#@thescorpioracesfestival

[thescorpioracesfestival]

Hello denizens of Thisby (and visitors)! Just a quick update. We are planning on hosting the Scorpio Races Festival this year, and we'll be posting a schedule and whatnot soon!

[lucimiir]

master post

[pickleandthequeen]

Training #1

Welcome to Thisby!

Evvy came to Thisby as a tourist, but returned soon after to stay, the call of the island awakening a longing in her. She had never felt so alive.

After watching Puck and Sean’s fateful race, she knew she had to make an attempt. Puck established that women could race, and a few others have tried with varied success.

Evvy met and rode a few horses for the experience, and found them to be as addicting as her beloved land horses, but wondered if the magics and charms and superstitions were as necessary as the islanders believe, she wondered if the water horses can be tamed with less aversive methods, and decided to try. The worst that happens, she supposed, is she chucks the horse back into the ocean, or she dies.

Originally an American, she came to the island as an escape during a period of feeling lost, with the hope of finding some new energy and a direction. Although she did not expect to find it being on Thisby, after leaving the island it continued to call to her and she came back. She started a small physical therapy clinic out of the medical practice on the island and began to rent a room in Skarmouth.

@thescorpioracesfestival

[cipher-the-sidhe]

Training Challenge 1: introduce your rider - Welcome to Thisby!

@thescorpioracesfestival

Branwen McCurley has always known that, one day, she would drown.

Stormy green-grey eyes had looked out to the cold, haunted sea of the Galway coastline and had dreamed of manes mixing with the foam capped waves. The sound of equine screams sang to her from the water, whispering of monsters that her own island tried its best to forget lurked in the deep. The water horses were there, but they would not come up on Galway’s shores. Not now.

Thisby island was known for its capaill usice, and for the blood soaked beaches it celebrated in November. As soon as she was old enough, Bran took her savings from working at her uncle’s pub and boarded a one-way boat to the island, eyes fixed on the water. She arrived in September. By the end of October she had a blue-roan capaill of her own. The water horse had come to her as if she’d been waiting for Bran to arrive, trudging up onto the shore on a far corner early in the morning and putting up no fight at all when Bran had slipped a rope over her and led her further ashore to her tiny, modest barn on the cliffs.

They had an understanding. Never once did Bran think of her capaill as a horse. She couldn’t see her as anything other than what she was, and in those sea-silver eyes there was the same understanding that Bran had brought with her: one day, Bran would drown, and it’d be the capaill that brought her to it. So the girl had named her Rán, for the goddess of the dead at sea, and that was that.

Six years later, the lass and the capaill emerge from their cliff side isolation to join the Scorpio Races. Will this first race be the one where Rán pulls her into the Scorpio sea for good? The way Bran sees it, this can only end one of two ways: either they win, or she dies.

[vintervittrannerd]

Training Challenge #3

“Based on my experience on the beach the day before, I form a new plan.”

How did your rider’s first day of training go? @thescorpioracesfestival

Freya had spent her fair share of time down at the beach during training season. The capaill uisce were driven mad by the autumn sea, and there were too many of them packed at the beach, so injuries that required a vet were bound to happen. The first days of training was always a mess. It was screaming horses and screaming humans and broken bones and blood on the sand and very very little actual helpful training.

Freya wasn’t interested in risking both her and Corax life in the chaos called training that was happening on the beach these first days. Later, after the parade when things are more orderly, she’d take Corax down to train amongst the others. But for now, they’d stick to the cliffs and the occasional early mornings on the beach.

It’s still early, the sun barley risen over the horizon as they make their way down to the beach. It’s not the Skarmouth beach, where everyone would be today, but the beach below their farm. The beach where Freya found Kaja all those years ago. It feels like an eternity ago, and like it was yesterday, all at once.

The beach isn’t fit for riding, it’s too rocky and uneven, but riding is not what they’re here for. Instead, Freya leads Corax along the shoreline, just barley letting the waves touch his hooves. With one hand she’s firmly holding the lead rope, while the other ties knots in Corax mane, and she whispers low and constant in his ears. The knots are to ground herself, to guard from the magic in Corax veins and the lure of the capaill uisce. The whispers are to ground Corax, to remind him that she is there and to distract him from the call of the sea. She leads him back and forward on the beach, each turn taking them a little further into the ocean. It’s a dangerous game, but one they’ve played many times before. Freya has all of her attention on Corax, making sure he still pays attention to her and not the sea, but in doing so she can’t watch the sea for signs of any wild capaill uisce. Luckily, the sea is shallow here, only slowly getting deeper, so the sea horses must rise from the sea a distance away if they want to attack. They’d still reach Freya quickly, but at least she would have a warning.

