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Post by fighterofinfinity on Oct 10, 2015 23:04:10 GMT
Whisk WoodWhisk Wood is a roleplay/story between fighterofinfinity and rabbittracks. It takes place in the world of Kel-Del,
a magical, ancient land with a vast variety of landscape and fauna and known for it's creatures known as Akriri, or BirdFolk. The characters in this story are all registered, official Akriri on the Masterlist and only brief mentions of other creatures are used.
Whisk Wood is a plotless, stream of conciousness roleplay that deals more with character interaction than a steady plot.
While the story is mainly set in the canon-universe, it takes liberty on expanding, creating and referencing non-canon areas. All non-canon areas are listed below and should be treated as non-referable areas for your universes.
Also, it should be noted a slight twist to the species has been done including but not limiting to the following:
-Living in small, roughly built houses instead of simple nests (which are now treated like small stops)
-The transformation abilities have been time extended. Main Forms can lasts days and Alternative Forms can lasts hours unless
it is extremely large, then those will have a duration of roughly thirty minutes.
-While no magic can be performed, there are some Akriri that have prediction/future vision type abilities and there is an existence of curses.
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Post by fighterofinfinity on Oct 10, 2015 23:18:03 GMT
Descriptions of characters and their personality or place in the roleplay:
[This section is very much under construction] BirdFolk/Akriri:[Pumpkin] Cider: X
Nill Henry
[Acorn] Chai
Bent
Kettle Gesture Tealight
Break
Mary
Minnow
Teak
Wolves: Celes and Ginryu are two wolves that live in the fields next to Quiet Thicket. They broke apart from the main pack and live on their own due to conflicting morals surroudning their feathery neighbors. Ginryu is prideful, harsh, protective, and has little patience. Celes is calm, attentive and, although a little sickly, can put up a very strong presence. He is also almost completely mute. Groups/Pairing Names:
The Autumn Trio: Nill, Henry, Cider **name comes from their favorite foods, the holidays they come together for and the idea that all three of them "shed their leaves" to grow endure a hardship to become strongerCrooked Duo : Bent and Chai **name comes from the bar that Bent owns |
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Post by rabbittracks on Oct 10, 2015 23:48:10 GMT
Non-Canon Communities
Twisted Branch:
Home to Kettle and Break, this community is known for it's superstitious residents. Located in-between Quiet Thicket and Usa Village, this town is notorious for it's huge black trees, rows of tall,yellow grass and it's secret market, Wicked Weed. The folk here are jumpy and fearful or keep to themselves. It is common to hang herbs, spells, and bones on low trees to ward off evil. They believe this place to be haunted by a ghost. Every moon change, they burn all the expired wards and create new ones; this time is the only community-like experience they have. They go back to limiting interactions the next day.
Jagged Edge
If Flora Falls is located at the base of the mountain's great waterfall, then Jagged Edge would be at the utmost top. This location is not a community, but a place of residency for those who travel up the mountain to view, interpret and study the stars. Isolated due to the waterfalls great mists, this chilly but serene stop is covered with carvings of calendars, astrological signs and small shacks for sleeping. Gesture and their apprentice Tealight are one of the few permanent residents here that maintain the buildings and cook for the passerby Akriri. There are few lights here to prevent light pollution that could block or distort star viewing; making it constantly dark except a few glowing coals that rests in natural pits of rock to guide the way to shelter. |
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Post by rabbittracks on Oct 11, 2015 0:13:35 GMT
Frequent Homes, Places, and OtherHenry's Home, The Thorn
Completely contradictory to it's name, Henry's residence is welcoming, comfortable and the epitome of homeliness. Located in Quiet Thicket and built by himself, it is a ramshackle cottage leaned heavily against the base of a tree. It is complete with windows, several chimneys and stone supports. The inside is warm and cluttered, packed with furniture, objects and wooden projects that Henry discarded, finished or is currently working on. It always smells of some sort of food and seems to radiant it's own warm atmosphere even when the fire's dimly lit. Used as a sort of "crash pad" for Nil, Cider, Kettle, and on occasion.. Break. There seems to be always someone who stumbles in, grabs a blanket from his twig woven basket on the floor, and curled up someone whether it be a chair, corner or even the floor.
Kettle's Whisk Wood
The giant woods that begin in Quiet Thicket, stretch to Twisted Branch and dwindle into the luminescent village of Usa have no name according to the average Akriri. Any mention of a forest, and it's always the first one that immediately appears in everyone's mind due to it's pure immensity and popularity. However, Kettle commonly refers to it as "Whisk Wood" because it "always seems to draw birds in, and take them away...So very far. Farther than they had ever thought to go." The phrase has caught on by the one's who frequent his company and is the title of our roleplay due to so many events taking place inside it's domain !
