18 Jun 2022, 20:46
Once Upon A Time...
Contest Information:
- This is a roleplay thread, which means you can just roleplay being with friends and such at the campfire! You can roleplay your story here, but if you are participating in the contest, make sure to copy-paste the story into THIS thread! A story that is not posted in that thread will not be seen as a participating story!
- You are allowed to do the story in multiple posts but make sure it all comes together if you submit it in the application thread!
- Godmodding is not allowed unless you have explicit permission from the person you are godmodding! (Which we will check)
- Wordcount: 200+
- Make sure the story is PG-13 content! And if you would have any questions regarding the event or the contest feel free to owl @Judith Cohen.
- Submissions are open until August 28. Submissions after that date will not be seen as a participating story!The first full day at the Summer camp had been a fact. People have had their time to settle down, and enjoy the time together, and what else could be a better start-up, a better way to make friends, than a lovely, classic campfire? Exactly! nothing! And so it looks like, nature has been in our favour as well. The sky was cloudless. Stars were visible over the entire sky, and the temperature was around 18°c/64°f. Which was the perfect temperature to just sit around in your nice, cosy t-shirt/hoodie and enjoy the warmth of the fires. When you'd look around, you can see the beautiful big campfire, where people would be able to sit together with everyone who was present at the camp, but if you'd like to just campfire with a close friend group, or maybe just join a small group of people to make new friends, that as well would be possible at the scattered smaller campfires!
Now when I hear campfires, I immediately connect them to.. SMORES, of course! and yes those are present as well! I don't think there is any wizard or witch who would ever host a campfire without smores, but for those not liking smores, there are of course all kinds of other sweets like waffles, and marshmallows, drinks and so much more! But of course, the most important part of this campfire is not the food, but being together with friends! Enjoy your time with friends, do some pranks, and make fun! And of course, Campfire stories! What would a campfire be without campfire stories? Exactly!
Now I believe you all have an exciting Campfire story to tell, whether it's scary, funny, or a lovely romantic story, feel free to share it, with your friends, professors, prefects, or maybe with some woodland critters that are joining us this evening? Who knows!OOC: Feel free to join the Campfires and grab a snack with your character, if you have any questions, feel free to Owl @Judith Cohen me with any questions, Judith will be here to keep an eye out and supervise to prevent too much mischief! If there is any more info you'd like to know feel free to owl Judith as well!
| Judith's Ency | |Stamina: 6 | Evasion: 6 | Strength: 4 | Wisdom: 8 | Arcane Power: 4 | Accuracy: 8 | |
Part Goblin |
13 Jul 2022, 02:20
Once Upon A Time...
We all have them don't we? Those trunks and purses and shopping bags, all a bigger on the inside than they are on the outside. That space, that space that does not exist, that defies the rules and boundaries of nature. That stretches reality within the confines of a feeble confinement space.
We all know the rule -- don't hide in the trunk, don't store your pet in your bag... Yet we do not know why. There was always the unspoken indication that harm would come to us, perhaps there was not enough air... we would be lost amongst the baubles and trinkets, suffocated under a mountain of sweaters that we stuffed inside that terrible chest. It was just to socks and undergarments, not for rivals or that nerd.
But what does happen. What really happens to someone once they are stuffed inside? What happens if they wish to not be found? If they chose to live out their days inside this bedazzled or oaken vessel? Where space and matter is condensed to nothing, or space itself becomes perhaps not infinite but stretched and twisted. With that constant presence of magic bending the reality in which they deign to exist or subsist within?
Well, it has happened before. We all know that kid, the one that ended up spending aa few hours locked in a cramped chest, so scared they shat themselves in the dark while their tormentors laughed. But what of those that did not kick and scream, did not claw their way out of that box the moment light broke the seal? Well, that is when terrible things happen I would think.
