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revolution is a self taught language - Kjalarr - November 30, 2017
i made some assumptions but tried to keep this as vague as i could! :-)
Kjalarr is not a beast made for staying still. He needs to do things, needs to move and keep active. He gets his exercise when he ventures out of Potema’s den with Potema but when he’s commanded to stay behind he is left feeling …trapped. He supposes that is the purpose of being a Captive. After all, being caged does come with the job description but when he’s not working for Potema he’s bored out of his skull and left without the option to explore. Yet, despite this, Kjalarr has no regret ( aside from leaving the first time ). He is thoroughly unapologetic for returning and surprisingly doesn’t mind being Potema’s captive. The humiliation is good for him: he’s gone for far too long being utterly and annoyingly arrogant and being knocked off his pedestal is doing wonders for putting the world into perspective. Yet, admitting there was a problem and that he’s made too many mistakes to possibly count and attempts to atone for them …well he likes to think that’s a step in the right direction as well.
Potema’s den is chilly without her despite that he keeps it warm enough on his own. Regardless, Kjalarr feels her absence from it keenly and lets out a low huff as he stares at the nearest wall, pausing to nibble a at his paw pad for a second to soothe a sudden itch. He can only sleep so much and he grows more and more restless as the seconds tick on. He spent plenty of time catching up on sleep during his first week or so in captivity and now that he doesn’t feel so exhausted all the time he’s driven to the opposite side of the spectrum: he wants to do things, he wants to be useful. He draws himself out of the den with a low huff and stretches the second he clears it’s mouth, taking time to enjoy the feeling. He will not go far but he needs to stretch his legs. He looks up at the caverns ceiling, noting the sharpened stalagmites and curve downward like sharp dragon teeth and the glow of worms upon the rock. It’s not exactly fresh air, per say but he does not stray overly far from Potema’s den and exiting Mephala’s Web unescorted or without Potema herself strikes him as a bad idea.
He peers over a broad shoulder to glimpse at the mark that Potema left on his hind leg, taking it in with his single good eye, focusing on the sensory input from the one that wasn’t partially blind. The skin is angry and red beneath the scabbing and Kjalarr knows he’ll bear the scar forever: Potema had not been gentle when she’d marked him. She’d cut him deep and had made sure that her mark upon him, her claim will not fade with time. It binds them together in this world …and perhaps the next Kjalarr considers. It itches suddenly and he looks away from it, stretching again, claws scraping against the stone to distract him from the itch knowing that if he ignores it, it will eventually fade.
Potema’s den is chilly without her despite that he keeps it warm enough on his own. Regardless, Kjalarr feels her absence from it keenly and lets out a low huff as he stares at the nearest wall, pausing to nibble a at his paw pad for a second to soothe a sudden itch. He can only sleep so much and he grows more and more restless as the seconds tick on. He spent plenty of time catching up on sleep during his first week or so in captivity and now that he doesn’t feel so exhausted all the time he’s driven to the opposite side of the spectrum: he wants to do things, he wants to be useful. He draws himself out of the den with a low huff and stretches the second he clears it’s mouth, taking time to enjoy the feeling. He will not go far but he needs to stretch his legs. He looks up at the caverns ceiling, noting the sharpened stalagmites and curve downward like sharp dragon teeth and the glow of worms upon the rock. It’s not exactly fresh air, per say but he does not stray overly far from Potema’s den and exiting Mephala’s Web unescorted or without Potema herself strikes him as a bad idea.
He peers over a broad shoulder to glimpse at the mark that Potema left on his hind leg, taking it in with his single good eye, focusing on the sensory input from the one that wasn’t partially blind. The skin is angry and red beneath the scabbing and Kjalarr knows he’ll bear the scar forever: Potema had not been gentle when she’d marked him. She’d cut him deep and had made sure that her mark upon him, her claim will not fade with time. It binds them together in this world …and perhaps the next Kjalarr considers. It itches suddenly and he looks away from it, stretching again, claws scraping against the stone to distract him from the itch knowing that if he ignores it, it will eventually fade.
