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 Posted: Thu May 22, 2008 2:45 pm
Event number 6 - So You Think You Can Skydance?!  Start: May 22, 6pm EST End: May 25th, 11:59pm EST Skydancer - The art of skydancing is known to all Sentinels - it often plays a part in the courtship process, after all. Some Sentinels take this natural display to a higher level, however, and through a combination of physical abilities and a skill for theatric effect these entertainers can capture the attention (and imagination) of their audience. (Specialist Bard) This contest will involve two parts, described below.1 - The Character Form2 - In a RP post of their performance, describe one of your character's skydance routines.For the second portion, you may use audience NPCs or other performers as needed. Entries that are original while not being completely impossible will be favoured. NO LOOP-DE-LOOPS. A Sentinel is not capable of that sort of fancy/fast flying - the art of the Skydancer would focus on elegance, grace, and beauty. If you are not sure how realistically possible your performance ideas are, feel free to PM the Ranger.
[size=10][i][b]Part I – The Sentinel[/b][/i]
[b]Player: [/b]
[b]Name:[/b]
[b]Nicknames: [/b]
[b]Species:[/b] Sentinel of Noctua
[b]Age: [/b]
[b]Hatch Date:[/b]
[b]Type:[/b]
[b]Task:[/b] Skydancer
[b]Personality:[/b]
[b]History: [/b]
[b]Territory:[/b]
[b]Mate:[/b]
[b]Companions:[/b] Optional, common only
[i][b]Part II – Companions[/b][/i]
[b]Name: [/b]
[b]Species: [/b]
[b]Age:[/b]
[b]Speech Ability: [/b]
[b]Intelligence: [/b]
[b]Skill:[/b][/size]
Terms of the Skydancer Prompt Contest:- if there are no suitable entries within the time-limit, the Sentinel may not be awarded to any of the entrants - no further customization (aside from common companions) is permitted - the winner will be announced after the entries have been judged - we may offer runner-up prizes, so don't let a really good entry stop you from trying! - although this is not an RP-required shop, this particular Sentinel's task IS RP-required - Why? The Skydancer task is earned through RP, so if you don't RP him then he will be 'demoted' to Bard Please post your entries here, in-thread.
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Posted: Thu May 22, 2008 5:46 pm
Part I – The Sentinel
Player: Zactura
Name: Kesshin
Nicknames: Kesh, Keshu, Shi, and Womanizing Loser.
Species: Sentinel of Noctua
Age: Adult.
Hatch Date: 04/19/??
Type: Wildtype
Task: Skydancer
Personality: Kesshin is a very flamboyant Sentinel who always ogles the ladies. He's also really arrogant, which can set him on the wrong side of others pretty fast. Kesh is, to put it frankly, a womanizer. He loves to cruise around and find the prettiest lady Sentinels and try to snuggle. He never seems to shut up, either. Kesh is a daredevil that always messes up during his 'daring performances'. Kesshin is a very clever Sentinel who can talk his way out of anything, which is a valuable skill for when he gets on someone's nerves. He's mostly hot air, and Kesshin will always try to shift the blame to someone else. Kesh is also an egotistical and overly dramatic Sentinel that can blatantly proclaim his innocence, and usually get away with it, even if caught doing something wrong. Kesh is also a romantic that thinks he can sing, and often he'll try to serenade the ladies.
He usually gets attacked five seconds later.
History: Kesh was born to a healthy pair of Wildtypes that were clever and well-known skydancers. Kesshin was left orphaned when he flew too high, and his parents rushed up to save him from an oncoming hawk. The hawk got his mother first, and then went for his father when he provided a barrier. Ever since, Kesh has stayed away from the higher levels. Still, he'll sometimes skirt close to them just for the heck of it.
Territory: A large cedar tree about 17 feet tall with many branches and a large hollow that he nests in.
Mate: None. (He wishes.)
Companions: None.
Kesshin smirked and looked up into the clear blue sky from his sturdy branch, spreading an ornately-dyed wing to test the wind.
