Through the rain and fog, the city coalesces into a collage of blurred lights. Neon tones reflect off gleaming windows and gathered puddles, bright lines of festive fairy lights stretching from lampposts to telephone poles and casting a golden glow across the street. Despite the inclement weather, the crowds haven’t been driven back into their homes; there’s a veritable forest of umbrellas surrounding him as he waits on the pavement, his eyes on the stoplight.

He isn’t used to the city in all its bold colours and bright lights. It truly never sleeps, its streets never fully devoid of people and always brightly-lit by store signs and streetlights. He’s used to the slower paces of home, where night falls with a quiet hush—where the only lights after dark are the odd lighted window and the moon and stars high above.

When he looks up, the strings of lights are swaying lightly in the wind. Against the darkened night sky, they look like replacement stars.

The stoplight finally turns green, and before he notices he’s started walking, guided by the throng of people around him. Shaking himself, he tears his eyes away from the lights, and focuses on moving forward.

The goddess of love sometimes gets a bad name. She is often misunderstood. Seen as fickle, or a creature of lust. Many a broken hearted have cursed her name. And the lovers of the world never send any sort of thanks to the goddess. She has had a mysterious past, and not many know. But this is the story of how she came to be:

When the gods and goddesses crafted humankind, they created them to be their subjects. Each god and each goddess gave humanity a gift, something they would use and a reason they should offer praise to the higher beings. Some of them gave humanity cattle, and horses and fire and other tools. Some gave them talent gifts like, farming and bravery. The goddess of love had a very special gift. Love was something coveted by the gods, and she was never supposed to expose them to such divine power. But she did. She gave them the power to love. The power to love each other, to love activities, their friends their family. She gave them the ability to love life.

Due to her insolence, she was punished. She would remain the goddess of love, and she would keep her powers, but she would never be able to love or be loved ever again. So the poor, lonely goddess spends her days watching her beloved humans fall in love daily. She yearns after their happiness, she steers people closer, almost forcing a love connection. She wants to live vicariously through their happiness, she wants to feel through their love. But never again will she know the soft, tender, strength of the power of love.

Khan is a tall, dark and handsome man. He has dark, chocolate brown eyes and dark hair with a bit of a curl to it. He usually wears plain clothes and doesn’t stand out in a crowd which is helpful when he is trying to keep a low profile. He does have a family crest on his ring, and a ruby necklace passed down on his mother’s side. One of his favorite possessions, which he doesn’t use all the time, is his red and gold cape. It has a hood and is made of light, but durable material. He usually only wears this outside of the kingdom’s walls.

Khan is a warrior, a thief, a friend, an enemy. It all depends on who you ask. Khan is a rebel by nature, and cannot be held down. He is a lover, or so he tells the people he meets, it is probably more accurate to call him a charmer. With his wicked good looks and playful personality, it is hard to resist his smirk and wink. His deep brown eyes glittering mischievously. He is usually a loner and only trusts a handful of people. One of them is his trusty horse, the other three are various friends and allies in various towns. While Khan is a rebel and often lives for himself, he cannot stand injustice. He has his own view of what justice is, and it often gets him in trouble with the royal guards and other officials. He gets in a lot of trouble, but if he is ever caught (which is quite rarely) the princess usually lets him off easy. She thinks he is too cute for beheading and she knows he would only escape a cage. His charm really does save his life.

Trouble doesn’t find him, he definitely goes out looking for it. But everywhere he goes, he is a friend to the poor and impoverished. He distrusts the rich and powerful. If you are searching for him, he can be usually found in the local pub. Or anywhere he can eat, drink and tell people the tales of his endeavors. He adores when people feed his ego.

Kevie loved planning parties. It’s what he did. He would plan a party, throw the party and start over. One time, Kevie even planned two parties in one day! But he vowed never again because the double party day just ended in chaos and near disaster.
It all started with his friend Hannah and a birthday party. Hannah knew how good Kevie was with parties, so she asked him to help plan her horse-themed birthday party. He was happy to oblige, that is what he did after all! So he got to planning. They would be playing pin the tail on the pony, and eat Horsey Carrot Cake. He would need to look into renting a riding horse for the party, or at the very least a pony petting zoo, perhaps even both! With a smile and a wave at Hannah, he set off to the bakery to order the Horsey Carrot Cake.