Corax is calm and focused today, so Freya slowly takes them further out until Corax has water up to the middle of his cannons. Then they stop, and Freya feeds Corax a few pieces of raw meat as they stand still, letting the sea suck and tug at their legs. The sea is luring them, wanting to drag them out into its depth, but it’s still far from November, and they’ve done this every year since Corax was just a colt. They can resist the sea. Freya just hopes that will still be true on the day of the races.

Masterlist

[62watermelons]

Training Challenge #1: Welcome to Thisby!

Introduce your rider. Are they from Thisby, the mainland, or farther abroad? Why are they racing?

My name is Adam Kelly. I’ve lived here on the island my whole life. I’m freshly 18, finally able to race without my mother hanging over my shoulder telling me not to. I’m racing for freedom. I’ve lived too long in an unhappy home. I’m racing for the prize, hoping to win the money and set out on my own. Otherwise, I’ve worked at a small repair shop here on the island for a year now.. and it’s not enough pay to set out on my own. I need that extra push of money to start moving. I found my Capall, Raithneach on the beach one night. I found her in a moment of weakness, combing the beach for signs of a Capall. She walked from the water and something in me was drawn to her.. I’ve never felt a connection with another animal quite like her. My hands are strong from the repairs I’ve done for years at the shop and I was able to hold her and avoid being bitten until she calmed and allowed me to lead her. I’m entering the race with Raithneach on my side, hoping our connection will take us far.

Training Challenge #2: “She’s moody and she’s slippery and she’s in love with the sea.”

Describe your capall uisce. What challenges does your rider face with this one?

Raithneach is a young Capall, a light gray-blue with the softest white eyes. She’s strong and fast. She can be aggressive with the other Capall, reaching over to bite and snarl at them when they get too close. I know she won’t bite me.. I can feel it. She’s mine and I’m hers. We’re in this together. My only worry is her aggressive streak.. Fearing her teeth sinking into other Capall during training.

(sorry i’m a day late!!) @thescorpioracesfestival

Training Challenge #3: “Based on my experience on the beach the day before, I form a new plan.”

How did your rider’s first day of training go?

My first day on the beach. I’m overwhelmed and taken by the sight of the other capall on the beach. My hands start to tremble as I lead Raithneach to the emptiest part of the beach. She nips at the other capall as we pass them and I try to steer her lead away from them. She huffs at me but doesn’t try to fight back. We get to an empty place and I climb on her back and take the reigns in my hands. I give her a soft tap to get her going. We start at a soft trot and I can feel my heart in my throat. As we pick up speed I feel the wind in my hair and feel the sea breeze. I’ve never felt more free. She races fast, kicking up sand behind her hooves. Her head is pointed straight ahead, lowered slightly. I feel the world slow down around us as she rounds to take the corner, leaving the beach momentarily to go to the hills. I steer her back to the sand. We race along the water's edge for what feels like just a few moments. The sun started to set over the horizon and I steer her home.

[the-man-who-loved-a-mare]

Training Challenge #1

"Welcome to Thisby!"

Jaxom pushed his russet hair from his face, hands brushing the scar that zig-zagged from his hairline down to his chin. It was stretched and faded now, but the stares it got him never seemed to lessen. Especially now, as tourists began to flood the town and beaches, the unfamiliar faces gaped and turned to their city-dressed companions to whisper under their breath as he passed. It fazed him less now than it had when he was a child, turning to burrow his face into his mother’s woollen skirts. Now, the young man had the confidence to ignore the whispers, no acknowledgement given to those who pierced the comforting vale of his island home to turn their lives into a spectacle.

His tumultuous thoughts didn’t settle as he strode back home, mindlessly following the familiar paths he’d been treading since he learned to walk. His foray to Skarmouth had taken longer than usual, as his attention piqued and pulled at the store fronts, baubles and decorations already finding homes in preparation for the Races on the first of November.

