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Post by NPC on Jun 16, 2024 20:11:34 GMT -6
Welcome to the Display of Awe Show Ring!Please remember to include the following: - A copy of your application from the registration thread in your first post - A list of every item, move, ability, trick, and skill your creature used in a each post Keep in mind that everything you intend to use in the show ring will have to be officially trained. Check the tutorial for any extra information you might need! The following are allowed to show in this thread: The Show Ring closes Midnight, June 30, US Central Time: Countdown
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Post by Zenjesi on Jun 17, 2024 17:51:03 GMT -6
Zenjesi had one philosophy when it came to contests: finish them as quickly and painlessly as possible. In this case, especially, their nerves were wired. Blessedly, Lunacy seemed to prefer to avoid other humanoids and creatures alike, rather than engage or even be seen. Well, that was true of this particular setting. The satyr suspected that if the entrants were smaller and more edible, the amulet may be engaging more often. However, their watchfulness meant they noticed a few familiar faces as they prepared; Xentus, Elvye, and Kristofor all received brief, raised hands of acknowledgment, if any of them happened to notice. There was something about the witnessing of kindly acquaintances as well that set their nerves at ease.
Adjusting the tattered cloak around their shoulders one last time, the satyr looked down to Lunacy. "It is time." With no further ado, they led her - properly harnessed - onto the stage.
Zenjesi: 0.05 Lunacy: 3.4, 10.4
(Amulet of Submission is attached to Lunacy)
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Post by Zenjesi on Jun 17, 2024 18:14:54 GMT -6
A slightly ghastly presence on their own, Zenjesi guided their companion into the crowd's gaze. The only noise was the tapping of their hooves, and the scraping of Lunacy's formidable claws behind as she followed with her head ducked in a predatory fashion. Once, she bucked, feathers ruffling, rejecting the attention and the bright lights, even if they favored her iridescence. Finally, the satyr stopped in the center, and raised the microphone. "Lunacy. The Seeker."
They reached under the Seeker's chin, gently encouraging her to raise her head. A low, displeased growl sounded from deep within her, but she complied enough to allow the stage lights to illuminate the amulet nestled amongst her feathers. "A wild beast, tamed only by magic. And Zenjesi," they added the latter bit as the microphone was being lowered once more.
As they withdrew their hand, the Seeker dropped her head, stalking in a tight, restless circle around the satyr. Her yellow eyes tracked around, fixating on those in the audience in the lowest tiers of seating. "Entranced by the scent of blood." Zenjesi removed their cloak, then drew a needle from their pocket. Carefully, they pricked their fingertip and allowed a few drops of blood to fall onto the edge of the already red fabric. Tightly, they gripped one end and presented the bloodied hem to Lunacy. Immediately, she snapped, jaws grabbing and effortlessly tearing a fresh wound in the garment. The force caused the satyr to stumble slightly. Zenjesi smiled.
Zenjesi: 0.1 Lunacy: 3.6, 10.6
(Demonstrating: Bloodthirsty using Tattered Cloak)
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Post by Zenjesi on Jun 17, 2024 18:28:47 GMT -6
They worked on affixing the cloak to themself again while the Seeker thrashed the fabric around. Her feathers all stood on end, creating an imposing mane and of course creating the illusion that she was even larger than she already was. She dropped the patch on the floor, slammed her claws into it to pin it in place, and began to tear it again and again with her teeth, creating ever smaller scraps while she sought the source of the bleed. To appease her, Zenjesi dropped a small piece of dried meat into the mix.
Finally, it seemed, she was satisfied that the thing was dead, and she shook herself and licked her jaws. Zenjesi raised the microphone one last time. "Lunacy, laugh." The Seeker bobbed her head once as a strange, almost giggling sound began to bubble up and out of her. It was somehow both hyena and bird-like, and began to crescendo until she threw her head back, and the sound burst forth at its full volume - a sharp cackling laughter.
It was a bit contagious, Zenjesi thought, even as the hair on the back of their neck stood on end. They chuckled to themselves as they bowed, and excused the two of them offstage.
Zenjesi: 0.15 Lunacy: 3.8, 10.8
(Demonstrating: Demoralizing Cackle) (DONE)
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Post by Elvye on Jun 30, 2024 18:44:15 GMT -6
✦
Embernacht ♂ Level 7 | Loyalty 2
Stamina: 8 Strength: 8 Resistance: 9 Dexterity: 7 Mentality: 3 Special Abilities: Fly Moves: Bite, Poison Sting, Climb, Wing Buff, Lava Spit Trained: Name (1), Fly (3), Wing Buff (3)
Item:
Air. The heat and stagnance of her own clung to her cheekbones, condensing into a sheen of tacky moisture. Beneath the mask, her nostrils flared.
