Antarctic Termite

okay less caps lock this time, just dumping progress on the Whisper post

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Many songs were shared that day. This was one of hers.

Open ways on a desert track
Water bags on an ass's back
Lowing beasts and a long-horn bull
Fire's bright, but the moons are full
And so we pray

Dance, dance, caravan
-For the gods we dance
Dance, dance, wander-folk
-Until the day is young
Sing, sing, desert man,
-For our loves we dance
Sing, sing, to the smoke
-Feel magic on your tongue

Hardened hooves and a broken bone
Leopards wait 'til you're alone
Water's gone and the fire's dead
On these desert tracks we bled
Yet still we say

Dance, dance, caravan
-For the gods we dance
Dance, dance, wander-folk
-Until the day is young
Sing, sing, desert man,
-For our loves we dance
Sing, sing, to the smoke
-Feel magic on your tongue

Though the people of the river begged Whisper to sing a song of her own people, her quiet stubbornness defeated them all one by one, and her music remained only of the kind that they themselves had taught her. Eventually, well after night had fallen, Whisper asked the elder to teach her a farewell, and she repeated it; And then she burned away into a dirty smoke and left that place on the wind.

In the morning, the foraging hain found the remains of a bull elephant in a field of fine ash. There was no ivory for them to salvage, nor any decaying flesh, or even bones; Only the tip of its trunk and a few of its teeth. The foragers turned their back on that place, and said nothing. For the memories of last night were clear in their minds, and among them was this: That they had offered much food to the stranger, and yet she had eaten nothing at all.

okay less caps lock this time, just dumping progress on the Whisper post

The village was built to a scale never meant to accommodate a change-eater, in an environment foreign to her preconceived ideas of nesting. Nevertheless it was obvious from many miles away what Whisper was approaching: A place to roost, a place to live and raise young. A home.

The huts clustered like gaian coral, varied in size and somewhat in shape, too, and still clearly all of a kind. They were built of clay and sticks, but well, tidy domes and cones of arid brown. Acacias shaded the village and its surroundings, and a river quietly journeyed nearby, where fishing boats and crocodiles alike lazed on a sun-warm bank and waited for the night.

There were more houses than there were hain, for though this place was one of fishing and baobab fruits, the lands around belonged to the human herders of cattle and goat, and it was custom in this land to give shelter to wanderers; even if they are tall, and arrive with their children and children's children, and brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews, and four hundred head of cattle beside. So this place was well-travelled among the Golden Barrens; Indeed, there was even a road, of sorts, to the glass grove where the people of all these tribes brought their dead if they could not rest.

This road had been worn by the feet and knuckles of the earthen folk, who were also among the wanderers of this land, and when the giant being of once-gaudy bubbles and far-too-colourful eyes arrived like a bark painting made real, it was the slumbering tribe of Urtelem that assured the hain not to run. Instead they hid in their huts and looked on uneasily, for though a storm means no harm it is no less frightening for its power, and the eyes of the stone men do not open at the passage of leopards and mambas, who mean no harm and yet are no less dangerous to the likes of visiting humans.

Whisper knew why she was received as she was, for the history of the gods had been taught her long ago and she remembered well why hain do not stare long at the light of the Woven Moon, and exile those who turn their face from family for the sake of toys and bruises. How much more so would they shy away from a living weapon, a hunter larger than any elephant or djinni they had yet seen?

So she was patient, and did not stray too close to the little town but stayed at its edge, much like, had she only known it, a certain king had done in a different place and a different time not so long ago. And she did not stay in her resting form, nor condense to the war-stance of the Fourfold Fish, nor dissolve into smoke, but pulled herself with great skill into the shape of a Galbaric mortal.

It was not a perfect imitation, or even a passing one. Nothing could hide her size, nor her colour, though stretching herself into limbs agitated the dripping flow of darkness in her body. Her flesh remained a collection of vessels and bladders of fluid, with two stilted legs, two trailing arms, a slouched back and an oversized head-bulge with five huge circular eyes. She might have been a hain or a human or an urt, or a baboon, even- She was a painting, a symbol, far removed from physical reality. But it was all she could do and it strained her. Entropites are not shapeshifters by choice but by instinct, and poor mimics. Each set of stances is unique to its owner. It would take a lifetime with mortals to truly be at ease walking among them, and surely no change-eater had ever lead such a strange life.

Whisper stood there as midday came and went and her body began to drink sunlight and air, aching for sustenance other than the raw energy of Jvan's curse. And she did not wait in vain.