As he walked into the bakery, he was greeted very warmly. He knew the baker well, Kevie was her biggest customer. After putting in the order for the Horsey Carrot Cake, he chatted with Rhela for a while. She was getting ready for the bakery’s five year anniversary. Since this was a big deal, she figured that she had better plan a party to celebrate the occasion. And since Kevie was around and he was so good at planning parties, Rhela asked if he would be able to help her out. The only catch was that it was on the same day as Hannah’s birthday party.
Kevie thought hard about what to do, both Rhela and Hannah were his close friends and he didn’t want to hurt either of their feelings. Alright! Kevie decided that he would do it! He would plan two parties on one day. Because he was a party planner, it’s what he did. They planned the perfect anniversary for the bakery with plenty of cake and other snacks, and a raffle for a free all inclusive party package (a party planned by Kevie, and a cake from Rhela).

On the day of the parties, he ran back and forth, setting up beautiful cakes and wrangling ponies. He ended up with a pony loose at the cake party and a pin the frosting on the cake game at the pony party. It ended with cake everywhere, one happy horse, and lots of laughs and smiles. It worked out in the end, but Kevie realized that it can be very difficult to plan two separate parties on one day.

Tattoos had always been a particular fascination of his. It had started when he had first seen artwork inked on a stranger who passed him on the street, and had extended to the rest of his life. He remembered the first time he picked up a pencil and sketched a pattern. He had reworked it years later, and it was now tattooed on his right shoulder, surrounded by the patterns he had doodled throughout high school. They had usually been in maths books, if he remembered correctly. Crisscrossing and weaving around those were patterns inspired by high school girlfriends, the friends he had made in class, and the teachers who had inspired him. These spiralled out to the tattoos of his adulthood, tighter and more complex than the ones he had done in school. Even his small, stylised signature was tattooed into his lower back between a pattern based on his best friend, and an image representing his mother. Each of these tattoos linked together to form a continuous piece of artwork, that grew as he did.
He couldn’t remember exactly when he had decided to pick up the tattoo needle himself. It had seemed natural for a living artwork such as himself to want to extend that art to others. Well, that and the fact that there was no space left on his body to tattoo.

She is always called Mama Owl and no one knows her birth name. She loves deeply all the kids and will always find a way to help a kid in need. Before the Hard Winter, she adopted many and many kids and loved every single one of them. Some of the kids were orphaned and others had runaway from home, but all of them needed a mother and Mama Owl fulfilled this role with pleasure. Her life wasn’t easy, specially with so many mouths to feed, but she didn’t care as long as she could make the children’s life better.

Some of the kids had a name that was a reminder of a previous bad life and so Mama Owl renamed them, like she once did to herself. Her names were always of animals or flowers, like Tiger, Canary and Aster. She wouldn’t ever admit it, but she had her favorites and all of them earned bird names: Sparrow, Raven, Canary and Rosella. With the Hard Winter, she got separated from her children and now that she has been carved, she travels all over Mycena Cave looking for her missing children, hoping to one day have her family reunited.

A neon blue bunny with a petal-tastic mane. He’s a magical spirit!

Adele is never less than impeccably dressed. Tall and statuesque, she is the type of woman that is most comfortable in a well-fitted suit and red lipstick; it’s difficult to imagine her not wearing heels. The kind of person that most would describe as a real, old-fashioned lady. She has the type of glare that would reduce even the most hardened criminal to stuttering an apology. Which is probably a good thing, because she rules her city’s underworld trade with an iron fist. But her organization is like her family, and she takes care of everyone within it like she treats her own much-loved children.