When they hide beneath that sweater, behind those forgotten stuffed animals or below those spare linens. There they twist in the dark nothing, the place that is not but somehow is by the virtue of the very magic we often take for granted. I think that they are changed over time into something else, something different from everything that we knew before. That their limbs bow from their unnatural position and become gangly and strange as life was never intended to be supported, not for any period of time in any case. That what made them human and recognizable is washed away, their features a blank canvas over time. That they become lonesome and hunger, that they become somewhat inhuman in their new contorted, gnarled form and in that they become less humane.
So from hovel to hovel the pack man would go, these hovels the trunks and the closets, the drawers and perhaps even our backpacks and handbags. Living in their and then crawling out of the satchel whenever it pleased them, housed now inside the places we deign as safe. From there it slays and it takes from the house who or what it pleases and then crawls back within the confines of the space that is greater within than on the outside. The perfect crime, taken from house to house, neighborhood to school, to hidden clubhouse or private chamber. It kills, it takes, perhaps even drags its prey away into the dark and cruel confines that made it for purposes only it understands.
WC: 530
We all know the rule -- don't hide in the trunk, don't store your pet in your bag... Yet we do not know why. There was always the unspoken indication that harm would come to us, perhaps there was not enough air... we would be lost amongst the baubles and trinkets, suffocated under a mountain of sweaters that we stuffed inside that terrible chest. It was just to socks and undergarments, not for rivals or that nerd.
But what does happen. What really happens to someone once they are stuffed inside? What happens if they wish to not be found? If they chose to live out their days inside this bedazzled or oaken vessel? Where space and matter is condensed to nothing, or space itself becomes perhaps not infinite but stretched and twisted. With that constant presence of magic bending the reality in which they deign to exist or subsist within?
Well, it has happened before. We all know that kid, the one that ended up spending aa few hours locked in a cramped chest, so scared they shat themselves in the dark while their tormentors laughed. But what of those that did not kick and scream, did not claw their way out of that box the moment light broke the seal? Well, that is when terrible things happen I would think.
When they hide beneath that sweater, behind those forgotten stuffed animals or below those spare linens. There they twist in the dark nothing, the place that is not but somehow is by the virtue of the very magic we often take for granted. I think that they are changed over time into something else, something different from everything that we knew before. That their limbs bow from their unnatural position and become gangly and strange as life was never intended to be supported, not for any period of time in any case. That what made them human and recognizable is washed away, their features a blank canvas over time. That they become lonesome and hunger, that they become somewhat inhuman in their new contorted, gnarled form and in that they become less humane.
So from hovel to hovel the pack man would go, these hovels the trunks and the closets, the drawers and perhaps even our backpacks and handbags. Living in their and then crawling out of the satchel whenever it pleased them, housed now inside the places we deign as safe. From there it slays and it takes from the house who or what it pleases and then crawls back within the confines of the space that is greater within than on the outside. The perfect crime, taken from house to house, neighborhood to school, to hidden clubhouse or private chamber. It kills, it takes, perhaps even drags its prey away into the dark and cruel confines that made it for purposes only it understands.
WC: 530
Just a trick of the lighting they said...
17 Jul 2022, 02:05
Once Upon A Time...
August 2 | 21:00
Open to Interactions
wc: 337
French
English
Open to Interactions
wc: 337
French
English
EmmaLee walked up to the area where the various campfires roared pleasantly. She was still very impressed by how well thought out this whole camp was. Most days had a planned activity where you could regroup and enjoy some structured fun, but there was also a lot of space for just enjoying your time here.
She was a bit early to the campfires today, but that meant she had her pick of a fire and first pick of any desserts. EmmaLee looked around at all the fires, surveying the smaller ones around the bigger one and she headed over to where the food was set up. She wasn't really interested in S'mores, but she liked roasted marshmallows and so she grabbed a handful and a stick to roast them with. She also grabbed some water and a soda and then headed over towards one of the small fires closest to the path. She sat down on the side of the fire where she could see other people walking up the path, put a marshmallow on her stick and started to roast it to a golden brown. She liked the outside crunchy, but the inside gooey.