His wing bobbed gently and was met with little resistance, signifying one thing.
To the egotistical skydancer's mind, today was the perfect day to skydance.
With a flamboyant swish of his wings, he took flight, beginning the slow and stately circles in the sky for the starting base of his performance. A few fledgelings, watched by their Minders, giggled and pointed below, excited at the prospect. Kesshin began gaining speed, flapping his powerful wings harder with each passing second. He turned a u-shaped corner, forming a corkscrew dive down into the deeper levels of the forest. The skydancer shot back up again, emerging to cheers from the fledglings, and a few approving glances from the minders.
Now, for the more complex maneuvers.
With a gentle flick of his wing, Kesh launched into dazzling weaving maneuvers, ducking and shooting in and out of the heavy branches of the forest. He whooshed right by the fledgelings and Minders, more cheers chasing after the skydancer as he shot by. With a swift and graceful swish of his wings, he began to propel himself into a nose dive, shooting down like a bullet. When he was out of sight, Kesh calmly spread his wings and darted up behind the watching Sentinels, flying lazily over their heads. The younger Sentinel's heads were turned upwards towards him, their faces painted with awe. He was really into it now, adding his own touches and flair to the traditional variation of the skydance. He fluttered above the Minder's roost, adding s-shaped curves to accentuate his movements. With no warning, he soared a distance away to finish his skydance.
The skydance was perfect, intoxicating in its simplicity and reveling in the elegance of flight. Kesshin was enjoying himself immensely, unfolding his great wings just so that the sun caught them and they gleamed like gold.
Then, thunder rumbled and crystallime droplets of rain began to coat his feathers, dragging him down. Kesh's eyes opened wide with shock and disbelief as the rain drenched his feathers and he started gliding down to the Minder's branch. The fledgelings were jeering and laughing at him, some imitating his magnificent plunge.
A Minder, laughing so hard that he cried, sucked in a breath and said, "Lovely show, can we do it again sometime?"
In response, the disgraced and waterlogged Sentinel just glared, his head held low and his face in a confusing expression.
"Shut up." he grumbled, scooting away from the fledgelings and their Minders.
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Posted: Thu May 22, 2008 9:07 pm
Part I – The Sentinel
Player: giftwrapped
Name: Verdigris
Nicknames: Gris, pronounced “Gree”
Species: Sentinel of Noctua
Age: Adult
Hatch Date: 21 June
Type: Wildtype (right?)
Task: Skydancer
Personality:
Gris is remarkably calm and collected, graceful and quiet and polite, generally good-natured and extremely pleasant. He is the sort you wouldn’t mind spending any amount of time with. Easy to get along with and very good in company, he spends most of his time in quiet conversation and very little actually performing. He prefers to keep the performing to a minimum, so his passion continues to be fun and not a job. Along with Skydancing, he also excels in telling stories and riddles, particularly riddles, and likes watching flight classes.
He likes younglings, and occasionally he’ll request to teach a class or two of older fledglings, just to get a feel for how the newest generation is shaping up.
A romantic like most bards, Gris is unashamed of his preferences for males, and while he’s generally a bit of a flirt, he’s extremely sensitive as well. Type preferences don’t matter as much to him, since his preferred pairings won’t produce aberrant offspring, but he is not as young and progressive as many of his contemporaries. He prefers that mated pairs stay within types and always seems surprised when he comes across healthy aberrants.
Stern and violent when he’s angered, don’t be fooled by his apparent complacency. Gris is a fierce fighter, and the size of his territory isn’t just some fluke. Anyone finding themselves up against this particular lad is likely to be surprised by his ferocity.
History:
Skydancing is in Verdigris’ blood. Though it skipped his parents’ generation (his mother was an artisan, his father a solemn, thoughtful teacher) it ran strong in the blood on his mother’s side, to the days before the Great Clan Wars. His father’s side ran more to scholars and the more thoughtful breed of storytelling bard, but nonetheless, Verdigris never wanted for a rich oral history.