Embernacht led her forward. It took a great surge of energy to tear her eyes away from the point on his back to which she'd affixed her gaze, staring as her mind tumbled and her heart flew. The other competitors came into focus, and for an instant, her dread lifted as she caught a familiar face. And one that was certainly not familiar, but nonetheless drew her eye. She was not alone in wearing a mask.
In all she had gathered about the contest hall, flamboyance and flair were not just accepted, but encouraged. Costuming was all part of the show. For most, she supposed, it was an attempt to awe the judges, to draw in the audience, to develop a theme. Her selection, this particular mask, was suited to the theme. But its purpose was not to earn something. It was to hide it.
A roar of applause tore her from her musings. Embernacht had pressed now to the end of his lead, following the familiar scent of Zenjesi's seeker to the edge of the ring. The satyr had already set forth to take the stage, and Elvye's wiurn had walked her into second position. Minutes had turned to moments. Doubts had no place here. It was time.
Elvye (7/20)
Embernacht Level 7 (2/5) | Loyalty 2 (2/5)
Elvye and Embernacht enter the ring.
✦
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Post by Elvye on Jun 30, 2024 19:09:08 GMT -6
✦ Strong, steady. She poised herself to enter, lips parting for a long, slow, exhale. Her eyes closed. Remember why you've come.
Her steps waded through air like sand, aching in desperate hope. With each footfall, she thought of him.
His hands, holding tightly to hers as harsh rains battered the rooftop.
His smile, quirked on the left corner around slightly skewed front teeth.
His voice, laughter, chasing her through now only her dreams.
She wore the mask not for the pleasure of the judges, nor the audience. Her face, so close to that of her brother—stolen by the labs, this unbearable city—would surely strike a note to those who'd seen him. His captors. And if they learned of her presence, surely they would know her intent. She was bringing him home.
As distant applause grew nearer, the sound of her own footfalls fell away. A low hiss rose in the throat of her wiurn, bright lights whirling and flashing across the stage. Her eyes adjusted slowly, but rapidly began sifting through the audience. The largest crowd she could have gathered. Were they here—among the countless faces, dulled by the spotlight fixated on her? Or—she felt a crushing pull on her heart—was he? It was foolish to hope, but she failed to beat it down. All of this, she'd done for him.
The contest was a frivolous reach. To have come all this way, simply for the glancing chance she'd find a connection.
And then, she had to admit to herself—there was another reason.
A display of awe. A celebration of all the accomplishments of the labs, of their unsurpassed ingenuity and splendor. Embernacht stood now, head low, as she released his lead. It was a sort of cruel irony, wasn't it? But despite his origins, as she looked into the wiurn's eyes, she could glimpse connection. His story and hers—beyond either party's control, they had become intertwined. Forever entangled in the hidden face of the labs.
"Embernacht," she commanded, firmly, emboldened now as his head raised to match hers—his hot breath coiling up around her mask. "Fly."
Elvye (8/20)
Embernacht Level 7 (3/5) | Loyalty 2 (3/5)
Demonstrating: Name
✦
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Post by Elvye on Jun 30, 2024 19:31:18 GMT -6
✦ Wind burst across the field, sending every stray hair dancing and twirling, wrapping her face as her dress swept back in a single flourish, as if breathing on its own. The power of his wings, as he rose, was perhaps not new to the faces of the crowd. But in this moment, as his shadow fell over her, light bursting from the edges of his massive silhouette, she felt the impossibility of the task ahead.
Though show was far from his intention, Embernacht relished the heat of the lights, the freedom of the air. He swooped about the ring in a wide circle, dipping once a bit closer to the crowd than may have been his keeper's intention. It was far from a deliberate dive, but a handful of gasps and raised hands was enough to put him off. He rose again, looping a second time while Elvye raised her arms, turning on her point as she followed his path.
Her eyes distantly tracked the wiurn, but remained on the crowd. Even with the mask, she was certain. He would know her. His face would be locked on hers.
But a second turn of the audience yielded only raised faces, eyes upturned to the circling wiurn.
Disappointment crept into the corners of her mind, but there was another target.
What exactly did one look like, if they worked for the labs? Who wore the finest clothes? Or would they dress simply? A subtle insignia, a patch on the shoulder? What was she looking for?