523 words
RE: revolution is a self taught language - Vaati - November 30, 2017
The newly appointed Dark Master puts himself to work upon the hour of his ascension to the throne, and doesn't stop. He is a man with charge; thrust into a position of great responsibility with no experience to his name. Yet, there was none else to do the job of leading the dark woods to better days. None else had stepped up. Not his addict of a mother, nor the raving lunatic of an uncle. And certainly not the uncle who took his mother against her will. Neither would he allow either of them to lead the pack he called his home when the said, famous unholy trinity were all equally off their rocker.
The Web carries him towards his mother's cave, and in his jaws he clenches a small rabbit. Prey is scarce in the mere few acres he is confined to, nothing more than hare and duck and mundane sort of creatures. Anything bigger lays beyond the safety net of his home and the surrounding area, and from there, he would need to cross into territory that holds those who wish him dead by the multitudes. It is an unfortunate circumstance of living, however, survivable. It ensures he should never strike fury with others who would only wish to see him fall. He cannot risk it. Yet as he turns the bend, a moment of utter bafflement seems to wash over him as he looks upon, well, himself, only a few feet away. But the identity of exactly who lays before him is something much more curious than the prospect of a duplicate version of himself: the only being alive who looks so extraordinarily alike to himself. The yearling almost staggers back. "Kjalarr?" Vaati voices incredulously, having never expected to ever see the man again. And he had not been broken hearted about it. In fact, he had gotten over his father's sudden disappearance rather quickly. He had barely known the man in the first place, so truthfully, there was nothing to be missed. It was only the sting of Kjalarr's abandonment of his mother that produced a sense of disappointment about him, rather than the personal loss of a father figure. But recalling his father's betrayal strikes a chord within him, a bitter resentment. As the Dark Master, that resentment only continued to sour as seconds went by, the weight of both the reality that his father had knowingly left him for the third time, and the realization that the man had never come before his superior to ask for clemency influencing his reaction to the sudden appearance. "Why... what are you doing here?" His voice hardens, void of that tone of youth that once lived within his words.
The Web carries him towards his mother's cave, and in his jaws he clenches a small rabbit. Prey is scarce in the mere few acres he is confined to, nothing more than hare and duck and mundane sort of creatures. Anything bigger lays beyond the safety net of his home and the surrounding area, and from there, he would need to cross into territory that holds those who wish him dead by the multitudes. It is an unfortunate circumstance of living, however, survivable. It ensures he should never strike fury with others who would only wish to see him fall. He cannot risk it. Yet as he turns the bend, a moment of utter bafflement seems to wash over him as he looks upon, well, himself, only a few feet away. But the identity of exactly who lays before him is something much more curious than the prospect of a duplicate version of himself: the only being alive who looks so extraordinarily alike to himself. The yearling almost staggers back. "Kjalarr?" Vaati voices incredulously, having never expected to ever see the man again. And he had not been broken hearted about it. In fact, he had gotten over his father's sudden disappearance rather quickly. He had barely known the man in the first place, so truthfully, there was nothing to be missed. It was only the sting of Kjalarr's abandonment of his mother that produced a sense of disappointment about him, rather than the personal loss of a father figure. But recalling his father's betrayal strikes a chord within him, a bitter resentment. As the Dark Master, that resentment only continued to sour as seconds went by, the weight of both the reality that his father had knowingly left him for the third time, and the realization that the man had never come before his superior to ask for clemency influencing his reaction to the sudden appearance. "Why... what are you doing here?" His voice hardens, void of that tone of youth that once lived within his words.
