue. She didn’t really know what she wanted. She had thought about Beacon, like a beacon of hope, but that didn’t feel right. To close a connection to yellow. She was not ending up with a yellow costume. Firebrand had been an idea until Matt informed her it was taken. So in the end, it all circled back to one question.

Who was she? What was this city to her? Those felt like the kinds of mumbo jumbo questions Matt would ask her, but the problem was she wasn’t sure she knew. After everything that had happened lately, she had no idea what she stood for or what would make her fall.

Maybe it was time to figure it out.

“You ready kiddo?”

Vivien blinked. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good to go. Born ready.”

“Trust me, nobody is born ready for anything.”

“Well, I was. Now let’s get a move on Murdock, while the night is still younger than you. Not that that’s saying much.”

“Hey! I resent that,” Matt propped the window open, holding it so she could climb out onto the fire escape.

“Resent it all you want. You can’t change the truth.” Vivien felt the millionth lightbulb of the night ping in her head.

Truth. That was something she seemed to struggle with. Telling other people the truth. She had an uncanny ability to get it out of criminals though. Better even than Matt, who could hear their heartbeats, smell the sweat dripping off their skin. Maybe that was who she was. Someone who found the truth. But how did that translate into a superhero name? That, she would have to sleep on. Or fight on, tonight.

Matt hopped out the window behind her, and sooner rather than later, they were off, jumping across the rooftops. This had to be Vivien’s favorite part of her life right now. The carefree feeling of running, running as fast as she could from every last one of her problems and right into a set of brand new ones that would be much easier to solve. Feeling like no one could catch her. It was...exhilarating.

Plus she just really liked punching people in the face.

“Hey Daredevil?” she asked, slowing down to walk backward across the roof, hands clasped behind her back.

“Yeah?” It always took him a minute to respond to that name.

“What do you call people who find the truth?”

“I don’t know. Journalists?”

“In theory,” Vivien replied wryly. “But seriously. Like, someone without finding the truth as their profession.”

“I don’t know. There’s not really a title for people who just divine the truth like that.”

Divine. Divine…..”Diviner!”

“What? Gosh, could you please stop yelling all the time? Sensitive ears.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. But Ma-Daredevil, I’ve got it!”

“You’ve got what exactly?” They had come to a complete standstill now, on a rooftop about a 5 minute run from Josie’s.

Someone’s car alarm went off in the not so distant distance, and Vivien waited for Matt to deem it a carjacking or not. Was someone fumbling for their keys, or was someone fumbling to hotwire the thing? Matt waved it off, and she continued.

“Diviner. That can be my hero name.”

“Huh...well….I don’t think it’s taken. And you are good at finding the truth.”

He didn’t mention the very prominent case in which she had failed to find the truth. Failed to foresee an outcome that was inevitable, if she was honest with herself for 5 minutes. Vivien started running again.

“So, where are we headed?” she asked.

“Honestly? Away from Frank Castle.”

She stopped dead. “What? Are you being serious with me right now?”

“Yes. He’s on the other side of town right now.”

“Aaaaannd we’re turning around.” She pivoted on her heel as she spoke, ready to go find some trouble.

“Vivien, please?” Matt grabbed her wrist, gentle. “Please, for once, just listen to me when I tell you that you meeting Frank Castle right now would be a bad idea?”

She turned back to face him again, yanking her hand out of his grasp. “Why? Because he’s a big bad scary vigilante? Well, newsflash, so are you, Matt.”

Matt sighed. “I just...I don’t think it would be a good idea yet. And not because he’s a vigilante, or because you’re just a baby vigilante.”

“I am not a baby.”

“That sounds exactly like something a baby would say.”

“Babies can’t talk.”

Matt paused a moment.“Okay fine, but the point is that you’re not ready yet.”

“Please, Matt? Please? I’m ready for this. I promise. I’ve seen enough crap to handle this. And from what you’ve said, he’s just a big cranky teddy bear anyway.”

“Yeah, a teddy bear who murders people.”

“Which is exactly my kind of teddy bear. Would have come in handy.”

Matt sighed again. She seemed to have that effect on him. “Fine.”

“Thank you. You won’t regret this Matt. I promise.”

“The last time you promised me something, it was not something that bears repeating, and you did not follow through.”

“In my defense, it was 3 in the morning and I had recently been stabbed.”

