Welcome to Gaia! ::

Maven: curious, pragmatic, protective
Wants answers; isn't always happy when she finds them

Sini: friendly, eager to please;
Skills include cooking and running away from things (but not at the same time)

Edzeph: enigmatic/secretive, philosophic, a little creepy
Only comes out at night

Almondine: neurotic, bit of a control-freak; editor and stage manager
Mr. Writer: disheveled, possessed; He writes. 'Nuff said.

Frida: snarky, jaded, an occasional diva; choreographer, designer and actor (plays Esby)
Tiptoe: poetic; actor (plays Edzeph)
Bertrum: charismatic, adventurous; actor (plays Maven)
Reginald: panicky, paranoid; reluctant actor (plays Cotton)
Donovan: steadfast; actor (plays Harper)

Constance: actor
Edward: cook
Mack: maintenance rat

~others I'm probably forgetting~

Harper: driven, grumpy, arrogant
A man who's lost everyone, on a mission to earn the Lady's favor; hopes to rebuild a life from this

Descartes: good-natured, disarming, slightly rebellious
A sparkgazer whose career is becoming obsolete

Gurev: serious, proud
commander of the tigerfolk

~I'll fill in the other tigerfolk later~

Imoja: odiza; sails a ship in the Ether Sea
Nzambi: shark-god; yes, he's definitely messing with you

RATTOPIA

Amid the roaring hum of dining, socializing Rats, Almondine hugged her script and signalled the minstrels to begin. Their ethereal score rolled through the chamber, calling the audience to a state of anticipation. Almondine's breath grew old in her lungs as chamber lights dimmed and stage lights brightened. Frida elbowed her in a vaguely reassuring way and raised a champagne flute in one-sided toast. For better or worse, The Prophecy was starting.

Dancers in flowing garments whirled across the stage, representing elemental patterns the odizas had created at the dawn of time. Black danced with lavender. Rich siena swept between them and bowed low. Verdant green sprouted from her back, while crimson and azure met in a kiss, then dissolved behind a flurry of white.

Enthralled, the audience sat on the edges of their seats, drinks and forks half-raised and forgotten. Whiskers twitched. Coal-black eyes resisted the urge to blink, lest they miss a single moment of the dance. It ebbed toward them, threatening to overflow the stage and spill through the aisles. Then, just as gracefully, it withdrew to the back wall. A speaker cloaked in withered vines and grey leaves stepped forward.


Fed by the words, the dancer emblazened in red stamped her feet and spun, trailing veils in a wide arc. As she turned, several more in shades of orange came rushing from behind. They spread their arms and spun like firestorm upon the stage while every other colour fell prone upon the ground.



With an ebullient swell of music, their heroine appeared -- in effigy, that is, a fellow Rat dressed in unassuming jacket and a viney wig that nearly hid his ears. He darted across the stage, indulging in a flip as the flame dancers receded and others rose to shuffle their colours. Excitement rippled through the crowd. They understood now what was starting, and it had been a long time coming.

Slinking onto stage were the most complex outfits yet, requiring two actors each -- one to fill a bulbous abdomen and the other to play the head. The head-rat wore a mask adorned with multiple eyes and worked the leading set of legs, the long and needle-like limbs that prodded and stabbed the air. Menacingly, these creatures circled the jacket-wearer, the odiza.

In one, smooth motion, the belly-rat slid under the legs of the other and hoisted them into the air, creating the appearance of a spider rearing up to reveal its dripping fangs.

Music swelled with a clash of cymbals and panicky blurt of brass. The odiza fired a pistol, its tip flashing and spewing smoke. The spiders shuddered, collapsed and retreated into the darkness. The star lifted his arms in victory. The audience roared their approval.

Every muscle in Almondine's body quivered as she anticipated this step, that note, every tiny detail. She lifted her clipboard, bit its corner to release the tension and soon found her teeth nibbling audibly. Her eyes met Frida's amused smirk.

"Calm yourself, darling," Frida said, her voice laced with subtle teasing. "You act like it's your first production."

"It might as well be." That small admission let a barrage of doubts pierce her carefully built defenses. Frida was the last woman she wanted to confess anything to, but the words were spilling out. "This is so radically different. No more fairytales. No more retelling the past. We've crossed the line from storytellers to prophets, or maybe something even more dangerous. Fates casting a spell that will shape the future of everything."

"Well, I'm not sure if we are really--"

"What if we mess it up?" Her heart nearly burst with the thought. "What if someone forgets a line, misses a mark? We might bring all of Ochrasy to ruin!"

Frida sighed and refilled her glass. The bubbly liquid caught the stage lights and glowed preternaturally. She folded Almondine's hand around the glass's stem. "Try a drink instead of a meltdown. I find it works wonders."

If there was any hesitation, it left the moment Almondine saw the liquid trembling in her grip. She downed it quickly, hoping no one else would see. One lush in a theatre was enough.