Embernacht's flight carried him high now, to the roof of the stadium, before he seemed to have run the course of his interest. It was time for her next move. A deep, deliberate breath, and an echoing shout. Her own command, for a bit of added flair.
"Embernacht, storm!"
Elvye (9/20)
Embernacht Level 7 (4/5) | Loyalty 2 (4/5)
Demonstrating: Fly
✦
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Post by Elvye on Jun 30, 2024 19:51:13 GMT -6
✦ Elvye's gaze met Embernacht's, distantly, once more. Her head dipped back, arms still raised, as she called up to the soaring beast. So close to the lights, he had blotted out the intensity of the stage. His position was perfect, as she watched his tail whip forward, claws adjust, and the torrent began.
In that instant, a fierce wind tore through the ring, the rapid pounding of the wiurn's wings belting thunder with each stroke. Hands flew to hair, to hats, to skirts, and Elvye stepped back, turning her position to take the force of the wind. His height dissipated its intensity—up close, he could easily have toppled her. Tears beaded against the ferocious currents, and she held her arms now out to her sides, the sleeves of her dress crackling, its skirt stinging her ankles. She heaved a difficult breath amidst the gale, and found an unexpected wave of emotion surging within her. The tears, though circumstantial, released with raw emotion.
She looked up to the wirun—to the power of the labs, beating down on her in brutal fury. Her brother was gone. But she knew he was alive. She felt it, in her core, in her bones. The wind deafened her to the audience, but still she felt their eyes, drawn now to the one at odds with the force of the storm. Everything in her burst forth in one suffocated shout. The wind stole it before it left her lips. She couldn't cry out to him. Tears streamed below the mask, and her arms, weakening under the seemingly endless blows, began to falter.
It struck her in a terrible impulse. But no, it wasn't impulse. It was time. Her right hand rose to her face, tearing the mask away. Her hand couldn't have held it against the wind, but she made no effort to hold. It tumbled away into nothing, scattered across the ground and blasted to the far side of the ring.
Let them see me. Let them know. I've come.
She held her place, against the cyclone, until slowly, it fell away.
As she stepped from the ring, one hand rested on Embernacht's shoulder. The other clutched the battered mask. There was no turning back now. It had begun.
Elvye (10/20)
Embernacht Level 8 (0/5) | Loyalty 3 (0/5)
Demonstrating: Wing Buff
Elvye and Embernacht exit the ring.
✦
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Post by Kristofor on Jun 30, 2024 20:49:02 GMT -6
It took some through distraction to keep Suffolk from attempting to hide from the massive winged lizard flying its way around the inside of the hall; and Kristofor, his mask tucked safely against his chest under the vest until needed, entertains the repointe with a hunk of fish. Its enough while the wind swirls through, mussing his fur coat, but he doesn't seem so bothered. Finally it was his turn. Small, big, smaller, who knew what else was coming up. Before, he passes a couple of tracks of music to play while he gestures to dim the lights. Putting on his mask once the lights go down far enough he can't be seen. A haunting melody of wind pipes echoes over the quietening crowd, a soft twang of strings... accompanied by the beat of drums. MusicFootsteps. The clack of wood against stone. Of rock against stone? More like hoofbeats. The chiming of glass tinkling as it moves. The lights come up, as a tall figure, wreathed with a winged cloak ascends the steps while the wind pipes echo. Something metal drags behind him by several lengths as he puts some distance between himself and the stairs. "Suffolk". his voice is clear, sharp, and foreign. "Come to me." The hoofbeats increase as a tall and very shimmery repointe comes onto the stage, the halter's bits glinting in the spotlights. -Name and come
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Post by Kristofor on Jun 30, 2024 21:08:33 GMT -6
Costume costume 2 The jackal masked fox wears a jewel seamed vest that jingles a bit as he walks, the cloak flowing down his spine, accenting his movement. Simple golden bangles clasp his upper arms and wrists. He leads the repointe with silence once around the ring, the lights angling off his antler decorations, reflecting a bit off his gembonded hide. There's a box in the middle of the stage. "Up." Suffolk carefully steps up onto the box, looking around at the slightly higher view. He can see fox's ears from above! Who joins him as the drums beat along to the steps of his wooden shoes. "Stay." The repointe can smell a faintly scented liquid that comes from inside the shinies. He's handled the scale shine without any gloves before, it actually makes his nails shiny. The jar has a conveniently installed pop clasp in case of busy groomers, that he can take a palmful, setting the jar at his side. While the wind pipes echo and the strings whisper... he uses the scale shine to swipe markings across the glossy scaling. If read in the right side... a few people may read 'awe' written in common. -Step up, Stay, uses scale shine. images found on pinterest
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Post by Kristofor on Jun 30, 2024 21:43:08 GMT -6
In his head, awe is presentation. Not just size and power. and he says so. "Awe is a multifaceted word. It is fear. It is wonder. It is veneration. Not every awe inspiring creature needs to be big or powerful if it can command the attention through presentation." As he speaks, he gestures. The leftover glints of the scale shine decorate his hands as he gently nudges and adjusts Suffolk into a pose that shows him as such. Once or twice he reaches up to nudge the curious repointe's muzzle away from inspecting the ears of his mask. His ears are right behind those you know. "Suffolk is no galabex. He is a repointe. He eats meat. Naturally dazzling." A few quick swipes through his luxourious neck fur with a brush. Good. "hold" he murmurs, stepping away. The majesty of the repointe before him. He doesn't need bangles or baubles, he's awe inspiring on his own. And terrifying, if his parentage was anything about that.
