Monoceros

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Journal @Inksome (Old Journal)

Journal @IJ

Badger attempts to communicate with the Judges via the Journal

Surgeon Cry Wolf

Monoceros - The Unicorn - White - Their songs boast of a regal skill and set, of heroes and kings. They make for good bards, I will give them that. Yet they are the first to vanish even before the battle.

Weaver Memories (Link)

1:

[You sigh, rubbing the oil deep into your skin, even the pond didn't seem to feel good anymore. The ointment kept the heat of the unusual summer from just draining you dry. You offer up a quick prayer to the [Old Man] before twisting the spade and uprooting another herb. It was still only the seventh cycle, and you don't want to run out of the balm.]

2:

[[You hum a soft, little tune as you work. Your fingers move with a practiced speed on the loom, pulling threads and colors with an eye that's come more from long practice than skill, no matter what the Matron boasted of you. It was a comfortable task, and one you looked forward to of all the tutoring your birthright required. Sometimes, while practicing the Great Priestesses' art, you wished that you'd had a bit lower birth. Not that you were in any hurry to give up the silk you rested upon, or the fine dinner that waited for you.

But sometimes, when you get caught up in this, your slender fingers pushing and pulling the sill of the loom, the random arrays of colors making something, you feel like it really could have been something you were born for rather than the court. You had no patience for conversation, no love of confrontation or catty remarks. You'd rather the world passed you on by, while you work on creating the one you kept dreaming of. On the other side of the room, your sister harumphs at your idle song, mumbling something about it setting a 'terrible discord' to the music she was composing.

Under your fingers, a simpler land began to form, trees and woodlands, the dance of the sacred blue butterfly of [Beauty], they all began with your simple, humble movements. If you were a mage, perhaps you could have given it unreal depth, so like the vision that visits you every slumber, the trees could part and the hulking, furred thing would amble out, after the holy insect, entranced by her ways.

Your sister sighs heavily and makes a Remark, as she does. You smile. And hum a little louder.]]

New Uniform Description

Concept: Chess-club heroes

Top piece: Collared button-up shirts with rolled up (m) or flared (f) sleeves

Bottom piece: Pants (m) or breeches (f)

Outer piece: Thigh-length jacket

Accessory: Suspenders

Footwear: Nice ankle boots, socks

[There is the gentle sound of a shuttle moving through taut thread, and as the memory settles deep, your eyes open to the familiar garments of your kin on both yourself and those around you, dyed carefully in pale hues.

It's a quiet, honest life, and good clothes for it; shirts made of panna thread mixed with spider silk for strength (and to hold off stains), collared and buttoned, girls with short flaired sleeves, and men almost always wearing theirs rolled up, arms free for the day's work. Soft leather suspenders hold up pants with good pockets that fall straight to the ankle on boys, but that are gathered below the knee on girls; a mock-skirt that flares around the thigh softens the female silhouette more, and acts as an extra apron, at need. Ankle boots are plain leather, their only point of note a single buckle at the front, but they're durable, and no matter the time spent crouching low and stretching high, the marwok hide never creases or breaks.

Some call the jackets plain, but really, they're a point of pride; the heavy cort woven by skilled hands, the cut simple but always functional, hanging open and straight to the thigh on both genders, cuffs thick and turned up.]

Surgeon Game

Surgeon Game Monoceros Side Full Write-up (gdoc here)

Castle

[The landscape around your trail is peaceful and majestic in its own way. Fertile grounds have lent to lush grasses encroaching on the beaten trail you follow, and abundant are wildflowers and saplings, leading out over rolling hills to thickets and deeper forests beyond. The moons above, both full and casting their rusty and cool blue lights, have washed your view in a pale purple, muting the vibrant greens and plethora of floral hues and set the curious, crystalline rocks in the path to glitter in an almost ethereal way.

You stand now at a crossroad. The trail you follow continues to the west and cuts into the deepening forest, but the path that diverges to the north seems to sweep up to an isolated hilltop where a crumbling stone castle still stands.]

Decision point one

West

[You approach the great castle on the hilltop... in the moonlight... you see a white horse, standing proudly on the ramparts, mane caught in the wind. It seems to spot you below, and shake its head, either in irritation or refusal before turning and leaping back away from view.

From here, you may enter the castle or go back.]

North

[You continue into the forest. Trees are lush here and the wildlife is almost rampant. The trail widens into clearings and narrows into footpaths at times, but remains a sure route to the great castled city to the north.

In fact, the path would be entirely uneventful if it was not for the sudden smell of roast, and the sweetsour aroma of a berry type of wine from the west.]

---- [If you squint into the trees, you see a few strange blue rocks scattered here and there... but of more interest, perhaps, is a stone table sitting at the end of a path. You see fires behind it, maybe even candles in a window.. But there are figures laughing, dancing, drinking, disappearing in and out of the trees. And... what seems to be a feast on the table.]

Decision point two

Castle

[As you enter the castle... the air is filled with warmth and the scent of fresh baked bread. The castle itself is ... better appointed inside than out. There are any number of deep, feather pillows scattered around the plush rug floor and a fireplace is at full blaze, suggesting that someone is around.

Looking at the cushions seems to remind you that you are tired... and they do look inviting.]

[Your legs feel heavy and weak... you aren’t sure who yawned first... but such a thing is infectious...]

[A quiet voice whispers to you.] “Sweet child... you come to us as well for protection... Shelter from elements... time... life....”

[You feel drugged and sluggish, you can’t remember why you are here....] “Rest... sleep sweet child, oblivion will treat you with more kindness than this wicked world. Sleep and join us.”

Feast

[As you step towards the merriment... The figures at first stop, as if surprised to see you, and then you are tugged, one by one into a dizzying dance. Laughter surrounds you and you have never felt more accepted and loved than this particular moment, drunk on the very air itself.

A woman gives you food. A man gives you drink. Each blurs away before you can make out an expression, but you remember smiles and laughter.]

[As you drink the wine or bite into the roasted venison, you feel warm and hazy... The merrymakers laugh in delight, pulling you deeper into their circle. You feel wonderful! You eat and drink you fill, you trade stories and laugh at the enchanting tales they spin and marvel at the lights around you. You snuggle deep into the nearest pair of arms... and feel someone tucking a blanket around you.]

[As you struggle, alarmed, you realize that to your waist, you legs have turned to wood, fusing with the great tree you lay against.]

End point

[The forest breaks at last, and the great, regal ramparts of the great walled city rise above. The white stone reaches proudly into the sky, with little hand holds to scale if one were to get over the moat to begin with. There doesn’t seem to be any perimeter guard... and as you step towards the lowered draw bridge, you understand why... You are pushed gently back by a force of magic or divine will.

Words form in the air:]

[Riddle]

Boss

[None]