forum A Young God and Their Fae (o/o)
Started by @tungsten group

people_alt 59 followers

@tungsten group

I have the faintest idea of a young god. A young fae god who had been given the chance of a new life from the slow passing of a full blue moon, which might be only a natural phenomena for us humans, but to Fae, marks the death of a God.
There is no sacrifices, except for a quiet ritual to hopefully find a new overlord to watch over them.
This legend is partially true. Gods of Fae are hundreds of years old. They pass subconsciouses to do different jobs and watch over everyone, sharing love and possessions equally so to make a picture for their people to live by.
Whispers of rumors among prophets and clerics is that there is a new one. A baby borne between a God and Goddess, with a God's physique and mindset to be better and superior, but still grey in terms of morale. As rumors spread this God only grew older, and the Fae decided to do something about it. To give up one of their clerics to life dedicated to this one and only God, of whom they don't know anything about.

You are this cleric. A quiet, studious Fae who grew up in this time of whispering rumors and worry, unstable religion as Gods left them to their own accords to figure out this strange conundrum. You want to meet this God for yourself, guide them as you were told. But when you meet them, something unexpected may happen…

Hello! I would like very much so for this to be a romance with a lot of thick padding plot wise. I've kind of had a thing with Fae recently, especially with romance cus I've been doing a lot of research with it too. It's mostly explained above.

I do accept ideas and I would like (obviously) to be the God. But overall any ideas go if it matches the idea.

@CaseyJ group

Er- ok.
June went back to the area of the store place with the shelves that had random stuff and to her quiver, she dumped out her arrows and pulled the bottom piece out revealing a small compartment of that had papers, papers from Darius’ book. Ones of his family, his friends, and her brother. She stuck the picture in it, taking out the other papers, one had a sketch of Devon.
She looked at it, tears falling from her face, she avoided crying in front of others, she didn’t like to talk about her problems, nor for anyone to see her like this, especially not Darius. After all, he cared to much. It would only hurt if she had him ask. Sometimes she wished Darius would remember, then maybe she wouldn’t have to hold the burden of Devon’s memory on her shoulders alone. It would be so much better that way. She wiped the tears from her face, but they kept falling. The drops smearing the sketch.

(the amount of time I spent searching for this =_=)

@tungsten group

Aw that's okay and totally valid. Just DM me whenever and we can set it up!

Otherwise for those who are watching and interested, this is open ^^

@tungsten group

aight qirko

So I thought the cleric would grow up in a family of other clerics. They have been surrounded by godly knowledge their whole life and was one of the first few to hear about the new God who came around. And after intense research about the other Gods lasting your whole life, you'd know that it had almost gone radio silent after they had been born.
Basic idea, and it can really turn into anything you want.

@tungsten group

The hush and whisper of the forest at night awoke the sleeping fae. These creatures were known for being awake mostly at night, the most active in dim moonlight with long shimmering hair gleaming like stars.
The Gods had blessed the people on the ground with a clear night, and a clear view of the sky it is believed they inhabited. Fires burned in omage to their creators, the smoke billowing and curling as sweet scents of cedar and willow burned and crackled.
The clinks of cups and laughter over dinner also populated the Elves' sitting place, as they all relaxed together. Most of these Elves were practiced clerics or warlocks celebrating their living meal of a new, silent day.
Close by sat a few other elves– the head of the church, Leionerath (an elder Elf with long grey hair and subdued green eyes, gleaming with old age), and a few of his pupils watching him conduct magic from an opened book. He whispered words unknown to any species but him, waving gangly hands over leaping green mouths of magic, hungry for his skin. As little drops of the magic spilled out like a bubble from a boiling caldron, it seared into the ground, eating at a blade of grass. The youth surrounding him flinched as he displayed his magic, trying not to get any corrosion onto their fine, silken clothing.

@kirky group

Smoke swirled around one Elf's tall figure, swathed in loose beige silks and accented by intricate rose-red embroidery. He watched the display of magic from behind the asymmetrical steel blue curtain of hair, perpetually judgemental yellow eyes narrowed in amusement at the youthful reactions.

Just as the others emerged after the beckoning of the moon, the Elf had pulled himself from his slumber for the sake of creating the illusion of an attempt to socialize with his peers. A dried and naturally preserved reed stuff with crushed herbs sizzled and lazily flicked its smokey tail to the dance of the breeze, a soft glow emitting from the end. It perched between two of his black-nailed fingers, neither used nor unused. He wanted the lethargic calm, but not the full effect of the burning herbs. The others would surely question his choice if he went too far, so he settled for a happy medium and kept himself otherwise entertained by scanning the happenings around him.

Clerics surrounded the lounging Elf, but he somehow seemed… far. Separate, but within the circle of his kin. Here they sat together, joyful and basking in the talents of the elders. But Arenwyn couldn't help but bring the sensation of isolation to himself. It followed him wherever he went, nipping at the heels of his obsession with the Gods and nosing into his borderline unorthodox way of expressing his status—most notable being the close-fitting, almost collar-like neck accessories bearing a Godly symbol, and matching earrings lining his long and pointed ears. His fangs peeked out from behind his lips as he grazed his nails along one such piece of jewelry; one fang was shorter than the other, nearly resembling that of a baby tooth if it wasn't for the sharpness.