RE: revolution is a self taught language - Kjalarr - November 30, 2017
It should not come as a surprise that Vaati comes around Potema’s den — with a limp rabbit betwixt his jaws to boot — but it does. Kjalarr’s damaged eye finds Vaati first — habitually it is the eye that instinctively draws his attention — though his son is but a writhing wisp of smoke and shadow. Focusing on his good eye the boy takes a solid form as the boy greets him by name, incredulous. It’s to be expected: Kjalarr had not meant to return after he left the first time but something about Potema ( before he even really knew her ) kept calling out to him, drawing him back in, back to her. Kjalarr does not pretend to understand the intimate magic that she worked on him but he knows that being here, with her, feels right. Like the first right thing he’s ever done in his life and he has no intentions of questioning it. “Vaati.” He greets his son gruffly, his lips twitching as he considers that he is speaking to the Dark Master now, presumably. Yet, at the end of the day Vaati is still a child and Kjalarr has a very hard time looking at him and seeing a leader. Especially as Potema had seemed certain he would drag the Woods to ruin with him.
“I’ve come back for your mother,” Kjalarr replies. He does not speak specifically that his true prize is her heart and love but Kjalarr’s never been a romantic and beyond that he rather thinks that it’s implied and that implying it is enough. “I’m her captive, though I’m not sure captive is the right term. I was willing. I chose it.” He shifts his weight then, flashing the shadowmark that Potema carved into his flesh. “I chose her.” He clarifies. He is not proud of the shadowmark that brands his flesh — he understands full well what it means — but he is happy Potema was willing to give him a second chance; a chance to prove to her that he is worthy.
“I’ve come back for your mother,” Kjalarr replies. He does not speak specifically that his true prize is her heart and love but Kjalarr’s never been a romantic and beyond that he rather thinks that it’s implied and that implying it is enough. “I’m her captive, though I’m not sure captive is the right term. I was willing. I chose it.” He shifts his weight then, flashing the shadowmark that Potema carved into his flesh. “I chose her.” He clarifies. He is not proud of the shadowmark that brands his flesh — he understands full well what it means — but he is happy Potema was willing to give him a second chance; a chance to prove to her that he is worthy.
RE: revolution is a self taught language - Vaati - December 05, 2017
The man he knows as his father looks to him with a singular eye that holds little affection for him, if any at all. There was no regret, no remorse, nothing to suggest the man felt the slightest bit guilty for abandoning Vaati, his son, a third time and then being unbothered to seek him out upon his sudden return. Perhaps Vaati had not been heartbroken when the man had left, at least, he would have never needed to see or think of him again. But it was something about Kjalarr's lack of concern for his son that irked him, that when he spoke to Vaati for the first time in a very long time, it was presumably with a sense of distaste above all else.
The man speaks and Vaati listens with intent, but the underlying message of what his father means to say does not go over his head: I have come for her, not you. It drives the stake in further. Her. He has come for her. Her and her twisted ability to wrap her lovers around her finger. It is a trait that Vaati has inherited in a different form: sociopathic manipulation. The yearling represses a snarl but does not hide it well, casting his eyes away once to refrain from snapping at the man who cannot claims things he cannot fathom, not really. He fails.
"Then I suppose you should know she has birthed my uncle's children. But she does not take care of them. She is tainted. Whatever drugs she has currently infused in her system leaves her unresponsive for days. She doesn't eat unless you force her, she doesn't rest unless you drug her. She vomits, she has seizures, she doesn't live unless you make her. You should know that that is what you are getting into with her, don't be confused by whatever she has promised in regards to her sexual habits." He ends his rant with a grim scowl, knowing quite clearly that Kjalarr's infatuation with his mother is misplaced. She is no goddess incarnated like his father perceives. He does not know her and her self-destructive tendencies, the way she curses him out at every opportunity for keeping her alive. How she blames him for every wrong and every right, and how he still loves her but cannot look at her without wishing she was not his problem anymore. She is a curse, but Kjalarr, in his awe of her, has not yet seen it. Instead, he claims her like a prize that one would want to win.
He lets out a breath of air, letting seconds pass by before regaining a steady heartbeat. He returns his gaze to the man with steely optics, with a tone that held a nerve of condescendence. "You did not choose her, she is your curse to behold. You are her captive, but you may quickly find the title to be a little less erotic than you envisioned, when she is foaming at the lips at every other hour." His tone is bitter, an in a sense, insulted that the man should hold her on such a pedestal of hope and daring love when Potema, his mother, is incapable of such a thing to even her own children. Perhaps, he had hoped, that when she did regain those emotions, they would be reciprocated onto him. Not the man who had abandoned them, her and Blackfeather more times than he could count. But that too is foolish to wish. And it is foolish to assume that she would become any different to the Northener than she was to her child.
