Events and Story

A long, slim body shot over the orchard, flying low so the branches creaked and leaves whispered sharply, waking Quercus from his slumber. At first, he tried to ignore it, but after the third pass that rocked the tree in which he slept, he reluctantly made his way above the canopy, blinking sleepy eyes against the setting sun. The first thing to notice were the two red pennants flying at her sides, at the ends of golden poles embedded in her flesh. If they at all hindered her speed, sh...

A high cackle seemed to echo and reverberate around Patchwork Orchard. Quercus picked up his head, the leaves and pine needles around his neck rustling, and the spines down his back raising in slight alarm. He could feel it in his teeth, drilling down into his skull. It made him ill-at-ease, not in a way that inspired fear, but certainly convinced him he needed to be apprised of the situation. Quercus crawled out of his most recent, warm hidey-hole: the inside of an unfilled cornucopia...

Mayhem. Absolute mayhem in the orchard. The Chicken Snaketails scattered among the fallen apples and dried leaves. Their hurried steps crunched and their tails hissed as they dragged along the ground. Behind them, in hot pursuit, was Quilla. Her scarred maw opened and snapped, sharp teeth narrowly missing her sprightly prey. There was no frustration in her green eyes, only thrill and anticipation, the joy of the hunt. From the safety of the boughs of the trees, Quercus wa...

Blending in with the carpet of dead leaves, the dappled shade beneath the apple trees, and the dull colors of autumn, Quercus stalked. The Patchwork Orchard was busy, busy, busy, and Jack had wanted eyes on the various denizens that moved around the hub of so many festivities. Quercus knew he was not the first choice, but he was the only choice that made sense. It was as if he were made to live in the Patchwork Orchard. So Jack had taken his head in their hands and impressed upon him...