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+--- Thread: Wheeling Gull Isle wet (/showthread.php?tid=21951)
wet - Komodo - May 23, 2017
Self imposed religiosity; something in him abhorred this part of his being and resented the large part of him that had been dedicated solely to the gods. There was nothing [would be nothing!] that Komodo opened himself to as willingly as he did orthodoxy and intoxicating dogma; the security that came when he waves his hands and blew his smokes and said his chants. He was skilled in the ways of the shaman, yes, but his communion and fervor stemmed from a healthy fear of anarchy, of knowing his fate to be outside of his hands, and a desire to control. When deep in prayer or tripping on divinity, Komodo never found a sense of wholeness or nirvana — instead, there was a very really sense of begging and pusillanimity. He wanted control and only the gods could give it to him.
There was little solace to be found in the arms of the spirits, after all.
Yet, the heavens roiled and thundered and the angakkuq deigned to return it a thousandfold. Yes, he would beg! He would contend! The gods were generous to those who asked — and knew how to — and Komodo was not above taking what was given to him. If his circumstances threatened him, the man only need to ask and his woes might be whisked away, as easily as the wind stirred the leaves. Komodo was not a man afraid of exertion and inconvenience [much the contrary], but using prayer to smooth his path through life had been what allowed him to see after such pursuits in the first place. There was no shame in it.
He could smell the electricity on the air. The atmosphere itself was not raining, yet, but the entire milieu was permeated with a type of dampness that clung to his bones and made everything smell of wet. Komodo looked down at the provisions assembled at his feet, slowly dampening upon the already-saturated ground. With much alacrity the earthstalker had gathered his materials and props, thoughts of Coelacanth and her ominous disappearance suspended for the time being. The fawnskin pouch that went ‘round his neck and hung against his breast had been emptied, the content purged upon the ground in front of him. A bone from a rabbit. The rattle of a snake. A shining, amber shard of myrrh. Gathered from inland, there was a bough of willow and the corpse of a hare — though the meal was not for him, no. The angakkuq hadn’t eaten in several days, fasting for the ceremony of it, and would sacrifice his food to appease those angered, higher beings.
Komodo let out several sonorous barks, awakening the world and alerting it to his intentions. Then he waited for the winds to whip around him, through his mottled pelt and across the island landscape, answering his call.
There was little solace to be found in the arms of the spirits, after all.
Yet, the heavens roiled and thundered and the angakkuq deigned to return it a thousandfold. Yes, he would beg! He would contend! The gods were generous to those who asked — and knew how to — and Komodo was not above taking what was given to him. If his circumstances threatened him, the man only need to ask and his woes might be whisked away, as easily as the wind stirred the leaves. Komodo was not a man afraid of exertion and inconvenience [much the contrary], but using prayer to smooth his path through life had been what allowed him to see after such pursuits in the first place. There was no shame in it.
He could smell the electricity on the air. The atmosphere itself was not raining, yet, but the entire milieu was permeated with a type of dampness that clung to his bones and made everything smell of wet. Komodo looked down at the provisions assembled at his feet, slowly dampening upon the already-saturated ground. With much alacrity the earthstalker had gathered his materials and props, thoughts of Coelacanth and her ominous disappearance suspended for the time being. The fawnskin pouch that went ‘round his neck and hung against his breast had been emptied, the content purged upon the ground in front of him. A bone from a rabbit. The rattle of a snake. A shining, amber shard of myrrh. Gathered from inland, there was a bough of willow and the corpse of a hare — though the meal was not for him, no. The angakkuq hadn’t eaten in several days, fasting for the ceremony of it, and would sacrifice his food to appease those angered, higher beings.
Komodo let out several sonorous barks, awakening the world and alerting it to his intentions. Then he waited for the winds to whip around him, through his mottled pelt and across the island landscape, answering his call.
RE: wet - Aria - May 24, 2017
but the male's calls were not answered by a holy god, no, they were answered by a pale slyph-- proud in stature but humble in nature. aria was not a goddess, but her gaze glowed again with a grace that had replaced a dull, emotionless stare. she heard the call from not too far off, and was relieved to hear of someone else. it was true, everything on the island smelled of wet, and aria herself was having a hard time discovering anything except sand, salt, and a crab every now and then.
she'd been pacing the ocean (from a safe distance) in frustration, confusion, unsure of how her winter trip had somehow turned into a summer vacation-- a rather dreadful one at that. she'd patched her shoulder up herself, the wound still healing but well on it's way, but it made no sense how she'd gotten it-- or how she'd gotten into the ocean... or how the seasons had suddenly changed. and who was floki? why did she remember his name? and the handsome amber-eyed male? surely they were the same, and surely a dream. aria had no answers, she remembered only a journey from up north, and how she'd wanted to make a new name for herself. her only thought, when she'd heard the call, was that maybe this stranger would know.
he was nothing she hadn't seen before-- a handsome male. his trinkets made little sense to her, but she did not judge. she padded closer, one dainty paw after the other, her ears perked and her gaze studying him and the display before him. she was mostly interested in the sort of sack around his neck, but made no comments or gestures-- not yet. she was confident enough in her social-skills should he invite her to conversation, but he was a stranger still, and aria had no time to deal with a savage.
RE: wet - Komodo - May 26, 2017
His short series of bark rolled across the atoll and atop the open-aired ocean. The responding silence was pervasive and Komodo found himself biting the inside of his cheeks in agitation. The waiting was the angakkuq’s least favorite part, and as all least favorite parts are, it was the most prolonged. Thought he and the spirits had developed a relationship over the years, they did not answer to him. The shaman had no command of their doings, comings and goings. Instead he spoke to them, appealed to them, made them happy in ways that the dedication a corporeal existence could. If they wanted to answer him, they would do so in time — and if they did not, well, there was nothing the man could do about it.
Still he could hear no wailing of ghosts and he nosed about his treasures, admiring each one in turn and examining it for excellence. He believed he could feel the presence of the storm, once far off but now not so far off, and attempted to shake his pelt to rid himself of the cumbersome energy. The unrest was real and the brute was sure he was not the only once to experience it.