The organization is the only way of life she’s ever known. Against the backdrop of political corruption and utter disregard for lower income families that never recieve the help they need, she came up from the streets, first as a runner, then as an enforcer, and now at the top of the heap. Still, occasionally she goes out to get her hands dirty, partially to demonstrate to her troops that her rank hasn’t made her grow soft, and partially out of nostalgia. There’s something to be said for feeling the flickering warmth and light of a well-laid arson.

Shaha is the king of his pride, a large and proud lion. He is a deep ginger color with a brown mane. He has red and yellow painted markings on his face, back and legs and his eyes are yellow and intelligent. He carries himself in a regal and almost condescending way, but he is actually quite down to earth. He loves his lionesses, and his cubs. He loves telling them stories and teaching them how to patrol and pounce and other things cubs need to learn.

Shaha was not born as a lion, he was born as a human. When he was a young boy, he was out with his brothers watching their cattle. He noticed that one of the calves were missing, there was blood and some fur on the dusty ground along with some paw prints. Following the trail, he made his way to find the calf. He found the calf and a young lion. The lion was starving and looked weak. It’s pleading, empty eyes gazed up at Shaha. Shaha stood over the lion, his weapon in hand. But as he met eyes with the pitiful creature, he couldn’t get himself to do it. He couldn’t kill this starving young lion, so he left and returned to his brothers.

The next day, he met a large lion, this lion was the size of a horse, much larger than even the largest male in the area. This lion looked like the one he had seen yesterday… it had the same eyes and colors. He was astonished when it opened its mouth and began speaking his human language. It thanked him for his compassion, and told him that he saw a great and nobel leader in Shaha. And that he had a gift to give him, if he wished to accept. He would give Shaha the gift of strength, power and beauty. He would make the boy a brave and powerful leader, stronger than all of his brothers combined! After Shaha agreed, the lion bestowed his gift and Shaha became a lion. Shaha still has the painted markings signifying that he has been blessed by the Mighty One.

Delores is an elderly woman, she wears a long, flowing dress with a brown and purple skirt. Her hair is short and white. Her build appears to be frail, especially since she is so tall and slender, but she always assures everyone that she isn’t fragile. Some of her neighbors believe that she is starting to be confused, but she just smirks and comes back with a witty remark. She has wrinkles on her face and an overall smiley appearance. Her pale blue eyes seem to always be shining.

Delores is a very kind older woman. She bakes cookies for the young kids in her neighborhood and she is always ready to give advice or tell a good story. She is quick as a whip and very smart, her eyes twinkle as she outwits anyone who would look down on her. While she is the kindest woman in town, she will also not hesitate to put anyone in their place. Delores is the alpha female and will not tolerate anything less than respect. When she was younger, Delores was a leader of a band of warriors. She was fierce on the battlefield and stood up to anyone, including the government. Her group of warriors gave her undying loyalty.

Sometimes, her old comrades, or their descendants will still come to check in on her. This is quite the mystery to Delores’ neighbors to see so many tall, dark, mysterious strangers frequent her house. She always assures them that she can still hold her own with a sword.

When Sophia was little, her mothers had always told her to reach for the stars. Sophia resented when they said that. It had been easy for them to reach their dreams, but Sophia knew it would never be easy for her. She had been born with congenital amputation, in other words, Sophia had been born without either of her legs. She would never know what it felt like to run on the beach, and feel sand between her toes. But that would never happen. Too often people told her that she was too ugly, too ungraceful, and not smart enough to make a big name for herself. For a while Sophia believed them.

When Sophia was young, she always dreamed for what she couldn’t have. Now, she’s older and knows to reach for the stars that weren’t too far out of reach. She disbanded the thought that she couldn’t do anything, hell, she was going to show the whole world just what she could do. Devoting her life to dancing, Sophia had often been told she would never dance as well as a ‘whole person’. Ignoring everyone, Sophia followed the stars and became one of the best professional dancers today, as well as the most beautiful. Braces in 9th grade fixed the gap between her two front teeth, and her hair, a beautiful shade of gold, tumbles down to her shoulders. People say that she would be a fine girl if it weren’t for her disability. Sophia just laughs, her blue eyes sparkling with delight.