EmmaLee had read on the itinerary that storytelling was encouraged tonight, so she sat and thought about a story she might tell as she roasted her marshmallow and waited for either her tentmates or anyone else to arrive. She didn't know a lot of stories, but there was one that her mother always told when she was younger. Maybe she could tell that one.
As she waited, she started to lightly sing one of her favorite songs and tap her feet a little.
"Je m'baladais sur l'avenue le cœur ouvert à l'inconnu. J'avais envie de dire bonjour à n'importe qui." She sang, dancing and swaying a little with her marshmallow in the fire. "N'importe qui et ce fut toi, je t'ai dit n'importe quoi. Il suffisait de te parler, pour t'apprivoiser. Aux Champs-Elysées, ba na na na na, aux Champs-Elysées, ba na na na na. Au soleil, sous la pluie, à midi ou à minuit il y a tout ce que vous voulez aux Champs-Elysées" She continued, vocalizing the trumpet part of the song. She continued singing and dancing where she sat until her first marshmallow was ready. Then she ate it and continued to sing while she roasted a second one and waited for the other campers to show up.
Reducio
English Lyrics: I strolled down the avenue with my heart open to the unknown. I wanted to say hello to anyone. Anyone and it was you, I told you anything at all. It was enough to talk to you, to tame you. At the Champs-Elysées, ba na na na na, at the Champs-Elysées, ba na na na na. In the sun, in the rain, at noon or at midnight there is everything you want at the Champs-Elysées.
Fearless | Calming Presence | E.L. | Prodigal Transfiguration
ST: 9 | EV: 9 | STR: 3 | WI: 8 | ARC: 9 | ACC: 11
Caretaker: A. P. Finch | iNPC: Yasha V.
ST: 9 | EV: 9 | STR: 3 | WI: 8 | ARC: 9 | ACC: 11
Caretaker: A. P. Finch | iNPC: Yasha V.
20 Jul 2022, 22:07
Once Upon A Time...
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Charles decided to join the campfire that night, for a chance to spend with friends or team mates. The teen followed the group for thr airy setting, the waft of ash blew in thr air upon and shine of embers burned from the center of the area.
The blonde would find himself a bottle of fizzy lemonade, eyes freshly peeled at those constructing s'mores. The teen thought for a moment of constructing his own sweet, delicious goodie but settled for snacking on a s'more later in the night.
The teen would attempt to find a seat among his friends. Cassie, Rosella, and Drew. His longest known and closest friends, the three best friends he has. The teen would have preferred sitting amidst that night with the group but his blue eyes stayed open for his sister, Haley even if they shared no blood. She is a sister to him no doubt. His heart itched, a part would have enjoyed sitting with her and Ronnie. Smiling at the thought of the lad, the echoing in his ears from his heart.
The teen would have also settled into a seat by the durmstrang quidditch team or Horntail Horde team. Admittedly to his displeasure, his fellow durmstrangs were starting to grow upon him.
The teen would find a seat around the fire, unscrewing the top of his lemonade as the stories from others started. The teen didn't think he would share one, he never had been quite creative with words or a storyteller. Taking a slip, listening to the stories being told. Some of horror and others from a song. The teen felt his heart echo in his ears, eyes looking around. Wondering who would go next as he screwed the top onto his lemonade.
Keeping his seat, bottle in hand as he looked around at the group. The teen didn't see a reason why he shouldn't share as a particular story- idea came into mind. The teen smiled halfway, the thought of the rising quidditch game and prospect of who will be the winner fresh in the mind of few. Charles saw this as a opportunity to speak of himself and fellow durmstrangs without the others knowing of course.
The blonde use to never be biased of his school, he actually had a keen dislike of the institution and students that went there but after some time spent on the durmstrang teams. In training and forced bonding exercises, the blonde has started to see durmstrang in a different light. A part of him likening the school, even caring for those who go there with him.
"I have a story."