@tungsten group

As he sat and smoked quietly, away from the crowd of whispering, young fae, a pair of footsteps stirred the grass from behind him, a delicate hand taking the smoking stick and taking a whiff. Sitting next to him was another male Fae by the name of Phorae. Despite sitting in a circle, this Fae chose to consciously recognize Arenwyn, sitting with their legs touching. Phorae was an older Cleric, one of those who inspired Arenwyn to chase his dreams on finding this new, strange God.
"Hello there, Arenwyn. I see you are baring symbols of the Gods on your neck," Phorae observed with a nod, exhaling the smoke and handing back the stick to share. "It is such lost practice, especially since they are so quiet. I assume you have heard nothing from them? After all, you are most likely one of the most reveared in their eyes, now." Phorae smiled a little, showing similar fangs from a soft blue skin tone and long, pointed ears. Long, dyed with green from crusher leaves, hair tickled their face and shoulders as he shifted and talked, the wind picking it up and frolicking with it easily. "They say they are walking among us tonight. The moon smiles in our favor."

@kirky group

He very nearly expressed his displeasure at the theft with unholy language, but a quick glance over at the thief pulled the curses from his tongue and instead replaced them with a friendly smile. "Phorae," he greeted, and happily accepted his smoke back with a small inhale. The smoke slowly seeped from his lips when he spoke again. "Aye, not a word. I had hoped I could draw their eyes by bearing their mark, even if their voices are mute." Arenwyn tapped his nails against the twisted symbol resting at the hollow of his throat, a subconscious reflex. "It would seem as though we are forgetting the respect we once showed, now that the Gods have silenced themselves."

If they walk among us tonight, Arenwyn silently mused to himself, then something is bound to begin. A plan of theirs. "Thought for a thought, if you would," he proposed to the older Cleric, sparing Phorae a questioning glance while offering the stick. "What motive would the Gods have for walking among us tonight? After being so silent?" He wasn't asking out of skepticism. Quite the opposite, in fact. He could feel a nagging sensation within him, whispering in his ears to look. To search for otherness within a body of familiarity. The Gods slipping through the cracks to walk among the Elves wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility.

@tungsten group

The twisted symbol of three trees, combining their branches at the top was the one that rested on the base of Arenwyn's neck, representing the pantheon of Gods that they all worshipped. This was also a metaphor for their protection, casting a canvas of shadows down onto the Fae to protect them from the harsh, biting sun.
Phorae nodded at it thoughtfully as they stole another whiff of smoke, breathing it out through their nostrils and lips, deep in his thoughts for a few moments.
"I suppose they are always here. I have seen them before in my dreams, whispering and talking, just barely out of earshot. As aggravating as those dreams were in my youth, I grow to miss them now that I no longer hear them in my ears." Phorae rubbed their chin slowly in continued thought. "I doubt you are like me though. You have refused to give up searching. I'm sure you hear something I don't." He smiled warmly at the younger, tilting his head. "If this has become the game you suggest, tell me, has anything come to your attention? Do you sense anything? Any word from the Gods?"

@kirky group

They are always here. Yes, perhaps. Probably. His eyes flitted around the area again, though slower this time—scanning. "Gods are fickle. Why live hundreds of years in stagnation when they can play games only they know the rules of?" He shrugged and tugged at the silk of his loose sleeves, revealing tight black fabric of a long-sleeved blouse underneath. "When they speak, they play." Arenwyn narrowed his eyes at a random point within the trees. "Look. Find. Water. That is all I hear. They want something. Want me to find something."

He drummed his nails along his bottom lip, thinking. Would this be about the new God? Did they want him to find them? Summon them, maybe? Sometimes he tired of playing their guessing games. It'd be so much simpler if they would just outright say "Do this," instead of forcing him to put together pieces of a puzzle. He clicked his tongue in annoyance.

@tungsten group

"Ah, like you said. Gods are indeed fickle. They expect us to know what to think and do under their rules, but omit any way to completely understand them. It's like trying to place yourself completely into someone else's concious. It simply doesn't work like that." Phorae, after Arenwyn expressed his other frustrations, slowly took the smoke from his fingers. "I mean not to be frank, nor rude with you my dear. But I think they want you to go to the river. The River of Hinae. If you go there during the day, perhaps something will reveal itself to you. I have heard that has happened to several Clerics before in the past. The Gods love the water, as it is the blood of nature. It is the place they are the strongest. Seek them out there, and perhaps you will have some luck." Phorae grinned, then took another breath of the smoke and sweetly burning herbs. "I will be taking this from you though. I doubt you need it for when you leave for the river. You can find it slightly up north, close to the churches as you should know."