“I told you to be more careful.”

“I know. I know. Enough small talk though. I’ve got a Punisher to meet.”

She ran faster now, Matt barely keeping up. She was laughing, excited. She had a name, and she was officially meeting other heroes. She was The Diviner. She felt more purpose-driven than she had in a long time.

She heard Frank Castle before she saw him. The gunfire was unmistakable. Unmistakable, and short-lived. She had heard the stories. It didn’t take Frank Castle long to kill someone. Or take them out Matt’s way.

“Wait here.”

“But-”

“Wait. Just a minute.”

Vivien rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest as Matt jumped off the rooftop. She could faintly hear them fighting, itching to jump down and join them. Eventually, one of Matt’s batons landed on the rooftop next to her, and she took that as her signal. She picked it up, jumping down to the ground and right into the middle of a fight.

Immediately, she was ducking a punch. Looked like gang members. A whole crew of them. Frank Castle really knew how to piss a guy off. Or a few dozen guys, for that matter.

“Gosh I love this city,” Vivien mumbled under her breath.

Faster than you could say “Devil of Hell’s Kitchen”, Vivien was in the thick of it, using everything Matt had taught her and a few things she’d picked up for herself. Duck, block, swing, get sliced into like a turkey on Thanksgiving. Okay, so that last maneuver might not have been part of the plan.

She swore, dodging another blow and sweeping the guy's legs out from under him all in one only half-way clumsy move.

“Hey Red! Did now seem like the time for fresh meat to you?”

“Later. We can have this argument later.”

“That’s what he always says,” Vivien joked.

Frank didn’t laugh though, just kept blazing through these guys. He was so fast, and so efficient, that they were done in minutes. They probably would have been done faster if not for Matt’s insistence that no one died. It probably would have been funny to watch how worked up he got if Vivien didn’t agree with him. No more death. She had seen enough of that.

She took a deep breath, hands on her knees as she tried to calm down and slow her heart rate. Blood slicked the alley walls, mixing with dirt and the old, dried, crusty stuff that was so worked in it was impossible to tell it from the dirt. The only reason she knew there was an abnormal amount of blood on the alley walls of Hell’s Kitchen was because Matt had once told her he could smell it. Speaking of smells, this particular alleyway, like many others in this city, smelled like the inside of a urinal. Gross.

“How’s your arm?” Matt asked, immediately coming over to poke at it.

Vivien hissed, pulling away from him and narrowly sidestepping some unconscious thug’s arm. “Not in need of further manhandling, thanks.”

“It won’t scar,” Matt decided.

“Is that...who are you?” Frank demanded.

“The Diviner.” Vivien announced it with pride, the pain in her arm nearly forgotten.

“No, who are you? Red, did you bring a kid out here?” He turned on Matt, absolutely livid.

“I-”

“I’ll have you know I’m a legal adult. And technically, he said I couldn’t come. I have a problem with authority figures though.”

“How old are you?” Frank asked.

“18.”

“She’s still in high school, Red!”

Vivien had a bad feeling Matt was going to be next on Castle’s hit list. She should probably interfere with that.

“Listen, it was either going to be me going out with him, or me going out alone. Take your pick, Castle.”

Frank looked at her, almost seeming surprised as blood dripped down his mouth from a cut on his lip. He got over her defiance quickly though. “Or, not at all.”

“Are you going to be the one to babysit me then?”

He scowled, which couldn’t have been good for that cut. Then again, maybe he was used to it. She got the impression he did that a lot.

“How on God’s good green earth did you end up here?”

“I simply followed the sounds of angry gang members meeting their fate.” Vivien shrugged, refusing to take a step back when The Punisher glared.

“I mean, how did you get into this life. I swear Red, if you in any way encouraged this-”

“He didn’t. I just went through some crap, that’s all.”

“What kind of crap leads you to be a vigilante when you ain’t even out of school.”

“Frank-” Matt warned.

“It’s okay,” Vivien said.

She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and saying it for what felt like the millionth time and also the very, very first. “My entire family is dead.”

[ba11etomane]

Fall Kingdom Roles

You may have 2 named characters. I would prefer if they were from different kingdoms. You may have as many extra characters (those with **) as you'd like though.

If there are any roles not listed here or the other kingdoms that you're dying to include, let me know and we can work something out!