The Crooked Talon
This small bar-like shack is where one finds themselves at the end of a very bad or tiresome day. Carved from a tree stump and owned by Bent, the mains never seem to call it by it's real name and simply refer to it as going over to "Bent's place". Bent's lives above it in a modestly furnished room with little items of his own. His assistant Chai was given a bed crammed in the corner after Bent found her sleeping on the floor behind the counter several nights in a row. Henry finds himself there at midnight far too much than he, or Bent for that matter, would like to admit.
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Post by rabbittracks on Oct 11, 2015 1:11:37 GMT
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Post by rabbittracks on Oct 11, 2015 1:12:01 GMT
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Post by fighterofinfinity on Oct 13, 2015 21:20:33 GMT
"oh how the gentle wind, beckons through the leaves as autumn colors fall"
It did not matter whether it was the first break of sunlight hitting the tops of the yellowing grass at morning's dawn or the now uneasy mist that settled at dusk and creeped fervently through the forest throughout the night… Whisk Wood was never an empty place. A sound, no matter how faint, of activity could always be heard whether it was a rustle of leaves, the snap of a twig breaking under pressure, or soft, echoing whisper. In this case, it was all three masked behind the persistent cry of crickets, a frog singing somewhere in the nearby stream and various insects prowling in the trees. The whisper continued to call out getting louder, and louder still. It came from a rather average looking Akriri perched low on a pine tree, gripping the branches tight with stress; its talons drawing hard lines in the wood, carving out splintered valleys. Nothing about him, not his freckled markings or his rusty brown and cream coloring nor his wide swishing tail was remarkable and yet the blazing, hard look on his face read otherwise. Glaring red pupils settled in orange irises heated with intensity as they swept across the forest searching frantically. They stuttered and narrowed on a shape but as they focused, it emerged to be nothing but a fern that had latched onto a small rock. He called out again his breath creating visible puffs of air in the chilly October weather. “ Nil.” The sound was strained and fearfully controlled. He waited and when he heard no reply in return for the umpteenth time, the bird sucked in air, pulled the collar of his large, black cloak down to free his beak and emptied the air in his lungs to harshly cry out. “ Answer me, Nil !!” The nearby frog silenced its lonely search but the fog rolled on, the cicadas hummed, the crickets continuing their nightly rituals and no other creature was heard. Down the hill, two ears perked up and twitched as they bent forward. The massive, dark form they were attached to stirred and, with a heaving sigh that was so powerful, dirt rose into a cloud, it advanced forward. Whisk Wood was never an empty place. |
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Post by rabbittracks on Oct 15, 2015 16:06:35 GMT
In Which Quiet Thicket Isn’t Very Quiet Sounds started appearing slowly in Henry’s consciousness like a dim light beginning to glow: the familiar, scrapping of a wooden chair against the floorboards, the chink of two glasses being knocked together, and a consistent static buzz of an insect too near to his ear. Where am I…?
He began to shift his head but halted the action with a low groan, his neck ached fiercely. He roughly grasped it with hand and dragged down in some weak attempt to soothe the abused muscle. The insect, maybe a fly, started getting louder. Henry shifted his head away, heaving it across the hard surface it had been previously resting on to avoid the obnoxious pestering. He felt a cloth slip off his back when he moved and was dimly aware of how it brushed against his taloned feet as it slithered to the floor in a heap. He could tell he was on some form of table and it smelled strongly of spiced apples and spruce pine. I know that scent…
The disagreeable noise was deafening now becoming less and less like the sound of wings rapidly beating and more like a static, garbled conversation. With more will power than he felt resided inside of him, he cracked open his eyes for a second only to close them furiously. Wherever he had fallen unconscious, it was devastatingly bright. However as his brain began to click gears into place and as the noise of the insufferable “insect” turned into a stream of brash words, he figured out very quickly of his current whereabouts. He let out another groan, one much louder than his previous, his voice gravelly and slurred from too much sleep. “Oh, no” “You’re damn right ‘oh no’.” Grimacing at both the reply and as a reaction to the painful protest of his body as he sat up, he cracked open a single eye. Owned by an Akriri named Bent, The Crooked Talon was no secret place to the community of Quiet Thicket and its familiarity stretched by word of mouth from Floral Falls to the island of Prik Nok. The large, moss covered stump became a beacon of invitation and nights one may or may not want to reside in their memories. Notorious for wickedly powerful drinks that seemed to knock any Folk to their tails, it was jammed pack at nightfall with birds from all over, sipping drinks themselves or cheering a friend to the brink of black out. The sounds they made carried dozens of yards away, making its location at the edge of the wood most relieving by local Akriri who wished nothing to do with its racket. By morning, however, it was emptied and looked oddly bland. The darkened walls were kept bare due to the nightly threat of someone stumbling into them. The potential risk for someone to knock over a picture or three was extremely high. This went unnoticeable and seemed unimportant at night but in the morning it almost looked like he was sitting in a bleak, vacant home. The earlier sound of scrapping chairs repeated and Henry diverted his attention to the left side of the room where a young bird was pushing chairs to lean securely on the back wall. The chairs were made out of sturdy wood carved from pine tree logs secured together with wraps of twine. Despite their heavy use, they remained resolute and dependable. Henry knew all of this with confidence; after all, he made them that way. He was surprised that a little bird could lift such heavy wood but Acorn Chai never ceased to amaze him. Despite her young age she was cored stronger than any piece of furniture Henry could make. He wasn’t quite sure if it was the nightly encounters with breaking up drunken fights or living with Bent. Bent.