Taught to fly by a Skydancer and brought up on rhymes and riddles, Gris was an artist from his hatching. It was no surprise to anyone that when it came time for him to graduate, the talented youngling would take his place in Noctua’s community of bards. The only one it truly surprised was Gris himself, who almost regretted his decision not to expand into some other field. Nonetheless, he threw himself into his task with the same conscientious thoughtfulness that he treated everything and everyone. He became a gifted storyteller, but his mind was often as naught elsewhere. He wanted to do something different.
It wasn’t long before the young bard found himself on the branches of his grandfather’s tree, requesting lessons in the artistic aspects of flight. The elderly Sentinel was happy to comply, though his wings were not what they had once been. Indeed, Verdigris learned as much theory as practice from the old Sentinel and kept up his lessons until his grandsire died, upon which he took on his role in practice, though not yet in formal recognition. It would be almost a year before he was appointed to the role of Skydancer.
Once he earned the position, though, he kept it. And he will keep it until such a time as he has trained another in his art. Perhaps he will die, or perhaps he will instead retire and take his place as a teacher.
Territory: One of reasonable size a bit outside the Deep Woods, where he can have a few large trees and also several apple trees. Nests in an elderly oak on the farthest-out edge.
Mate: None
Companions: None
Part II – Companions
N/A
Part III – Prompt Response
It didn’t take Verdigris long to hear the eager rustling of the few young ones he had been invited to give a demonstration for. Indeed, the young Skydancer was almost bowstring-tight listening for the young voices and rustles of not-yet-silent wings. And he watched, smile on his face, as the class filed in. The minders said something to the little ones, but Verdigris paid them little heed. His sharp eyes traveled quickly from each young face to the next, and when the minders looked expectantly at him to begin, he had already connected with each fledgling, earning their attention more effectively than the little jabs of bossy adults ever could.
Closing his eyes and exhaling, he shifted so his body was parallel to the ground and stretched his wings out to either side, one set of talons idly drumming out the slow rhythm to a song all the fledglings would know and recognize. Indeed, this particular display was tailored to those young ones. Verdigris hummed softly and shifted upright again, sweeping his wings gracefully in an arc, like a slow motion sweep of flight. He held them for a moment, then folded one while he swept the other across his body, gesturing at his audience. Stretching upwards, he slowly unfolded his other wing and did a mirror of the previous motion.
It was stretching, for him, and a prelude, for the audience. Raising his wings and letting them fall so the tips of his primary feathers trailed on the stage, Verdigris raised his eyes and beak to the sky. Slowly, he lifted his wings again.
His takeoff was graceful, effortless. Years of practice, years of honed muscles made him seem almost to float, wings taking him silently over the curious and awed heads of the fledglings. The Theatre was a good place for such exhibitions, and Gris always liked performing there, but he much preferred the open-air platforms closer to the center of the Deep Woods, where he was now. Banking slowly, the elegant wildtype circled above the fledglings’ heads once before gaining altitude.
There was little in the way of updraft, so he had to flap, but Verdigris compensated by making the motions as graceful and artful as they had been on the ground. He banked a few times, making lazy S-curves in the sky and between trees, until he had gained the altitude he wanted. Still easily within a Sentinel’s most comfortable flight range, he shifted suddenly, slowing quickly and alighting, almost without any discernable warning, on a branch. Here, he preened his wings quickly, each graceful stretch and sweep a part of his act. Smiling to himself, he dragged a ‘loose’ feather from his outstretched wing and let it drop, watching it flit and flutter toward the watching fledglings. Dropping off the branch as tidily as he had landed on it, he gained a few more wingspans’ altitude, then turned it neatly, shifting his weight and half-closing his wings, entering a lazy descent.
Shifting and altering course, half-fluttering his wings so that he seemed to almost mimic the feather’s fall, he fell smoothly down at a surprising pace, so that he was nearly atop the fledglings by the time the feather was at eye-level for them. Dipping down once more, he caught the prop delicately between his talons before banking hard and shifting his momentum upward, brushing the top of one head with the tip of his foremost primary.