Finally, a sound heralded the approach of another! The shewolf was ghostlike and not unlike the the muses in his visions; silent, ethereal. The man blinked his umber eyes once, twice, and still the chimera did not lift. He shifted his posture to face her — she did not speak, and Komodo returned her silence — and it took a few moments that realize that the stranger was not a mirage, conjured by the otherworldly faculties of the gods, but a breathing and tangible thing of blood and bones that was distinctly alive. Still it was a beautiful sights, but the angakkuq sensed something off about her. He felt it as he felt the hurricane brewing off the coast.
“Are you well?” It was a blunt question to a woman he did not know, but he sought no thorough response from the wispy woman; a simple yes or no would suffice. If she indeed was not, he would happily welcome her into his ritual — after all, there was no ailment that pomp and ceremony could not abate, and the power of healing did not diminish when shared between wolf and earth.
Still he could hear no wailing of ghosts and he nosed about his treasures, admiring each one in turn and examining it for excellence. He believed he could feel the presence of the storm, once far off but now not so far off, and attempted to shake his pelt to rid himself of the cumbersome energy. The unrest was real and the brute was sure he was not the only once to experience it.
Finally, a sound heralded the approach of another! The shewolf was ghostlike and not unlike the the muses in his visions; silent, ethereal. The man blinked his umber eyes once, twice, and still the chimera did not lift. He shifted his posture to face her — she did not speak, and Komodo returned her silence — and it took a few moments that realize that the stranger was not a mirage, conjured by the otherworldly faculties of the gods, but a breathing and tangible thing of blood and bones that was distinctly alive. Still it was a beautiful sights, but the angakkuq sensed something off about her. He felt it as he felt the hurricane brewing off the coast.
“Are you well?” It was a blunt question to a woman he did not know, but he sought no thorough response from the wispy woman; a simple yes or no would suffice. If she indeed was not, he would happily welcome her into his ritual — after all, there was no ailment that pomp and ceremony could not abate, and the power of healing did not diminish when shared between wolf and earth.
RE: wet - Aria - May 26, 2017
he stared back, and silence consumed the beach for a few eerie moments. a paw pressed itself to the sand in one more step before she stilled altogether, waiting. then, he spoke, and her head raised ever so slightly-- taking interest in his words. are you well? the stranger asked, aria didn't know. she was injured, her shoulder, but she felt fine. she had no illness or disease and was merely confused. how did she get here? would this man even know? she would not ask, not yet, it would be impolite to accuse someone-- a stranger she'd never met-- of something upon their first interaction. she did not know his intentions.
"lost, but healthy," she said instead, gaze flitting to the ocean before falling back on him. the season change bugged her the most. she'd known wolves to sleep walk, surely that was her fate, how she'd arrived here on this island, but she certainly didn't sleep for half a year. her shoulder sent a slight jolt of pain, and she winced. it begged for attention, reminding her of it's condition, and she bowed her head. "i hurt my shoulder-- i do not know how. i can tend to it myself, though," she added with a slow blink. she didn't have any herbs, but surely she could find something here. it was clear of infection, the salt water helped with that, but she had nothing to stop bleeding or help with scarring. she hated scars, her body was a temple, and to be kept clean of blemishes and wounds. to let a wound remain was undignified.
she stared a small bit more, quietly at first before her jaws parted. he was doing something odd, and she was confused. "are you well?"
RE: wet - Komodo - May 26, 2017
The apparition responded in a voice so small, but confirmed her health. She was lost — a feat that astonished even Komodo, for they were on an island which was only so big and stopped abruptly where it met the sea — on all sides. Arriving to and traversing the island seemed, at least to Komodo, to be something that required intention and purpose. The brute’s motive, of course, had been to seek the pelagic seadog of inkjet feathers… but his staying had been at the behest of the turbulent currents. He would whether the storm here, on this island — being whisked off to was not his preference, though Komodo had a slight suspicion that he might find Coelacanth as a fish amongst the depths.
But the woman in front of him, who commanded her attention, claimed to be healthy — but her shoulder was contused. Komodo lifted his head and tweaked his point of view to better glimpse her ailment. Then there was the fact that she was lost upon an island with only a finite amount of space to explore. The ghostwoman seemed confused; misguided.
It was a good thing she found him.
”I am well — the earth, it is not.” With a lift of his paw, the shaman gestured to the spread in front of him, as if the purpose of such trinkets was obvious to all [and not just him]. The energy of these items held power, imbued with a potency that necessitated his application. It was the reason he kept several of these items ‘round his terracotta withers and close to his heart at all times. ”I will heal it; cleanse it.” and, with any hope, drive the tumult of stormclouds away from this place. His ceremony had been derailed somewhat — the man had realized this at just that moment — but perhaps the spirit’s delayed response was so that this femme could join him in it. It was entirely possible that the spirits knew she would come, as they viewed the world completely and from many points of view, while the shaman was limited to just his one. They knew everything, and he knew nothing.
”You will join?”
It wasn’t so much a question as it was a proposition. The wispy woman did not seem to have much to lose. With a notch of his darkened brow, he proffered ” Then I will tend to the wound.” Being lost was not something he could help with, as the vagrant was almost always in a blissful state of obscurity. But the brute was a healer of the physical as well as the metaphysical in kind, and he knew of no one as skilled and adaptable as he in such pursuits. This, he was confident of.
But the woman in front of him, who commanded her attention, claimed to be healthy — but her shoulder was contused. Komodo lifted his head and tweaked his point of view to better glimpse her ailment. Then there was the fact that she was lost upon an island with only a finite amount of space to explore. The ghostwoman seemed confused; misguided.
It was a good thing she found him.
”I am well — the earth, it is not.” With a lift of his paw, the shaman gestured to the spread in front of him, as if the purpose of such trinkets was obvious to all [and not just him]. The energy of these items held power, imbued with a potency that necessitated his application. It was the reason he kept several of these items ‘round his terracotta withers and close to his heart at all times. ”I will heal it; cleanse it.” and, with any hope, drive the tumult of stormclouds away from this place. His ceremony had been derailed somewhat — the man had realized this at just that moment — but perhaps the spirit’s delayed response was so that this femme could join him in it. It was entirely possible that the spirits knew she would come, as they viewed the world completely and from many points of view, while the shaman was limited to just his one. They knew everything, and he knew nothing.