Charles spoke against the chatter, a slight raised of the bottle of lemonade in hand before resting it once again on the ground. The teen eyed around, a small smirk creased his lips as he spoke. As he told his story.
"Legand tells of a group.... A group of eight fair and brave warriors who traveled the land to prove themselves and destroy those who doubt them.
The group call the land of the north home. Where it snows every winter and stays bitter year out... the weather doesn't bother them but fuels them! Often calling to them, the cold is where they hone their strength and skills. The isolation is where they become better than the rest.
For, their stories are known by all in nearly every land. Word traveled by admirers or the jealous. Looking to see the eight in action, with their own eyes or be the ones that could claim they defeated the undefeated.
For the group operates under the kinship of a powerful and fearless ruler. One of ruthless and ambitious. One who doesn't take lightly to laziness or loss. One who only wins, who has mountains of gold and whispers of his greatness. Of his power. King Yef- uh... King Yeffem! Yes! The powerful and awesome King Yeffem with his Mikotaur! Half beast and half man!
Charles heard mumbles and whispers that he mispronounced minotaur around him, the blue eyes turning back behind him at the whsipers as he spoke"No! Not minotaur! Mikotaur! I said it correctly!" Glaring at the whsipers behind him before the glare faded as he turned back to the fire, smirk replaced by a half smile as he continued the story.
"Continuing the story of the eight warriors!
The group is made of remarkable warriors, each accomplished in their own way... a shame that each of their stories can't be shared tonight for we don't have that much time for one story but! Here are some of the great eight...
The leader of the eight, the white stallion with a heart of gold. They say his reflexes is that of myth, the speed of lighting. Striking upon it's opponents without a hint before. Reflexes that pair with impeccable eyesight, able to see for miles. Warns his team of the dangers ahead to prepare them for a fight- to prepare them to win! The white stallion never far from his group, always near to watch over yet far enough to strike upon those who cross them. The warrior of heart.
The white stallion has a close... perhaps closer than friends sidekick in the group. The scarf warrior, following the stallion with blue eyes and the scars of a feline. Always ready to aid his white brother. Ready to protect those in the group. Ready to fight for another. The warrior of loyalty.
The next... is quite hard to see. One would need to kneel and move around the others to see this warrior. The shortest yet angerest of the group. Always ready to finish a fight or jump on the back of someone. This warrior might be short but shouldn't be cross with... the dwarf warrior.
The dwarf warrior often finds themselves in larger feats then they can manage. They swing before they can think. Bite off more than they can chew. Because of this, the dwarf warrior often travels with their energetic and popular wizard friend. The circus wizard. The edgy and fun pixie cut with the mind and muscles, always there to aid the others. Often getting the warrior dwarf out of trouble. One who doesn't need a group, for she has all she needs within herself but has multiple groups she can count on if she needs them.
The eldest warrior. The wisest. Often offering advice, words to the others to aid them in their travels. In their victories. Flaunting off the newest and best gear around, always winning in style. The stylish and wisest of the group, seeks to grow his wealth but also the wealth of his group. Always keeping a eye out for the other warriors, sticking out a hand if needed. The warrior of wisdom.
The warrior of wisdom doesn't go alone. Their hardly ever alone actually. For they travel aside their little sister, a valkyrie in spirit. A girl who looks to prove herself worthy of fighting along side the boys. A true warrior who learned all she knew, even some more from her elder brother. The warrior of wisdom. The girl, the little sister who looks to make a name for herself. Perhaps next summer, she'll to have a warrior title but now she is known as the little sister.
The next warrior. One with the brightest blonde hair and bluest eyes that the world has ever seen. A dark horse. The loner who keeps to himself, starting the drama within the group and the first on the lines to protect the group. With hair that falls perfectly and extreme strength. For there are few who can overpower this warrior, often leading with his muscles and naturally good looks. The warrior of strength.
Reducio
Taking a pause for a moment as he talked about himself, running a hand through his hair as he clenched his muscles with a half smile. Small nods to the ladies, and lads closest to him that he didn't know before continuing his words.