Spring: https://goo.gl/gbdLXN Summer: https://goo.gl/XJV4yp Winter: https://goo.gl/tK7EDU Humans: https://goo.gl/j1cdNF

General Info

Ruler: Oberon

Magic: Generally, their magic is based on consumption, physically or metaphorically. They drain and decay, and some of the denizens of the Fall are nothing more than husks and shades, the products of such transformative siphoning of their energy. Their magic is mostly about entropy, releasing and turning structured magic back into raw power. They are relatively chaotic and decentralized as a kingdom because of this.

Geography: The Fire Forest is a portion of the Land Beyond eternally caught in brilliant fall. Its leaves are always fiery red and gleaming yellow, and seem to drift endlessly to the dark and foggy forest floor with every crisp breeze. There are winding trails of stones, fairy rings of towering mushrooms, fog-choked clearings where vaguely human forms flit between the shadows, and ruined temples slowly being consumed by gnarled vines. Oberon holds court in one of these abandoned temples, on his throne of vines. His court is more a hectic collection of different creatures yelling and carousing than a productive meeting.

Goals: Mostly, they long for respect. The Fall kingdom is often forgotten by the other three, and seen as a non-threat. They are the least organized and centralized, and so it's incredibly hard to get them to agree on a goal, much less actually follow through with it. Individually, many people within the Fall Kingdom have some grudge against their king for some slight or curse of his when he was in one of his fickle moods. While it isn't entirely clear why they want heir human, many think it could give them the power to usurp Oberon.

Social Strata: Oberon's kingdom is one of the most egalitarian, mostly because he can't get everyone to agree on anything long enough to enforce any sort of order. In general, the shades are viewed with respect and a healthy dose of fear, but are kept at arms length. They are not to be trifled with. The animals and other fae are much more friendly and approachable, and always seem to be trying to avenge themselves for one slight or another. Alliances shift rapidly.

Oberon

Ballet: Midsummer Night's Dream

Gender: Male

Age Range: 30+

Basic Info:

The Fall King has long suffered what he views as a lack of respect from both the other kingdoms, and his own vassals. The Fall Kingdom is by far the most disorganized and democratic, which results in Oberon lacking most of the power the other Kings and Queens have over their kingdom’s inhabitants. Part of Oberon wants to change this, to consolidate his own kingdom and spread his rot and ruin and wilderness to the other kingdoms.

Beyond his more political goals, Oberon is ruled by his wild and often erratic passions. At one time he and the Summer Queen were lovers, and their falling-out has been quite explosive. He longs to regain her love, or to destroy everything she holds dear, whichever is easiest. But while he longs for the Queen out of reach, another Queen closer to home longs for him. The Fall King has had a very tumultuous relationship with the queen of the Shades and her motley crew of spirits. Long ago, she loved him and thought they could rule the Fall Kingdom side by side, but  he spurned her for the love of the Summer Queen. She has descended into a grief and rage-fueled madness bent on destroying his kingdom from the inside out, and wouldn’t mind killing every beautiful, vibrantly living thing in the Summer Kingdom just for good measure.

Oberon’s powers lie in both physical and metaphysical consumption, the strongest of any of the Fall Kingdomers. While he was once a powerful magic user, his wild passions and regrets have caused him to lose control. Nowadays, his magic seems to turn back on himself as much as lashing out towards others. The fruit he holds rots in his fingers. The grass underfoot shrivels and browns. His throne itself crumbles under him. He thinks the love of the Summer Queen could cure him of this, or perhaps a human heart. But he is far from attaining either.

Player: @.username

Audition:

Firebird

Ballet: Firebird

Gender: Female

Age Range: 18+

Basic Info:

Trickster shapeshifter (a commonly Winter kingdom trait) who was originally kingdomless before being captured and imprisoned by the Mouse King. She was given to Oberon as a pet by the Mouse King to entice him to form an alliance with the Winter Kingdom. She hates both of them for this, and isn't too fond of the Spring and Summer queens for various other reasons.

She had knowledge of Drosselmeyer and Clara (both of whom may know a bit more about who or what she really is), and is certainly involved in bringing the new humans beyond the Veil, though she is rather tight-lipped about why.

