Blackfeather Woods AHHH! It's demons! Run Jim! Ruuuuun! Ruuuuun!

@Euron @Maegi @Ramsay
 @Koume @Kotake @Vaati @Astrid @Cicero

Had wolves had an established concept about the days of the week and set month lengths, she might have seen the curse placed upon this particular day. But even without the stigma attached to this day, she felt an immense sense of dread as she hunkered down in the den. She had sent her children away. Koume and Kotake in particular, continued to linger with her, . Ganon had long since needed an excuse to leave the den, and her growing size provided the reason needed for him to finally leave.

With the space all to herself once more, she barricaded herself inside, for days before she was due. She performed cleansing rituals time and time again, in some last minute attempt to rid herself of any living spawn inside of her. She did not know what to expect for them — if they would be strange, twisted creatures or born dead, or would eventually go mad, but she knew that they would do nothing but pollute the pack rather than bless it. Her first litter, impulsive and irrational as they sometimes were, were accomplished. 

They all slid out of her easily enough. She came to realize that she would suffer little pain from this birth — oh no, the Gods wouldn't grant her that pain. Instead, she came to realize their misshapen bodies as she cleaned and moved them

There were four of them near her stomach, and one more pushing through her as she took a moment to stare down at them.

One whined, but its noises were twisted and gurgled, the result of a twisted jaw and throat. Another was on its back, flailing a black paw that was stuck pointing backwards. The third's eyes bulged painfully in its sockets, threatening to burst past the protective seal that covered newborns' eyes. And the fourth's spine was short, shorter than any pup's was supposed to be — he was not merely small, but stunted. She could hear the cries of the fifth as it crowned, and his noises filled her with dread at the realization that they were all born alive.

Potema pulled away from them, refusing to nurse any of them, even after the last, seemingly perfect pup, came out of her and landed amidst his older siblings. She cursed them with every breath she took, watching as they wriggled haphazardly . She did not even want to grace them with the dignity of being reabsorbed into her body. Too weak, too exhausted after the weeks carrying them, she tucked herself in a corner, as far from her spawn as possible.

Dark were the days spent in seclusion for the prince of Blackfeather Woods; dark and cold, but never silent.

There were voices haunting him, voices that, at first, Damien had thought were in his head. But they weren't, how could they? Sometimes he even felt the faint warmth of their breath as the whispered things in his ears, wicked things, twisted messages that, had he been as adept as his sister in the old tongue perhaps he could have understood. These voices were real, they were with him and they knew things that Damien had always wanted to know. Perhaps they belonged to the gods? Surely the mad prince was having fun with him... Or perhaps it was Vaermina whose wicked magic plagued his thoughts...

No.

Had it been Vaermina he would have seen it coming, she would have told him what was to come, the disgrace that his wolrd was about to fall into.

It hadn't taken long for the scent to reach his chamber. A scent that crept up his nose and sparked an intrigue for the outer world that he had not felt past many moons... But... It was hard to tell what it was... Was it death? There was surely blood... Or perhaps it was Potema doing a sacrifice? A ritual? There were many herbal odors mingled too...

Like a shadow Damien found himself creeping closer to his vault's opening, dragging himself over the walls, careful not to make a sound. A curious sniff confirmed that he had not imagined what his senses were telling him, not this time. The voices warned him to stay, to remain in the shadows, in the safety of his hall, but he wasn't going to be fooled, not this time, and so he dragged himself out of the hole, keeping his head low as he traced the curious scent through the tunnels down to what he believed to be the glen.

And what he found there...

"Wh... What is the meaning of this?" rang his voice in utter confusion as he stared down, eyes wide, at the pile of twisted bodies in the middle of the chamber. Old words surrounded them, old voices cursing, shouting warnings and screaming in despair. Little monsters they were, demon-spawn brought to seal the curse upon Blackfeather Woods for Damien's own sins.

"Are they yours?" he managed to pick from within a swarm of questions and concerns. When? How? Who? What now? He felt the urge to savage them, put them out of missery if you may... Do anything but stand there, petrified, as the prestige of his family crumbled down to nothing with the birth of such creatures.

