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+--- Thread: Arrow Lake relict (/showthread.php?tid=36274)
relict - Stigmata - August 25, 2019
Mature Content Warning
This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Violent Death
stigmata had worn himself thin as of late. this much was recognizable to almost everyone; except for the too-proud sandraudiga himself, who often shook off his exhaustion like a bothersome fly and soldiered on, as he had been bred.
he didn't notice when he forgot to eat every now and again.
and he certainly didn't notice that, more often than not, his name would need to be called twice before he answered.
he almost didn't notice that he was hunting...
the wolf focused on a dark blur ahead of him, and was dreadfully slow to react when it occurred to him that it was one of his own children rushing headlong into danger. careening determinedly towards the moose they had been studying. he wasn't surprised that it was his most disobedient child, his most reckless son, that had sprinted from the bushes with audacious intent; the one who liked to show his teeth most and throw his weight around - generally being far rougher than any situation called for; the boy that consistently needed to be pulled sharply by the ruff before he would heed words.
how many times did he have to tell @Ego not to rush out?
at least once more.
one last time.
"EGO!"
the general surged forward to catch his son. he did not have a chance to explain that moose were not like their frightened deer cousins. he hadn't yet told him that they wouldn't always flee. its antlers were turned on ego before stigmata could catch up, and his mind went completely blank as the rest of him reacted to the sight of his son in immediate danger.
the basilisk was moving on pure instinct when he rounded the great beast, and attacked its tree-thick ankles to incentivize a rebuttal. he tasted sweet blood. and out of the corner of his rapier gaze, he saw ego's hindside, fleeing for safety.
relief flooded him.
and then pain.
the iron warden felt a sudden weightlessness, and an eerie sort of awe as a part of him realized that he was flying. the world spun into an incomprehensible blur before coming abruptly to a hard, skidding halt. under the ringing of a severe concussion, he mistook the moose's plodding gait, growing more and more distant, as the sound of his own heartbeat - and the sound of it becoming fainter and fainter, started to frighten him.
get up.
stigmata lurched to his feet, staggering and intensely aware that he hurt down to his skeleton, but feeling very much alive as he shook his head, trying not to see stars. he looked down to orient himself, pausing as he noticed the red bib forming across his chest...
then he felt it.
a slimy warmth dribbling along his down-turned muzzle.
followed by the sight of shiny red globs falling to the ground, splitting open like horrific water balloons upon impact. his eyes widened as he realized how wet he was. stained crimson from the jaw down. punctured fatally at the neck. he stumbled forward a few feet before collapsing, gurgling a blood-slicked protest as he felt his very life source bubble and drain away.
he dragged himself forward on the legs he could still feel, but the crawl was short lived, as he soberly came to the conclusion that it would do him no better to move than lie still. ever pragmatic of choice, even in death, the general let the weight of his body settle heavily into sodden dirt, and tried to accept what had become of him.
exhausted from reaping what he sown, then pierced and flung to his death. like poetry.
stigmata rolled onto his side then, coughing as blood unnaturally filled his lungs and mouth. his dull eye rolled to meet the face of ego, who stood nearby looking terrified and sick. he tried to reassure his son, but could manage nothing but a choked, sputtering whine, that served only to send the boy fleeing indefinitely from diaspora - chased by a grisly image he surely considered himself the cause of.
the warhound's breathing slowed, while he thought bitterly of his other children - @Stag, @Mesa, and @Monarch - fear gripping him as he realized how much of their life he would miss. how desperately he wanted to see them again... it kept his eyes open.
he felt a crushing guilt as he thought of @Mahler, and then @Takiyok in the moment after, and how he had shouldered them with so much - too much of himself. yet even still! he wanted their help. he wanted to cry out to them. ask even more of them than he already had. couldn't they save him? if anyone could, it would be them. certainly. he just needed to call out to them... it kept his mouth open.
the sorrow of it all hurt more than anything else he could feel, leaving him to feel a sudden sense of urgency as fear and regret began to overcome his acceptance of the situation. he knew one day he would die. he had prepared for it young and expected it since... it kept his mind open.
but as he thought of the ones he had just begun to love: @Argent, @Trench, and @River, and their mother - who he had searched for his entire life - he knew he wanted to live. he felt no honor in having provided for them previously because he wanted to provide for them again. for all time... it kept his heart open.
stigmata reached out and dug his claws into the bloody earth, straining to pull himself forward one last time.
he managed to spin almost entirely around and point himself in the direction of @Ketzia's den before passing away.