While not originally a member of the Fall Kingdom, her powers are vaguely related to decay, decay of reality that is. She appears to be an anomaly of the most contagious kind, who has the ability to morph and corrupt the world around her. In more practical terms, she can take the laws of physics and time and just throw them out the window. Generally, her powers rely on word games, puns, rhyming, etc. Be careful if you think you understand a gift she's giving. Often its true meaning is shrouded under many deceptive layers.

Player: @.questing-witch

Audition:

Myrtha

Ballet: Giselle

Gender: Female

Age Range: 18+

Basic Info:

While the Fall Kingdom is ostensibly ruled by Oberon, there is an ever-growing faction of dangerous, hungry, and lost Shades who are ruled by the vengeful Willi Queen Myrtha. At one time she was a Summer Kingdomer, a servant of Titania who fell in love with Oberon. But he used her to get closer to her queen, and eventually spurned her for Titania. After Titania had Myrtha executed for her treachery, Myrtha’s restless spirit joined the Fall Kingdom. She has not forgiven Titania or Oberon, and her love has turned to poison. She wishes for nothing more than to destroy the Fall and Summer Kingdoms and make their monarchs suffer as she suffered.

Myrtha also has a pet fascination with dooming other young lovers, and has built up quite a collection of lost souls who came to her for aid or were trapped by her various schemes. Her power in the Fall Kingdom grows the more lovers she dooms, though she may be too overconfident in their loyalty.

While Myrtha’s powers were quite different in life, in death she only has the power to consume passion and devotion. She can siphon off love and turn it to bitter hate, and has been sucking souls to a withered husks in order to build up her own court of loyal Shades. But she can also be overcome by extremely powerful devotions, and fears true, innocent love. Instead, she’ll do anything she can to corrupt it.

*Player: @.username

*Audition:

Giselle

Ballet: Giselle

Gender: Female

Age Range: 18+

Basic Info:

Giselle has been a Shade so long she almost forgets what it was to be alive. But those few fleeting memories of her life, wild, untamed, and pure in the dense forests of the Fall Kingdom, haunt her just as she now haunts those same woods. Her memories are a curse to her, an unbearable weight to be overcome by fleeting feeling and then left empty once more. She hates her Mistress for this pain, and often takes it out on others who remind her of what she lost when Myrtha turned her into a Shade.

Queen Myrtha believes Giselle is her most loyal servant, and treats her almost like a daughter. She believes one day Giselle will become as strong and bitter as she is, fueled by vengeance and an aching hunger. But while Giselle may act the obedient handmaiden, and sometimes seems to take cruel pleasure in doing her Mistress’ bidding, she longs to be free, not just of the Willi Queen but of life itself. 

Just like her mistress, Giselle can suck the life out of others. But she is even more susceptible to being overcome by their emotions in the process than her mistress is, and this power causes her much pain. She can seem cold and detached at one moment and then painfully alive the next, and even she doesn’t know what she really feels and what is just a product of these fleeting but powerful emotions.

Player: @.username

Audition:

Hilarion

Ballet: Giselle

Gender: Male

Age Range: 18+

Basic Info:

Hilarion was once a Wild Hunter of the Summer Kingdom, a tasked protector of the Summer Court and a favorite of Queen Titania. But Oberon, jealous of Titania’s waning affections for him, corrupted her favorite hunter and kept him as a prisoner of the Fall Kingdom. While in the Fall Kingdom, he was tasked with hunting down the Shades and bringing them back under Oberon’s rule. He was given a bow that could kill even the dead, and still bears this fearsome weapon. But it was powerless against one Shade Myrtha sent to tempt him. Giselle, ever Myrtha’s loyal servant, lured Hilarion deep into the fog-choked forest and stole his heart, turning him at last into his current form, all because Myrtha wanted some small vengeance for Oberon’s spurned affections.

Basically, poor Hilarion was just Doing His Best™, but got caught between the unholy love triangle of immature and overpowered royalty, and has paid many, many times for it. Now he is a Shade, under the reign of Myrtha but not entirely under her control. He may possess that thing she truly hates and fears, unwavering devotion and pure love, and that has helped him keep more of his autonomy than many of the Shades. It may be though, that his own weariness and bitterness at being continuously used and thrown aside by powers beyond his control, and the cruel realization that perhaps Giselle never loved him in return are finishing the job Myrtha started, and turning him into a vicious, heartless, ravenous spirit. 