The gods were indeed having a good laugh with Damien this day.

No one ever remembers the transition from womb to world. The marvelous memory of slipping from shapeless warmth to something more tangible. The moment we take our first earthly breath must be the moment we forget from where we came. And we go on, that time of our development forgotten, only brought to vague memory when a woman carries life of her own within.

It had been a tumultuous stay inside. Unknown to Maegi, or her other siblings, Potema had detested them the entire way, even seeking to expel them from her body. But the children had resisted death, and now came forth, wriggling and writhing in newborn confusion.

It was much colder here than it had been. . .there. Sightless Maegi whined in protest, seeking any sort of heat she could find. Her thin white fur was slick and hot from the birth, yet her body longed for warmth. There were other moving shapes beside her, and she huddled against them, hoping against hope that they would be able to provide her the heat she desperately needed.

And the emotion she'd learn to call hunger rose in her as well, gurgling in her belly. This was unfair! Surely the coziness of the place she once called home was not the last pleasure she would ever feel? The babe, nearly perfect save for one twisted forepaw, cried out a weak, infantile cry, seeking succor in this strange, cold, empty new world.

He took his distance from his sister because he knew what had happened; what he had awakened to those moons ago. It did not quite feel like it had been two moons and in his time he had mostly cared for Damien. Had brought his brother food, had spoken to him — though never of this — and had been with his brother. He liked to think it helped, but it was hard to tell. Cicero went to find his brother in the labyrinths that day but he found no trace of his brother. Only a scent trail that eventually led out and away. He followed the trail until eventually he reached a place that smelled of the betrayal he, himself had done.

He was not sure whether he should focus upon what Potema had brought into this world — a weird feeling of affinity to the little ones, but at the same time a sickening feeling in his stomach at the thought that they were his — or upon Damien, the real reason he was here. He would not have found Potema that day, and certainly would not have come close to the spawn, had Damien nog been there. Cicero approached silently and waited a few meters away from Damien, aiming not to be seen but desiring to know what was going on — and whether Damien was healthy again, now, for however much he ever would be again.

His first attempt to breathe came as a choked gurgle followed by a splutter. His mother had not tended him — had not tended either of them — and so had left his nose and mouth covered in the fluid and membrane that her tongue should have swiped away. She had neither welcomed him in to this world nor into her care. It was up to him to breathe on his own and seek what he needed.

Fortunately, he was born healthy (at least by outward appearances) and had strength enough to fight against the slime that threatened to strangle him. He continued to cough and snort, desperate to draw air and determined to live. His uncoordinated writhing brought his nose to rub against a sibling, clearing his airway, just as his lungs could take no more. With a gasp, Euron took his first breath.

Shivering and shuddering, the pup softly whimpered and squeaked. His snout probed for warmth and for sustenance, as his legs tried to haul him toward it. But his mother was so far as to seem unreachable, and so he pleaded piteously for her to come to him. He whimpered and squeaked some more, until the ordeal of his birth seemed to exhaust him all at once. Euron sighed and dropped his nose to the cold den floor between his silver toes.

The first thing to register in the little monster's new consciousness was that it was bloody cold.

Upon hitting the den floor and finding a place among his twisted brethren, Ramsay's amniotic sack split itself. By a stroke of luck he drew his first breath—had that not happened, the little dwarf would have suffocated in fluid without Potema's help. Covered wholly in dark fur and with a hearty pair of lungs that immediately began to cry for his mother, he would have been the picture of health if his spine wasn't approximately half the length it ought to be. Each of his limbs was perfectly proportioned, his ears small flaps on his head, his nose already wriggling actively between cries, but there was something very wrong with Ramsay's spine, and that doomed him to further hatred and disgust from his mother.

His forelegs began to flail, weakly attempting to drag his stunted body toward any source of warmth, but all he found was other little bodies incapable of regulating their heat. Ramsay cuddled in close to them—the one with the grotesque jaw on his right, the completely healthy one falling still on his left—and resigned himself to this new life of misery with a pitiful squeak, none the wiser to the fact that he was deformed as well and that his mother would reject him even if he wasn't.