Frida stroked a cheek and kept her eyes on the stage, where the stand-in odiza was dodging a set of moving obstacles with absolute grace, never missing a beat of the music. "He's a gem of a goddess, don't you think? Let's hope the incarnation herself can live up to our darling design."

Having swallowed her doubts with the champagne, Almondine returned the glass and stated, "Everything in The Prophecy is absolute truth."

Frida smiled in a maddening, skeptical, dismissive way. "Whatever you say, darling."

MAAVEITA

Maven shuffled through the leafy detritus of the street, feeling patches of velvety moss and damp earth against her bare feet. It had rained a while ago, and water still dripped through the foliage to plop against her hair and jacket. She breathed deep the fertile scent of the sod walls that rose several stories high on either side. Roots wove through that standing soil, some thick and knotted, others threadlike and webbed. They gave the city strength and structure, even while threatening to crack it apart.

She dragged her fingers through the leaves and curling tendrils of vines clinging to a wall, then skirted her way around a sapling. A seed must've fallen from above. She wondered if she ought to pull it out, or if the low light would be enough to stifle it. Some streets were already obstructed by trees, shrubs and thick vegetation, and she couldn't decide whether to clear them. It felt odd trying to shape the city for her own convenience, but surely the old inhabitants had done so. And still would, if any of them remained.

A brief cacophany of snapping twigs and flapping wings made her look up, senses attuned for anything that might approach, but the foliage overhead appeared calm. In either direction, the street was clear, only the gentle crinkle of settling leaf litter and the bugs scuttling through it.

She pulled a journal from her bag and flipped through the pages. Filled with notations, symbols, numbers and quick sketches, they might appear chaotic to anyone else, but she'd developed a thorough system. There was another journal that listed things by type -- shops, water sources, herbs, foods, animal dens -- but this one dealt with location. Within moments, she'd found the right section of Mossgrel Mound and the notes of what could be found in the area. They'd already dug up some sweet potatoes on the way in, but there was also a healthy mushroom patch a couple streets over and nut and fruit trees on the outer slopes. She still hadn't figured out the nut seasons. They should really go check them.

Tucking the journal away, she went back to a doorway in the wall, a rounded arch reinforced with stone and semi-rotted wood. A fading sign beside it displayed two rabbitfolk and the words '____'. Once upon a time, people had shopped here, but now it was free for the taking like everything else. That's what her companion was doing, seeking out new to replace the old. His 'old' weren't technically that worn out, but he got more excited about clothes than Maven did.

The shop was faintly illuminated with the brightest light coming from a back room, where Sini must've taken the candle. Maven let her eyes wander of the silhouetted racks, shelves and a clump of something hanging from the ceiling. She sniffed the air. There was something heady in it. Maybe some of the fabric had gone to mold, but then again...

High, baby yips split the air, followed by a creaking of wood and an explosive snarl. Sini burst through the back door and hit the counter, grunting in surprise. Maven started to speak, but he was already clearing the object and approaching fast.

She ducked outside as he barrelled into the street, shoes crunching loudly on leaf litter. He bolted before she could form a question, and seconds later, a shaggy beast tore out the same way. She knew it immediately, the creature that gave this hill its name -- mossgrel. Its coat was a thick rug of browns and greens, like fur and moss at the same time, hiding layers of powerful muscle. The rest was sharp teeth and thick claws that could tear up soil with ease. They were, as one book put it, 'apex predators, stalled somewhere on the path from wild savagery to civilization'. None of those writers could've predicted a time like this, when mossgrels would be the essential rulers of this abandoned city.

Sini was already far ahead, dodging street furniture without losing speed. He threw something that arched through the air, diverting it's attention for a brief moment. Then they were both off, rounding a corner, Sini shouting apologies as the mossgrel snapped at his heels. Didn't he realize it was toying with him? If it were serious, he'd have been on the ground by now, getting his clothes torn apart. Or maybe that's why he kept running -- fear for his precious outfit.

Maven looked back into the shop, where the little voices were still yapping somewhere in the dark. Another mossgrel stood in the center of the floor. It lowered its head and gave a low growl. Maven got the message.

She paused at the corner and retrieved a sweet potato from the ground. They were already gone from this street, too, but she could smell the lingering scent of damp and molding earth, and their feet had left a trail in the detritus. She'd find them easy enough.

As she walked, her hand brushed the gun at her side. It was more for territorial cats, boars, larger spiders, things which couldn't be reasoned with or were destined for dinner, but its weight reassured her, made her feel prepared. There was another on her other side, a knife strapped to her calf and a backup in her bag.

She really liked being prepared.

Her next step was met with a growl, then two more, and she looked back to see three mossgrels slinking from doorways. They came with determined strides, their bodies sleek and mostly brown, probably young, but even in youth they had the power to crush bone and drag down a deer -- and Maven wasn't so heavy and strong as that.

The closest fixed her with its piercing yellow glare. "You were after the puppies."

"No one was after puppies," she assured them.

The one on the left puffed itself up. "You have no right to be here, strange one."

"The Mothers agreed I could walk the outer edge."

"The Mothers aren't here."

