Welcome to FableHaven, where legends are born! Make yourself right at home! Above in the banner you'll see a group of links, use these wisely as they hold all of the secrets to our realm. You're going to want to read up on those before you hit the applications. And if there are any deity canon positions open, don't hesitate to try out for those! Again, welcome to FableHaven!
Events
FableHaven is open for beta only! This entails getting the deities settled and having them write up their own rules and such. You're free to create applications and get ready for the official opening!
Updates
2018/01/14 Beta is on! Woot! The site is coming together with great store items to customize your characters!
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It's not until the darkest part of the dawn that Isra manages to slip away from the brothel. When the others curl up to dream (finally slipping away from the brutality of their lives) she is wide awake, looking out past the city and the places where the moon is bright enough to show the horror and grit of the kingdom.
She's a ghost, a shell of something that had been bright and lovely and full of hope. Sometimes she imagines it's the hollowness of her soul that allows her to creep so silently from the bonds of her life. Her hooves are light as bird feathers on the stone and she's as gentle as the breeze as she moves from shadow to shadow. It's skill alone (born from night after night of sneaking away) that lets her keep her chains so still and silent against her battered flesh.
On she goes, past the walls of her life and the tired guards that have grown so lax in their vigilance. Down through the cemetery she floats, fooling herself that she's free enough to walk across the clouds. It's not until she passes the doors of the mausoleum that she's bold enough to let her chains rattle and shake against her sides.
Isra is more than happy to let the noise of her scare away the scavengers of the tunnels and their poisonous hunger. Here she is more deer than horse and her nostrils flare as the scent of brine and sea and lead her onward.
Only when she reaches the sea does she really breathe and she's frantic as she runs down to the shore. She's wild in the surf, laughing as the waves crash over her body. The salt sets all her wounds (she's been used too roughly lately) to burning and she smiles to know that her skin can still feel anything at all. Foolishly she hopes that all the sea water will rust away her chains or drag her far, far out to the depths where she'll never be found.
“I have a hundred stories of you.” Isra whispers to the sea. The salt is sweet on her smile and she licks at her lips as she gazes out to the horizon as the sun just beings to cash out the darkness. “But they only want to hear me scream.” The lament is bitter on her tongue and she crashes into the sea, diving beneath the waves to rise only when her lungs start to burn and beg for life.
She's not yet brave enough to surrender to the ocean she loves.
Dead to the kingdom, an unwanted phantom evading the embargo of callous mortals who should be the pale and still-lying instead of what she was forced to play. Forced to pass the brittle skull of someone she never knew but is persuaded to have defective hope in, knowing its progressing decay, which mirrored the blind mortals' kingdom, will only continue and not resolve.
But he's the platform of her people's ambition, their hope. Amik was the defying face of freedom. A role model whose white bird shit-covered head sits hiked on a stake in the middle of a Lyrael cemetery like a trophy long since won. But forget the trophy, it was his legacy that reigned, sure. He had run and hid like a captain bailing from his sinking ship in the middle of the vast ocean, destined to die either way yet feebly choose against doing so justly.
What kind of king did that.
It was the common ground they shared that refrained Jayanti from jeering at the skull as she passed in her trek down from the same mountains the dead king once took refuge in. The same towering range she was born to. Amik's death was almost a waste if had not been for Jay's ancestors among several others who survived, help sparked rebellion, and managed to instill the fire in their predecessor's veins--Jayanti's veins. But she was no Lyrael royal, no Amik. As much as she strove to bring it back to life, progress was slow, so slow it seemed the resurrection of Amik was the only thing that could reignite the fire under the rebellion. Though overall efforts were currently in a lull, it didn't hinder the most rebellious of hearts.
Taking to her phantom semblance, the mare left an invisible path to the mausoleum and into the tunnels, a fresh memory leading her through the shadowy maze. She evaded slumbering guards with ease. A rat in the sewers. Dirt and previous night's war paint ran in dried muddy channels down her spotted frame, sealing off just enough of the setting moon's glow when she emerged onto the beach to hear a hum of metal chain and rolling water.
Out in the deep, a body dove into the waves. Jay picked up a trot through the shadows until the rock gave way to sand and pressed forward into the dim light. She halted in the shallows, scanning the pulsing ocean for life as the mix of brine and the morning's onset of fog fastened to her coat. She quietly called as the Lyrael resurfaced, "Long swim to the nearest island, you know." Out of subtle humor, she pondered their intentions.
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Copying, altering, or stealing any of the site's content is prohibited.
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The skin was created by TIMELAPSE OF WICKED WONDERLAND.