Another spiral upwards, elegant but controlled, brought him to the very underbelly of the canopy. He began a similar downward spiral, each loop growing wider, each turn gaining speed, until he brushed past the level at which the platform was, hearing the fledglings’ peeps and whispers of surprise. Again turning his momentum into an ascent, he pushed himself up, over their heads, and alighted delicately as dandelion-fluff on the stage again. Turning gracefully to face his audience, feather still in his talons, he took the prop in his beak and gave a low bow, wingtips just brushing the stage. Stepping forward, he offered the feather to a startled-looking young female, who set it down and blinked at it, obviously at a loss.
The enthralled little ones needed no prompting from their minders to cheer—that, they managed on their own.
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Posted: Sat May 24, 2008 11:23 pm
Part I – The Sentinel
Player: Lumenne
Name: Arethusa
Nicknames: Are (pronounced Ah-rey)
Species: Sentinel of Noctua
Age: Adult
Hatch Date: ?
Type: Wildtype
Task: Skydancer
Personality:
Are is the type of Sentinel who will put on a performance in the hope that someone will be impressed and come up to him afterward and introduce themselves. As a result, he tends to take risks during the actual performances that he wouldn’t normally do. He can and does break the ice himself at times, but it takes a lot of effort. This is all why he embraces the Bardic lifestyle, where he can hide behind a role. His favorite pastimes are dancing and acting. He is a fairly decent singer, but prefers to take secondary parts, as he believes that singing is like baring your soul to whoever may be listening. He is difficult to anger, as he’d rather take the high road (read: WIMP OUT) and let the other Sentinel have his or her way. Instead of being a typical romantic type of bard, he has a love affair with food and eats whenever he has the chance. Luckily, his chosen profession keeps him fit.
History:
This Sentinel was minder-raised, being the smaller of two hatchlings with busy parents. He was always quiet and rather self-absorbed, but he wasn’t a pushover when it came to getting fed. This is likely what kept his parents from shoving him out of the nest and forgetting about him altogether. When he was a little older, he was bullied by other fledglings, due to his meek nature.
Arethusa and the other young ones he was raised with were often taken to watch Bardic performances. He had actually aspired to being a Ranger or some other solitary type, but he was told by an old Bard that he had potential. Since praise was scarce for the little guy, he ate it up like a fat, juicy Mus and decided then and there that he would be a Bard.
Once he learned to fly, he discovered his talent for making unsually difficult maneuvers in the air. He began to practice hard for the title of Skydancer, which he hoped would gain him great amounts of positive attention. This is also when he had his dye job done. What he didn’t expect was how quickly dancing grew on him. He loves it more than any other aspect of his profession, but not quite as much as he loves food. Since Are is fairly new in his task of Skydancing, he is not a perfect performer and is very aware of that fact. He aspires to become the best there is, even if it means sacrificing a couple of weeks here and there to nurse a strained wing in his quest for better moves.
Territory: Are has laid claim to three trees in the outskirts of the Not Cold Forest. He’s too shy to push for anything more. This place has more than enough room for him, with plenty of nearby deer trails to hunt on.
Mate: No
Companions: Yes
Part II – Companions
Name: Bob and Weave
Species: Parus
Age: Adult
Speech Ability: Bob-4/Weave-2
Intelligence: Bob-4/Weave-3
Skill: Assisting with performances, passing messages
Part III – RP Post
“No, no – take the flowers over there.”
The young bard ducked his head down between his shoulders and shivered, sending a ripple through his feathers from head to claw. His pair of Parus were doing everything wrong. He was losing his focus trying to correct all of their mistakes. With a deep breath, he held up one wing -- dyed with delicate curls of green -- to signal to them. This silent motion brought the little birds wheeling back. They knew what the signal meant. It was time to perform.
When Arethusa took his first steps onto the stage, the audience went silent. For a few moments, the thrums of conversation still echoed through the trees. The bard bowed his jade-tufted head, hiding everyone from his sight while he slowed his racing heart. The flight instinct was trying to take him, but he wouldn’t flee. He would use that instinct, channeling the adrenaline to fuel his performance. He listened for the flutter of Parus wings.
