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 Posted: Tue Jan 15, 2019 12:38 pm
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The lands, both claimed by herds and those that remain wild and free, were home to many varieties of Soquili, familiars, companions and the various family tribes of Kiwani. Certainly, there are many of them that live simple lives, that have nigh higher aspirations than to be comfortable with their family or herd. It is lovely that they can live so simply, that they have no ambition, no great goal in life. Tarshna Ameretat, for her part, has no interest in a simple or mundane life. To her, such a thing is a fate worse than death; a crime in never living to begin with. She wanted more.
The goal of immortality is both unreachable folly and very obtainable ambition. The idea of living forever, an ageless being or a being that does not perish, is of course nonsense. However, the idea of making a name for one's self, of creating a legacy that lasts, that is different. That sort of immortality is within reach. Perhaps through infamy of fierceness in battle or amongst allies; perhaps by founding a line that never perishes. Regardless of how it is obtained, Tarshna wants it. She'll do whatever she needs to in order to achieve it.
With that sort of goal in mind, that unfailing desire to achieve it, she sets out. Traveling away from her family and relatives, she can admit that their line in itself has already achieved something like immortality. Their wings are indicative of a great ancestor, a common ancestor that is somewhere between immortal and infamous within the lands. That, the mare supposes is a sufficient start. She can certainly begin to build a legacy on the foundations of an ancestor, a great and powerful one, even. But she wants to surpass that, wants to set herself apart, achieve immortality for herself. For her own name. Not just a descendant of him, a founder of her own line. A force to be reckoned with, on her own merit. Recognized in herself, by her strength and cunning and skill.
While still attempting to develop a plan as to how best to achieve her goals, Tarshna hears tell of Seers in the land that can offer insight. Perhaps they see the future, perhaps they can merely advise her to what path to walk. She won't know until she seeks one out; until she hears what they have to say. Still, as a worst case scenario, it will cost her some time for travel and a few bells or coins in trade. Neither are things she cannot afford to spend, so she sets off in the direction of the strange Renaissance Faire that is said to have sprung up, and goes in search of a Seer.
"There's said to be a mare with glowing eyes that knows things." The armored mare murmured to herself. "I suppose I shall start with her."
Tarshna Wordcount: 480
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Posted: Thu Jan 24, 2019 7:27 pm
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It’s a dark, cold evening. The gray sky has fitfully emitted excessive amounts of freezing rain all day. Thankfully, the wind has been relatively tame. It is a lucky thing for anyone caught outside, too: winter storms like these can be quite deadly. A damp body loses heat much quicker than a dry one, you see, and although a gale of wind won’t technically make a place colder, it will exacerbate the loss of heat one could experience.
A large cluster of brightly colored tents and various devices and displays stands in an open field. The bone chilling rain steadily drops from ice-crusted fabric awnings and flaps, creating crunchy, muddy pools at their entrances. On any other day-or night, for that matter-this place would be spectacularly busy, but most folk have retreated to the comfort afforded by their portable homes, today. Those that must venture outside are doing so briskly. Overall, however, spirits are still high in this place: sounds of music, life, and mirth can still be heard by anyone brave enough to pass through.
One of these tents is dark burgundy with golden patterns and adorned with bones and ivory beads. At its entrance, a wooden sign hangs lopsidedly. On its face is a roughly painted paw with an ‘eye’ surrounded by strange markings. Although this tent is set-up amongst the others, whether intentionally or not, its neighbours appear to have given it enough room for potential patrons to maintain some degree of privacy. This is the tent of Aya the Seer, a mystic shaman of The Traveling Reenactment Faire.
Inside the canopy, a golden, antlered, dragon otter stoops over a mortar and pestle, preparing a mixture of ochre powder by the light of a small campfire. “I doubt you will see anybody tonight mistress.” Zarrin chats idly while going about his work. The small creature grinds the yellowish substance as finely as he can manage. From the shadows emerges a much larger figure with glowing green eyes. Tinged with a not insignificant volume of blood spatter, Aya is an occasionally cream-coated soquili with red-orange markings, feathered wings, and a mane that is literally made of dancing smoke that smells of orange sweetness.
“That’s fine,” she absently licks her formally ivory-tan paws. “We really should tidy-up a little, anyway.” Despite currently wearing a visage that could cause a squeamish sort to grow weak in the knees, Aya does care about appearances and even cleanliness, every now and again. Briefly mistaking it for more blood, her eyes fall upon a couple rose petals lost upon the floor. Rose crowns were a big hit this year she muses, nipping the petals with a fore-paw and chucking them out the door. She grins, fastening the tent door.