-tolerance and stack, quick use of the grooming supplies.
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Post by Kristofor on Jun 30, 2024 21:51:59 GMT -6
It almost sounds like wind briefly echoes through a chasm of rocks as he speaks then silences, the eerie twang of strings still holding an ear to the sounds around. Its ancient. Mesmerizing. "And not just that, viewers. But sturdy." Stepping closer, he puts out both palms on the repointe's hindquarters to get him to move. Suffolk's head rotates to look at weird fox who feeds him, trying to push him. He's about triple Kristofor's weight, so he wasn't going anywhere fast. One snort, and it makes his mask shift. Distracting the fox as he backs away, readjusting the facewear rapidly. There's something satisfactory in doing that, as the repointe puffs out his chest a bit in victory. "Unless commanded to, he will not yield. A compliment to his personality." Finally as the wind pipes whistle through rock again around him, the winged jackal leads the repointe off the box, around the ring one more time so the other half may be able to see 'awe' glimmer on his armored hide, before bowing, and signaling the music to end wiht a hiss and the lights dim as the fox and his foxfawn exit.
-steel block exit.
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Post by Noa on Jun 30, 2024 22:34:28 GMT -6
(Rhys is present but not gaining levels) By the time the show ring arrived, Noa was beginning to wonder if it had been a bad idea to enter this contest. He had, unfortunately, overestimated how much he would be able to do before his worsening health caught up to him this time around. It was getting harder and harder to gauge this sort of thing; he could only draw upon his previous experiences with his condition, and those were less useful when said condition seemed to be worsening exponentially. He had held off, waiting until some of the other competitors had had their turn, but rest didn’t seem to be making him feel any less awful. And now he could no longer delay. “Let’s get this over with,” he murmured. Rhys hovered beside him, fussy and uneasy, but Noa was used to brushing off the Faeron’s concern. He was sick; he was always sick; it wasn’t anything new. He’d push through this, survive, and then teleport home to collapse.
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Post by Noa on Jun 30, 2024 22:34:41 GMT -6
Less easy to brush off was Azalea’s unease. She nosed at him -- which was no little nudge, given her size. He only just kept himself from toppling over, and Azalea shrank back at the resultant spike of irritation that he couldn’t quite keep under wraps. Noa took a sharp breath and sighed, forcing himself calm. Azalea had to perform. He couldn’t have her moping or skittish. “I’m fine,” he said, and tried to sound like he meant it -- or at least that he wasn’t open to changing his mind.
Fortunately, Azalea had never been the type to press him on anything. She preferred to listen when she could, which he was learning to appreciate these days over the more independent minded creatures in his care, like Avander. Biddable was nothing to turn up one’s nose at, especially in competitions like this.
They weren’t going to win, but they were already here, so they might as well give a half-baked go of it.
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Post by Noa on Jun 30, 2024 22:34:52 GMT -6
There was little fanfare in the setup for their performance. A single brazier had been set up in the middle of the stage. Noa didn’t bother walking out or giving any sort of introduction. If he had been in a better state, maybe he might have done it, but not now, not as he was.
Instead, he gave Azalea a cue, and even before the Pliathor herself made an appearance, a dense fog filled the stage.
It shrouded everything, blanketing the entire arena so that very little could be seen. Noa didn’t know if this particular angle of appeal would hold any value in a contest with such a vague concept as ‘awe’, but it was one of Azalea’s skills, and it might make her entrance more impactful. {Go,} he urged her through the ribbon, and Azalea slithered out onto the stage, her legs tucked against her sides the way they did when she was moving over surfaces on land.
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