”You will join?”
It wasn’t so much a question as it was a proposition. The wispy woman did not seem to have much to lose. With a notch of his darkened brow, he proffered ” Then I will tend to the wound.” Being lost was not something he could help with, as the vagrant was almost always in a blissful state of obscurity. But the brute was a healer of the physical as well as the metaphysical in kind, and he knew of no one as skilled and adaptable as he in such pursuits. This, he was confident of.
RE: wet - Aria - May 26, 2017
he was soft-spoken, a soothing voice and rhythm that aria did not mind hearing. her gaze broke from his only once, falling to her feet as they kneaded into the sand. she stared for a moment as the stranger spoke of the earth and how he'd heal it-- naive, aria could not understand how you could heal the earth. days before, she would not have questioned it, for she'd seen deirdre try the same thing upon poor donnelaith-- but she had long forgotten her life as the redwoods princess. silent, aria stared then at the ocean waves, frothing and fighting to make it to shore. something stirred in her stomach the more she looked at them, but she could not understand why. thus, she pushed it aside, giving the stranger before her her undivided attention once again.
"i will join," she confirmed, eyes still flitting to the trinkets even as she studied him. they made little sense to her, but she understood them-- somehow. they each had their own purpose, and those she did not understand their purpose here, she did not question their presence. slowly, the sylph began towards him, circling around carefully so that her dainty feet did not disturb the set up. she relaxed nearby him, though not so close, her tail resting elegantly beside her as she sat. her eyes were moons, full and bright, as they stared upon the spread, falling only to the man when he added-- again-- about healing. stubborn as she was, aria meant to argue that she was skilled enough to heal herself, but she did not have the medicines to do so. she would let it slide.
her her gaze fell to her shoulder, briefly, staring at the wound. it was a slash, looking more like an intentional wound than that of an accident. she was quiet, but concern was written across her furrowed brow. who had done this? and when? she did not know. her other shoulder had a similar wound, though it was now a scar and appeared rather old, as the flesh had dulled into a darker pink rather than shined a fleshy silver like a newly healed scar might. she'd yet to notice it, the fur above it obscured her view. for now, her only problem was the other shoulder, and the potential problems that it may cause.
"please," she then said with a dip of her head. she was ready for this ritual to begin, ready to be a part of it. ready to learn.
RE: wet - Komodo - May 29, 2017
this got kinda weird
”Mmm,” he grunted as ahe agreed to join him, — just as Komodo had expected she would. Introductions were rendered unnecessary as the apparition stepped closer with several sweeping, ghostlike movements — rounding him and his spread of spiritual baubles, looking out upon the ocean, then to him, then to the items. She moved, and the man did not; but her strong gaze was returned a thousandfold, attempting to glean as much about this woman as he could in that moment — namely, if she was true in her intentions. There was no place for blasphemy or skepticism at his table.
She sat down. Komodo stood up.
The earthstalker reached out to grasp the willow bough in his jaws and drew it forth. It was a delicate switch, having only been cleaved from its mother tree just hours earlier, so Komodo gingerly placed his heavy paw onto its base and wrested off a small offshoot with a deft yank of how jaws. It was a small branch to begin with, and to split it apart made it considerably smaller, but it would suit their purposes all the same. The torn end of the branch, beading with wetness and sweetly scented, was placed at Aria’s dainty paws. As he laid the branch in front of her, he could not help but linger a moment too long and breath deep, letting her scent shellac his mind and loosen his muscles. Yes, even the scent of a woman was divine. ”Do as I do,” he instructed in his reticent, roughhewn tone. ”speak as I speak,” Komodo backpedaled several feet so that he was repositioned in front of the altar, his gaze unable to leave the graspingness of her own.
”and you will not get lost.”
And with that, the brutish shaman turned his attention to the task at hand — if she could keep up, she would be rewarded greatly; if she could not keep up, she risked the success of this communion — Komodo did not have time for failure, just as he did not have time for this impending maelstrom.
The angakkuq lowered his mottled, shrouded visage to the array of items, quickly finding the crystalized myrrh and hauling in breath. The headiness of the resin seeped into his consciousness and helped to extricate the man from body. He picked up his branch and he rhythmically began to move his visage in a sweeping action above the spread of holy items, stirring the air with his movements and letting his entire body rock with it. Eyelids slipped shut but his unseeing eyes still flashed and danced behind their concealment; his breath both deepened and quickened as the pulse-pulse-pulse of all the living things became deafening; grasses and sands, fish in the sea and birds in the sky, him and her, all connected by the same vibrations that threatened to rock the world off its axis. A thickset paw began to stamp against the and a rhythmic thud-thud-thud; a metronome to take the world and set its pace.
Continuing these motions in body only, Komodo broke the consumption of his mind for a moment to ensure that he had not abandoned the woman — the apparition was a part of this now; her comprehension and intensity was instrumental in his own. His eyes slipped open and he pushed forth, taking thick steps towards her — slow and viscous— with an impenetrable physiognomy that somehow managed to silently, gently speaks his words from moments before: speak as I speak.
Then, something that was not Komodo gave words to his invocation; the man’s voice came as something that was not himself.
“Crescent one of the starry skies—
Flowered one of the fertile plain—
Flowing one of the ocean sighs—
Blessed one of the gentle rain—
Hear my chant midst the standing stones—
Open me to your mystic light—
Waken me to your silver tones—
Be with me in my sacred right.”
After each line, the man paused and allowed Aria to repeat the chant to him. He continued to strike the sand with the heel of his paw, providing a beat to which the shamans conjured the spirits of the earth; everything that had ever lived; the collective consciousness of the universe that was capable of boiling oceans and felling mountains. He called upon it and awoke it to his cause. The spirits were willing to listen, but they were selfish and wanted much in the way of sacrifice in order to dispense their blessings. He appealed to them with the undulations of voice, the smokiness of his alto lingering against the crashing of the waves. The man had not noticed, but he had closed the distance between them and, feeling quite emboldened by the vibrancy of the ritual, he made to pull his body alongside hers and if she would let him, the agakkuq would brace her slight frame against his stocky build. Then he would undulate with her, guiding her more easily find the rhythm that was essential to placing the ego aside and truly feeling the choir of the earth.
