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@kyronthearcanin Yeah I’m STILL very much into Legos, just more licensed themes now like Star Wars and Jurassic World. My brother is too……TBH, almost every character I’ve mentioned on here (besides my dragon ones) is probably a modified version of the one that’s appeared in a story we’ve made for our sprawling, multi-theme Lego universe.
Where'd I get ya this time? The liver? The kidney? I'm runnin' outta places to put holes in ya.
@hybridlore @orangearmadillo @keilah-h @euodia-vision
Here’s Freya’s introduction!:
Moss clung to the rocky overhang towering over Ashgrave Beach. Or at least, that was what everyone called it. The vote had settled on Ashgrove, but the maker of the sign misspelled it in fancy letters. “Ashgrave.” In fact, the lettering was so impressive that no one had the heart to make him do it over again. And so, the name stuck.
From that name sprung the legend of the “Hero’s Headstone,” that is, what travelers called the overhang. Year after year, it sat there, unaffected by the strongest of storms. The legends said that all the great heroes of the Coryi were buried under the arch. Tourists etched their names into the rock, hoping it would bring some kind of luck. And really, that was all the Coryi needed- a hero, someone to stand for a good cause, and bring freedom to their people.
A few characteristics of the Coryi were easy to identify. In reality, once you saw them, they were unmistakable. Until then, they made not the slightest sound, following silently. They were expert hunters, fond of ambushing any prey they might come across. The Coryi, essentially, were jaguars; the differences being they stood on two legs, wore clothes, spoke the common language of the intelligent species, and lived in villages. These were the people so desperately in need of a hero.
Freya sat at the top of the arch, her legs dangling over the edge. Her brilliant emerald eyes watched the churning sea as her tail flicked behind her. Heights had never bothered her. Water, on the other hand, was entirely different. Regardless of her fears, one dream practically molded the shape of her life.
She wanted to be one of those heroes, to save her people from the ongoing war.
The problem being, she was nothing special. She was just an average Coryi, and her parents reminded her every day. “Be a leader,” they would say. “If you are going to be a chieftess someday, you will need to start acting it now.” But when she was honest with herself, she really didn’t want to be chieftess at all. She just wasn’t cut out for it.
She fidgeted with the hem of her sage-green tunic. They would understand, once she’d returned. Once she got back from the Flamewind Mountains, she would be more able to properly rule. At least then, even if she wasn’t fond of her position, she could play the role without messing it up. But there was a good chance she wouldn’t return at all.
Freya chose not to think about that side of things. In the worst case scenario, at least she wouldn’t have to play at being chief. She could die having really strived for something. And that, she thought, was worth it all.
Thunder clapped, and she climbed back down the side of the Hero’s Headstone, careful not to jostle the intricately woven bag strapped over her shoulders. It held what she would need for this journey- food, water, a few daggers for emergencies, and a thick blanket to use on cold nights and in the case of unexpected sandstorms in the wastelands.
She reached the ground, her feet sinking into soft, damp grass. The hardest part would be getting through the village- it would be difficult to say the least, with all the other Coryi around to see her. She might be able to go around it, but it would take extra time, and there was still a chance she would be seen. Maybe if she walked casually enough through the village no one would suspect anything, even with the bulging bag she carried.
Many of the other races would find it hard to distinguish between two Coryi. Besides differences in size and eye color, their fur was generally the same, dark yellow spotted with black rosettes. Of course, the Coryi found it difficult to tell the differences between the other races, so it was a struggle for everyone.
Now, Freya wished that the other Coryi wouldn’t recognize her. As she walked through the village as quickly as she dared, they kept waving and trying to start conversations. She was tempted to forget this whole adventure. But that wasn’t all it was. It was a chance to get her people the upper hand in the war, and that was priceless.
The toughest obstacle after getting through the village would be crossing over the Wysp Islands. For one, she would have to cross the sections of water in between the islands. And two, Garul lived underneath the islands in caves. The crocodiles, while not as aggressive towards the Coryi as the Diceros, most likely would be if they saw one of the jaguars walking over their islands with no warning.
So far, Freya hadn’t thought about that hole in her plan. She figured if this was really meant to happen, she would somehow make it through. Nothing would stop her from getting to the Flamewinds.
“Freya!”