“My legs?” She asks, pure joy lighting up her face. “This isn’t a disability, silly” She says, gesturing to her prosthetics. “It will never stop me from Dancing with the Stars!”

Yang was flushed with energy when he finally left the village celebration, heedless of Feng’s proclamations about how they should have left hours ago—“Or never went in the first place!” Feng finished, which only inspired a laugh from Yang. He would have retorted to that, but Feng was unfortunately right about one thing. He was just short of running late for the spirit side of the festivities, but he wouldn’t have missed the human festival for the world.

Feng was still nagging him about the ills of the human world (something he never got tired of doing) when Yang finally reached the clearing. He wasn’t sure he would ever get used to the sight of so many of his followers assembled in one place; the clearing was packed with spirits from end to end, and Yang could see countless more crowded in the surrounding trees. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen them assembled, but it was only the second.

The spirits cleared a path for him as he advanced; Yang smiled, a little nervously, when they all greeted him with bows and words of respect. He knew it was the summer festival, but surely there was no need to be so formal? He was barely paying attention to where he placed his feet until he almost stepped on a little company of tiny spirits no bigger than his toe, his attention drawn when they squeaked and hurried out of the way. “Oh! I’m sorry,” Yang gasped, but Feng’s insistent buzzing by his ear forced him forward before he could do anything else. When he finally reached the ring of mushrooms that marked the centre, he sat down with a relieved sigh, sweeping his hair back over his ears.

“Did I make it in time?” he asked of the crowd, and a faint ripple of laughter greeted him. Yang could see as many unfamiliar faces as he did familiar ones in the midst—the shyer spirits that only ever emerged for special occasions. Glancing over at Feng for guidance, Yang followed his cue, beckoning the first spirit forward to allow it to present its offering.

Spirit offerings were so different from human ones. When Yang received offerings from humans, he always felt the power as a slowly-spreading warmth; it wasn’t unlike the satisfaction of basking in the sun or soaking in a hot bath. The power granted by spirit offerings was sharper, more direct. It rushed through him, heightening his every sense for a brief moment before settling into his reserves. After today, he would have more magic at his disposal than at any other point in the season. Yang wasn’t even sure what he was going to do with all that power.

Finally, several hours later, he had attended to most of the spirits. The crowd had dwindled while he worked, until only the very last of them remained. Smiling as he carefully set aside the tiny wooden statuette presented to him (it was a precious gift from a tree spirit, carved from one of its oldest boughs), he glanced over to see who was next. His eyes widened slightly when he saw the congregation of miniature spirits moving towards him—the ones he’d almost squashed on his way in. “I’m so sorry about just now,” he couldn’t help saying again, despite Feng’s admonishing glare at him. He wasn’t sure what it was for, anyway; was he not being decorous enough? Should he not be apologising? …Oh, what did it matter? “I hope I didn’t hurt any of you.”

The spirits chuckled, the sound rather like the wind rustling through grass. One of them stepped forward, speaking up. “No, of course not, milord. Please do not worry; you would not have hurt us, and it was our folly for standing in your path.” Yang didn’t exactly agree, but decided it was best not to say so. “We are simple grass spirits, but we are here as the forest’s emissaries. The forest has chosen us to be its messengers, for it wishes to offer a tribute to the new spirit of summer.”

The words themselves were enough to clue him in, but the severe look that Feng gave him only further sealed the fact that this was important. At any rate, this hadn’t happened last year. His heart was beating a little too quickly, but he thankfully still remembered the correct words without having to glance nervously at Feng first. “I thank you for your journey, and grant you permission to present your tribute,” he answered, bowing his head slightly. He knew that the forest had a collective consciousness of its own, separate from the individual spirits that lived in or made up a part of it, but it had never addressed him directly before. While he could feel it if he reached out, he still wasn’t sure enough of his footing as a guardian spirit to establish such a connection yet.