"For the warrior of strength doesn't travel alone, either. For he has a little sister himself. One with fire redhead and a heart of an soldier. One of power and beauty. One of bubbling strength and enclosing darkness. One that could find a warrior name herself soon to, if only she came from the north like her elder brother did. The distance between... so far it feels sometimes.
Charles would smile fondly, small yet fondly as his mind thought of Haley. The girl who he grew close to, thought so high of and sought to aid and protect her. She really have nestled into his heart through the years haven't she... Charles noticed the lengthy pause he took, deciding to make it part or his story as he spoke"The next... one of darkness- the time. It feels like this story is nearing a end." Eyeing around as he sat back, unscrewing the bottle of lemonade in his hand as he spoke"A shame I couldn't explain the feats of the other warriors. The warrior of style. The warrior of power. And the warrior of calmness. The final three, completing the unbeatable eight."
Reducio
Leaning back, a smirk on the edge of his lips as he brought the lemonade bottle close to his lips as he spoke"For those who face them shall only find defeat... but if your the unlucky choosen to face the warrior eight then some advice. For, don't look in their eyes. They say the eyes hold the fear... the soul.... the story... you'll know their story but they'll know your fears." A nod to signal the end of his story as he took a slip from his lemonade.
"There's no such thing as strange creatures, only blinked people" - Newt Scamander
21 Jul 2022, 21:09
Once Upon A Time...
Valentin circled around the bonfire until finding a seat next to Charles without a word. He hadn’t come to spin a story himself, but only to listen and to be around his people. Eyeing the designated chocolate frog practice range that was Erin, Valentin lamented that he’d left all his fan candy in a bucket at the entryway of Team Horntail Horde’s tent. He didn’t like to break this tradition, but Val had come unprepared.
Staring into the flames, Valentin focused on the sounds around him: the crackle-pop of warping wood, the opening of Charles’s lemonade, and the tone of each speaker as they laid out their stories. It was all playing out quite like Valentin’s earlier bonfire in London, when he’d curled up in a fallen tree bough alongside Greta and played air piano until falling asleep to the flickering ambient light.
People around the fire were making s’mores, but Valentin preferred to just watch, drawing his strength instead from leaning against Charles’s shoulder. The blonde’s story in particular gave Valya's mind material to chew on, turning the boy’s words over through his memory to piece together how Charles saw the others-- how the chaser saw the world. The peace of the moment pulled at Valentin, whose sleep schedule was broken and drained from setting up Durmstrang’s Quidditch Boot Camp. The captain laid his long-haired snowy head down on Charles’s shoulder and he closed his eyes. He needed this.
@Erin Ryan, @Henry Knight, @Evelynn Decipio
Godmods of Charles approved by his author.
21 Jul 2022, 23:14
Once Upon A Time...
Erin sadly had no idea she was a target. She recognized Valentin because there were not many Albinos in the wizarding world, so she knew him as the 'white Russian.' The fact that it was also a drink would have been lost to the part Veela. She would scoot towards the duo in spite of the fact that she was never invited.Interacts with: @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood's iNPC Valentin 'Niffler' Schnell
"Tell a scary Russian story," Erin would prod. If they were anything like the German, their tales of horror would be numerous, perhaps not as much so as the Grimm Brothers' folktales but still. "I have heard you speak English," maybe. Honestly, with their accents she was not entirely sure what they said but she was pretty sure that he had said actual words and not just those Russian made-up ones.
"I'm not scared and I am bored," she added in complaint as if it was somehow his duty to fix this. Of course needling the Durmstrang star Seeker was probably not her best way to dissolve boredom, it would likely suffice and end in unintended dramatics. Erin was grossly unaware of the Niffler's misplaced affections for the loudest among them, Yefim. Yefim who apparently named her his 'special person' yet to date has not had a conversation with her, or... well, knowing that one of those was impossible with the erm... language barrier. At least made out with her like a civilized man. Good grief Yefim.