She winced and kept walking, pretending not to hear. That was Father’s voice.
“Freya! Wait!”
With a sigh, she stopped, plastered a smile across her face, and turned around. “What is it, Father?” she asked as lightly as she could, but her voice still sounded strained.
He paused, looking her over with silver eyes. His gaze fell on the bag. “Where are you headed in such a hurry?”
“Nowhere,” she replied, a little too quickly. “I was, um… Just going on a hunt.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Were you?” He gave the strap of the bag a little jerk with his paw. “What’s this for?”
“I might be gone for… a while,” she said slowly. “I’m going farther into the forest this time. The bag is for supplies.”
Her father squinted at her, cocking his head a little. “You were going to leave without telling anyone?”
Freya shook her head quickly. “No, I- I told Mother,” she lied, immediately feeling a pang of guilt. “She said I could go.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Very well. You may go. I trust you’ll be back by sunset tomorrow?”
She swallowed, pushing her conscience aside. Saving the Coryi was more important than something so small as a curfew. “Of course, Father.”
Her father, her chief, smiled and patted her on the shoulder. “Do me proud, Freya. And good luck.”
She held her breath as she turned away, dreading every second. “I will, Father.”
Someday.
Follow your heart, but take your brain with you.
AHHH freya yesss!!!!
It looks really good!! What’s her village in danger from?? 😁
"Be careful, for writing books is endless, and much study wears you out." Eccl. 12:12
IKR!? XDXD
Thanks! Her village is in danger from the war between the races on the Spiral.
Follow your heart, but take your brain with you.
Here’s Klayden’s wonderful introduction y’all.
Klayden Introduction
Klayden, a Vermillian, rolled swiftly through the diner, thumping on the strong wooden boards while balancing a platter of food on his back. He popped up into the air, unraveled into a standing form, and expertly caught the platter without spilling a drop. He handed the platter to a family of fellow Vermillians. The child at the table laughed, delighted by the skill of her waiter.
“Your stew, my lady,” Klayden said. She giggled again. He rolled back up his armadillo-like body and zoomed across the diner back into the kitchen. Outside he could see the wooden bridges, about two feet above the marsh floor. Vermillians were busy rolling through the town, He smelled delicious foods cooking, and saw his contented grandfather sitting in a rocking chair. He walked up to him.
“Hey, Gramps,” he said softly. “Can I get you anything to eat? An omelet, or some breakfast for dinner, something like that?”
His grandfather looked up at Klayden with squinted, wrinkled eyes. “That would be just fine, son.”
“I’ll be right back with your favorite.” Klayden rolled off to the storage and grabbed the food he needed. Eggs, flour, and other colorful ingredients. He took them to the stove and mixed up the ingredients into the beginnings of pancakes. He put it on a large pan in several glops. Klayden simmered them around on one side, then tossed them up and flipped them onto the other side in one fluid motion. While that side was cooking, he helped out Conner, his friend, who was also a new cook in Klayden and Gramps’ Diner.
Conner had always had trouble with guessing when to take food out of the oven. It didn’t seem logical to him. In his mind, there should be some set time that it’s always ready to be taken out of the oven. But no, that just wasn’t the case, especially with all the recipes being rather vague. Gramps never liked to give exact instructions. He generally left the cooks to figure it out for themselves, which proved to be of no difficulty for Klayden, the second best cook there ever was in the diner. The first being Gramps, of course.
“Thanks,” Conner said. “I always burn the darn meat. How do you just know when yer s’posed to take ‘em out, Klay?”
“You’ll get there, Conner. Just keep trying.” Klayden turned back to the oven with a smile. Conner always cracked him up. How’d he get the accent anyway? Klayden didn’t know.
The pancakes were cooked, fluffy, and a nice golden brown color. He tossed them onto two plates and got out the butter and syrup. After the finishing touches, he rolled with them over to Gramps. “Here they are, nice and fresh.” He set them on a tray in front of Gramps.
“Thanks, son. You’ll make a fine head chef someday.” Gramps smiled and started eating.
That made Klayden proud of himself. Gramps was his only remaining family, and Klayden did his best to keep him happy. His mother and father were both gone, so Klayden was the only remaining heir for the diner. But the idea of taking over the diner made him nervous. He’d never done anything close to that before. He had only ever cooked, never managed bills and finances. He pushed down the nerves though, and started back toward the kitchen. That is until he heard a short cough from behind him.