But it seemed that the forest had decided to make the first move, hopefully for the better and not the worse. Feng remained quiet at his side as the grass spirits bowed in return, then dispersed to clear a circle in their midst.

Slowly, the grass within the circle started to reassemble itself, wreathed in the faint green glow of the forest’s magic. Yang watched, mesmerised, as the forest’s tribute took form, petals slowly unfurling while blades of grass crept up to form vines.

He might have gasped a little when he suddenly realised what it was beginning to look like, before Feng shot him a look and he remembered he had to mind his manners. Still, it was hard to remain composed when he realised exactly what the forest was giving him as a tribute.

Finally, the grass spirits stepped back, the flower now fully formed. Yang couldn’t take his eyes off it—the delicate, gold-petalled flower fashioned in his image, down to the faint markings that swirled along the petals and leaves. A tribute from the forest.

If not for Feng’s somewhat admonishing buzz, Yang might have lost himself just staring at it. As it was, it took him a moment to recollect himself, smiling briefly at the grass spirits before looking up to address the forest as a whole. “I humbly accept the forest’s offering.”

The words had barely left his mouth before he felt the surge of power, the rush leaving him giddy for a moment before it settled. The forest’s tribute was far more potent than any individual human’s or spirit’s… and it was humbling in its power. Drawing a shaky breath, Yang thanked the grass spirits one final time before they murmured and withdrew, leaving him alone with Feng and so many offerings he barely knew where to begin looking.

Well, no, not really. He did. The forest itself had given him an offering—the fact was humbling in and of itself. Feng seemed to agree with him, flying forward to hover over the flower and examine it more closely. “Acknowledged by the forest after just two years,” Feng said, with somewhat grudging respect. Yang wondered if he should take offence. “That’s not so bad.”

“It’s beautiful,” he sighed, resisting the urge to touch it. For some reason, he felt like his touch would disturb it.

“All this, despite the fact that you’re constantly gallivanting off to the human village and barely made it back to your own festival on time.”

“I was on time!” Yang protested. “And that’s just contradictory. I had to leave my own festival to come to my own festival, and all that.”

“You know what I mean,” Feng huffed, but he actually didn’t seem too displeased for once. Yang thought that the flower probably had something to do with it.

How long would the flower stay here? He couldn’t help but wonder, looking at the delicate blossom in the very centre of the clearing. He knew it wouldn’t wither or die—the forest would sustain it. Would there be more flowers like it in the future? Yang couldn’t help the tiny laugh that slipped out at the absurd idea of a patch of flowers that all looked a little like him. It was a bit too odd.

But the flower itself was still the most amazing gift he could have received.

Looking up again as Feng returned to his side, Yang looked around him at the forest—the tall trees and hidden paths, soft grass that gave way to rougher shrubbery or solid ground as the forest stretched on. He could feel its will now, the way it protectively cared for all of its inhabitants in a way even he couldn’t manage. The forest itself was the oldest guardian, and it would be here long after he was gone.

But the forest had placed its trust in him, and for that, he would protect it and all who lived within with all of his power. That was what his tributes were for—why the spirits, his followers, believed in him. The forest’s tribute had reminded him of that.

“Thank you,” he said aloud, and smiled when the wind whispered through the trees in answer.

HAHA oh god this clearly got horribly out of hand, I never meant for it to end up this long :‘D Sorry for accidentally writing ~1.5k words (oops) and thank you for the flower <3

[@Espurr]

Monochrome

With tentacles writhing in the murky depths of an artificial lake, the creature waited, still and silent, listening. Though the voices she heard were muffled by so much stagnant water above her, the creature didn’t miss a word. What she wanted was information. What she craved was revenge.

Once, she had known pristine waters and a tranquil forest, gifts from nature that all guardians had been freely given and fiercely protected. Only she had failed. First came the dumping, the chemicals and garbage flowing into her home. Rage had twisted and corrupted her form as much as the pollution. Then came the construction vehicles.