Just a trick of the lighting they said...
23 Jul 2022, 07:50
Once Upon A Time...
Interacting with: No one yet, Open to Interactions
Mentions: Charles Alluring @Henry Knight❀
As she was making her way over to where the campfire(s) was (were), Glenys was wondering about what kind of stories would be told. She didn't have a story to tell herself – storytelling was not exactly her forte – but she was looking forward to listening to those other people told. She liked stories her parents had told her when she was younger and she liked listening to audiobooks while painting, so this should be right up her alley. Sure, the stories might be a big more spooky than what she normally listened to but that could be fun, too.
As she arrived she first noticed the main campfire. It seemed huge! The other, smaller, campfires truly paled in comparison so much so that she hadn't consciously noticed them yet. The big one definitely drew her focus. It was easily big enough to be considered a bonfire, were anyone to ask her opinion. It was only when she was looking around for a place to sit down, that she noticed that there were several.
As she didn't really know (m)any people yet, she wasn't quite sure where she should sit down. Eh, first things first, Glenys went to grab something to drink and a waffle. She wasn't hungry yet but she didn't want to have to get back up to grab something in the middle of listening to a story. In the end she just randomly dropped down and settled in to listen for a bit. She was close enough to listen to boy currently in the middle of telling a story [Charles Alluring] and talking about ... Mikotaurs? What in the world was a mikotaur? She only knew of minotaurs but apparently they were something different. Maybe she could find out listening to his story?
The atmosphere was cozy and Glen was looking forward to spending the rest of the evening here. She was however glad to have forgone wearing another summer dress to this for the sake of some purple floral harem trousers and a simple light blue tee with her favourite green sneakers. She had a dark blue hoodie wrapped around her waist in case she needed it later. She didn't expect to, but if nothing else it could also serve her as a pillow or cushion.
26 Jul 2022, 06:16
Once Upon A Time...
's Grace (75-100)
Piérre: 81 (Success)
Figaro: 26 (Failure)@Anyone that will listen to Piérre's inane ramblingsHouse Colours: SlytherinTreading over the grass as the sky started to get dark, Piérre shivered a bit at the coolness of the evening, tucking his hands into a dark green sweatshirt with white hoodie strings, the boy watched his Silver Bengal run ahead of him and sniff curiously at the wildflowers and the sweet grass all around them. In his pocket, Piérre absentmindedly clicked the fidget cube, letting his gaze flick around at anything that moved or twinkled.
Humming to himself, the boy found himself drawn to the campfire like moth to flame. His treads were soft upon the ground, making nary a sound as he quietly stood behind one of the logs, rocking back and forth quietly and closing his eyes as he let the words of recent stories flood his senses.
Figaro was more content to try and get close to one of the people around the fire with a chipperly flicking tail and bright, curious eyes, sniffing at the logs and the ashy ground.
Letting thoughts run through his head haphazardly, Piérre began to feel his mind wander as he opened his eyes and looked at the ground. A brief burst of wind caused the kid to look up and spotting a singular leaf that began to flutter through the air. Emerald eyes tracked it half-focused curiosity as it fluttered back and forth in an elusive and gorgeous pattern.
“What does a leaf see when it falls from a tree...?
It dances back and forth in the air, maybe. Carried about by wind or fancy or fortune. Aimlessly in control. At the mercy of a breeze and defiant of things that would get in its way...” Piérre's words were soft and quiet as if in a dreamlike trance, a soft, profound Italian lisp chasing after every syllable. His fingers traced the air as if fluttering after the leaf that fell towards him. His head cocked to rest on his shoulder innocently.
“Do you think it hurts to fall from its stem? To break way from the only home it had until then? Does it fall with acorns? With other leaves on a branch? Or is it only itself, destined to make the journey by its lonesome?
No... That's no fun...” Piérre muttered to himself as he snatched his hand back from the green thing that whispered closer to him. His eyes tracked it faster and faster, trying to guess where it would land.