Usually, the autumn months came and went without much change for the Willis family. Isolated high up amongst the rolling hills and fields of Thisby, most years the family of sheepherders simply prepared their flocks for winter, allowing the grit and the glamour of the Races to pass them by. Occasionally, his mother, and the sister six years his junior, Maeve, would make their way down to the town to sell spun wool and yarn to the tourists for prices that made them giggle and dance with glee, but Jaxom always found himself pulled away into tending the flock by his father. Twenty-three years on the island, his entire life, and never once had Jaxom made it to the festivities, let alone the Races. When he was younger, the boy had begged and pleaded year after year for his parents to permit him to attend, “just once, just for a day, an hour, please!”

Once, in the autumn of his twelfth year, the sheep had strayed far from their usual fields, and Jaxom, the ever-attentive shepherd, followed, trailing behind his wandering flock until verdant pastures fell away into sheer cliffs and where they made landfall the soft sand of the beach met the dark waters of the October ocean. Far below him, Jaxom could make out the tiny shapes of riders and capaill as they trained, so small they seemed more like the toys laid out on his bedroom floor than living and breathing beings. Entranced, the boy had turned his attention to the beaches, watching as stories of life and death and glory played out beneath him. The soft sounds of the surf breaking against the shore filled his mind, the ‘shh, shh, shh’ of waves delighting his youthful ears in an unfamiliar way. His reverie was only broken when he felt the rough hands of his father hauling him away from the cliff’s edge, and as he looked up into the darkening sky the realization he’d been absorbed for hours shook him.

The fallout was spectacular. His parents, usually calm and loving, had seethed, his father colossal in his rage. His mother wept and wailed, and made him promise over and over he would never do such a thing again, that he wouldn’t even think about the capaill and the Scorpio Sea. Jaxom promised. He stopped begging after that.

Always an honest man, Jaxom had done right by his promise, dutifully attending the flocks year after year while the festivities passed him by. This year, however, was the year he would break that promise. He hadn’t really meant to, nor did he particularly want too, but a late February storm had brought the best thing in his life to him, and racing was the only way he stood a chance at keeping her.

Thank you to @the-seething-child for sketching Jaxom for me!

@thescorpioracesfestival

[talesofmaehem]

Week 1: Character Challenge 1

I was born on this island and I’ll die on it. 

Today, the possibility of death seems more potent than usual. It might have something to do with the ominous gray clouds that sit low and heavy in the sky, whipping the ocean to madness. More likely, it has to do with the blue roan capall that watches me with her sly eye, her lip peeled back in a morbid smile. I flick a length of red leather tied to a hawthorn switch at her and she rears her head back, offended. 

She is hot and lathered and I have not even convinced her to wear a saddle yet. We are high on the cliff tops, though I do not think it does much to muffle the song of the sea. Not with the clouds as low as they are. Not with November crouched mere weeks before us, hungry and eager. 

The wind tears at us as it races over the cliffs and my capall picks up her feet, trotting in place, restless for speed. A wild, dangerous part of me wants to slip onto her back, no saddle between us, and chase the wind across the cliff tops. I think of my mother disappearing into the waves on the back of the grey stallion. I do not think that race would end well for me. 

I twist the three iron beads I wear on a length of red thread wound around my wrist. I twist them seven times, though it is more out of habit than true superstition. My father was there when they pulled Columba from the ocean, looking as though he only slept and not at all like he’d been swallowed by the sea months ago. Ever since then, my father had sworn off the old ways, but I never understood all the fuss over a man even the sea didn’t want. My mother felt the same. She’d always tell us bairns the old stories when our father was out on the boat. Giants and fairies and capaill uisce pulled from the tide. 

I eye my capall. She is sleek and slippery as the rocks at low tide. I can’t imagine how I will ever be able to ride her. I hear Connan’s voice telling me I am a fool for pursuing this endeavor, but it is drowned out by the ocean beating against the sand far below us. 

It sounds unnervingly like hoofbeats. 

I remember my mother telling me that names have power. In all her stories, the fairies kept them secret because knowing their true name gave you power over them. I watch my restless mare paw the ground and toss her head to the wind. Her slender legs are nimble and blacker than sin. I turn my mother’s stories over and over again. I do not know this capall’s true name, but perhaps if I give her one of my own, she’ll be less inclined to drown me. 

I listen to the whistle of the howling wind through the cliff grass. The name slips easily from my tongue.

“Nimm.”

She turns her great dark eye and looks at me. 

[we-dream-instead-of-drown]

I did my best not to wrinkle my nose at the smell. Seagulls whined and took flight as we made our way to the docks. The sounds and the smells crowded tight around me.

I followed Isak as he wove around the crab traps, old fishing nets and coils of rope. A few vessels were already back, and Isak nodded greeting at the workers as he passed. 