Replying because all of my bastards spawn filth children are born. @Vaati @Koume @Kotake @Astrid you're all free to join in!

Monsters.

It was a scene out of a nightmare, sent by Vaermina herself to torture her even in her waking moments. Or, some pocket of Oblivion she was trapped in by Sheogorath, meant to be tortured for the rest of her life, mortal and beyond. The fact that these had grown within her, were children of her own blood like Vaati and Koume and Kotake and Ganondorf were...She had thought she had failed before with her first litter — losing Koume for so long and Ganon straying from the faith — but now she felt an overwhelming sense of failure pulled by her disgust. 

She snarled at them as if they were a threat to her safety — in a way they were. She flinched at every random movement that was even slightly in her direction, as if they were searching for her. They were; searching for milk and warmth like any normal child would. But she would not give that to them — they were cursed from their birth to be ignored by her.

Damien's presence startled her. More so because she did not recognize him at first. His body had shrunk, become haphazard and wild. Clarity tinged his voice but did not overcome it. But she was just as close to the precipice of madness that he had fallen into. Her eye burned with desperation, pleading. Damien, please, She hissed to him, her voice weak. She looked at the children squirming in a pile, a wriggling mass of putrid wretches. Kill them. Get rid of them now.

He needed not be told twice for his fangs were itching to rid the world of such disgraceful creatures from the beginning. He asked no further questions, deciding instead that it was way more important to cleanse his family name before it got blemished.

With determination Damien picked one of the pups, failing to notice it was one of those born already dead, and tore it's body apart with a still surprisingly strong and effective single movement, but the voices wouldn't stop. Instead they grew louder and angrier, deafening the dark prince whose body had petrified at the sight of the blood that wouldn't stop leaking from his own mouth. It wasn't the stillborn pup's blood but his own, and though it was all product of his affected imagination it felt as real as the air that flowed in and out of his lungs.

'Blood and fear' whispered the dark prince to himself. He was shaking in both rage and horror. He had understood the reason of this catastrophe, and there was no way around it. With eyes wide in realization Damien's attention slowly turned back to his horrified sister, and in a cryptic, enlightened voice he said: Wherever these creatures came from... They must have been sent here by the gods to punish us for our sins... sins that he knew he had committed, that he had seen his brother commit and that he was sure were the reason of Potema's fearful tears. For Piertro's avoidable death and for the loss of Kendra's soul to the light. For not seeking revenge upon their apostate father and for turning a blind eye on the gods' task for their branch of the Dark Brotherhood and Meldresi's plan for the Teekon Wilds. They were all unworthy and the sins of the unworthy could only ever be baptized with blood and fear. Damien could not cleanse the Melonii name by getting rid of the monsters because they were the price that had to be paid for their name to mean anything again in the eyes of the gods.

One by one Damien carried the spawn to Potema's nourishment, blind to any form of abnegation from his sister, accepting the punishment he so ardently requested from the gods to have a chance at redemption. They must be cared for he spoke still shaking after placing the last of the pups (even the dead ones) against Potema's belly, If we do, the gods will look upon us again and Blackfeather Woods will flourish once more... he added, making sure that Potema saw the conviction through his words, but failing to mask the fear and dismay in his eyes... We... We will d-do it together...

Vaati arrives eventually, barging ungracefully into the circle that has developed around his mother and his eyes settle upon the stirring forms of his newborn siblings, and he feels nothing but love for them. It is a love that mimics the intensity he holds for @Cassiopeia, who lingers obediently outside the den. And perhaps that is not even loving, but the willful need to keep them safe, to keep them alive and breathing. Ignoring his mother's audible protests and begs to have them killed, he nudges each child, making sure there is still breath in their lungs and quickly removing the ones that do not. Their deformities cause him to cringe, but he is otherwise unfazed by their defections. They are of his blood, and he will accept them as they are; he finds himself more than slightly angry that his mother refuses to accept her own children at her side. Vaati's eyes return to Potema's evidently disgusted expression and his gaze hardens. "Feed them, now," The Silencer demands of her, enraged that she would ever consider taking their lives. She may not accept them or call them hers, but they are his siblings. They are more than just mistakes, but the next generation of Melonii's, and Vaati sees it as selfish that Potema should reject what was the future, regardless of their imperfections.