He slowly opened his other eye and cautiously looked up at the towering figure above him. Despite Bent’s casual and simplistic nature, he bore the most resplendent feathers that Henry had ever seen. If it wasn’t for the morning’s bright sun streaking through the windows, he would guess the room could be lit up to almost the same intensity with just Bent standing there. The bird was covered head to toe with brilliantly cream/yellow feathers that displayed striking red patterns that faded softly in some areas and blood red in others. “Mornin’” He offered in the same roughened tone as earlier and watched the golden bird swell before his eyes. |
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Post by fighterofinfinity on Oct 15, 2015 20:04:09 GMT
“And the last time I reckon I checked, you had your own house son!” Bent finally finished with a slap of his fist on the table, his face inches away from Henrys’. If the red cardinal wanted to, he could have plucked the wheat straw hanging out of Bent’s beak and inserted into his own but sheer cheek wasn’t going to assist him in this current situation. Instead he leaned back and casted what he hoped to be a genuinely apologetic expression but when Bent simply scowled in return, his patience wore down.
“I said I’m fucki—“ He paused and did a quick search of the room. No matter how often Henry was sure Chai heard language of all sorts, he felt uncomfortable swearing around someone so young. “Look, I’m sorry B, I don’t mean to do this to you, it sort of… happens” The yellow bird made a sort of “tch” and offered no reply as he began to walk away to finish Chai’s work other than a muttered
“Don’t call me B”
Henry dug his talons into his neck to bury past his thick feathers and onto the sore skin. The usual scarf he wore was missing and he vaguely remembered it falling to the floor earlier.
“Yeah well, don’t call me son, I’m older than you”.
Bent, out of anger, picked up three chairs at once and dragged them haphazardly letting the legs screech across the floor causing the still sitting bird to wince and hunch his wings over his ears.
“Are ya?” He questioned furiously, “ ’cause I sure ain’t see no one your age passin’ out in here recently and I see a hella lot of birds Henry.” He tossed the chairs and they clattered into pile.
Chai, who had left the moment Bent began shouting earlier, peeked her head in curiously. Bent and Henry bickered but never gotten physically angry at one another but she had wondered if the fair colored bird had finally snapped and decked Henry across the face. He threatened to do it many times, muttering under breath while washing glasses or getting ready for bed. “One o’ these days” he would say, “One more time”, he had grumbled. He wasn’t mad, not really. Bent and Henry knew each other for longer than Chai could remember. Now that she thought about it, she pondered as she plucked out a stray leaf from her long, skinny tail; they talked as if they’ve always known one another. There was a love there, just a very strange one.
Bent stormed over to the main table and heaved, pressing hard on the wood edge but it remained still. He pressed again harder and it suddenly moved much easier. Glancing sideways he saw patterned red feathers as Henry had come over to help. He sighed heavily.
The bird could deal with predictability. When someone drank a lot, they got drunk. When someone got drunk, they got loud. What seemed like a party of chaos was a methodical formula to Bent that he learned how to work with and was good at. Henry, however, was not predictable. No matter how much the bird insisted that he wanted a quiet, scheduled life, he never abided by his words.