Unlike most Shades, Hilarion’s powers of energy consumption are rather weak. This is probably due to Myrtha’s incomplete control over him. He is still stuck between what he was and what he is becoming, and the internal struggle to come to terms with what he is and what has happened to him is tearing him apart.

Player: @.username

Audition:

Animals**

Ballet: Sleeping Beauty, etc.

Gender: Any

Age Range: Any

Basic Info:

The various other inhabitants of the Fall Kingdom are a motley crew of wild, unfocused, irreverent, and often destructive fae, many of whom take the characteristics of various animals. They are not transformed into these animals by a curse or a spell, unlike those of the Winter Kingdom. They simply are. As such, they feel they owe very little allegiance to their lord because, what did he ever give to them, honestly?

They are often fueled by petty feuds with their neighbors, and are too busy meddling with each other to think about the larger politics of the four kingdoms. Some are drawn to serve Oberon because of the power he holds. Others hate being called on by their king because they would much rather wreak havoc in the woods on their own terms, and like being contrary just for the fun of it.

Their powers are just as varied as their interests, but all are destructive. Some work by undoing magic, and like to fiddle with Summer Kingdom illusions to drink their fill of magic. Others delight in tearing dolls to shreds. Still others have powers more similar to their king, and live off of rot and decay. But while they enjoy wreaking havoc, they tend to stay out of the way of the Shades. Not only are they dangerous, but they simply aren’t any fun to mess with.

Player: @.usernames

Auditions:

[davidastbury]

October 2017

St Ann’s Square, Manchester

I am behind a mother and child – she is moving very quickly and the small boy is trotting after her. Easy to see that he is in the dog-house, having been told off for something or other, and now his mother is ignoring him - her head turned away.

He is making gestures with his hands – perhaps explaining something but she, evidently still angry, will not look at him. But something he says causes her to tilt her head – just a quick movement; her head sort of leaning to one side.

The boy immediately spots this and trots in front of her, looking up like a sad dog, making circular gestures with his hands and chattering all the time.

That movement of her head gave everything away – he’s half-way there, she’ll give in very soon now.

The Strand

There was a woman who, at around 5.00pm every afternoon, made her way along The Strand in London. She called in every shop, store, and café, and would clap her hands and call out - ‘We are closing now, please leave the premises, thank you!’

She was a nuisance and sometimes the police were called, but after a week or so, she would be back. I remember her clearly (I used to help in a shop) – she had the neglected appearance of many who are subservient to strong obsessions. She was impressive - like an inspired artist or actress, breathing the pure air of truth – and then ejected onto the pavement – like an unwanted pest - confused and inhaling the petrol fumes of the slow traffic.

Errand

The boy was told by his mother to go to a certain house to collect something. He asked what it was and she replied – ‘Don’t ask what it is, just knock on the door and say who you are - say you are my son and it will be given to you.’

‘Is it valuable?’ – he asked.

His mother replied – ‘It is very valuable and you must be careful with it.’

‘Do I have to go now?’ – he asked.

‘Yes…now’

He set off running through the streets and across the fields. He grew to love the sunsets and the noises of night creatures.

Sometimes, in the dark, he would think of his mother - waiting.

Insecurity on the 09.17 (stopping) Train

The last time I saw this man he was using his phone and telling someone he was about to get married; that was about two months ago. I didn’t get the full story of course, but it was clear what was happening, and he was telling a friend all about it. He looked very happy, but happy in the way that unhappy people often do, something tells you that this is not their normal mood. His face is eloquent in expressing sadness.

Anyway, that was a while back, and now he is presumably a settled, married man, but I am trying to catch his thoughts as he looks, unseeingly, at the passing fields and warehouses.

‘She likes good-looking men with Jags. She likes men who can dominate the table at dinner-parties. She likes men who can read a balance sheet at a glance, understanding financial statements and the stock movements. Men who like to stand with other men, glasses in hand – in fact they look odd without glasses in their hands – men who don’t look quite right in suits - men who have thick wrists and thick legs, like rugby players – men who never read a book from one year to the next and who know nothing about art, and don’t wish to.’

I see these thoughts, or similar thoughts travel across his eyes, and then he fumbles in a side pocket and takes out a purse. He squeezes two fingers inside, presumable looking for a ticket, or money, and even though his face is turned away the final reading comes across loud and clear.