It only takes him a second to become irritated by his uncle's rantings of gods and sins, for while he does hold the belief that their deities cause many of the events to take place in their lives, his siblings have no part in that. They are innocent to gods and monsters, unable to help the circumstance of their birth. The more the former Dark Master goes on, the more Vaati realizes that his uncle is truly unstable, twisted into a corrupted, insane version of what darkness already existed within his mother's brother. Vaati had, clearly, severely underestimated exactly how damaged the once victorious ruler truly was, and he automatically understands why Astrid had come to him with the proposition of fathering her children. There was no chance Vaati, nor anyone else no matter how crazy the rest of Blackfeather was, would ever allow this madness incarnated to continue into another bloodline, a sickness that was much more terrifying and unpredictable than Cicero's.

Vaati moves to stand in front of his mother, glancing painfully at the shredded mess that was once a child. "Leave, uncle. You've done enough." The command comes with a warning that Vaati takes more seriously than the threat against his life. There is no room for error in the presence of newborns, one misstep would be all it took to crush the already deformed beings. Damien's dicey movements and cautionary utterings flash a big red warning sign in his mind, and he calls for @Astrid to remove her madman from where sleeping children lie. Perhaps his uncle truly does care for the children, but Vaati knows well enough that it isn't for the right reasons; Damien would likely sacrifice his own life if he believed their gods wanted it enough, and it is that kind of radicalism that Vaati had since dropped when their precious gods had sent the wraiths to cull his soul. He doesn't trust him, nor his mother to feed, nurture, and protect the deformed beings that mew softly in their sleep, and with that, he turns around once more with a snarl on his tongue, that no matter how much he loves his mother, he is not above hurting her to ensure his siblings live.

She lingers outside, unsure of why Vaati has brought her here. The girl is thin, pelt lacklustre, but her eyes are still reminiscent of the flame she once was, sparked with morbid curiosity. Here is the scent of birth and blood and hate, and she soon slips into the cavern. She does not feel fear, so much prolonged terror has eradicated the nervous fear such a simple act ought the bring. 

Pups, are what she sees first. There is something wrong, something off- their mother refuses them, they are misshapen, wrong -

 Blood and Fear. A man, wild and raving about gods, the body of a child ravaged at his feet. His muzzle is stained with blood, and he positions the bodies carefully at the mother's side, dead and alive. "kill them, please." It is her voice she has heard, she realizes quickly, and Cassiopeia turns to the woman, an odd vacancy in her eyes.

As she stares into the cavern, the madness and the thick scent of blood, she feels an odd weightlessness. She is caught in a dream, a nightmare, and it has long been determined that she no longer holds control over her own life. She cannot wake up, can do nothing. She can watch the scene unfold before her, watch Vaati. Thoughts flicker behind her gaze as she is suddenly made still, watching the boy of a thousand contradiction take charge cooly, make the woman - she realizes now that this is Potema, the healer - feed her children, care for them. 

But she has some semblance of control, does she not? Her paws move, striding into the cavern, mind reeling to catch up with the decision it made moments ago. She moves past the unwilling mother, the mad uncle,  the silent patchwork man. She moves to Vaati's side, gaze sliding to his, a silent shadow. She could have fled, could have turned tail and run from the scene. She does not know quite what has her do this instead, but she is still beside the boy as her heart thumps loudly in her chest. 

Panic began to set in as nothing was coming with food, with warmth. The little white-furred girl mewled louder, begging for aid. The squirming bundles beside her provided some heat, but it was not enough, and the stone floor was very cold.

Then suddenly, as if her cries had summoned help, she felt something lift her, and she was hanging in the air, moving, moving, somewhere. . .