Komodo continued: “Per Dominum Deum viventem, et semper, et in securitatem invenire gratiam. Da nobis orare possumus denique tempestate, ad lætándum in munera Dei misericordiam, ut humilietis eas, et vestram semper ad gloriam nostram bonum.”
He knew nothing of latin but had committed the ancient prayer to memory; his dextrous tongue easily spoke the foreign words he had learned all those years ago. This time, the shaman did not leave space for Aria to repeat and respond — the words came fast and the words came true; they could not have been stopped, even if he had tried to. Then, with suddenness, he broke his attention from the spirits and placed it wholly upon Aria. ”You must make the offering,” he stated gruffly. ”They want you to do it.” This was her chance to ask the gods for the health and healing she sought. ”The heart and the head — bury it. ” He instructed, stepping away and gesturing to the body of the hare, having lost its life for the most divine of purposes. The act of killing it was not sacred in and of itself, but the action of removing the mind and the soul of the creature and returning it to the earth [and meanwhile abstaining from the consumption of its flesh] was one of ultimate ways to appease the gods.
If she did so, and did it true, the ritual would close.
She sat down. Komodo stood up.
The earthstalker reached out to grasp the willow bough in his jaws and drew it forth. It was a delicate switch, having only been cleaved from its mother tree just hours earlier, so Komodo gingerly placed his heavy paw onto its base and wrested off a small offshoot with a deft yank of how jaws. It was a small branch to begin with, and to split it apart made it considerably smaller, but it would suit their purposes all the same. The torn end of the branch, beading with wetness and sweetly scented, was placed at Aria’s dainty paws. As he laid the branch in front of her, he could not help but linger a moment too long and breath deep, letting her scent shellac his mind and loosen his muscles. Yes, even the scent of a woman was divine. ”Do as I do,” he instructed in his reticent, roughhewn tone. ”speak as I speak,” Komodo backpedaled several feet so that he was repositioned in front of the altar, his gaze unable to leave the graspingness of her own.
”and you will not get lost.”
And with that, the brutish shaman turned his attention to the task at hand — if she could keep up, she would be rewarded greatly; if she could not keep up, she risked the success of this communion — Komodo did not have time for failure, just as he did not have time for this impending maelstrom.
The angakkuq lowered his mottled, shrouded visage to the array of items, quickly finding the crystalized myrrh and hauling in breath. The headiness of the resin seeped into his consciousness and helped to extricate the man from body. He picked up his branch and he rhythmically began to move his visage in a sweeping action above the spread of holy items, stirring the air with his movements and letting his entire body rock with it. Eyelids slipped shut but his unseeing eyes still flashed and danced behind their concealment; his breath both deepened and quickened as the pulse-pulse-pulse of all the living things became deafening; grasses and sands, fish in the sea and birds in the sky, him and her, all connected by the same vibrations that threatened to rock the world off its axis. A thickset paw began to stamp against the and a rhythmic thud-thud-thud; a metronome to take the world and set its pace.
Continuing these motions in body only, Komodo broke the consumption of his mind for a moment to ensure that he had not abandoned the woman — the apparition was a part of this now; her comprehension and intensity was instrumental in his own. His eyes slipped open and he pushed forth, taking thick steps towards her — slow and viscous— with an impenetrable physiognomy that somehow managed to silently, gently speaks his words from moments before: speak as I speak.
Then, something that was not Komodo gave words to his invocation; the man’s voice came as something that was not himself.
“Crescent one of the starry skies—
Flowered one of the fertile plain—
Flowing one of the ocean sighs—
Blessed one of the gentle rain—
Hear my chant midst the standing stones—
Open me to your mystic light—
Waken me to your silver tones—
Be with me in my sacred right.”
After each line, the man paused and allowed Aria to repeat the chant to him. He continued to strike the sand with the heel of his paw, providing a beat to which the shamans conjured the spirits of the earth; everything that had ever lived; the collective consciousness of the universe that was capable of boiling oceans and felling mountains. He called upon it and awoke it to his cause. The spirits were willing to listen, but they were selfish and wanted much in the way of sacrifice in order to dispense their blessings. He appealed to them with the undulations of voice, the smokiness of his alto lingering against the crashing of the waves. The man had not noticed, but he had closed the distance between them and, feeling quite emboldened by the vibrancy of the ritual, he made to pull his body alongside hers and if she would let him, the agakkuq would brace her slight frame against his stocky build. Then he would undulate with her, guiding her more easily find the rhythm that was essential to placing the ego aside and truly feeling the choir of the earth.
Komodo continued: “Per Dominum Deum viventem, et semper, et in securitatem invenire gratiam. Da nobis orare possumus denique tempestate, ad lætándum in munera Dei misericordiam, ut humilietis eas, et vestram semper ad gloriam nostram bonum.”
He knew nothing of latin but had committed the ancient prayer to memory; his dextrous tongue easily spoke the foreign words he had learned all those years ago. This time, the shaman did not leave space for Aria to repeat and respond — the words came fast and the words came true; they could not have been stopped, even if he had tried to. Then, with suddenness, he broke his attention from the spirits and placed it wholly upon Aria. ”You must make the offering,” he stated gruffly. ”They want you to do it.” This was her chance to ask the gods for the health and healing she sought. ”The heart and the head — bury it. ” He instructed, stepping away and gesturing to the body of the hare, having lost its life for the most divine of purposes. The act of killing it was not sacred in and of itself, but the action of removing the mind and the soul of the creature and returning it to the earth [and meanwhile abstaining from the consumption of its flesh] was one of ultimate ways to appease the gods.
If she did so, and did it true, the ritual would close.