“Can you really guess where it lands, though? What it did to reach the place it fell to? Did it have other leaves with it on a branch? Acorns to defend? Ants that crawled on it? Is it full of holes or is it waxy and fresh?
When it falls, it may land feet away or miles away. The sky above and below, the earth a fantasy. Does it know what a cloud feels like? How much does it play with travelling birds and morning dew? Flutter and fall, then catch and fly once more. Scraping the ground, then cleverly dodging it once more.”
His left hand shot towards it, causing the hag stone attached by its leather cord to bump on his chest briefly as he made the wild grab.
The green thing skirted along his fingers and then wove through them stubbornly, fluttering away even as Piérre continued to snatch for it.
It landed sullenly on the ground.
“But eventually it stops dancing, too tired to carry on. The grass catches it, ensnares it for its own desires.” Piérre picked it up, twirling the stem between his fingers with childish amusement. “No matter the wind, the leaf, the whimsy or place... It falls to the ground and will stay there. Alone, often times. Sometimes, if lucky, with other leaves. Occasionally with an acorn, maybe. And maybe the acorn grows from it. Maybe it doesn't.”
Piérre walked onto the log and perched on it in a crouch, picking at the edges of the leaf while Figaro continued to accost the current audience with a severe need for affection in whatever way they were willing to give it. The Bengal was about ready to start rub on people's legs.
“A beautiful flight, an experience of a lifetime indeed. Sights, sounds, experiences, winds, currents, eddies, sensations. It only gets to experience these once before its inevitable destruction.” Piérre looked into the fire, and with a steady, unwavering hand, he held the leaf over it and dropped it in, letting the green char to black and both smoke and curl at the edges. “Sometimes it rots, trapped underfoot. Sometimes it is torn to shreds. Sometimes it is eaten or else washed away.
And sometimes, it burns to nothingness.”
Piérre hugged his knees.
“But then again; what is one leaf burning to ash when compared to an entire arboreal forest bearing thousands of perfect others? All of them are ready to take flight one day and do the same as their fellows. To live once and then pass as quickly as they thrived. Replaceable. Every single one.”
Piérre had closed his eyes again, humming to himself as he rocked back and forth.
Suddenly his eyes snapped open and he inhaled sharply.
“Do I smell marshmallows?”
He scampered to the ground, hastily finding a toasting stick, marshmallow, graham crackers, and a small piece of fudge. With agile movements, he stabbed a marshmallow on the stick and put it in the fire's tongues. Humming jauntily again, he spoke quickly and with a trill of native tongue at the excitement of his words. “We're telling stories, huh? Cool. Wish I could be creative enough to tell a spooky one. Best I have is that one time a dust bunny crawled out from under my bunk and tried to smother me. But that was a dream and it turned out that Figaro was sleeping on my face.”
Figaro snapped towards Piérre at the accusation with a small, complaining "Me-ee-ow!, but otherwise did nothing.
Jesters do oft prove prophets. 𓀚
I am the brother account to Romeo Marchonné & Zyva Hel Fae Skógrwight
1 Aug 2022, 19:00
Once Upon A Time...
Yefim loved fire, and this had nothing to do with the fact that he was on fire when it was announced that he would become the Durmstrang champion. That was a coincidence, his flammability was unrelated to his love of fire's raw destructive power. It was to be commended, revered, and used with reckless abandon. It was also useful for cooking things, and as a large growing boy, Yefim was always in need of another meaty treat. Bratwurst wrapped in butcher paper were in his hands as he tried to follow in the tracks of Chakhles* and Valya. He would be a bit late, but his loud footstomps would herald his arrival, and the fire would illuminate his freaky expression.
[”Fire number two! Who wants brats?”] Yefim would bellow, obviously talking to his two teammates by the fact he was speaking Russian. He had completely missed Chakhles' story, which the youth could gripe at him about if he felt brave enough. However, Yefim's attention would swiftly be caught up by the presence of Erin Ryan. "Erin!"