And settled down beside a very warm body, fur thicker than hers. And something else. . . Maegi rooted around, searching for what she knew was there, blindly seeking with her mouth. The tiny lips found a nipple, latched on, and she suckled furiously, hot milk filling her with the energy she so badly needed. Her body began to droop with contentment.

So, off to a bad start. But it was better, now.

Kotake arrives late. She does not know what she is about to run into, but when she does she is struck with horror.

There were young, mewling things. All but one looked damaged, but she knew as she stared at the one seemingly perfect child that there were other maladies that would likely take root within it. Damien rambled, Vaati demanded, and her mother begged. It was a very sorry scene. There had been a curse cast upon Blackfeather, for one reason or another. And the curse rest at the teats of her mother.

She was not sure what to think of them. But they were family, whether she like it or not, and so like Vaati she felt struck by the desire to protect them, too. Looking at them, she could not help but feel as though some sort of dismal end was near for life as they each knew it.

The little captive was here, too, Kotake noted. Right beside Vaati. A glacial gaze fell upon her, and she felt a flash of cold fury that Vaati would bring her here. Though he was Silencer now, a thing she respected and agreed with, this decision did not sit well with her—why was she here, to see their mother in the state that she was? There was no reason for her to see the disarray their family had fallen into.

Or perhaps he had one he could enlighten her about, later.

She drew alongside her mother. Do you need anything? to ease her pain, to help her sleep.

He watched as it all unfolded. One of the children torn by Potema's command before his brother stepped back and seemed to think that he should not be doing what he was doing. Cicero's head canted as he looked at Damien, watched as his brother said that it was them who were being punished for their sins. Their sins were all in the names of their gods, they were all their gods longed for. Blood, lust, rage, power. Cicero did not believe they were being punished, but he was not unhappy enough to see his children live even if he felt little fatherly affinity for them now. Potema was right, perhaps, that they should be killed, but a part of him wished to see them grow up, see how they would flourish.

Vaati was very welcome. It was not visible on Cicero's face but when Vaati told Potema to nurse, he felt relief. Upon Vaati's command to Damien Cicero nosed his brother's shoulder, taking a step closer, and said, "Come, brother. We leave." Fully intent on guiding Damien away, back to the shelter of his own madness, back to where he could not harm the children and where he would not frighten Potema with his words; and where Cicero would not frighten her with his presence.

He squeaked in surprise as he was lifted. His legs splayed in the air and his tail twirled, seeking to balance and stabilize himself. It was a short trip before the pup was dropped down near his mother. Instinct guided him to a teat as he nestled among his siblings - the live ones as it were. Their warmth comforted him even as he sensed something amiss. Euron fed, soft semi-placated whimpers interspersed with the sound of his suckling.

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She scrambled back, watching as the bag of bones she called her brother stumbled forward, taking a pup in his jaws and rending it. The witch felt a shiver of delight and relief run through her, though it barely made its way through her body before he began placing the still living pups besides her. She felt their jaws clamp onto her teats, a feeling she once relished. She nearly wretched as they began suckling in earnest. No! She raised her leg, attempting to kick them off. She did not hold back, the force of her kick cracking through the skull and neck of the one with the bulbous eyes with an audible and cringing crunch! It was still attached to her, its sealed lips holding on even after death. She continued to kick and kick and kick, all the while screaming. Nononononono! Her brother's ramblings were muffled undertones as her breath quickens and her movements and words became more erratic. Vaati's voice shakes her back into reality. And she is quick to turn on him.

You do not tell me what to do, son of mine! The Listener snaps her jaws at him as he focused into her view, the last three words dripping with contempt. You dare claim to have the authority to let these things live? A girl steps beside him; a girl she faintly recalls from the caves. The confusion on her face mingles in with her anger, which flares once more as Vaati speaks again. You ruin us with every action you take, She knew something had been wrong when she saw his wound, but Charon's presence on their doorstep had solidified it for her. The prisoners in the Cave had no doubt been brought in or ravaged by him; one had escaped, and who knew what allies she had. She had no doubt that something would come to reap revenge and that these creatures were only the prelude. If these are sent to punish us for sins, they are your sins.

