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The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 29: UNINTELLIGIBLE!
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AgentBlue
 RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 26: SANGUINE!
that escalated quickly

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Joined: Jul 2011
Sunshine, Lollipops and Diabetes
Username: Agenroyal
Name: Her Highness Wyatt Peer, Lady of the Singer's Weave, Protector of the ?????????????
Gender: Queen
Species: And we can be royals (royals)
Color: Royal purple

Description: A nation mendicant roamed the dusty hills. Scrub-grass grew in places, and the farmers knew, after many failures, the ways to coax their herds into eating it, and thus, the nation subsisted on milk, meat and grass. Their old lands were long gone, collapsed into the abyss at the edge of the universe. All they could do was run, run, run into the hills, hope for a tomorrow with less suffering than today.

Leading them, giving them the only hope in the world, was their Queen, Wyatt Peer, the highest of authorities, judge and lawmaker and commissioner. Tall, proud, head unbowed, the avatar of a civilization long past, a face unfurrowed yet steely, a mind cunning and sharp. The lady of the Singer's Weave, the tapestry of history, fraying into forgotten pasts at the end, woven into form at the beginning. The Singer herself had long since lost her voice to age, and had no pupil to teach the art of weaving song into fabric. The weave's beginning ended about a decade ago, when the Singer-Ascendent had sacrificed her life to save the nation from a raiding army, and had been an indefinite mass of blank white strands since.

Blank white strands, like the blank white sands of their wanderings, across the scrubby hills and desert dunes that formed at their bases, the rain coming but never enough. Every day the nation grew smaller at the edges, a trail of graves left behind them each night. The Queen, clad in her purple linens, presided over their graves, blessed their souls, and asked them to send help, for there were no longer priests, nor could they remember their religion. They were beneath the notice of even the most forsaken of the gods here, as the world crumbled behind them and the indefinite stretched before them.

Items/Abilities: The Queen had a scepter once, but only as a vague awareness that such things were expected of her, and a decaying, fraying print on the very end of the Weave, a royal personage holding aloft a pointer, a golden, faded outline of what might once have been but was, perhaps long taken away by battle or by travel or by raid or even by the simple expedient of having left it behind, in the sands and the scrub. The Queen had fine robes, once, but now only linen remains, dyed the royal purple, held in place by rusting safety pins, tight against her waist. The Queen had a retinue once, but now there are only corpses and the absences of things that should be done yet no longer were being done in the presence of a Queen who had barely presence at all.

The Queen tried to sing the Weave once, to try and take another role into herself that her nation could no longer supply, but the white strands of song balked at her voice, sweet as it was, and could not understand the future she sung of, and could not find a way to turn that future into fact. Instead of fanciful pictures of finding safety and shelter, a new land to live within - well, instead, a black mark appeared, from edge to edge, across the beginning of the weave, and none could remember the full week of days that had happened before. When this happened, the Queen placed the Weave back into its holder, and bade the Singer never to allow her to try that again. In penance, she carried the Weave and holder upon her back, roll to roll, yet her spine remained unbowed. How strong must the Queen be, to bear the weight of her nation so.

Biography: Now it came to pass that the scrubby hills became less scrubby, and the grass grew richer and more filling. The horizon from whence they came, where the world was ending, grew from its hateful oblivion-black to a baleful grey, then eventually to a mere smudge on the horizon, only visible through glasses or to those gifted with far sight. The people rejoiced when they came across a river of clean, fresh water, brimming with fish and crabs, and when they found, upstream, herds of wild animals grazing. The nation celebrated that day, when their tents found solid, unshifting ground, when the wanderers could rest their feet in the water, and when the nation found home once again.

But when they came to find the Queen, to praise her, to bring her thanks for leading her people from the brink of extinction to a new and peaceful world, it came to pass that they could not find her in her tent, or anywhere else for that matter. The last of her that could be found was the end of the Singer's Weave, torn from its beginning, and a crude image of her at the very first strands: drawing their idyll, it seemed, on the fabric itself. Yet after the rough tear, nothing of their - perhaps, their wiser citizens surmised, her - future remained. They could only assume she sacrificed herself to bring them to this place, and sacrificed the Weave to end their indefinite purgatory.

Spoiler :
We worship her eyes, who saw us through the sands
We admire her teeth, set against our adversities
We praise her taste, taking into her our bitter trials
We sanctify her everything.
06-23-2017, 06:53 AM
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RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 26: SANGUINE! - by AgentBlue - 06-23-2017, 06:53 AM