Driven by night into strange concrete wilds, the creature was seen as nothing more than a random cryptid, a tale told only by lunatics. Her lake was drained, her forest razed for parking lots and shopping centers. A perfectly manicured housing complex was manufactured where wild water once sparkled.

A freakish creature, tentacles and feelers and parts that belonged only in stranger, deeper depths, took silent residence in an artificial pond in an artificial park. Listening to so many vapid human voices, she dreamed for the moment she could seize once again what was rightfully hers.

A symbol of hope to some as he is the last light given off from the sun. He was born from the love between his two mothers. With magic in his family’s veins, it is no wonder that he would have a taste of it. Though it is very limited, he can fully control his powers when he is with his twin brother. Having a more concentrated mix of esper blood unlike their other siblings they earned the right to become keepers like their mother. He tends to have more of human connections tying him to the world, than mystic ones that would take him off world. He explores the world around him, with or without his family. He spends most of his time in isolated areas, and anywhere with the sun rays hiding. In the few chances he is wondering around in the open, it is best not to disturb him as he is most likely lost in thought.

Wolfram has always loved the forest. The villagers know it well as a haunt of the fair folk—a forest of trickery, full of shadows and lights that appear and disappear like illusions. So many stories are told about travellers who laughed in the face of the myths and entered anyway; so many stories that end in the same way, with a person who never returns. But they have never stopped him from wandering its lush green paths, climbing the trees that welcome him with open boughs and speaking to the animals that call the forest their home.

Wolfram has never been afraid of the silly cautionary fables that the villagers like to tell. He’s heard so many of them by now:

Don’t go into the forest, or the faeries will steal you away.

Don’t go into the forest, or—

They all sound the same.

There’s only really one story he likes, about the lost firefly. Abandoned by its family, it wandered the forest alone and forgotten; it continued searching tirelessly even when night fell, unbeknownst that a child followed behind it, mesmerised by its light.

Eventually, the firefly flew to the edge of a cliff, and the child tumbled to his death. The moral was the same as always: don’t go into the forest. But Wolfram had always liked to think that the firefly went on searching anyway, no matter what followed in its wake, and that it eventually found its family.

It’s a story he likes to listen to just before he approaches a traveller, smiling with the face of a sweet young boy who’s afraid to go into the forest alone.

After all, there’s only one of him. Certainly not enough to steal anyone away, even if he wanted to. (Were there more, once? He doesn’t think so. He’s always been alone.)

When all one has in an empty forest are the lengthening shadows and flickering lights… is it too much to ask for an occasional traveller to visit his home? To ask them to stay for just a little while?

He doesn’t think it’s unfair. He loves the forest, but there’s only one of him.

“Would you take me, please? I know the way. I just don’t want to be alone.”

In the darkness, the firefly appears as a guiding light—but what is it guiding you to?

Giving away their soul to magic, their mind and body are no longer one and the same. A desire demon took liking to their heart and decided to make a nest after devouring it. In exchange they allowed the new host to possess some of their magic. In order to keep safe, they use their magic to shape shift. It is sometimes hard for them to see reason as their desire to earn respect and power gets the best of their judgement, but they know that killing is something they will not take part in. They know that taking away a soul will leave them expose, and being exposed is never a good thing. Magic always comes at a price, and sometimes the price is never paid in full. Always hiding in fear, isolation is their only hope for a better future. Once the demon has no more use for their host, they will move on to the next until the price is paid.

As every memory begins to fade, each lost reminiscence creates a fragment. The fragments can either create new life or destroy old existing ones. The remains act as a collection, and each album holds different emotions. It is always best to remain neutral while traveling in the Fragmental Zone, but if an emotion is too powerful it will be cast into the void and be forgotten forever. As long as the emotions stay at a constant state will one be able to get the full experience of each album. Do not stray too far from selected paths, as they are there to act as a guide to help one not lose their way while traveling. If one falls off the path they will be discarded and lost within the album. Be sure to never travel alone. Having someone keep company will provide safer traveling. If alone, one of our operatives are standing by and will assist whenever possible.