He caught her asking for a scary Russian story, while others around the campfire seemed to have some reservations about sharing. Yefim was not shy, to put it lightly, and boy did he have scary Russian stories to tell. "Let me cure your boredom."
Taking one of the skewers meant for marshmallows and sticking a bratwurst through it, Yefim would put one foot on a seating platform as he held it over the fire, in a cool guy pose. He would grin at each person seated around in turn, most of them stupid little Hogshites, so he hoped they'd freaking wet their pants after hearing this one.
"We know Earth is old, planets fly in the universe before human was being." Yes, he had limited English, yes he would tell the story to the best of his ability anyway, "But what is a living thing, what is exists before planets? I tell you there is a power great and endless, it is chaos."
Yefim would pause for only a moment, perhaps waiting for everyone to be impressed with this high concept so far. The truth was, it was a simplified version of stories his father told him, garbled through the need to use words he knew how to use that only tangentially related to what he was trying to express. Not that he would be daunted if the crowd remained silent or looked confused.
"Chaos birth universe, chaos make something from nothing. Deep in darkness, chaos rules your life, and everything you know. It is inescapable and always hungry for more." As if illustrating this, he would turn the cooking meat around in the crackling fire. "It is not care about human, nature, or universe, it is and will always be. It destroy nation, kill the innocent, loyal to nothing and impossible to stop."
Was there a point? Likely not, but he knew this story scared the other children his age when he was 10-years-old. After all, it was why Mikael was the only person who would talk to him his first year. "Right now, your life hang by a thread, and chaos is everywhere, swings a sword in whatever direction. Slice, slice, slice. Will your nation fail, will your family die? There is no way to knowing, you can only wait and see. Or... cry in fear! AHHHHHHHHHH!"
With a way-too-loud holler, his story was apparently over. Nothing particularly Russian about it, besides it being the doctrine of a defunct Russian cult who had worshiped a fictional god called Azathoth. Yefim would smile and wiggle his eyebrows at Erin, adding a quick flex of his free arm if she was watching him.
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For we dreamed a lot//And we schemed a lot//And we tried to sing of love before the stage fell apart
Sta: 9 ★Eva: 5 ★Str: 7 ★Wis: 15 ★AP: 3 ★Acc: 15
4 Aug 2022, 05:14
Once Upon A Time...
As cool as the annual barbeque was, it was a bit of a whirlwind. First day and all that, you were so busy getting settled and saying hi to everyone that there wasn't a chance to properly talk to any one person, at least not if you were a social butterfly like Phyllis and found it necessary to see every last friend. So she had seen all the people she wanted to see yesterday, and for all her Ilvermorny friends that was enough, but she hadn't seen Maxi since April and exchanging letters just wasn't the same. Letters were just words, lacked the sound of a person's voice and their smile and their mannerisms and their laugh. Almost four months was just way too many months to go without all that. And so during their brief meeting, she asked him if he wanted to meet during the campfire thing the next night. It would be more chill, a chance to catch up and just hang out.
With the sun down, it was a little cold, necessitating pulling a yellow hoodie over her t-shirt. She was still just wearing the jean shorts she'd had on all day, which might prove a mistake, but it was too late now. And besides, she was going to be next to a heat-radiating fire, and the stars blinking overhead would make it plenty worth it.
There were several flickering fires at the scene, the dark silhouettes of people scattered around them. She thought she was spying some food, too, which was perfect, because Phyllis tended to get hungry again at night. She could find a spot around one of the fires and get a smore going, listen to the chatter and stories, but it was dark and thus harder to spot people. Yeah, she could wait a few minutes, on the lookout for Maxi. If she tried sitting down, she'd probably be fidgeting far too much, anyhow; already her fingers drummed along her leg in anticipation.
Bridget Collins (PC) • Aislin Darragh (2nd gen PC) • Alejandros Espinosa (2nd gen iNPC)