“Gramps, are you alright?” No response. He turned around to see something horrible.
His grandfather was clasping his chest with one arm, the other clutching to the arm of his chair. “Gramps! I’m coming!” Klayden shouted. “Conner!”
Conner’s head snapped toward Klayden. “Wha-What is it!”
“Get a medic, fast!”
Klayden fell to the ground next to his grandfather’s rocking chair. Tears immediately rolled down his face, dripping onto the ground as he tried to wake up his now unconscious grandfather. What would he do if Gramps never woke up again? He just couldn’t bear the thought. If this was what he thought it was…
If there was something he could do about it, he would do it. There was only one place he could think of to go.
All sound seemed muffled as the medics tried to revive Gramps. Klayden stood and winced as they shocked him with strange electric beetles. He couldn’t bear to watch. His fear of bugs made it worse, as he didn’t feel comfortable with them touching Gramps with those filthy creatures. He grabbed one of the medics by the shoulder and turned them around strongly. “What happened to him? He’s gonna be okay, right?”
He looked at the medic in a way that made them feel compelled to say yes, though that wasn’t the answer. “It was a Rhombson variant heart attack. I’m sorry.”
Slowly, he left the diner and gazed out across Minolen Marsh, his beautiful, peaceful hometown. Just past it he could see the wasteland that covered most of Zutora. He knew that he could quite possibly be leaving it soon, if there was going to be any chance of saving his grandfather. Gramps was old, and Vermillians never lived after an attack like that, let alone a ninety-three year old man. Rhombson variant heart attacks were fatal, no chance of survival. Klayden had to go now and find some way of curing him.
He rolled across the marsh bridges by memory and arrived at his hut. He grabbed some food and equipment and stuffed it all in a bag with haste. His eyes burned with rage over what happened to his grandfather. He wrapped up around his bag and started rolling faster than ever before across the vast land of Zutora.
After a while, he noticed the ground wasn’t soft and muddy like his home, but rather cracked and sandy. He was glad he had his thick shell protecting him from the dry, tough ground. He couldn’t swim through the seas like some of the other races that lived in Zutora, and would have to go a much longer path. He knew that. But he didn’t mind.
If that was what saving his grandfather took, he would do it.
The measure of a man is how much bacon he eats.
Here’s Soril’s too. I forgot to tag so if you didn’t see Klayden’s it’s up there.
@euodia-vision @keilah-h @hybridloreSoril Introduction
Soril heard his eldest brother, Feron, yell for him. “Soril! Get down here and eat your breakfast!” Soril sat up and hit his hard head on the bottom of the bunk above him, but it didn’t hurt too much. He was a Capra, which resembled mountain goats. They had white fur and could climb mountains with very little effort using their strong hooves. Their curved horns and hard heads could help them to ram their enemies, or just their prey. Soril hopped up and ran down the long stairway and into the dining room.
His eight siblings were sitting at the table, waiting to eat, while his mother prepared a large meal for them all. He was the second youngest, the youngest being his sister, Yelina. She was the only one who treated him anything close to nicely, the others being stuck up and proud. Soril was the runt, so everyone treated him like he was worthless. Even his parents teased him for being good for nothing, and he was sick of it.
Soril’s mother slid a bowl of plants, and he started eating. He stuffed the grass and herbs in his face to avoid having his food stolen by his older siblings. The others were all obnoxiously laughing at the loud conversation they were having, and Soril stayed out of it. He didn’t want anything to do with their gossip and teasing. He didn’t want anything to do with them.
Just as his mother finished getting the much larger servings of herbs and slid them to the older siblings, Soril finished. He walked away from the table and trotted up to the deck. One of his brothers flung a small rock at him, but he ignored it. He hopped through the doorway and onto the strong wood, staring out at the mountainside.
Now that he was on the deck, he could see a large network of pulley systems that carried carts up and down the mountain range. That’s how they got around their villages, and it was a really efficient way to do it. It was all powered by hydraulic wheels connected to a few small rivers going down the mountain. The whole place was beautiful, intertwined with the white puffs of clouds floating through the sky. But he hardly got the chance to appreciate any of it.