“The moon is coming up!” his Companions sang as they swooped over the crowd, dropping clawfuls of flowers.
At the call, Arethusa touched his wingtips to the ground. His head slowly rose, eyes wide in mimickry of the bright circle that lived in the darkness above the canopy. When his stood as tall as he could, the lithe male rolled his head, turning the movement into a smooth, full body revolution. As he turned, he fanned his wings over his back, displaying the intricate designs that had been stained into his feathers. A pause, and then he lowered his wings and took three paces forward. Then he raised his wings again.
“We give this dance offering to Noctus!” came the cry of a Parus.
Heartbeats blurring together, Arethusa again faced the crowd. He propelled himself forward with a sweep of his wings and abandoned the stage, flapping with wide, powerful strokes to gain altitude. His two parus followed at a length’s distance. His destination was the air high above the center of the audience. There, he gracefully flared, while his Companions shot past him and executed a synchronized loop that brought them back to their place behind him.
His next set of maneuvers were much simpler, designed to reserve his strength. Long glides and gentle, fluid swoops, enhanced by the flashes of color that were his Parus in the midst of their aerial acrobatics. At the end of this set, there was a folding of wings in mid-glide. His body dipped and then he unfurled his wings, his mind’s eye picturing a whirling flower opening its petals.
From there he arched down toward the gathering of Sentinels below. His eyes were closed as he descended, tilting into a wide ring. It was as the movement a falling leaf, the circles becoming smaller and smaller as he closed in on the audience. Below him, some of the more nervous clan members were scuttling out of the way. He opened his eyes and saw this in the fraction of a second before his wings opened. His tailfeather extensions grazed the heads of the watching Sentinels as he sailed past. The finishing glide was long, but he managed to hold it until he reached the stage. The low speed made the landing effortless; he touched down weightlessly, letting his wings roll back. He brought them forward over his head as he turned and bowed.
When he again looked toward the audience, his heart leapt at the sound of cheering and the sight of many Sentinels sighing and contentedly fluffing their feathers. His eartufts rose with pride and triumph. Arethusa had completed his first dance for the clan and for Noctus.
He had earned the title of Skydancer.
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Posted: Sun May 25, 2008 12:42 pm
Couldn't resist. Wheee... This was fun to write! Part I – The Sentinel
Player: Annchen
Name: Wonderberry (yes really... he'd rather be called Nightshade however)
Nicknames: Nightshade (artist name)
Species: Sentinel of Noctua
Age: Adult
Hatch Date: any
Type: Wildtype
Task: Skydancer
Personality: Wonderberry is very eager to please and is extremely self conscious. His lack of self confidence has made him extremely vain and he would be lost without his featherstyler who he sees about touch ups and styling more often that what's strictly necessary. While he desperately longs for compliments and praise to reassure himself, he doesn't really believe he's worthy of it.
When he does get some positive attention it sends him into a happy daze, until he eventually crashes down from his high and starts to wonder when they will notice he's just a fake. Sure, he has worked hard, and sure he is getting quite good at dancing, but... but...
Luckily for everyone else Wonderberry will usually keep his doubts and whining to himself. He occasionally breaks down in front of his featherstyler, but she gets paid good enough to take it as part of the job.
The cocky entertainer and dancer Nightshade and the timid Wonderberry doesn't quite match up in his mind. He's just wondering when everyone will notice that he's just faking it...
His dearest wish is to find a nice Wildtype female to settle down with. He could easily trade for the most delicious Skurri to give her, and he would dance for her every night. It would be perfectly romantic but there are two problems that might complicate things.
1. He can't fight. He won his current territory mostly by bluffing and appearing to be meaner and tougher than he is. But Wonderberry don't think he'll be able to bluff himself into a good enough territory to impress the lady of his dreams.
2. He's too timid to make a move even if he really likes someone, he prefers to dream about her.
He falls in love easily, both in females and in ideas, but the thought of mating with someone who's not a wildtype would probably not even cross his mind.