The man speaks and Vaati listens with intent, but the underlying message of what his father means to say does not go over his head: I have come for her, not you. It drives the stake in further. Her. He has come for her. Her and her twisted ability to wrap her lovers around her finger. It is a trait that Vaati has inherited in a different form: sociopathic manipulation. The yearling represses a snarl but does not hide it well, casting his eyes away once to refrain from snapping at the man who cannot claims things he cannot fathom, not really. He fails.
"Then I suppose you should know she has birthed my uncle's children. But she does not take care of them. She is tainted. Whatever drugs she has currently infused in her system leaves her unresponsive for days. She doesn't eat unless you force her, she doesn't rest unless you drug her. She vomits, she has seizures, she doesn't live unless you make her. You should know that that is what you are getting into with her, don't be confused by whatever she has promised in regards to her sexual habits." He ends his rant with a grim scowl, knowing quite clearly that Kjalarr's infatuation with his mother is misplaced. She is no goddess incarnated like his father perceives. He does not know her and her self-destructive tendencies, the way she curses him out at every opportunity for keeping her alive. How she blames him for every wrong and every right, and how he still loves her but cannot look at her without wishing she was not his problem anymore. She is a curse, but Kjalarr, in his awe of her, has not yet seen it. Instead, he claims her like a prize that one would want to win.
He lets out a breath of air, letting seconds pass by before regaining a steady heartbeat. He returns his gaze to the man with steely optics, with a tone that held a nerve of condescendence. "You did not choose her, she is your curse to behold. You are her captive, but you may quickly find the title to be a little less erotic than you envisioned, when she is foaming at the lips at every other hour." His tone is bitter, an in a sense, insulted that the man should hold her on such a pedestal of hope and daring love when Potema, his mother, is incapable of such a thing to even her own children. Perhaps, he had hoped, that when she did regain those emotions, they would be reciprocated onto him. Not the man who had abandoned them, her and Blackfeather more times than he could count. But that too is foolish to wish. And it is foolish to assume that she would become any different to the Northener than she was to her child.
RE: revolution is a self taught language - Kjalarr - December 24, 2017
Don’t speak of your mother that way, is what burns on Kjalarr’s tongue but he lets Vaati vent it out, spit his poisonous words about Potema’s condition. Kjalarr wasn’t stupid, he knew of Potema’s withdraw issues. He knows she’s a mess and that it’s going to take time and patience to get her back to what she was before. “She promised me nothing, boy. I am here of my own accord. I bear her shadowmark of my own accord. As penchant of my sins.” Oh, but there are so many of them. One little shadowmark hardly feels like it’s justice, like it’s retribution for all the wrong Kjalarr’s committed so far in his life. “She has no obligation to take care of those wretched little abominations.” Kjalarr has done his best to avoid them, which is easy enough. There’s no telling what he would do if allowed in close proximity to them. He killed his own daughters ( a believed act of mercy ) and he would have no qualms about killing the monsters that should have been left to suffocate in their membranes. Potema should have killed them as soon as she birthed them; but everyone else has gotten in the way.
“I have witnessed her seizures already. This is not news.” It will not change Kjalarr’s mind or feelings towards Potema. Vaati makes it such a point to emphasis how Potema is not a saint …but neither is Kjalarr. He is just as wicked, just as damned as his living goddess. Perhaps that’s what makes binds them, why they are made for one another. They are both scourges upon this earth …as is the son they conceived. “Did it ever occur to you, Vaati, that you are the reason she has turned to drugs? She was not allowed to kill the monsters she did not want to bear… these are the reasons that she has to seek peace in the only way she can?” He inquires though he doubts he will get Vaati to listen. The blame is easily shifted elsewhere and he very much believes that his son’s ears are closed and eyes are blind to such truths. Kjalarr does not blame Potema. He would not want to take care of them, either. He would want to do whatever he had to, to wipe them from his mind and get a few hours of stolen peace. “We are all curses, Vaati. Every last one of us.”