I have so many feelings, but it was fun guys <3 Thanks for everything & until next time!
RE: relict - RIP Blodreina - August 25, 2019
T-T
blodreina is no healer. she is wanlida. a warrior. a bringer of death. and she knows as she follows the sound of fleeing moose's fading footfalls and the rank smell of blood growing heavier as she draws nearer to the scene. she is wanlida. she knows that such a strong scent of blood means that death is not far. her heart beat lurches in her chest and her speed increases as she fears above all other fears that it is ingram hurt and bleeding. @Praimfaya is safe, trotting along at her side still huffy from their most recent sparring lesson ( and her most recent loss ).
"nomon?" her daughter asks her with a trembling voice as the pair approach the grisly scene. in a pool of his own blood lay stigmata and blodreina rushes to his side with a
general!though she knows she can do nothing for him. even if she were a healer there was no medicines in the world that could reverse that much blood loss, that could bring him back from the dead. there's a tremble to her lips as she looks upon the stiffening corpse of their leader and lets out a howl for the group, urgent and fearful. it reminds her too much of heda's death — though at least she did not have to go through the pain of seeing her broken and bleeding body.
yu gonplei ste odon, general.blodreina murmurs mournfully, corralling praimfaya close but not trying to shield her from the sight. she is the commander-in-training, after all, and death — no matter how gruesome it was — was apart of life. "yu gonplei ste odon, general." praimfaya repeats the words, how their people honored their dead.
RE: relict - Nyx - August 25, 2019
In the weeks since pledging herself to the wolves of Diaspora, Nyx spent most of her time alone. True to her Ostrega heritage, she often ventured beyond their mountains and scouted the lowlands - testing herself and the undeniable urge to creep closer to the Northern shores.
Her return came following yet another failed attempt to find even a sliver of bravery. That fear of the past was ever-present, yet there were no words to describe the clench of her gut upon detecting a painfully familiar scent. Blood of her own kind, heavy and metallic on the warm Summertime breeze, triggered the memory that haunted her tirelessly.
Unwanted pups, bloodied and broken at her feet - slaughtered by her own fangs.
She was reluctant to investigate, but the tawny she-wolf pressed on with tentative and careful steps. Breath held, sable hackles bristled along her shoulders, Nyx crept through the foliage and paused when her yellow eyes found the source of that copper tang.
The General had fallen. Nyx stared at him laying there for a while until she felt dizzy, and at last she let her lungs deflate to suck in another deep inhale - something Stigmata was forever robbed of. Just like her own offspring.
It is the echo of a voice that brings her from her stupor, and her gaze flits to the other female and a platinum youngster, too late to even make attempt at aiding their broken leader. Rooted to the spot, trembling beneath the weight of her own inner turmoil, there is absolutely nothing that could encourage her any closer to the grisly scene before her. Her presence, useless as always, was likely little comfort to this mother and her babe; tragedy seemed common wherever Nyx came to settle. But still she rose her voice to join that of her nearby pack-mate, a mournful sound that carried over their mountains to deliver a solemn message that would inevitably affect all of them. Only when the howl faded did the wayward Ostrega twitch of a whisker and turned, wishing only to distance herself from this latest miserable scene before anyone else could arrive to witness her departure.
RE: relict - Stag - August 25, 2019
blood. thick on thistle, wet and gleaming. stag is there blinking, eyes glazed over and unseeing. he had followed the cries, excited at first -- only something in the back of his head reminded him that this was all wrong. the scent. the color. the overwhelming amount of it, strewn about like macabre gristle in a slaughterhouse.
his legs were unsteady as he came forth, barely noticing his playmate and friend praimfaya. barely registering the inimitable blodreina. hardly seeing the stranger, gilded in gold and hung by the tail by her own demons.
stag only saw his father, his throat slicked and gaping. stag only saw those proud eyes, devoid and staring. unblinking while he blinked in shock. glazed over in a sightless film. teeth exposed and lip curling. and the blood; metallic and strong and ceaseless as it spread out from under stigmata like a horrid shadow.