Wc: 456
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Posted: Sat Aug 10, 2019 11:21 am
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Leaving the lands of her family is a simple thing, a step that Tarshna takes without finding much consequence to it. Within these lands, there is little chance that her aspirations will bear fruit. Her family and the herds are strong, and she is just another one among them. She needs to go elsewhere, to go where she might stand out. With her own desires held paramountly, she leaves to pursue them without hesitation. Following stories and rumors, she winds her way along the borders of herd lands or strides boldly through unclaimed territories. She carries a decent amount of wealth with her and wears her armor proudly. And perhaps it is her appearance or her bearing or her fortune, but she encounters no difficulties in her travels.
Splitting the journey between walking and flying legs, it's a few days later and drifting toward night when she lands in the valley currently playing host to the Lapsang Traveling Reenactment Faire. The weather seems intent on influencing her mood, dark and cold and drizzling rain like ice shards. She lands with a final flutter of her wings, attempting to shake some of the water from her feathers before folding them to her back.
In a sweeping arc of color and texture and fabric, there stands a sea of tents. Many of them possess full fabric sides, laced and anchored down against the snap of the wind and the bite of the rain. In spite of the closed-off appearance, the cheery colors evoke a sense of merriment and welcome, and Tarshna feels a faint smile steal across her face. There are music and chatter coming from inside some of them, a sense of light and humor that drifts over the avenues between them. Some ring with decorations, bells, and wind chimes and metal trinkets, a strange sort of music unique to this place.
After taking it all in, Tarshna turns her back on the majority of the tents and winds her way toward some that are more distant. This gentle tapering in the avenues telegraphs a sort of mystery, tells her that those in this area offer privacy to their clients. So then, the seers and fortune-tellers, this is her destination. The burgundy and gold structure catches her eye, and she looks on it with favor prompted by the patterning of her wings. Perhaps the spirits are on her side in this, the sign marked with a paw and eye announce this place to be the home to a Seer.
There are petals scattered at the entrance, half-crushed and sweet-scented things. But the closed flap might mean a client, or that the Seer is out for the night. Tarshna casts her gaze around in search of clues, and then gives a shrug before clearing her throat
"Good evening?" She murmured with a curious lilt. "Is anyone there? I've come seeking a fortune teller, if she is in? Or if not, perhaps I could return in the morning?"
Tarshna Wordcount: 495
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Posted: Wed Aug 21, 2019 11:39 am
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At her tent door, Aya heard an unfamiliar voice. “Just a moment,” she replies from behind the red canvas flap to her unseen visitor. She had just finished putting away some items: fresh bones from a small mammal, sour smelling herbs, and several pieces of tarnished jewelry that she had received as payment. They were gently placed in a fairly large, woven, rectangular box for safe keeping. It was common for her to receive these types of things in lieu of money and she gladly accepted them. Although not particularly charitable, she did enjoy her craft and the type of company not burdened by excessive wealth often provided her with unique stories. Tales of sordid pasts, tragedy, and love lost were most entertaining to her.
Earlier today, before the weather grew so fierce, she had met with a few other customers. Some stayed for a while, bringing gifts as payment: a tasty bird, an old ring. Others merely stopped for a moment to gawk, losing heart, or simply didn’t find what they were looking for.
A flutter hitching a ride on a cerynei had stopped by. This odd pair wanted their fortune told. Specifically, the cerynei, a big male with seashells woven into his mane, wanted to know if their relationship would last. The flighty little flutter, on the other hand, was mostly distracted by the various items set about the tent. They had been a couple for a short time and were getting along, but had little disagreements from time to time and that made them uneasy about their future. The bones were cast and foretold a typical life with ups and downs. Their children would be healthy and they would find happiness in a place beside the sea. This answer was hardly novel, but it satisfied them.
Not all fortunes were so generic, though. Some could be downright cruel. She usually omitted the parts about horrible misfortune. Most folk don’t return after dropping one of those on them. Occasionally, however, the right customer would come looking for a more raw reading: questions about enemies and vengeance, truth and justice, crime and punishment. Every now and again someone had the gall to ask for a charm, potion, or even poison. She would set them straight or maybe refer them to an apothecary, it depended.
At the entrance to the tent, Aya pulled loose the slip knot holding the flap taut. Predictably, a gust of wind immediately whipped the flap into the interior. Catching it near its apex, with a practiced motion, the mare held the door open for her potential new patron. “Come on in.” Just outside was a fascinating character. She was dark and all wings, someone who she hadn’t seen or heard of before. Hmm, she thought.
WC:460
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