“I have witnessed her seizures already. This is not news.” It will not change Kjalarr’s mind or feelings towards Potema. Vaati makes it such a point to emphasis how Potema is not a saint …but neither is Kjalarr. He is just as wicked, just as damned as his living goddess. Perhaps that’s what makes binds them, why they are made for one another. They are both scourges upon this earth …as is the son they conceived. “Did it ever occur to you, Vaati, that you are the reason she has turned to drugs? She was not allowed to kill the monsters she did not want to bear… these are the reasons that she has to seek peace in the only way she can?” He inquires though he doubts he will get Vaati to listen. The blame is easily shifted elsewhere and he very much believes that his son’s ears are closed and eyes are blind to such truths. Kjalarr does not blame Potema. He would not want to take care of them, either. He would want to do whatever he had to, to wipe them from his mind and get a few hours of stolen peace. “We are all curses, Vaati. Every last one of us.”
RE: revolution is a self taught language - Vaati - December 29, 2017
He casts his eyes to his father, as the Northerner spits back some information that Vaati had considered himself, quite often. That he, as he talked about his mother's curses, was very much one of them if not the role reason his mother was so mentally plagued. "I don't doubt it." Vaati sneers, the white of his fangs flashing amidst the dark. In fact, he is very much part of the reason his mother resorted to drugging herself to simply escape the reality she lived. However, it was not for the reason his father believes. His part in his mother's pain was for the sole reason that he refused to let her die, refused to let her wither away like she had never been great once. Vaati refused to go easy on her.
If there is one thing Vaati defended with all that he had, was that the pups, regardless of their conception were wholly innocent of the crimes of their father. They were no more tainted than the rest of the woods and the deeds done within. "The children may have been her curse, but they are not her's only. They belong to the woods, our Gods and most importantly, they are my siblings. Their lives, regardless of their conception, are not her's to take." It was why he had been so adamant that they live. He shared his mother's pain in the sentiment that it was Cicero who had forced their creation, but beyond that, they were not his uncle's children. Neither were they solely Potema's. They were neither a curse or terrible reminder, but the next generation of Blackfeather Woods. They were innocent, and if one could look past their obvious afflictions, normal, healthy and lively children who had not deserved the lack of a mother.
He disregards the venom within Kjalarr's words in referral to his siblings, not even rationally considering that anyone would risk the stupidity to suggest anything malicious against them. It was fit for a death sentence, a risk to even insult their unfortunate circumstance was disrespect in the highest degree, equivalent to insulting the sovereign himself. They were Blackfeather royalty. Yet again, there was a reason Kjalarr lingered among the scum of their ranks, and would likely never move. Entitlement seemed to coat his father's tone, as if the man had any say over the fate and existence of both his mother and the children she birthed. As if he had any rights at all. "Call them monsters again and you won't have a home here." He says so, in the manner of returning the sentiment the other held for the spiderlings. Vaati could quickly learn hate his father in favour of the dignity of his younger siblings, if the pattern continued. And for one to be at the receiving end of the yearling's strong disdain was an unfortunate thing indeed.
If there is one thing Vaati defended with all that he had, was that the pups, regardless of their conception were wholly innocent of the crimes of their father. They were no more tainted than the rest of the woods and the deeds done within. "The children may have been her curse, but they are not her's only. They belong to the woods, our Gods and most importantly, they are my siblings. Their lives, regardless of their conception, are not her's to take." It was why he had been so adamant that they live. He shared his mother's pain in the sentiment that it was Cicero who had forced their creation, but beyond that, they were not his uncle's children. Neither were they solely Potema's. They were neither a curse or terrible reminder, but the next generation of Blackfeather Woods. They were innocent, and if one could look past their obvious afflictions, normal, healthy and lively children who had not deserved the lack of a mother.