"papa?" the boy whispered hoarsely -- to no use. no stirring on stigmata's end came. no flick of an ear, or roving of a shrewd but approving eye. stigmata would never look upon his boy again. or bark orders. he would never hunt or feel the wind as it rifled through his fur. he would never know the exalted taste of victory again, nor experience demoralizing defeat. he would never howl, or run with his pack, or see his children grow.
a whimper pressed from stag's throat. somewhere, something was roaring -- an overwhelming and inescapable high drone that piercingly sounded in whirlwind shrieks -- it said to run, to get away, this was not real and was not happening. it was not real, it could not be real, run.
and the boy did run, while the ghost of his father fled this world in withering silence.
RE: relict - Ketzia - August 26, 2019
Not at the scene, as she wouldn't leave her pups or bring them there.
The mountains, at times, were full of trickery. At times, it was almost as if the echo of sound could be heard as clear as day… while other noise was lost among the cavernous rocks and cliffs.
Ketzia gave pause outside of her den, ears tipping forward as a ripple seemed to flex through the air—a current of foreboding. Had that been Stigmata’s bellow? Her own jeweled eyes drifted to her three offspring, each enjoying the day and what it had to offer—her heart soaring to see Trench finally beginning to thrive, even if still sickly.
Her tongue swept out, pressing the flutter of foreboding from her feathered chest as she nudged an antler to her three mischief-makers, summarizing the muffled shout for her beloved’s son only to be a trick of the wind. There were a great many times she hated this cold and calculating mountain.
As she pulls a squirmy Argent to her side, her tongue smoothing over the boy’s nape in an attempt to clean some of the rough and tumble mud upon his stark silver fur, it is then that the anguished howl echoes across Diaspora and the foreboding she had felt before intensifies, leaving her in a sweep of cold panic for a moment.
She blinks—pausing, waiting for more news. She is met with silence as Blodreina’s song fades and looking down to three youthful babes, she attempts to mask her worry with a forced smile, nudging them once more to explore the gifts she had brought them.
Her heart hammers so loudly in her chest that she wonders if her pack mates can hear that echo across the ravenous mountain they called home.
RE: relict - Simmik - August 26, 2019
Monarch trotted at mom's side, listening to her talk about the borders and describe how important patrolling was; it was when she was learning that she actually listened to what any adult was saying. But the scent of dad and brother mingled with prey caught her attention, and she sprinted away without any warning, eager to see what she might be missing out on.
She flew through the territory, ignoring her mother's angry calls, slowing only when the scent of blood slammed into her senses. She saw a heap on the ground, then, and slowly moved closer. She had never seen so much blood. When she realized the heap was her dad, she rushed forward and put her front paws on his back, nudging him a little.
She slid down to the ground beside him as the quiet sobbing started; she was unable to control it, so she she just pushed her face into his bloody fur and let it happen.
RE: relict - Takiyok - August 26, 2019
She swore as her daughter took off unexpectedly in the direction of Ego and Stigmata's scent. Taki had also noticed that their scents mixed with that of a moose, and she instantly feared that her daughter might run into the middle of something and get hurt. She took off after Monarch, calling out to her worriedly but knowing it would do nothing to stop the stubborn girl.
She was also hit with the scent of blood as she neared the scene, and panic surged through her as images of her mangled daughter flashed through her mind. But it wasn't Monarch who lied on the ground blood soaked and unbreathing.
She was numb at first, as if her brain couldn't really process what she was seeing. The numbness was brief, though. Despair and anger coursed through her, and she wanted to shield her daughter from seeing anymore of the gruesome scene. But when she moved forward to gently usher Monarch away, the pup bristled and growled at her. She wouldn't force her away and make things worse, not when she was clearly so upset. And why wouldn't she be? She tried to avert her gaze from the gaping wound on the general's neck, but it was no use. There was no avoiding the complete desolation she felt at knowing he was gone. The emotion was so consuming that it forced a sorrowful howl from her chest. What was she supposed to do now? She couldn't help but feel guilty and stupid for all the time she wasted being angry with him. Now, all that meant nothing. He was dead and her children were fatherless. She hated that they would suffer so young.
And where was Ego? She had scented him with his father. She felt panic again as she wondered what had happened to him. Had he been hurt too? She was torn between going to search for him and being here for her sobbing daughter. But she couldn't leave her. She hoped Mahler would be here soon; he could stay with Monarch while she searched for her son. For now, she tried her best to just stay upright against the intensity of everything she was feeling. Mostly, she tried to ignore the cold, creeping fingers of dread that crept up through her chest as her friend, leader, and father of her children lied dead on the ground at her feet as their daughter remained glued to him.