RE: wet - Aria - May 30, 2017
when she settled, he rose, instructing her on how she should act in respects the this ritual. she did not question it, instead nodding eagerly and straightening her posture, curious of what the ritual would hold for them.
in the previous months, aria had become more and more spiritual in the strangest of ways. she'd never changed her religious views, but over time she'd grown more and more in tune with it. perhaps that was why the set-up felt so familiar to her. the chants, those were strange, but she did not mind them. as he instructed her, aria followed along, her own voice unshaken and certain.
“Crescent one of the starry skies—
Flowered one of the fertile plain—
Flowing one of the ocean sighs—
Blessed one of the gentle rain—
Hear my chant midst the standing stones—
Open me to your mystic light—
Waken me to your silver tones—
Be with me in my sacred right.”
he said something else, something aria could not quite understand and something she could not quite copy. unwilling to sacrifice the success of this ritual, losing the potential friend and ally of this man, she stayed silent, instead bowing her head respectfully to the prayer-- she assumed it was prayer, anyway. and then, a final instruction. aria was not sure that she understood it's meaning, but the command was simple enough. she nodded, eyeing the gifts before the sand beneath her. she pressed a careful paw to it, and gracefully, rhythmically, began to scoop the earth out into a hole-- large enough to fit both items.
it was an odd task, but she did not question it. when the deed was done, she gave the man one last glance of reassurance and moved to pick up the body. with great care and concern, aria bit the creature at the base of the neck, harder and harder until she felt the bones snap. then, she began to tare at the flesh. she made an assumption, one that this was supposed to be a likable service, and worked as neatly as she could. eventually, the tendons and flesh and skin separated, leaving her to place the head into her hole. then came the heart, as he had told her. it was a harder task, but aria was sure it could be done. she tore the chest apart, searching for the organ that was oh-so recognizable. it was that she did her best to scoop out the heart, working around all of the weird intestines. she separated it from the chest, clipping it's ties to the body with her teeth. then, careful not to rupture it, she took the heart. it was an odd feeling, and she tried her damnedest to ignore the sensation, finally setting the heart beside the head so that it leaned up against it in the hole.
one more glance to the man and she began to push sand back over it, covering the items.
RE: wet - Komodo - June 17, 2017
*is embarrassed at how late this post is*
I took some crazy liberties in this post, if you’re cool with it!
I took some crazy liberties in this post, if you’re cool with it!
The man’s fireblight gaze danced upon his pupil as she deftly cleaved head from body; the man did not love blood or delight in his presence — he simply understood the role lifeblood played in ceremony and ritual and loved it for that purpose. His attention slipped from the ghostlike woman to the corpse that lay at her feel and his hackled raised as a rush over stood him; he could feel is physically as much as he could feel it in his soul, rippling across his skin and encouraging the brute to arch his spine dominantly. The spirit of the felled creature rushed to join those of the collective conscious; and Komodo know he would be able access the hare’s many wisdoms later on. It was a life gone, but forever entertained in the divine butterfly effect that ruled their karmic existence.
She had finished her task and finished it well, and Komodo was proud that she had folded into the ritual so honestly and with such rawness. The angakkuq could not resist and drew towards her, as if pulled by an unearthly presence, a low grumble formulating deep from within his ribcage. His head was held low, swinging from side to side as would a predator hunting its prey, his paws gripped at the earth and propelled his form forward, eyes flashing; he was wild and clearly caught up in some otherworldly state. The shaman stopped off at the carcass, free of heart and head, nearly unrecognizable from its state before. Komodo dipped his maw into the thick red paint that pooled about its body, staining his pale maw to a deep crimson. He rolled his maw against the torn flesh and pooling blood until it clung in a thick lawyer upon his muzzle, which dripped as he continued towards her — a macabre, sanguine trail of leaving from the slain to the beautiful women who also dripped in its blood. Surely, they looked villainous in such a state; but the gods were not fair and they were not clean and all too often they demanded such things in order to sate their tumultuous inclinations.
The man closed the space between them and placed his thick maw behind the woman’s ear — burying his bloodstained nose within her feathered pelt and hauling in her scent. He allowed her feminine perfume to seep into his brain [which already addled with the strong currents of energy flowing about them] and the suddenly rush of strength fueled his next steps. The shaman used the blunted end of his muzzle as a paintbrush, besmirching her alabaster coat with a line of crimson that began from one jaw, ran over her shoulder and haunches and over the other side of her body to rest underneath her ear. He traced around her body, admiring his artistry as he went, and allowed himself to relish the peaks and valleys of her musculature. All the while, the voice that was not Komodo's chanted "Dei creatura, sal, i exorcízo te, in nomine dei patris omnipoténtis, qua mundavero vos per viventem deum verum dei, et iussit ut sit sancta et ministrorum pro utilitate populi qui sunt ad fidem amplectendam cogatur ." and breathed against her. If such an intimate hand was inappropriate, the brute could not pick up on it. He was not in control of his movements, for he was a puppet of the gods at that moment! — and at that same moment, it was exactly what the gods wanted.
He was fairly certain she would not rebuff a god.
She had finished her task and finished it well, and Komodo was proud that she had folded into the ritual so honestly and with such rawness. The angakkuq could not resist and drew towards her, as if pulled by an unearthly presence, a low grumble formulating deep from within his ribcage. His head was held low, swinging from side to side as would a predator hunting its prey, his paws gripped at the earth and propelled his form forward, eyes flashing; he was wild and clearly caught up in some otherworldly state. The shaman stopped off at the carcass, free of heart and head, nearly unrecognizable from its state before. Komodo dipped his maw into the thick red paint that pooled about its body, staining his pale maw to a deep crimson. He rolled his maw against the torn flesh and pooling blood until it clung in a thick lawyer upon his muzzle, which dripped as he continued towards her — a macabre, sanguine trail of leaving from the slain to the beautiful women who also dripped in its blood. Surely, they looked villainous in such a state; but the gods were not fair and they were not clean and all too often they demanded such things in order to sate their tumultuous inclinations.