‘And what the hell is she doing with me?'

My Town…(Russell’s sister and the knife-thrower)

Russell’s sister was the first person to inspire me with ambition. She was fourteen, two years older than me, but I dreamed of the two of us going away together and living lives of bliss; this was despite her never having spoken to me, or even looked at me with anything other than indifference – but my success would change all that.

My path to wealth and happiness was perfecting my skill as a knife-thrower. I used to practice in my back garden, setting up an old door as the target and using kitchen knives. Having no one to tutor me in this art, I had to learn from mistakes. When you hold a knife by the tip of the blade and throw it, it rotates as it heads for the target. Only about 10% of the final rotation will achieve a satisfactory hit, in the other 90%, the knife clatters against the target and falls to the ground. The skill is being able to calculate the distance from the target where the 10% is certain – and you do this by working from the shortest, say 3 metres, and then increase the distance by multiples. You quickly become good at assessing distances in multiples of 3 metres.

The other technique is ‘under-arm’ throwing. You cup the handle and launch it with a sharp upward swing, as if you were in a bowling alley. The knife does not rotate, so it is easier to correctly contact the target but it is difficult to develop an effective force – the throws tend to be weak and sloppy.

My plan for wealth and fame consisted of joining a travelling circus. She would be my assistant. The audience would gasp at her beauty as she flounced and posed in her sequined costume, tossing back her long hair and showing off her legs. They would also gasp as my cluster of knives formed her outline – each one nearer to her body – and then a drumroll when the final ones thudded into the board.

There would be deafening applause, flowers were showering down on us – show-biz managers in bow-ties thrust contracts at me to sign – my parents were weepy-eyed on the front row – my pals from school (including the geography teacher) were on their feet cheering – lights were flashing – bottles of champagne popped - the clowns came on throwing buckets of water over each other – the circus manager in scarlet coat and top hat – the band giving it all they had – balloons banging but all I could see was Russell’s sister smiling at me in adoration.

My Town……Russell’s Sister

Russell viewed his elder sister in the same stoical way that twelve-year-old boys face up to the various miseries that buffet their lives. She was in the category of a double geography lesson on a Friday afternoon, or the misfortune of a broken wrist – ruling out swimming for several weeks. She was a trial to be endured – something that the scoutmaster might call ‘character developing’ - rather like a ‘testing from heaven’, as described in the book of saints, presented to him for faultless punctuality at Sunday School.

But I was very alert to the floating charms of his sister – although she never gave me a second glance. She would pass through the living room with speed and style, like a film-star fretting her appearance. She was always cross about something, or it seemed so to me. Her life seemed one long vexation. I remember the odd stillness in the room after she had gone – the room itself seemed to sigh. Russell would be silent as if a migraine had lifted. Somewhere at the back of the house I could hear the chime of her voice and then a door slammed.

Nonchalantly, as if the view of the garden actually interested me, I sauntered across to the window…no-one on the path… no one moving at the sides of the house…there was no other way to leave, not if you wanted to go down to the main road. And then there was a noise of wheels on loose chippings and she came past on her bicycle, frowning and peddling hard…

I watched her all the way down the path and she did a skid-stop at the junction - she swung the bike round sending up a cloud of pebbles. It was the best skid-stop i had ever seen.

Russell and the Trombone

Russell’s parents spent a lot of money on his musical education. By the age of thirteen he played the piano, all the recorders, clarinet, cornet and from what I could see, all the other brass instruments. He won prizes and went through the grades, so presumably, his parents were pleased.

But it didn’t seem to matter to Russell himself. He hardly ever talked about his lessons and found requests to play, mostly from school, a bit of a bore. One day, when I was at his house he showed me a trombone – all highly polished and snug in a velvet lined case.

He blew a few notes and then said - ‘This is PC Dicks-on’. ‘PC Dicks – on’ was our name for a retired pervy policeman who lived nearby. He had tried it on with both of us; and no doubt with every boy in a two-mile radius.

So Russell played an impression of the pervy policeman. A humpty-dumpty walk and a long drawn out ‘hello!’. And then a really creepy sliding note catching the awful pressure of his baleful gaze.

And there I was, in Russell’s front room, falling about with laughter and understanding music for the very first time.

Stella

Our birthdays were in the same week, so there was a little celebration in the classroom for both of us together. We were seven years old.