RE: relict - River - August 27, 2019
For now, the antler's presence sated River's curiosity. She gnawed it vigorously with a paw placed upon its base to steady it. Occasionally, River would glace up at Ketzia happily, wordlessly expressing her gratitude. She would have been preoccupied for quite some time, had Blodrina's mournful croon not reached the whelping den.
Pushing herself to a seated position, and thus abandoning her mindless entertainment, River shoved her ears forward and fixed her mother with a questioning gaze. Ketzia's smile was not sufficient, as the expression withheld why her packmate sounded so sad; her curiosity emplored to her investigate what was going on. Twisting her body, River attempted to peek around her mother to see what all the commotion was about; it was only a matter of time before the scant stank of blood would reach the cave.
RE: relict - Mahler - August 27, 2019
Ketzia gave pause outside of her den, ears tipping forward as a ripple seemed to flex through the air—a current of foreboding. Had that been Stigmata’s bellow? Her own jeweled eyes drifted to her three offspring, each enjoying the day and what it had to offer—her heart soaring to see Trench finally beginning to thrive, even if still sickly.
Her tongue swept out, pressing the flutter of foreboding from her feathered chest as she nudged an antler to her three mischief-makers, summarizing the muffled shout for her beloved’s son only to be a trick of the wind. There were a great many times she hated this cold and calculating mountain.
As she pulls a squirmy Argent to her side, her tongue smoothing over the boy’s nape in an attempt to clean some of the rough and tumble mud upon his stark silver fur, it is then that the anguished howl echoes across Diaspora and the foreboding she had felt before intensifies, leaving her in a sweep of cold panic for a moment.
She blinks—pausing, waiting for more news. She is met with silence as Blodreina’s song fades and looking down to three youthful babes, she attempts to mask her worry with a forced smile, nudging them once more to explore the gifts she had brought them.
Her heart hammers so loudly in her chest that she wonders if her pack mates can hear that echo across the ravenous mountain they called home.
RE: relict - Simmik - August 26, 2019
Monarch trotted at mom's side, listening to her talk about the borders and describe how important patrolling was; it was when she was learning that she actually listened to what any adult was saying. But the scent of dad and brother mingled with prey caught her attention, and she sprinted away without any warning, eager to see what she might be missing out on.
She flew through the territory, ignoring her mother's angry calls, slowing only when the scent of blood slammed into her senses. She saw a heap on the ground, then, and slowly moved closer. She had never seen so much blood. When she realized the heap was her dad, she rushed forward and put her front paws on his back, nudging him a little.
Dad?The word squeaked out. She suddenly couldn't breath. He was too still, and he didn't smell right.
She slid down to the ground beside him as the quiet sobbing started; she was unable to control it, so she she just pushed her face into his bloody fur and let it happen.
RE: relict - Takiyok - August 26, 2019
She swore as her daughter took off unexpectedly in the direction of Ego and Stigmata's scent. Taki had also noticed that their scents mixed with that of a moose, and she instantly feared that her daughter might run into the middle of something and get hurt. She took off after Monarch, calling out to her worriedly but knowing it would do nothing to stop the stubborn girl.
She was also hit with the scent of blood as she neared the scene, and panic surged through her as images of her mangled daughter flashed through her mind. But it wasn't Monarch who lied on the ground blood soaked and unbreathing.
She was numb at first, as if her brain couldn't really process what she was seeing. The numbness was brief, though. Despair and anger coursed through her, and she wanted to shield her daughter from seeing anymore of the gruesome scene. But when she moved forward to gently usher Monarch away, the pup bristled and growled at her. She wouldn't force her away and make things worse, not when she was clearly so upset. And why wouldn't she be? She tried to avert her gaze from the gaping wound on the general's neck, but it was no use. There was no avoiding the complete desolation she felt at knowing he was gone. The emotion was so consuming that it forced a sorrowful howl from her chest. What was she supposed to do now? She couldn't help but feel guilty and stupid for all the time she wasted being angry with him. Now, all that meant nothing. He was dead and her children were fatherless. She hated that they would suffer so young.