The man closed the space between them and placed his thick maw behind the woman’s ear — burying his bloodstained nose within her feathered pelt and hauling in her scent. He allowed her feminine perfume to seep into his brain [which already addled with the strong currents of energy flowing about them] and the suddenly rush of strength fueled his next steps. The shaman used the blunted end of his muzzle as a paintbrush, besmirching her alabaster coat with a line of crimson that began from one jaw, ran over her shoulder and haunches and over the other side of her body to rest underneath her ear. He traced around her body, admiring his artistry as he went, and allowed himself to relish the peaks and valleys of her musculature. All the while, the voice that was not Komodo's chanted "Dei creatura, sal, i exorcízo te, in nomine dei patris omnipoténtis, qua mundavero vos per viventem deum verum dei, et iussit ut sit sancta et ministrorum pro utilitate populi qui sunt ad fidem amplectendam cogatur ." and breathed against her. If such an intimate hand was inappropriate, the brute could not pick up on it. He was not in control of his movements, for he was a puppet of the gods at that moment! — and at that same moment, it was exactly what the gods wanted.
He was fairly certain she would not rebuff a god.
RE: wet - Aria - June 18, 2017
love it !! channeling pre-teekon aria while still keeping the plot thick!!!...
the air, suddenly, was thick. aria had no name for any religion she'd ever followed, but this suddenly felt right. whatever her newfound companion was doing was working, and the pearl was soaking in every ounce of energy that she could harness from it. one by one her tasks were completed, meaning little by little she felt some sort of presence around them. it was almost alluring-- she felt so drawn to the ceremony that she could hardly think straight. by now, her only thoughts pertained this man and his gods. she wanted to please them, and consequently-- him.
at first, she didn't understand what was happening. one moment, she was watching the offering, the next him. the man dipped his muzzle into the blood, moving towards her with a sort of look that she hadn't seen before-- she didn't think. aria was no stranger to men, no stranger to a heated, flirty, conversation. but the moment she locked eyes with him, she felt a stirring that was beyond foreign to her-- and yet, somehow, so familiar.
she was unable to look away, only until she pressed his wet muzzle to the base of her ear. her face heated, heart raced, and her toes tingled. she was unsure of his intentions, but the more he touched the more she found solid ground. somehow, she was not so against it, but the only thing that ran through her mind was but i am a virgin. it was not so elegant to give yourself away to a stranger-- she did not even know his name. and she was hardly but a year old (at least to her own knowledge, despite being well of age in reality). she sat frozen as he began to explore, tracing along the valleys of her figure. she was so morally against the whole operation, and it was to her own shock as she let out a thick, honey-coated whine. it fell from her lips as they parted, her ears splaying in a mixture of longing and pure and utter disapproval. she did not want this to happen, she was not ready-- but the more the shock allowed his actions, the more she realized that she was ready. this dance somehow felt familiar to her, and her body begged for it to happen.
still confused, still scared-- and somehow completely humiliated. she raised herself up, her tail almost automatically falling to the side. her pale gaze turned back, searching him for answers. she was still lost in her emotions, but something in her stopped her from pulling away. something in her needed this.
at first, she didn't understand what was happening. one moment, she was watching the offering, the next him. the man dipped his muzzle into the blood, moving towards her with a sort of look that she hadn't seen before-- she didn't think. aria was no stranger to men, no stranger to a heated, flirty, conversation. but the moment she locked eyes with him, she felt a stirring that was beyond foreign to her-- and yet, somehow, so familiar.
she was unable to look away, only until she pressed his wet muzzle to the base of her ear. her face heated, heart raced, and her toes tingled. she was unsure of his intentions, but the more he touched the more she found solid ground. somehow, she was not so against it, but the only thing that ran through her mind was but i am a virgin. it was not so elegant to give yourself away to a stranger-- she did not even know his name. and she was hardly but a year old (at least to her own knowledge, despite being well of age in reality). she sat frozen as he began to explore, tracing along the valleys of her figure. she was so morally against the whole operation, and it was to her own shock as she let out a thick, honey-coated whine. it fell from her lips as they parted, her ears splaying in a mixture of longing and pure and utter disapproval. she did not want this to happen, she was not ready-- but the more the shock allowed his actions, the more she realized that she was ready. this dance somehow felt familiar to her, and her body begged for it to happen.
still confused, still scared-- and somehow completely humiliated. she raised herself up, her tail almost automatically falling to the side. her pale gaze turned back, searching him for answers. she was still lost in her emotions, but something in her stopped her from pulling away. something in her needed this.
RE: wet - Komodo - June 21, 2017
How long Komodo stayed in that single spot, nose pressed against the feathered bulb of her ear, breathing in her scent and allowing himself to slip into inebriation — drunk upon her, drunk upon the ceremony, drunk upon the universe — he would never know. The shaman closed his eyes and surrendered to it. Komodo was a man capable of great intensities just as he was capable of deep detachment. This was not always the goal of the ceremonies [it was more often the side effect] but the gods propelled him as they willed; his movements were not his own and, thus, he could not be blamed of his actions. They were a divine liturgy.
Komodo would never not appreciate the feel of a woman close to him, whining thickly and not moving away— wanting him, clearly. There was anticipation on his part and stillness on hers; so he made to nibble at the tendrils of pale fur that pressed against his lips. The brute preened her, hoping to provide the comfort and guidance that she might need from him; but soon his breath became heavy and unconsciously his body moved so that his flank pressed up against hers. The woman felt solid against him, yet still delicate, and his eyes flashed with unabated arousal — he needed her.
It was no coincidence that she had happened upon him moments before the ceremony began… coincidences were a myth. they were not real. nothing ever happened without a holy reasoning.
But this was real; and as such, Komodo backpedaled to pull his ministrations down her body, following the line of blood he had painted upon her, as a painter would have painted his canvas. She was beautiful; made more beautiful by how quickly she succumbed to his strange sort of religion. He wished to tell her just how beautiful she was, but the angakkuq had always been a taciturn man and when in the throes of some otherworldly passion, his tongue lost all words. But it was no matter; speaking was no longer the only language here! Instead, a roughhewn growl purled from his chest and his body continued to translate the litany that his mouth failed to speak, allowing the earthstalker to fall deeper and deeper under his own spell. He made it to her narrow hindquarters and nibbled at the base of her tail. He was an intuitive man and could not help but feel her hesitation; could see it as her aura changed to reflect the dichotomy of her mind. Komodo pulled away and rested his chin on the crest of her lower back.