Some days he was quiet and would sit for hours meticulously constructing beautiful furniture, decorations and even small boats. Bent would come by his house and not get so much more than a grunt of acknowledgement. Other days, he was wild, searching and loud. There was no order, none that Bent could figure out; he would just wake up and decide. There was one day he was content with his life, then left Quiet Thicket for weeks saying he was “searching for something”. Well Bent guessed he found it because he returned home soon with a small, furry chick tucked under his wing.
“A CHILD,” He had roared pacing the upstairs area in the bar one particularly rainy night. The Akriri downstairs hushed and he could tell they were all straining to hear the fight happening above them over the heavy downpour.
“Henry how the hell… Do you even…Who in Kel’s sake is gonna take care of him,” The bird sputtered and hissed. His mind was racing and disbelief, he could have started laughing if this situation wasn’t so completely unamusing.
“I am”
There was a shrill squawk of disbelief that was just almost drowned out by a clash of thunder.
“You can’t even take care of yourself boy, don’t be foolish”
Henry’s back was turned to him and his face was hard to see behind the huge display that consisted of his massive tail feathers.
“I need your help”
“Why ya gotta drag me into this, I ain’t –“
“Please?”
Bent closed his mouth with a snap. Henry hated to ask for help. In fact, he downright avoided it. But one thing he definitely didn’t do was say “please”. Not seriously anyway. Maybe when begging for a glass of water to soothe a hangover or to let him stay over some nights but never with this undertone of need and desperation. Bent ran a hand over his head feathers and breathed heavily through his nostrils, he really didn’t want to get involved in this.
“Let’s see ‘im”.
Gentler than shaving a small detail into a carving, Henry had slowly unwrapped his scarf revealing a sickly pile of feathers. The chick was brown and cream with tuffs of feathers like ears, bent low. Its beak was opened slightly and wheezes of breath could be heard as the small bird clung to forcing air in its lungs.
“s’wrong with it?”
“I don’t know,” Henry replied, his eyes glazed with worry, “I found him like this out near Usa. I-I’ve been waiting for something in his system to kick in but.. Bent I don’t think he has any magic”
“Impossible”.
Henry looked up into Bent’s eyes but the other Bird was looking down at the ill bird, his face scrunched in confusion and concentration. “That’s impossible.”
The decision to have a chick was deeply personal and a serious decision between Akriri. Two or more could come together and drain a bit of their magical abilities into a rock. For days, the participants would take care of the now egg while it glowed with the light of spell work until it hatched a small Akriri, one born of the traits and magic of their parents. It involved the acknowledgement of personal sacrifice, being comfortable with the idea of weakening oneself to create another. For one to be born without magical abilities….How?
How? Bent thought his eyes never leaving the scarf containing the evening’s interruption. Henry could not stand the silence any longer and went to speak but immediately was interrupted.
“Did’ya name it?”
“Name it?” Henry replied incredulously, “three seconds ago you wanted me to have never chanced upon it, now you’re asking for a name? I don’t even know,” he swallowed a little painfully, “I don’t even know if it’ll last the night.”
“Well did’ya?”
“Pumpkin Cider”
A pause and a roll of thunder.
“What?”
“After the dri—“
“Henry you come here every damn night, I reckon I know your usual but you can’t go and name this poor thing after it”
“Well it looks like the color that’s all” The bird defensively replied. Bent tilted his head.
“Shit, I guess it does a bit”
The chick suddenly heaved a breath and both birds exchanged glances, unsure what to do.
The sound of wood on wood shot Bent back into the present as the table was properly shoved into a corner. Bent regarded his surroundings and saw Henry looking at him expectantly. When it was clear that the other bird had not heard him, the cardinal spoke again.
“What else is there to do?”
“Uh,” He chewed on the straw in his mouth, thrown for a loop, “there’s a pile of rags in the closet that we could use to start wiping the floors down” Henry turned away and Bent watched him leave. It had been a long time since that night, nearly half a decade. What brought this up now?
Wait.
“Henry?” he called out trying to sound casual as Chai came back in the room with a broom and began to sweep.
“Yeah?” the muffled reply came echoing down the hallway.
“What moon is it?”
“…I’m not sure why?”
Chai had stopped sweeping and was looking at the ceiling as if to calculate for the older bird, “crescent moon was yesterday” she murmured “so today….” Her eyes went wide and came down to stare forward with snap. “That means…” She met Bent’s eyes and he nodded, a hand resting on his beak. Chai let go of the broom and it clattered to the floor loudly.
“Henry,” She cried out incredulously as the red bird entered the room, “Henry your son”
Any earlier reservations on his choice of language in front of the female Akriri were forgotten as Henry dropped the pile of rags on the floor, placed his head in his hands, and swore loudly.
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