He helped me lug buckets full of cast off fish entrails and heads around the outskirts of the town back to the stable. It wasn’t red meat, but it would have to do. 

I snagged my coat on the way in and set the buckets down so I could shrug into it. It was still damp and smelled like the sea, but the wool still kept out the worst of the cold. 

Kaf turns tight circles in her pen, restless. Her ears flick toward me as I enter, and her nostrils flare at the scent of fish. 

At least her interest seems more focused on the fish than me. 

After sliding a bucket into the stall I watched anxiously to see if she would accept my offering. She pulled her lips back from her teeth as if in disgust before delicately crunching a fish head as though it were an apple. 

“I need to get to work.” Isak said in a low voice, just outside the stable. 

“I owe you so much. I’ll find a way to repay you, I promise.” 

He just shrugged and half smiled, kicking a stone down the road on his way out of the yard. 

I took a deep breath as I watched him go, bracing myself for what was next.

Only one person I know has a racing saddle they aren’t using, and I definitely don’t have the money to buy one.

It was time to face Beth. 

Kaf seemed temporarily sated by the fish, but thoughts of her teeth hung around the back of my mind as I followed the familiar path down to the fishermans hut. 

I duck into the semi-darkness of the shack and confirm what I already know. Beth is there waiting for me. The distant sound of waves fills up the prickly silence between us. 

She breaks the silence first. 

“When were you going to tell me?” She’s curled up on her chair in the corner.

“I was planning on telling you when I came to get the saddle today.” I sit across from her. 

She rubs her ankle distractedly. “Do you even have a plan?”

“In theory. The stall seems to be holding, and I’ve got dozens of charms for backup. Something’s got to work.”

We both watch the rectangle of light filtering in from the cloudy sky. 

Beth takes a shaky breath. “And in the race?”

I know this is bringing back all kinds of horrible memories for her. 

“I’ll stick to the cliffs, hang back until there’s an opening. I’ll be careful.”

She huffs out a breath. 

“Show me the charms, because you can’t trust everything people around here say. Daisy chains and bells did nothing against-” She cuts herself off, not willing to invoke the name of the water horse that nearly killed her. 

I begin emptying out my coat pockets, lining up broken iron nails, hag stones, rune scratched driftwood, a dried sprig of red berries, and explain to her. 

“The yarrow rope held her. The ash wood affected her and the sea glass calmed her. The stable is full of iron keys and bells and snail shells.”

Laid out between us is our chance to get off the island. Beth reaches out to brush a ragged blue feather. 

“I won’t watch you race.” 

“I’ll be okay. I’m not dying on this island.”

She sighs. “Let’s get the saddle.”

[thescorpioracesfestival]

The Scorpio Races Festival 2023: Introduction & Challenges

From the sea, to the sea.

GETTING STARTED

Make sure you’re following​ @thescorpioracesfestival​

If you’re participating in the Character Challenges, sign up by reblogging the Rider Post.

Refer to the Character Challenge Posts for prompts and schedule.

Include the challenge number and title in your posts.

Tag each post with the official tags (#TSRF2023 and #thescorpioracesfestival) and mention @thescorpioracesfestival.

New this year! Consider posting your entries to our AO3 collection!

You can plan ahead or catch up later, but try to post during the specified week (and not before) so we can all enjoy things together!

Complete Rules

Character Challenges

Week One: Sign Ups & Beach Training | Oct 1 - 11

Reading Challenge: Prologue - Chapter 27

Training Challenge #1: Welcome to Thisby!

Introduce your rider. Are they from Thisby, the mainland, or farther abroad? Why are they racing?

Training Challenge #2: “She’s moody and she’s slippery and she’s in love with the sea.”

Describe your capall uisce. What challenges does your rider face with this one?

Training Challenge #3: “Based on my experience on the beach the day before, I form a new plan.”

How did your rider’s first day of training go?

Week Two: The Festival | Oct. 12 - 18

Reading Challenge: Chapter 28-44

Training Challenge #4: Make a Friend

Are they an islander, a tourist, or another rider? How do you meet?

Training Challenge #5: “By my blood.”

What challenges does your rider face going into the Festival?

Training Challenge #6: Explore the Festival

How does your rider navigate the Festival? What do they do before and after the Riders Parade?

Week Three: Cliff Training | Oct. 19 - 25

Reading Challenge: Chapters 45-56

Training Challenge #7: “Racing is about more than riding.”