History: He was given up to the Minders as an egg since his parents were fertile enough to produce four eggs. He got a good childhood in the enclave and fell into the bard task mostly because others though he was good at it. Wonderberry's life has been full of decisions made because of comments from others. As a bard apprentice he was told that he was a graceful flyer and Wonderberry instantly fell in love with the idea of becoming a Skydancer. He worked really hard to accomplice that dream, sacrificing a lot in order to reach his goal, but when it finally came true he had trouble realising that he was worthy of the title.
Territory: He has miraculously managed to take a decent tree in Deep Woods (with his training he can fake a wicked threat display and the poor sod that used to inhabit the tree believed him and left without a fight) Now he's dreading the day when someone will realise he’s just a big fake and try to take it from him. He knows that they'll succeed.
Mate: None *sigh*
Companions: Parus, dyed to match. Possibly with feather extensions that's only used for performances.
Part II – Companions
Name: Fiddlehead
Species: Parus
Age: Adult
Speech Ability: 1
Intelligence: 3
Skill:Singing and sitting still when he gets styled and has feathers nearly twice his size fastened on his tail.Prompt'Always the dancer, never the mate', Wonderberry thought unhappily and winced as an out of place feather was unceremoniously plucked from his head. If he hadn't been terrified out of his mind at the thought of the performance tonight he would have fled long ago. "Big audience tonight," he murmured, and shifted nervously on his perch "biig audience..." "Don't fidget, Love," Toadstool said and tugged at his ear tuft with more force than was strictly necessary. The dancer winced but obeyed his featherstyler. You didn't want to get on the wrong talon with someone who could easily pluck you bald or cut off your eartufts. "There," she said, satisfied with the placement of the last feather graft. "All set for the big performance! Now don't go crashing headfirst into a tree, these are expensive feathers." "Thanks for your concern," he said and rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes... I'll have to give you my first hatched chick if I damage the feathers. It's good to know your priorities." "Feathers before featherheads," she said cheerfully, "Off you go!" … Nightshade landed on his perch just in time, and helped his Parus to get in position. Fiddlehead was dyed to match him and could barely fly with his feather extensions. It didn't matter since the companion was there to sing and not to fly. In a few heartbeats the moon would shine through the foliage up there. The sky was cloudless above, and with some luck and timing a ray would soon – now – shine through and signal the start of his routine. As soon as the first rays of moonshine hit his feathers, Nightshade bowed down and was pleased to hear that Fiddle took his cue and started to sing a slow tune. He spread his wings forward and fanned his tail displaying every detail of his feather dye. When he was sitting head down and tail up, and looked as if he might fall off the perch any minute, he slowly extended first one wing and then the next. At that moment he needed every ounce of strength and will to stay on his perch, but he held his position with wings completely outstretched and tail fanned for several heartbeats. With one powerful flap he attempted to erect himself, but to his horror he needed one more wingflap before he sat upright again and could continue. Wonderberry nearly blacked out from the utter shame, but continued his routine by stretching his shaking wings up high, greeting Noctus and his audience before lifting off. Fiddle had better timing than his master and the Parus song reached a crescendo. Nightshade executed the airborne part of his routine in a daze. After a shaky start where he narrowly avoided hitting a tree he managed to weave between the rest of them quite gracefully. Turning back he nailed the mock attacks towards the audience. But just as he started to relax he made a mistake with his steep dive, coming out of it awkwardly with a few heavy flaps before he could rise up again. With failure weighing down on him he didn't dare to fly as close to his audience as he usually did before finishing his performance. When he landed and bowed Wonderberry fully expected to be mocked and chased away. But despite his fears the audience erupted in hoots and cheers. Stunned he bowed again, and again, and had to show off his precise flying around the trees once more before the hoots died out and was replaced with a murmur. 'When will they find out,' he wondered, heart swelling with pride despite the obvious mistakes he had made, 'when will they find out that I'm not really that good?'
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