For the Second Hatching is strong, and its children are many. When the cruel spirits came and struck out at them for following the ancient ways, the hain did not yield, for no being can destroy a culture by threat alone. Yes they hid away in pits disguised as porcupine burrows and in the reeds where crocodiles watched, but there was no more shame in this than there had always been, and the wilderness had always been on their side, in its way. No, if anything, a strange breed of sympathy came over them in the wake of Basheer's passing. For what was more monstrous, in the end- Their childhood fears, or those that demanded they retain them for selfish cause?

First an elder, who feared little from death, leaning on a staff as she went to wake the stone matriarch. Two heads are ever better than one, and oftentimes an urt's is quicker than a hain's. Together they greeted the stranger, and offered her shelter, as was custom in these parts. And they conversed.

Whisper spoke in the Fae Tongue, and signed it, too, her gestures as bizarre as her voice. She said she had come to seek wisdom, and to hear the voices of all the world. With patience and curiosity she listened to the story of the tribe, and inscribed every word upon her heart.

Then others came, and Whisper greeted all who would come, bidding them to speak, so that she may hear.

okay less caps lock this time, just dumping progress on the Whisper post

She fell like a half-extinguished star.

Trailing a slender stream of smoke, Whisper flickered, her fluorescence wavering as it passed distilled moonlight between her cellular organs, juggling pulses of muted colour. Her descent slowed as it neared its end until, fluttering, she bottomed out and hovered above the substrate at the floor of the nitrogen sea.

Whisper had some idea of where she was, but didn't know what it meant. One can look at a world a thousand times without ever knowing what separates the green from the blue, or why the white swirls dance as they do. She had been here, many times, had been born here even; But Galbar was not, and had never been, home.

Jvan was, perhaps, watching, or perhaps she was not. So it is with all Sculptors. Her voice would come if it was called, had she been able to project it, and lend aid- But Whisper did not call. That silent agreement had been passed long ago. If her role was to develop, she would do so, insofar as she was able, by herself.

But that didn't mean she was on her own. Alone among the Diaphanes, Whisper has a second family to call on.

The tentative note she sang into the ether was echoed back to her as a playful melody, then again with a haunting resonance. The Distant Dance is less and more than triangulation alone, and where the voice of Galbar's strange once hummed their way to the Fae God alone, now she was little more than a drum on which they resounded to one another, one voice among the scattered multitude.

Whisper followed the tune of her brothers, too tired to think, too determined to eat. Exhausting though her fall had been, the energy that thrummed in her blackened blood knew no limit. Her sleepwalk-song rang clear through the telepathic medium, and the Fae Folk made it into a harmony. Together they urged her on, one in friendship, one in taunt.

Hoo-oh, eh-ey, eh eh oh
Turn back, little ghost
And sink into your grave;
Your courage left you long ago
Your soul it cannot save.
Turn your head and swear not
To ever leave your post;
Turn away and look not
If you're truly brave.

Twist my heart into a knot,
Tie it to your mind
This world will eat you headfirst and
Your way you will not find.
You do not listen, little ghost
You're wandering too far
You're drifting further than the most
And do not know you're blind.
Hoo-oh, eh-ey, eh eh oh
Hoo-oh, eh-ey, eh eh oh.

The song was passed from Sculptor to Sculptor, and was heard in that region for many days after.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

@Kho The Flux story happened a few hundred years ago and he's been busy since then. Terraforming and habitat construction are still his thing, and at some point he spent a few decades building a garden north of where his beach used to be.

It's basically a cluster of mounds with groves planted on them and sheltered paths in between forming a small maze, at the center of which is a spring he uncovered and turned into a pool.

Whisper will wander past there shortly but chronologically ahead of the Rukban story. In the meanwhile Flux has been repairing the terrain of Angelblood Ridge before moving to the Valley of Peace to avoid Realta.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

@Muttonhawk

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

those arm proportions holy cow i need help

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

Is this the part where we contrive a character for Tauga to tragically fall in love with so she can have a kid that redeems her upon her deathbed and we can go full circle?

@Muttonhawk

>tauga
>love

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

Speaking of upcoming warrior drawings, Poog here inspired me.

Two Tiras in some light armour, missing a few scars

possibly better resolution

Tauga in full suit with height comparison

Tauga might only be like four feet tall, but put her in a room full of other hain and she towers. Girl's built like a tank. A tank that can bench-press other, wimpier tanks.

Ed: It actually took me several months to realise how much of Tauga's design is based on the faithful Darth Vader. Distinctive breathing mask, dark suit, tall, invisible sensory powers, excellent flying skills, personality shift following trauma, charismatic lieutenant of a far more shadowy being, takes no shit...

It's a match made in heaven honestly

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

all these people knowing their ancient history and i'm just like

hey

i wonder how many technicolour blobsharks i can fit in outer space

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

Sorry to grammar, but I think the word you want is 'hanged'.

@BBeast

My apologies.

Tauga hungles two hangos and the hinged honger of their former hengg.