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Entry tags:
- ! event log,
- ! special event,
- a discovery of witches: kit marlowe,
- detroit: become human: chloe,
- fargo: wes wrench,
- final fantasy: sephiroth,
- game of thrones: jon snow,
- locked tomb: harrowhark nonagesimus,
- marvel: david alleyne,
- marvel: jean-paul beaubier,
- marvel: logan,
- marvel: loki odinson,
- marvel: quentin quire,
- marvel: thor odinson,
- marvel: wade wilson,
- the 100: clarke griffin,
- uncharted: nathan drake
SPECIAL EVENT: The Flower Oracle
✖ Meet The Oracle
A low thrumming sound builds in the background noise of the raised village, starting so softly that it would be easy to mistake it for the ever present hummingbirds. It keeps building slowly, somehow managing to be both a sound and to bypass the ear as it hums in the bones. The local Temple Guardians bump heads and brush against each other, quietly affirming their bond as they divide their duties: one staying with the local Temple and the other winding through the paths of the village down to the bud of the Flower Oracle in its place of honor in the city center.
The villagers stop what they’re doing, not quite in a panic, but their speed is deliberate and definite. They gather things on their way, flower wreaths, fish, beautiful food, sharp knives, until everyone has something in their arms. There is an ecstatic tension in the air, after all, the time has come when these people will yet again see substantial proof of their god, and it seems they have forgotten all about the Travelers who might have joined them. There is plenty of room for everyone to gather in a circle around the green bud that has grown even larger.
The thrum rises until it is hard to breathe, until some of the structures around begin to groan in the onslaught, and then it stops, suddenly. In the vacuum of silence, there is a wet and meaty sound as the bud begins to open, a first hint of things that look like red lips and white teeth. A canny Traveler might be forgiven for running at that point. The visceral sound of the splitting, of this birthing, continues as the bud splits, then splits again as the four sepals fall open, exposing an inner surface that glistens red and is lined at the edges with white sharp growths that may be fangs. The villagers ignore the implicit threat. They have eyes only for the structure in the middle.
Who can blame them? Translucent petals form a breathing tower, curled tight and perfect as a seashell. A glow pulses like a heartbeat as the petals slowly unfurl, collapsing elegantly to reveal the Oracle and provide protection against the threat of the sepals. The Flower Oracle is beautiful, glowing, soft and round. She is initially surrounded by four guards, each masculine and clearly dangerous, but they move aside to leave a clear path. The villagers line up with their sacrifices, and there is ritual patience in the act. Everyone will have their time with the Oracle, and anyone must be allowed their time alone within the petals.
The villagers stop what they’re doing, not quite in a panic, but their speed is deliberate and definite. They gather things on their way, flower wreaths, fish, beautiful food, sharp knives, until everyone has something in their arms. There is an ecstatic tension in the air, after all, the time has come when these people will yet again see substantial proof of their god, and it seems they have forgotten all about the Travelers who might have joined them. There is plenty of room for everyone to gather in a circle around the green bud that has grown even larger.
The thrum rises until it is hard to breathe, until some of the structures around begin to groan in the onslaught, and then it stops, suddenly. In the vacuum of silence, there is a wet and meaty sound as the bud begins to open, a first hint of things that look like red lips and white teeth. A canny Traveler might be forgiven for running at that point. The visceral sound of the splitting, of this birthing, continues as the bud splits, then splits again as the four sepals fall open, exposing an inner surface that glistens red and is lined at the edges with white sharp growths that may be fangs. The villagers ignore the implicit threat. They have eyes only for the structure in the middle.
Who can blame them? Translucent petals form a breathing tower, curled tight and perfect as a seashell. A glow pulses like a heartbeat as the petals slowly unfurl, collapsing elegantly to reveal the Oracle and provide protection against the threat of the sepals. The Flower Oracle is beautiful, glowing, soft and round. She is initially surrounded by four guards, each masculine and clearly dangerous, but they move aside to leave a clear path. The villagers line up with their sacrifices, and there is ritual patience in the act. Everyone will have their time with the Oracle, and anyone must be allowed their time alone within the petals. Notes:
Characters who wish to approach the oracle need to respond to the thread titled ‘Meet the Oracle’. After they get their response, they can post a separate reaction thread to play out some of the consequences of the event.
Responses to the Oracle Thread should include: a short description of their IC reaction/actions, a description of what they bring for a sacrifice, and their question for the ancient. Villagers will have let them know that traditional options include: fish, flowers, art, blood, secrets, or memories. Characters/players may come up with their own sacrifices. Please include a note if the character helped decorate the local temple this month.
WARNING: Contacting the Oracle may result in negative IC results for characters, and there is a degree of randomness in how the mods assign results.
Saxsice King
These are all valid questions, but not the ones that are most pressing, and definitely not something she wants to waste her sacrifice on. Part of Saxsice feels embarrassed that she's taking this so seriously, considering her entire persona kinda depends on her being devil-may-care. But the prospect of getting an honest answer, of soothing her most constant, painful fear is enough to outweigh the embarrassment.
Her sacrifice isn't very pretty -- a few shredded mantis body parts, still sticky with bug-gore, a few fish that are similarly holey and maybe even a bloodied rabbit. All of these were caught by her wolf form, which isn't exactly the most delicate of hunters. Her shoulders are hunched, eyes fixed on her feet, hands twisting together, all uncharacteristic shows of hesitancy and anxiety.
And of course her thoughts are far away, back in the world she comes from, with the son she's (possibly) abandoned yet again. It's been going on three months now, and Saxsice wakes up every day missing him, worried about him, panicking about the potential mess she's left in her wake. It wouldn't be the first time she's skipped out on parental duties, but the last time didn't come with this much grief and regret.
So, when she speaks, it's soft, half-afraid of the answer: "Are we -- am I bein' missed right now? Do they...does he know I'm gone?" Is he safe? Is he okay? rise up in her throat, but she bites them back. One question only.
no subject
"Time is strange." This doesn't have to be an answer so much as simple truth, but it's the start of one. "No innocent should suffer for your journey...if you make it through the path. No time will be lost with him." An answer to the question unasked as much as the question that was spoken out loud.
The crystaline tendrils that extend from below the Oracle produce something from beneath the petals of her skirt. A questionable gift. A single paper photograph of Saxsice and her son, half faded and fragile.