sticks and bones. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sticksandbonesmods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sticksandbones2025-01-29 09:10 pm
sticksandbonesmods) wrote in sticksandbones2025-01-29 09:10 pm
WHAT DOES A COST BRING?
Who: The Grove
What: The result of your sacrifices
When: Late Winter
Where: The Grove
Warnings: Ritual sacrifice, mentioned animal sacrifice
The blizzard stills, one morning. With the howling winds and the wraiths' calls, the sudden silence is stark. Waiting between the goddess's statues is a giant stag, grey and white and silver with heavy icicles hanging from it's antlers. Even Moder seems a bit smaller compared to it. Dry wood and bare branches cling to it's legs, and one would be forgiven for thinking it seems a bit... gaunt, for such a beast.
It does not bring violence. Sacrifices have been made, though it seems to be staring hard at Affogato Cookie. Even the sacrifice of it's kin, the cursed deer of the fae woods, satisfies. The wraiths seem to shift from their ghastly forms to white wisps who share the food between them as they climb and sit upon Winter's antlers. The rest of the sacrifices seem to flicker into a white flame, smoke imbibing the air before it becomes part of the deer.
Your sacrifice is noted. But your pride is seen as well. For those who could not find it in themselves to give, there are repercussions.
It's a clear, crisp voice that echoes through the woods, through Aldric's Grove, through your own minds and hearts. Those who did not give sacrifices will find a silvery mark upon them- antlers, gleaming like ice and glass. It would be beautiful, if it didn't mark them with unbearable chills as well. As time passes, they will find themselves falling ill. The illness will pass by player preference, but must last at least a week. It is a punishment, after all.
...
And then Winter and it's harbingers turn, and vanish into the winter day, as if they were never there to begin with. The rest of the winter will be gentle, pleasant and even warm, with the snow beginning to melt mid-February and staying gone.
What: The result of your sacrifices
When: Late Winter
Where: The Grove
Warnings: Ritual sacrifice, mentioned animal sacrifice
The blizzard stills, one morning. With the howling winds and the wraiths' calls, the sudden silence is stark. Waiting between the goddess's statues is a giant stag, grey and white and silver with heavy icicles hanging from it's antlers. Even Moder seems a bit smaller compared to it. Dry wood and bare branches cling to it's legs, and one would be forgiven for thinking it seems a bit... gaunt, for such a beast.
It does not bring violence. Sacrifices have been made, though it seems to be staring hard at Affogato Cookie. Even the sacrifice of it's kin, the cursed deer of the fae woods, satisfies. The wraiths seem to shift from their ghastly forms to white wisps who share the food between them as they climb and sit upon Winter's antlers. The rest of the sacrifices seem to flicker into a white flame, smoke imbibing the air before it becomes part of the deer.
Your sacrifice is noted. But your pride is seen as well. For those who could not find it in themselves to give, there are repercussions.
It's a clear, crisp voice that echoes through the woods, through Aldric's Grove, through your own minds and hearts. Those who did not give sacrifices will find a silvery mark upon them- antlers, gleaming like ice and glass. It would be beautiful, if it didn't mark them with unbearable chills as well. As time passes, they will find themselves falling ill. The illness will pass by player preference, but must last at least a week. It is a punishment, after all.
...
And then Winter and it's harbingers turn, and vanish into the winter day, as if they were never there to begin with. The rest of the winter will be gentle, pleasant and even warm, with the snow beginning to melt mid-February and staying gone.
no subject
[ He finds a towel to wipe his nose and his eyes, ugh he hates being human, being a Cookie is far less... liquidy. He won't blow his nose into the towel though, preferring to find a napkin which he will... eventually find once he looks around enough. Excuse him as he does so. ]
Do what you wish. Feel how you will. Believe what you want. But never accuse me of being a liar.
[ That would probably have more impact if he didn't now sound incredibly stuffed up. But at least he looks far better on his feet than she does. He may be shuffling like an old man but she can barely stand. ]
Pure Vanilla Cookie would have lived, had he not been betrayed. But you care not, do you? The love others have shown you means nothing to you. Wallow in your falsities then, your selfishness, bemoan your made up atrocities. I will stop trying to remember how he felt, and show you as much care as you show others. Eat the soup when it is done or do not. I do not care.
[ He tosses the used tissue away and grabs a few more to head for the exit. ]