And where was Ego? She had scented him with his father. She felt panic again as she wondered what had happened to him. Had he been hurt too? She was torn between going to search for him and being here for her sobbing daughter. But she couldn't leave her. She hoped Mahler would be here soon; he could stay with Monarch while she searched for her son. For now, she tried her best to just stay upright against the intensity of everything she was feeling. Mostly, she tried to ignore the cold, creeping fingers of dread that crept up through her chest as her friend, leader, and father of her children lied dead on the ground at her feet as their daughter remained glued to him.
RE: relict - River - August 27, 2019
For now, the antler's presence sated River's curiosity. She gnawed it vigorously with a paw placed upon its base to steady it. Occasionally, River would glace up at Ketzia happily, wordlessly expressing her gratitude. She would have been preoccupied for quite some time, had Blodrina's mournful croon not reached the whelping den.
Pushing herself to a seated position, and thus abandoning her mindless entertainment, River shoved her ears forward and fixed her mother with a questioning gaze. Ketzia's smile was not sufficient, as the expression withheld why her packmate sounded so sad; her curiosity emplored to her investigate what was going on. Twisting her body, River attempted to peek around her mother to see what all the commotion was about; it was only a matter of time before the scant stank of blood would reach the cave.
RE: relict - Mahler - August 27, 2019
mahler's skin prickled beneath blodreina's dirge.
the last week had passed uneventfully; he stood now in complete silence, stillness, water rolling from his lips to splash noiselessly back into the lake. it had been calm, and now, now his legs would not leave the shallows, now he was rooted, riven with a knowingness that clutched nausea in his gut.
he could not.
and yet he was a leader of diaspora, and silt clung to his paws as he turned violently away from the shimmering surface to answer where the warrioress had beckoned. her voice was joined by that of another, and by turns he fought the sense of dread and accepted it, pausing to grab from a nearby cache of herbs as directed by his healer's heart. if there was something that could be done, he would do it.
blood; its reek filled the air, choking mahler. and though his senses told him already, already, the gargoyle shouldered himself through the throng of wolves and children to lay his gaze upon the lifeless husk of his kill-brother, already stiffening in the congealing mass of blood that had poured from his torn throat.
monarch — she too was shrouded in the crimson, as if she were being reborn into the coldness of a stark new world. takiyok stood near, helpless; mahler dragged his empty gaze to her for a moment before crouching down beside stigmata. there was nothing to be done. father brother general, ambitious basilisk, the patriarch of diaspora — how could he have ended in a series of bloodstained moments?
mahler was uncomprehending; numbly he reached to nuzzle monarch's small ears, before straightening to address them all with a garble to his usually crisp tones: "ve vill bury him vhere he fell."
a sweep of his eyes over those that had remained; mahler tilted his voice skyward then, the song of stigmata burgeoning forth with stentorian strength from his chest even as his eyes, finally, filled with saltwater that rushed unabashedly down his face.
the last week had passed uneventfully; he stood now in complete silence, stillness, water rolling from his lips to splash noiselessly back into the lake. it had been calm, and now, now his legs would not leave the shallows, now he was rooted, riven with a knowingness that clutched nausea in his gut.
he could not.
and yet he was a leader of diaspora, and silt clung to his paws as he turned violently away from the shimmering surface to answer where the warrioress had beckoned. her voice was joined by that of another, and by turns he fought the sense of dread and accepted it, pausing to grab from a nearby cache of herbs as directed by his healer's heart. if there was something that could be done, he would do it.
blood; its reek filled the air, choking mahler. and though his senses told him already, already, the gargoyle shouldered himself through the throng of wolves and children to lay his gaze upon the lifeless husk of his kill-brother, already stiffening in the congealing mass of blood that had poured from his torn throat.
monarch — she too was shrouded in the crimson, as if she were being reborn into the coldness of a stark new world. takiyok stood near, helpless; mahler dragged his empty gaze to her for a moment before crouching down beside stigmata. there was nothing to be done. father brother general, ambitious basilisk, the patriarch of diaspora — how could he have ended in a series of bloodstained moments?
mahler was uncomprehending; numbly he reached to nuzzle monarch's small ears, before straightening to address them all with a garble to his usually crisp tones: "ve vill bury him vhere he fell."
a sweep of his eyes over those that had remained; mahler tilted his voice skyward then, the song of stigmata burgeoning forth with stentorian strength from his chest even as his eyes, finally, filled with saltwater that rushed unabashedly down his face.