Stella was different from the other (bossy) girls - she was quiet, withdrawn, shying away from any sort of attention - as if the only thing she hoped from life was to be left alone. If I search through files I’m sure I have a photograph of her – a class photo – and she’s at the front with her waxy hair and ugly National Health glasses – squinting in the sunshine. She lived in a very poor part of town, just a few streets from where I lived, but the houses had no bathrooms, no lavatories (there was a row of sheds in the yard which were emptied by council workers). She seemed to have no friends, and she had no dad.

It was summer and Stella had been away from school for a few days. I found out that she was ill after having dental treatment at the ‘school clinic’. This was a building of great terror to all of us. It was right next to the parish church and sometimes, in summer when the windows were open, you could hear the screams of children inside – all dentistry was carried out without any form of anaesthetic.

And then I saw her in the street. I invited her to come to my house and she nodded. All the way she walked behind me and I had to keep turning to see if she was still there. As we got to the house I went to her and held her hand.

My mother, no doubt surprised, was very gracious to Stella - she made small talk but was okay at not getting any response and she brought some drinks and cakes into the front room for us. We watched TV, not speaking and not needing to.

My Town

Stanley came home from the war with an twisted right foot and a scrambled mind. The local authority gave him a stiff-bristled brush and instructed him to sweep the pavements. His allotted area was a two mile stretch of Ainsworth Road (both sides).

One of the effects of his war experiences was that he would have fits of violent convulsions. His eyes would bulge and he would swing his brush over his head, as if fighting off a swarm of birds. People would cross the road - sometimes he would fall down, and for a few minutes be furiously punching an invisible opponent.

Of course, as children, on our way to and from school, this was very amusing. I must have felt a twinge of conscience when, a few years later, I saw Stanley in the street. He was wearing a suit and no longer carrying his brush. I asked him about his fits and he said that he now ‘took pills’. I also asked him did he know what the convulsions were all about. He replied that when the attacks came he was fighting the Germans - he was defending the town from invasion.

He was defending my town and we had laughed at him and no one had helped him.

Unsolicited advice!

I was quite young and I was staring at a very beautiful woman – I couldn’t stop looking. Occasionally she would move her head sideways and look back at me; she could feel the heat of my eyes – but each time she did so, I quickly looked away. And then, to my shock, she came over and spoke to me.

‘Don’t ever stop staring – you must never stop staring – because if you do you will lose the force of your life.’

On the Train

She has a bad cough. A girl, Asian, Pakistani probably, and she has a loud racking cough. It is a ‘keep-everyone-in-the-house-awake-all-night’ type of cough. She looks very tired and probably spent the night biting onto paper tissues with tears of frustration running across her face. The cough will not be placated.

Worst of all is the lack of sympathy on the faces of the people in the carriage. With each spasm they all look up in disapproving surprise, as if the coughing was unreasonable, an insult, an intrusion into their lives. The girl, who is about seventeen, is upset.

But a young man sitting next to her (the carriage is full) is different. They aren’t together, I can tell that, but he seems to have a concerned interest, like the best kind of doctor. Perhaps he is a doctor and wants to help her, or perhaps he would like to lean slightly to his left and kiss the top of her head.

Applicant

He said: - ‘Please accept me into your community.’

The Voice said: - ‘Why do you wish to be part of our community?’.

He said: - ‘Because I am sick of the world and all its troubles.’

The Voice said: - ‘But we in the community love the world.’

He said: - ‘So there is no escape for me?'

The Voice said: - ‘No, and there never will be.’

The Night Train

The story cries out to be told...how they had met - how he had loved her sad eyes and white skin; every inch of her white skin! Their love was important; it cannot be discarded.

It was a lifetime ago, and the last train has gone. His mood changes, he looks away and decides to keep the past to himself.

Leftovers

We all keep things that once belonged to someone special. Something that they used, perhaps something that they were fond of. It might be our way of holding onto them – after all, a physical object brings the past into the present. It might be something that a child made in class, a simple item of needlework – or a boy’s doorlatch. They give us a feeling of continuity – the link hasn’t been broken – we are still ‘in touch’.

But what about a book – his words – his laughter – his anxiety! Or his paintings? He may have gone, but his way of enquiring, his way of looking – is hanging on the wall, or on the shelf, and it breaks your heart.