Myrobalan Shivana (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
faithlikeaseed) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
middaeg2020-10-31 01:33 pm
faithlikeaseed) wrote in middaeg2020-10-31 01:33 pm
Entry tags:
Out of the mid-wood's twilight into the meadow's dawn | OTA
Who: fauns fauns FAUNS (and their enablers) (and anyone else)
When: Octeuril 31st
Where: The Haven
What: Somebody set up a trap specifically designed for Fauns. Or tried, anyway.
Warnings: F for Faunery; warnings per thread as needed!
It's a lovely day in Aefenglom and you are ahorrible beautiful Faun.
Somewhere between the evening of the 30th and the midnight advent of the 31st, a disused corner of the Haven has turned into a patch of cultivated wilderness. Somewhere a little after midnight on the 31st, and the beginning of the full moons, several Fauns (and one or two others, Monsters and Witches alike) received an enthusiastic if slightly garbled written invitation to come see what awaits.
Gourd vines of all descriptions drape an abandoned cottage, its floating terraces, and half of a nearby house. Flowers in a riot of colors decorate them, some glowing softly and others exuding a fragrant perfume. The fruits hanging pendant or nestled on the ground defy description and beg to be tasted: There are tiny pumpkins no larger than grapes, thin-skinned and sweet, while massive savory marrows lurk in the underbrush to trip the unwary. A rare fist-sized specimen glimmers with enchantment and grants a rush of energy when eaten--along with fleeting, unpredictable changes (horns, fur, hooves) that make one a little more faunish for an hour or two.
Cheap furniture, clotheslines, and hanging sheets have been used to roughly shape the vines into an impromptu maze. The design's irregular, wandering, like whoever planned the corridors couldn't see what he was doing. It wanders in and out of the cottage, pouching into dead-ends and cozy little clearings that might fit two comfortably and three if they're familiar. Some of them have benches in them; others, piles of pillows; and still others are carpeted in thick and flowering moss. Heavy quilts in a riot of colors and patterns can be found neatly folded in the buildings, waiting for chilled revelers to find them. There are also covered braziers for the truly cold, though they seem powered by magic and not by flame.
Food and drink are lavishly if haphazardly provided, spread out through the bowers like a treasure hunt. Casks of mead with cups attendant, bowls of honey candy and glazed nuts, fruit both fresh and dried, and a variety of different sorts of cheese provide an ample repast (so long as one's not hungry for blood or meat). Entertainment's on the guests to provide, with simple musical instruments (mostly pipes, an occasional lap-harp) gracing many of the grottos; others have toys and games, of varieties both innocent...and not...strewn about them.
There are also oddities here and there in the maze, like the bower where someone took painstaking care to tie a half-hundred feathers to the low vine ceiling. Another nook teams with stingless bees of all varieties during the day. What else might await someone who's looking?
When: Octeuril 31st
Where: The Haven
What: Somebody set up a trap specifically designed for Fauns. Or tried, anyway.
Warnings: F for Faunery; warnings per thread as needed!
It's a lovely day in Aefenglom and you are a
Somewhere between the evening of the 30th and the midnight advent of the 31st, a disused corner of the Haven has turned into a patch of cultivated wilderness. Somewhere a little after midnight on the 31st, and the beginning of the full moons, several Fauns (and one or two others, Monsters and Witches alike) received an enthusiastic if slightly garbled written invitation to come see what awaits.
Gourd vines of all descriptions drape an abandoned cottage, its floating terraces, and half of a nearby house. Flowers in a riot of colors decorate them, some glowing softly and others exuding a fragrant perfume. The fruits hanging pendant or nestled on the ground defy description and beg to be tasted: There are tiny pumpkins no larger than grapes, thin-skinned and sweet, while massive savory marrows lurk in the underbrush to trip the unwary. A rare fist-sized specimen glimmers with enchantment and grants a rush of energy when eaten--along with fleeting, unpredictable changes (horns, fur, hooves) that make one a little more faunish for an hour or two.
Cheap furniture, clotheslines, and hanging sheets have been used to roughly shape the vines into an impromptu maze. The design's irregular, wandering, like whoever planned the corridors couldn't see what he was doing. It wanders in and out of the cottage, pouching into dead-ends and cozy little clearings that might fit two comfortably and three if they're familiar. Some of them have benches in them; others, piles of pillows; and still others are carpeted in thick and flowering moss. Heavy quilts in a riot of colors and patterns can be found neatly folded in the buildings, waiting for chilled revelers to find them. There are also covered braziers for the truly cold, though they seem powered by magic and not by flame.
Food and drink are lavishly if haphazardly provided, spread out through the bowers like a treasure hunt. Casks of mead with cups attendant, bowls of honey candy and glazed nuts, fruit both fresh and dried, and a variety of different sorts of cheese provide an ample repast (so long as one's not hungry for blood or meat). Entertainment's on the guests to provide, with simple musical instruments (mostly pipes, an occasional lap-harp) gracing many of the grottos; others have toys and games, of varieties both innocent...and not...strewn about them.
There are also oddities here and there in the maze, like the bower where someone took painstaking care to tie a half-hundred feathers to the low vine ceiling. Another nook teams with stingless bees of all varieties during the day. What else might await someone who's looking?
no subject
As he's going, he asks the people he passes if anyone had brought a sheep with them, if anyone had seen someone bring a sheep with them, but he's having no luck at all. It's no trouble for him, carrying the sheep for a good deal of time: he's used to it and stronger than he looks from his wiry frame. The surprise licks startle a laugh from him. ]
You're an affectionate little guy, aren't you?
[ The tiniest part of Reynir is now almost hoping he doesn't find this sheep's owner. He could find a way to take care of it... he's sure Onni wouldn't mind... well, wouldn't mind too much.
Eventually, he decides this wandering around tactic isn't working and finds a relatively quiet spot to set the sheep down. They're near to one of the many buffet tables and Reynir, always considerate, selects a slice of pear, a slice of apple, and a little handful of grapes, setting them in front of the sheep for him to snack on. ]
What am I going to do about you, huh?
no subject
He eats the fruit pieces, then stands up on his hind legs, balancing with his front legs on the buffet table, and starts trying to get his nose into a wine goblet. Hmmm, not quite tall enough. He turns and gives Reynir an imploring bleat. Responsible sheep-owners let them drink spirits, right??]
no subject
Whoa, there, buddy! Pretty sure you're not old enough for that stuff.
[ And he gently lifts the sheep away from the table, setting it back with all hooves on the ground again. Fortunately, there is a mostly-empty bowl with hunks of green melon in it, and a pitcher of water. Reynir moves the fruit and fills it with water, settling it down on the ground and beaming at the sheep friend. ]
There you go.
[ Responsible parenting. ]
no subject
Hector, with all the reasoning of a very drunk faun, decides the issue is that his body language isn't getting the point across, not that his shepherd isn't about to serve wine to a sheep.]
Waaaaah... Wiiiiinah.
[Getting words out of his sheep mouth is hard, but he does his best. And then he chomps on a melon chunk, because he has no impulse control at the moment.]
no subject
Did you just - did you s-say you... want... wine?
[ It isn't that talking animals are completely unheard-of, to Reynir. Onni could still speak, when he was in owl form, and Reynir's own fylgja spoke to him while in its normal form as a dog. There are spirits that take on the form of animals and speak to people. So it's not that there isn't room for this in his understanding of reality.
It's just that... he had thought this was a regular sheep. He had assumed. He'd been talking to it like he would a regular, dumb, speechless sheep. It had licked him! ]
no subject
Wiiiiiiiine.
[Deciding this is too slow, Hector makes another try at getting at the goblet himself.