What is your rider learning about racing, especially on a capall uisce?

Training Challenge #8: Home & Family

What motivates your rider to compete in the races? Who do they have behind them cheering them on?

Training Challenge #9: Obstacles

Training continues—how does it go for your rider? Have they made any enemies on the beach?

Week 4: The Races | Oct. 26 - Nov. 1

Reading Challenge: Chapters 57-66

Training Challenge #10: "On horseback, it's easy to be certain."

Write about the final days leading up to the races. Does your rider feel ready? Is their capall going to listen to them?

Training Challenge #11: "It's not much farther. Only three furlongs, maybe. I don't want to hope, but I can feel it pumping through me."

Create a post about the races!

Training Challenge #12: After the Races

What does your rider do once the races are over?

Creative Challenges

Challenges can be done in any order at any time throughout the Festival! And don’t let this limit you; if there’s something you want to create and share for the Festival, please do!

Creative Challenge #1: Wayfaring

Sketch, describe, or otherwise create a map of Thisby.

Creative Challenge #2: Cosplay

Describe, create, photograph, or draw an outfit you would wear while touring, working, or riding about Thisby.

Creative Challenge #3: Mainland Radio

Create a soundtrack for the Races, Festival, or Thisby in general.

Creative Challenge #4: Your Capall

Create a capall! Use one of the provided templates, or draw or edit your own.

Creative Challenge #5: November Cakes

Thisby is full of wonderful food—November cakes, cinnamon twists, apple cakes and chainsaw, and tea! Make something Thisby-inspired and share.

Creative Challenge #6: Moodboards

Make a moodboard inspired by the book or your character.

Creative Challenge #7: Charms

What items do you use to protect yourself during race season?

Creative Challenge #8: The Festival

Make a mask, souvenir, or other item that you could get at the Festival!

[lucimiir]

master post

[pickleandthequeen]

Marimo leapt forward with an explosion of sand and surf, in his customary half rear, half leap. He hit the ground galloping, and Evvy pushed her hands forward to avoid catching him in the mouth.

Thank you to @thescorpioracesfestival for organizing such a fun and creative event!! I hope to participate again next year.

I am posting all my written drabbles related to the festival on my AO3 in the story “Becoming Thisby” 😁 I’m so happy to have been able to explore Thisby in a immersive sense this year!

[skaldofskarmouth]

From Thisby by Skald of Skarmouth

Let me send a postcard from Thisby

An elegy to the Mare Goddess’s Memory

A story recorded on island sands

Marked by the tracks of mare and man

a winner will rise, high as the tide

High as the cliffs they race alongside

[vintervittrannerd]

Training Challenge #7: “Racing is about more than riding.”

 What is your rider learning about racing, especially on a capall uisce? @thescorpioracesfestival

Racing, Freya has found out, is all about knowing your limits and pushing them the exact right amount. If you don’t push them, or do it too slowly, you might as well not even enter the races, because you’ll never be where you have to be on race day. But pushing them too much or too fast… well, that way you won’t live to see the winter.

Freya has seen it both too many times to count. She’s seen it previous years when she worked alongside grandpa down at the beach, and she’s seen it this year as she watched the training from above.

Some riders play it safe, as safe as racing on murderous beasts can ever be at least. They train as far from the sea as they can, never daring to come close to it. They drape their horses in charms and iron, in desperate attempts to distract them from the November magic. They hold the rains too tight, never daring to give the capaill uisce even a small bit of freedom, never daring to be fast. If they make it to race day, they’re not ready for it. Many die, many loses their horses to the sea, and the ones that survive usually don’t manage to cross the finish line.

Other riders are too daring. They throw themselves into the chaos at the beach, with newly caught, or newly bought capaill uisce and too little training. They try to be fast. They drive their horses too far. They push too hard, too fast. They end up drowned, or eaten, or dashed against the rocks.

Freya don’t want to make the same mistakes. She knows her and Corax limits, here at the cliffs and at the small rocky shore bellow their farm. For weeks now, well years if truth be told, she has tested them and stretched them and prepared as much as she could. But now, it is time to truly push them. Today they’ll train on the beach with the others. Freya is terrified they’re not ready.

Masterlist

[novelsandknittingneedles]

"he is slow, and the sea sings to us both, but he returns to me."

the scorpio races

creative challenge no. 1

@thescorpioracesfestival

[roseravenkey]

The Scorpio Races Festival Mood Board #1: Sleipnir

@thescorpioracesfestival