“There is no shame in saying no.”
Komodo would never not appreciate the feel of a woman close to him, whining thickly and not moving away— wanting him, clearly. There was anticipation on his part and stillness on hers; so he made to nibble at the tendrils of pale fur that pressed against his lips. The brute preened her, hoping to provide the comfort and guidance that she might need from him; but soon his breath became heavy and unconsciously his body moved so that his flank pressed up against hers. The woman felt solid against him, yet still delicate, and his eyes flashed with unabated arousal — he needed her.
It was no coincidence that she had happened upon him moments before the ceremony began… coincidences were a myth. they were not real. nothing ever happened without a holy reasoning.
But this was real; and as such, Komodo backpedaled to pull his ministrations down her body, following the line of blood he had painted upon her, as a painter would have painted his canvas. She was beautiful; made more beautiful by how quickly she succumbed to his strange sort of religion. He wished to tell her just how beautiful she was, but the angakkuq had always been a taciturn man and when in the throes of some otherworldly passion, his tongue lost all words. But it was no matter; speaking was no longer the only language here! Instead, a roughhewn growl purled from his chest and his body continued to translate the litany that his mouth failed to speak, allowing the earthstalker to fall deeper and deeper under his own spell. He made it to her narrow hindquarters and nibbled at the base of her tail. He was an intuitive man and could not help but feel her hesitation; could see it as her aura changed to reflect the dichotomy of her mind. Komodo pulled away and rested his chin on the crest of her lower back.
“There is no shame in saying no.”
RE: wet - Aria - June 23, 2017
his preening brought her body calmness, as he'd planned to do. and though her mind whirred, she fell beside him easily as he pressed against her. and then, suddenly, he stopped, and rested his head upon her.
there is no shame in saying no.
he was right-- there wasn't. and if she wasn't ready to give up her flower to a total stranger, she didn't have to. and it was only when he stopped that she began to sort through her own thoughts, trying to decipher what was a real, coherent thought, and was what merely there in the moment. her mind proclaimed that saying no was sound logic, and since her memory wasn't all there, it made more sense to her that she keep waiting. she wasn't ready-- not yet. but her body was not her mind, and it had learned to appreciate the touch of a man long, long ago. so, despite her logical thought process, aria could not find the words no. she remained silent, her head turned to study his expression as his head rested upon her back. he was not here to pressure her, and this choice gave her body even more power over her mind.
so, after a considerable amount of mental convincing, hormones won her over-- or, something of the sort. she nodded, whining again-- softer this time. this was okay, she was okay. whatever mental barrier stopping her was slowly crumbling-- and she was easing into the idea that this was okay. maybe it was him, how he was so gentle and not at all pressuring-- maybe that helped. that thought itself sent a wave of deja vu rushing over her-- though she couldn't pinpoint why.
in case her whine was misinterpreted, and perhaps a subconscious act of impatience, she pressed against him again, ears pivoting to cup forward.
she was ready.
there is no shame in saying no.
he was right-- there wasn't. and if she wasn't ready to give up her flower to a total stranger, she didn't have to. and it was only when he stopped that she began to sort through her own thoughts, trying to decipher what was a real, coherent thought, and was what merely there in the moment. her mind proclaimed that saying no was sound logic, and since her memory wasn't all there, it made more sense to her that she keep waiting. she wasn't ready-- not yet. but her body was not her mind, and it had learned to appreciate the touch of a man long, long ago. so, despite her logical thought process, aria could not find the words no. she remained silent, her head turned to study his expression as his head rested upon her back. he was not here to pressure her, and this choice gave her body even more power over her mind.
so, after a considerable amount of mental convincing, hormones won her over-- or, something of the sort. she nodded, whining again-- softer this time. this was okay, she was okay. whatever mental barrier stopping her was slowly crumbling-- and she was easing into the idea that this was okay. maybe it was him, how he was so gentle and not at all pressuring-- maybe that helped. that thought itself sent a wave of deja vu rushing over her-- though she couldn't pinpoint why.
in case her whine was misinterpreted, and perhaps a subconscious act of impatience, she pressed against him again, ears pivoting to cup forward.
she was ready.
RE: wet - Komodo - June 25, 2017
Her mouth did not utter the word no and her body no longer elicited her unconscious reservations, but the man was in no hurry and would give the shrouded sylph the space she needed to be a peace with his holy advances — he had faith that she would come around. There was nothing beautiful or divine about using force during a time which called for intimacy, nor did it satisfy the omnipotent’s cravings for utter, inspired, and passionate devotion; Komodo was not a slave to his desires and as thus, he entertained no considerations of displeasing the gods, or her, in such a way.
But while she mused upon her options, there was a space of prolonged silence with which Komodo used as an opportunity to cosset the transcendental stranger further, using thick and viscous swipes of his tongue to suggestively push the fur above her tail against the grain. The earthstalker’s mind had since surrendered to the task, taking in all the sights and smells and taste of her, giving himself over fully to his actions. The man wanted to perceive this gift through his five senses and, similarly, help the young fae surrender to hers. There was a moment where he pressed his cheek into the point of her hipbones and rubber his angular jaw against her form, letting his eyes slip closed and feeling the eroticism that emanated from her act of simply standing there as he kneaded against her — in this carnal game they played they were both equals but covering her with his scent fanned the red-blooded flame that burned in his gut and flickered throughout his being.
Prurience shellacked his brain and the man began his descent south, using his mouth to further map the peaks and valleys of her hips and her thighs, edging so close to his ultimate target that his breath could caress her hot flesh. He lingered there for only a moment before continuing his trek. Komodo was not only a drifter in his everyday life as a vagrant, but he conveyed similar traits in his manner of loving; electing not to loiter upon one spot of Aria’s body for longer than several, interminable seconds before moving on. The brute grazed her backside of her knee with his teeth and planted libidinous kisses upon her feathered hocks before making the transition to her other leg and then reversed the process until the man ended right back where he started. It was then that Komodo turned back to the bloodied corpse of the hare, re-doused his maw in the lifeblood of the slain [for good measure] and turned back towards the ethereal woman that presented herself before him. The deep growl that rolled from his chest never abated.