He disregards the venom within Kjalarr's words in referral to his siblings, not even rationally considering that anyone would risk the stupidity to suggest anything malicious against them. It was fit for a death sentence, a risk to even insult their unfortunate circumstance was disrespect in the highest degree, equivalent to insulting the sovereign himself. They were Blackfeather royalty. Yet again, there was a reason Kjalarr lingered among the scum of their ranks, and would likely never move. Entitlement seemed to coat his father's tone, as if the man had any say over the fate and existence of both his mother and the children she birthed. As if he had any rights at all. "Call them monsters again and you won't have a home here." He says so, in the manner of returning the sentiment the other held for the spiderlings. Vaati could quickly learn hate his father in favour of the dignity of his younger siblings, if the pattern continued. And for one to be at the receiving end of the yearling's strong disdain was an unfortunate thing indeed.
RE: revolution is a self taught language - Kjalarr - December 31, 2017
There is a small curl of Kjalarr’s lips, a noise like the hiss of a cornered viper that passes from betwixt his lips. Vaati thinks he is the big bad but he was born of a scourge. Kjalarr has both age and experience on his side and he does not fear his son. Kjalarr murdered his own daughters under the guise that it would put an end to their suffering but the truth was he did not know that they would not have survived. He has turned to consuming the flesh of other wolves to survive the famine. Kjalarr is as much his father’s son as Vaati is his own. Perhaps there is even resentment for the boy king, playing at politics like he has any clue about what he’s doing, because in the end Kjalarr will never change. He still wants power, he wants dominance. He hungers for it, deep down. Perhaps Potema will hold him back. It is hard to tell, aside from that he does not like the lording of power especially from a boy that is barely a year old. He lets out a noncommittal noise. He does not believe in Vaati’s supposed gods. He has his own deities that he prays and sacrifices to. At least his gods an be merciful: they would not have condemned Potema to endure their continued existence, if they would have condemned her to bear the fruit of her own brother’s seed to full term in the first place.
Kjalarr believes he speaks the truth: what else is the product of incest and rape to be but monsters? Vaati doesn’t like it: laying out the threat of being kicked from their ranks. It would be less humiliating then remaining a captive, surely, but the Northerner’s fate is not up to the arrogant son. An arrogance that brings back strong waves of deja vú. He sees himself and all of his failures when he looks at the son standing before him. “Do not mistake a prison for home. This is not my home.” Kjalarr tells him curtly. His home is Ankyra Sound. His home is Caiaphas whom he failed by allowing the pack to wither away due to his own arrogance. Arrogance would always be the pitfall of self-proclaimed kings. It was a lesson that Kjalarr had learned hard but a lesson learned nevertheless. “How do you think your mother would react if she found out that you banished me from these Woods when I am her captive?” Not yours. Kjalarr inquires but does not fight the threat. If that is what Vaati wants to do then Kjalarr was not going to beg. He is only here for Potema, after all; there would be no love lost if he was banished from these Woods. The only
thing that Kjalarr would miss was Potema and Potema alone.
Kjalarr believes he speaks the truth: what else is the product of incest and rape to be but monsters? Vaati doesn’t like it: laying out the threat of being kicked from their ranks. It would be less humiliating then remaining a captive, surely, but the Northerner’s fate is not up to the arrogant son. An arrogance that brings back strong waves of deja vú. He sees himself and all of his failures when he looks at the son standing before him. “Do not mistake a prison for home. This is not my home.” Kjalarr tells him curtly. His home is Ankyra Sound. His home is Caiaphas whom he failed by allowing the pack to wither away due to his own arrogance. Arrogance would always be the pitfall of self-proclaimed kings. It was a lesson that Kjalarr had learned hard but a lesson learned nevertheless. “How do you think your mother would react if she found out that you banished me from these Woods when I am her captive?” Not yours. Kjalarr inquires but does not fight the threat. If that is what Vaati wants to do then Kjalarr was not going to beg. He is only here for Potema, after all; there would be no love lost if he was banished from these Woods. The only
thing that Kjalarr would miss was Potema and Potema alone.