Yelina joined him and looked out at the beautiful landscape. “I wish they’d treat you nicer. You’re a really nice Capra,” she complemented.
“Thanks, Yelina,” he said tiredly. He’d heard her say stuff like that so much it hardly meant anything to him before. He worried that he wasn’t appreciating her enough, but he thought she understood. He was going through a hard time with… Most things.
“Would you want to go down the mountain later and get some herbs for Mom? She’s been really busy.”
“You know, why don’t you tell one of the more useful ones to do that. I’m probably not good enough for her anyway,” he said sarcastically, but obviously irritated.
“You’re not worthless,” she said, “You’re just… small, that’s all.”
“Sure. Keep thinking that.”
They were interrupted by their brothers who bumped into Soril on both sides. They halted the peace and quiet and started a loud argument, as usual. This time it was about who was going to be the greatest Capra of the family. “You see the Flamewind Mountains over there? I’m gonna travel there and rip the magic right out of it some day,” Rook boasted. “You know, nobody’s come back alive from that place. I’ll just have to be the first, won’t I?”
“Oh yeah?” Feron challenged. “You don’t have the guts. I’m gonna go there one day and nothing’s gonna stop me.” Feron looked down at Soril. “And what about you, little guy? What are you gonna do?”
Soril didn’t respond. He smoldered angrily, but didn’t look up at Feron.
Feron laughed sharply. “That’s right, nothing. Don’t you ever think you are gonna be more than that.”
Soril had been teased too much. Blinking back tears, he shoved his brother Feron, barely moving him, and headed inside. But he didn’t make it there.
“Tough, eh?” Feron said. He rammed Soril in the side and threw him with his strong horns. Soril flew over the edge of the deck and slammed into the rocky mountainside. He tumbled down the steep incline, the rocks cutting and bruising him. Finally he came to a stop on a flat stone surface. His brothers laughed from above, and Yelina looked down pitifully. Soril knew there was nothing she could do about her brothers, but he also knew she felt terrible for him. He needed to stop this endless loop of… of his family. Something had to change.
He needed to change. But what could he do?
His brothers were so confident in themselves, but they weren’t actually going to do any of the stuff they talked about. As they walked inside, bumping into each other with a sense of victory over their little brother, Soril made a hasty and dangerous plan.
He would go to the Flamewind Mountains and get the magic for himself. If he didn’t come back alive, at least he wouldn’t have to bear his family anymore. He needed to prove himself to everyone, to show that he wasn’t useless. If he could make it to the Flamewinds, he would be more powerful than all his brothers combined.
He stumbled down the mountain, hopping from here to there and rolling painfully in some rocky areas. He was still hurt from his fall down the slope, but he kept going. Once he made it down the mountain, he would load some water and herbs. Then he’d have all he needed to make it to the Flamewind Mountains, hopefully. He found that he was really good at launching his small body from outcropping to outcropping. At least he was okay at something.
Everything would be different soon. His brothers would regret ever joking about him.
If he ever made it back.
The measure of a man is how much bacon he eats.
@kyronthearcanin Ooooo I love the beginning of this, your writing is so smooth and reads so nicely! I haven’t read more than the first chapter you have there, don’t have the time in the moment, but I’ll fs finish it tonight. This sounds like succcch a cool idea tho and that’s pretty awesome you finished all that planning (and writing 😱) in short a time
I have no special talent. I am only passionately curious.
Thanks so much!! And yeah definitely don’t feel rushed. I’m glad you’re enjoying it so far! 😁❤️❤️
Follow your heart, but take your brain with you.
*me just now seeing this* *I don’t know how I missed it* XD
That’s so cool! Yeah, I used to use a bunch of different legos together… big lions and t-rex and sharks that I built attacking probably innocent people along with Kai from Ninjago randomly sitting inside this huge robot thing with fake wires everywhere… Yeah, legos are fun XDXD
Follow your heart, but take your brain with you.
Awww Freya! I love her!!!!!!
I love Klayden and Soril!!!!
I rolled the log over and underneath was a tiny little stick and I was like, "That log had a child
@kyronthearcanin I know, Legos are really fun!
Where'd I get ya this time? The liver? The kidney? I'm runnin' outta places to put holes in ya.
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