"Yeah, we're in charge now!" said the one on the right, youngest maybe. It wasn't putting on as much of a menacing show as the others.

"Okay," Maven murmured, taking a slow step back.

The left-one came forward and snapped its teeth near her leg. She sped up her retreat, but that only made them close in faster.

"I'm leaving, alright?" Maven said, raising her palms in surrender.

No good. The middle-one bit onto her bag and tugged, its whole body jerking with the force. Maven stumbled, planted her feet and pulled back. The left side struck again, grabbed the corner of her jacket and pulled a different way.

"Hey, stop it!" She pushed on left-side's head. It growled and held on.

The third circled around, tail wagging and tongue lolling from its mouth in excitement. This might be a game, but was it the way they played with each other or with prey? Either way, their teeth were made for tearing flesh, and she had no dense fur to protect it. She had to claim her space before one of them drew blood.

She grabbed the one on her left, used it almost as a balance while she kicked out, knocking the other in the chest and jaw. It made a sound of pain, then anger, and started shaking viciously at her bag. So much for that. The third, too, decided this was worth punishment. It yanked the back of her jacket, nearly pulling her off her feet. She still had hold of left-side's neck, and it now released the jacket's edge to snap at her arm. Its teeth caught the sleeve. That was bad. Very bad. Her muscle was nothing compared to theirs, and it easily pulled her arm down, forcing her to one knee. Her whole body jerked back-and-forth in their growling, wagging tug-of-war.

In a last-ditch effort, she pulled a gun from its holster and fired into the air. The sound echoed sharply along the walls. Mossgrel ears went back. They released her jacket but stood, calculating. She waited, breathing hard, gun-arm still in the air. A few quick looks passed between the mossgrels, and finally, the one on her bag let go.

"Stay away from our territory," it warned.

"Yeah," said left-side, sounding confident though it had retreated the farthest. "We've marked it, so you should stay out!"

"I can't smell your markings." Maven moved slowly toward the next street. "You have to TELL me things."

"Talking is using your mouth!" the youngest said, bouncing excitedly. "That's what we did!"

That set all the tails wagging. They jumped around and made soft barks, very pleased with their cleverness. Maven rounded the corner, eager to slip away before they invented another game involving her. The gunshot was also sure to bring the attention of others. She could only imagine what kind of stories the young mossgrels might tell them, but she'd rather leave it to the elders to figure out than deal with interrogation and lecture.

She moved swiftly, casting glances over her shoulder just to be sure. The walls were shortening around her, the ground becoming more grassy. A path was worn from frequent travels, mossgrel or otherwise, which made it harder to read, but Sini would usually head out, if he could, so she kept going toward the street's end. The whole way, her emotions swung between an assurance that he'd be fine and a worry that he'd turned off, run into some room, gotten lost. Then she'd have to find a ledge and wait, maybe even go back to the outer wall and hope he came back, too. She didn't like relying on hope. It was so much less dependable than endurance, wit and muscle.

Finally, she heard the sound of rustling leaves and familiar grunts. After her earlier trouble, Maven pulled a gun just to be safe and peered around the corner.

Sini was hanging upside down, hugging a low branch. One of his bags had been left on the ground and savaged some by the mossgrel. Its contents were strewn about. The mossgrel sat nearby, watching him with interest. Possibly even amusement. She looked up as Maven approached. "I heard a fire-bang."

"No one was hurt," Maven said. She'd already holstered the gun. This was the kind of mossgrel she was used to, a flaring temper quick to cool, cantankerous but reasonable.

The mother spared a final glance at Sini, then sneezed, as if cleaning her nose of the whole thing. "Keep him away from my pups."

"I'll do that," Maven replied.

The mossgrel stood, milk-swollen tits swaying beneath her, and sauntered back toward the street. She was not the first Maven had seen like this. A while back, their coats had grown flowers, fragrant blossoms that sent up puffs of pollen when they shook. When the flowers fell, the moss-fur thickened, nesting what looked like orange pods. Then, briefly, their presence around the city had dwindled, enticing Maven to venture more often into their mound. Now they were emerging, slim but heavy with milk, and she was again unwelcome. These phases were easy enough to notice, but she wondered at all the parts she didn't see, the hows and whys, the mysteries being written in hidden corners, all tucked away and waiting, like treasure boxes, to be un-earthed.

But not this box. Not today. They'd worn on mossgrel patience enough. As the mother disappeared into the street, Maven turned her attention to Sini, who released his arms for an upside-down shrug. He took hold of the branch, unwound his legs and dropped with a complete lack of grace that sent him plopping to his butt. He ran a hand through his light blue mop of hair and muttered, "It's not like I meant to find them. They were asleep in a dark room. Where's the warning in that?"

She offered a hand to help him up. "So how did they wake up?"

Straightening his shirt, he made a disgruntled face. "I maybe, might have... picked one up thinking they were spilled socks."

Her laugh was cut short by a set of howls.

Stuffing items back into his bag, Sini asked, "So what now?"

Maven pointed to the moundside. "We go up."