#applesyrcusweek

Guidelines

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• General, NPC\OC, and NPC/NPC are alright.

• NSFW is welcomed, but please be courteous and tag your work.

• Entries must be tagged under #applesyrcusweek or #applesyrcusweek2025

If you have any questions, please feel free to reach out in our ask box or replies. We hope to see you in July!

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There's a chance that Dawntrail's 7.3 update will be announced in July, so if there happens to be overlap in dates, the event's dates will be moved forward before the update releases. We hope this will not happen, but if it does we'll announce the new dates right away!

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You thought Azem had overstated the beauty of the place, but upon your arrival, you realized how wrong you had been. Green spread as far as the eye could see, undulating like the waves of some terrestrial ocean and broken only by darker patches that marked copses of trees. Clouds glided lazily by, beneath which groups of herbivores grazed and snored upon blades of grass. Somewhere ahead, some sort of avian creature cried as it dove then climbed back up with a mole in its claws. Hermes watched it fly into the distance, where the hills melted into the sweeping heavens. A stolen glance at the man beside you was enough confirmation that this was the perfect decision. Hermes couldn’t take his eyes off his surroundings. Who could, though? Even you were briefly rendered speechless. 

“Marvelous, isn’t it?” you said in his silence. 

“Simply,” he replied. 

Now you peek through the kitchen windows at the orchard behind the cottage. You spot Hermes still picking apples there, reaching for the lower branches and then inspecting every specimen as though his life depends on it. He’s looking for the best of the best. Azem has given you the go-ahead to harvest the entire orchard—which you would rather avoid, to be perfectly honest. Prior to your departure, you had clearly articulated to Hermes that he needed more nourishment than a mere apple can provide, despite how easy it is to obtain and consume or how his own orchard yields plentiful harvest every moon. Yes, you know about his secret picnic spot behind the Cthonic Horns. Whatever he says, it is not a replacement for a proper meal and rest. Weariness lines his face and his shoulders have begun to stoop. If he only lets you, you would take half his burden into your own hands, but you know as well as anyone else that your partner has a tendency to drive himself to exhaustion. That he cannot see it himself frustrates you sometimes, but is that not why you are here? 

The enamel clock rings on the counter. You shake out of your reverie, return to the oven, then open the lid. Sweetness pours out in waves of enticing scents. Wearing your mitts, you take the tray out and set it next to the stove. The surface has hardened to a charming golden brown. You’re tempted to taste it but decide against it, instead placing it on a shelf to cool. 

That is the last of it. You’ve laid out the rest of your lunch on the table: stir fried vegetables, grilled salmon, lamb skewers, green salad with sliced apples and smoked chicken, and a pot of light potato and mushroom soup. A crystal decanter of fresh apple juice sits neatly at the center of the table between two identical mugs adorned with gold-painted leaves. Now all you need to do is collect Hermes. 

You exit the cottage through the back door, then climb the slope up to the orchard at the top of the hill. He’s already set a mat on the slope, where a basket is sitting, already filled to the brim. Upon your approach, he pauses mid-apple picking, a natural smile blooming across his handsome features. 

“Ah, you’re here.” He breaks the apple stem from its branch. “Good timing. Here, try this. I think this is the best one yet.” Wiping the apple on his robe, Hermes then pivots it right to your lips, and you unbiddenly take a bite. Cool sweetness fills your mouth with each crunch of the apple flesh between your teeth. You blink in surprise. It is much sweeter than any you’ve tasted at the Horns. The best of the best, as he says and Azem claims. “Delicious, isn’t it?” His smile is too bright for a piece of apple now in your hand. 

As he walks back to the orchard seeking more of the prime specimens, your gaze inadvertently follows him. Dappled sunlight dances along his dark countenance, his black robe stark against the warm colors of the trees. He has taken off his mask, his face a picture of quiet jubilance as he moves from one tree to the next—checking, inspecting, examining, all with that scrutiny that marks every researcher of Amaurot. And when he finds another sample he’s taken with, his jade-colored eyes will crinkle, and he’ll pick the apple off at the stem and offer it to you again. 

Part of you wonders if this has all been Azem’s ruse as no one in their right mind would have any need for such an extensive orchard, let alone one exclusively for apples. But then again, Azem is quite the eccentric amongst Amaurotians. You cannot guess his mind. And does it truly matter? This was the reason why you helped Hermes harvest his first batch and made a pie and juice from it. Now he has a second batch and on the way to filling his third. A wry smile tugs your lips. You finish the apple in your hand and then join him at his side. 

“Look at this,” he says, “have you ever feasted your eyes upon a specimen so perfect, so marvelous in every aspect? The rich red color, the plumpness of its flesh, the way it glints gold under the sun.” Hermes swivels and brings the fruit to the dappled light. Indeed, however he turns it, the apple seems to be layered in gilt. “I must ask Azem how he achieves such magnificent results.”

There it is: the beam that always pulls at your heartstrings—a soft quirk of his lips that instantly erases any signs of fatigue from his face. The way his features contorted into pure rapture the moment the two of you arrived, how the jade of his eyes gleamed as he took in the grazing animals and bountiful trees; extracting him from duty is worth it if it allows you to see his unbridled joy. 

A gentle breeze ruffles Hermes’s hair. You reach up and tuck a stray strand behind his ear. He glances at you and you meet his gaze with a smile. “Lunch is ready. I’ve got lamb skewers, grilled salmon, potato soup. The apple juice from the apples you picked tastes divine, and of course, your apple pie is waiting too—cooling, still, but ready.” That piques his interest and you can’t help but laugh at his childish excitement. 

You mean to let go of his face, but in one swift movement, he has tossed the last apple into his basket and captured your hand.

“Hermes—?” 

His name dies in your throat when a soft sensation presses against the center of your palm.

Time stops. 

You blink once, then twice. Heat rushes to your neck when Hermes looks at you with half-lidded eyes. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. He holds your hand against his cheek and leans against it. 

“What for?”

“For this.” His gaze sweeps over the trees and the firmament and the little cottage with the puffing chimney where his lunch awaits. “For everything. If not for your adamance, I might not have agreed to come on this vacation, averse as I am to leave my work unfinished. But I see you are right. The trip has been worthwhile to replenish the soul.”

One would think the chief overseer of Elpis was a workaholic, and he is, but his ethics come from an earnest love for his creations and the desire to see them thrive. You cannot blame him for his passion, though it would be a tremendous boost if he could only see the pallor of his face or the dark circles under his eyes. For now, it is the only thing you can do to prevent his body from utterly crumbling. The perfect reward: bringing him to the most beautiful place known in Etheirys, recommended by the Traveler himself, where creatures of all shapes and sizes can be seen frolicking in the sea of grass and the high heavens above.

You tug at his hand. “Come, let us get some color back into those cheeks.”