He swung one thick forelimb over her back and paused, giving the stranger another chance to withdraw.
But while she mused upon her options, there was a space of prolonged silence with which Komodo used as an opportunity to cosset the transcendental stranger further, using thick and viscous swipes of his tongue to suggestively push the fur above her tail against the grain. The earthstalker’s mind had since surrendered to the task, taking in all the sights and smells and taste of her, giving himself over fully to his actions. The man wanted to perceive this gift through his five senses and, similarly, help the young fae surrender to hers. There was a moment where he pressed his cheek into the point of her hipbones and rubber his angular jaw against her form, letting his eyes slip closed and feeling the eroticism that emanated from her act of simply standing there as he kneaded against her — in this carnal game they played they were both equals but covering her with his scent fanned the red-blooded flame that burned in his gut and flickered throughout his being.
Prurience shellacked his brain and the man began his descent south, using his mouth to further map the peaks and valleys of her hips and her thighs, edging so close to his ultimate target that his breath could caress her hot flesh. He lingered there for only a moment before continuing his trek. Komodo was not only a drifter in his everyday life as a vagrant, but he conveyed similar traits in his manner of loving; electing not to loiter upon one spot of Aria’s body for longer than several, interminable seconds before moving on. The brute grazed her backside of her knee with his teeth and planted libidinous kisses upon her feathered hocks before making the transition to her other leg and then reversed the process until the man ended right back where he started. It was then that Komodo turned back to the bloodied corpse of the hare, re-doused his maw in the lifeblood of the slain [for good measure] and turned back towards the ethereal woman that presented herself before him. The deep growl that rolled from his chest never abated.
He swung one thick forelimb over her back and paused, giving the stranger another chance to withdraw.
RE: wet - Aria - July 08, 2017
short post just to keep this moving ! sorry i've been super behind w aria lately <3
every move he made was a gentle nudge in a direction-- while she was still deciding which was the right direction, that was. eventually when she'd given him the a-okay, he swung a forelimb back over her and moved into position-- something aria found eerily familiar. she found no memories of the action, but the closer she became the more welcoming the act actually became. she suddenly felt more than ready for it-- and she didn't even know why.
her only action-- something she decided was primal instinct-- was to push against him. his brief pause to make sure she was truly okay with it was almost agitating, and something in her flared up as impatient. so, she pushed against him with a gentle force and pricked her ears, awaiting the foreign act. she was unsure what exactly what would come-- but felt oh-so ready for it.
her legs steadied themselves as she gave a soft whine-- a final confirmation that she was ready to begin their dance.
her only action-- something she decided was primal instinct-- was to push against him. his brief pause to make sure she was truly okay with it was almost agitating, and something in her flared up as impatient. so, she pushed against him with a gentle force and pricked her ears, awaiting the foreign act. she was unsure what exactly what would come-- but felt oh-so ready for it.
her legs steadied themselves as she gave a soft whine-- a final confirmation that she was ready to begin their dance.
RE: wet - Komodo - July 19, 2017
Beneath him, the girl pushed against him and emitted a skating whine — he needed no further confirmation. But still he paused, taking a moment to preen the feathering on the nape of her neck, appreciating the freedom she was giving him; a man she had only just met. But, he understood… no one was immune to the gods, not even an angel such as she, and the manner in which she surrendered herself to them ignited the fire in his loins. He had to have her; had to consummate the ceremony with the ultimate of passions.
So the brute’s arms swept around her hips and found their place, pressing close into the silken pocket of her thigh. With deft movements he readjusted himself, laying his chest across her spine and further covering the fae with his own body. In that moment, he was her aegis; ready and willing to protect her from any harm, any hurt — hell, at that moment, anything but extreme pleasure would not do.
A single movement brought the two together, though the earth stalker made his movements short and light to accommodate the lady’s pleasure. There was nothing beautiful or divine about taking all and giving nothing in return, and thus, had no place in their holy tryst. To think that Aria wanted and needed the gods — wanted and needed him — the thought reverberated within his mind and drove his movements; she was lithe and tiny and the earthstalker found he did not need to grasp the fur of her neck in order to find purchase. Instead he lay his neck against hers and pressed his nose against the feathering behind her ear, gifting their intimacy with a soundtrack of throaty, guttural and passionate sounds; punctuated with a staccato of ear nips and heated kisses along her beautiful, serene jawline.
So the brute’s arms swept around her hips and found their place, pressing close into the silken pocket of her thigh. With deft movements he readjusted himself, laying his chest across her spine and further covering the fae with his own body. In that moment, he was her aegis; ready and willing to protect her from any harm, any hurt — hell, at that moment, anything but extreme pleasure would not do.
A single movement brought the two together, though the earth stalker made his movements short and light to accommodate the lady’s pleasure. There was nothing beautiful or divine about taking all and giving nothing in return, and thus, had no place in their holy tryst. To think that Aria wanted and needed the gods — wanted and needed him — the thought reverberated within his mind and drove his movements; she was lithe and tiny and the earthstalker found he did not need to grasp the fur of her neck in order to find purchase. Instead he lay his neck against hers and pressed his nose against the feathering behind her ear, gifting their intimacy with a soundtrack of throaty, guttural and passionate sounds; punctuated with a staccato of ear nips and heated kisses along her beautiful, serene jawline.
RE: wet - Aria - July 24, 2017
A very quick response from me! Trying to keep this going and keep from going inactive <3 do you mind if we fade this soon?
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Aria was waiting, on her toes and completely, emotionally on edge. finally, something happened, and they were suddenly one. It made sense to her, and it felt so right-- nothing at all how she'd always been warned it would. her own voice echoed his own primal noises, her body loosening the more comfortable she became and the further along in the dance they became. She, inexperienced in mind, had no fancy movements of her own, but she swayed beneath him and urged his own pleasure forward with her own whines and soft, low growls.