Cicero comes and goes, but he is not missed by Potema, even in her state of hysteria. She does not have the strength to rail at him, merely snarling at his presence as he escorts Damien away. She has not revealed the father of her bastards just yet, but the mottled appearance of the last, visually perfect child is enough to tell anyone.

Her daughter comes to her side, just as Potema's head hit the floor, her body drained to the point of exhaustion. Poppy. Is all she murmurs back to her. She knows poppy as a pain-killer, both physical and mental.

He scarcely comprehended his surroundings as he was lifted into the air with a protesting whimper and placed along the warm belly of his mother. By virtue of having almost no neck, Ramsay didn't manage to get hold of a teat before Potema lifted herself away from them, disgusted, and kicked in the head of his nearest litter mate. He cried out loudly as the flailing body, still connected to her tit, smacked against his side before it was hauled away by his mother's motion. He felt the rumbling vibrations against the floor as she continued to stomp about, narrowly missing his shortened body on more than one occasion, until at last Potema dropped to the floor and her tirade ended.

He cried out again, a dismal little squeak, in hopes he would be returned to her side where he could finally feed.

Just want to clarify (in case): anything that Vaati says/thinks in this post or other related posts is completely not a representation of me or my beliefs, its just there are lot of controversial/sensitive topics in this thread that could relate to real life so I'm just putting it out there :)

Potema shrieks in defiance at his demands, and the audible crack of the death of another sibling sounds out through the echoes walls of the cave, chilling him to the bone. His stomach drops and Vaati swallows painfully, ears falling against his skull and unable to bring himself to look upon the utterly smashed child, glancing only at it through his peripherals at what remains. The mere glimpse is enough to turn his stomach, the urge to throw up the contents of his belly without the slightest hesitation. But he doesn't -- he is unable to before Potema unleashes barbed words that seem more painful than all he has since bore witness to. 

But he does not agree, his siblings are not his sins. Perhaps he had, unintentionally, caused more trouble than he was worth, but he remains settled in the belief that these newborns have no business with the gods and their terrible knack for vengeance. He doesn't see why they would, as it had been the Gods that had blessed the path he had sought to take those many months ago in the form of the furious hailstorm, sent to rain down upon their enemies heads, or the sudden darkness that had engulfed the world, covering the sun in its entirety. He doesn't consider that those may have been warnings, threats even, sent from the darkest powers to halt him in his tracks. Vaati chooses not to believe he has made a fatal error, and that indirectly, he had caused such a terrible fate upon his mother's pups. He doesn't want to think about it. No, he thinks about all those times when his mother had opposed his attempts to make her to understand, when she had disregarded his warning of what would come if a foreigner remained the Dark Master of Mephala's sect. Instead, she had taken up arms with the Nyx bitch, almost entirely convincing Vaati that his teachings were null. He had told her, and she had not listened. Vaati looks upon her frail, unconscious form with cold eyes; unforgiving in the slightest. "No, mother. They are your sins," He hopes she hears him. He hopes that his words strike a fear within her soul, one that would render her able to take ownership of the beings she created in the same manner she had embraced him as a child. 

His mother collapses, his uncle runs, his thrall moves beside him, his sister reveals medicinal tendencies he was unaware she held, and his attention can only focus on the cries of his youngest brother, of whom out of all he pities the most. The child seems to be born without a trace of a neck, wiggling around fitfully, unable to completely move like the remaining pups. It dawns upon the Silencer that these are not normal children, they are born out of something terrible, something that would ignite a fury within him in due time that he would never quite feel again, that would not even measure up to the prospect of the Cerberus returning to find him and winning. That outcome would be final, but this, this would haunt him for the rest of his life to learn that his mother had been defiled in a way that could never be justified nor forgiven, ever. Not even in the case of the attacker's mental illness. The fact that he would always remember how Cicero had simply walked away upon the sight of what pain he had created would only fuel Vaati's temper, and ultimately, become the obsession of a lifetime; to make his former uncle feel the same agony he so carelessly and un-acknowledging created.

Still, it did not excuse Potema's will to see them dead, at least not in Vaati's book. They are still innocent, they were still her's. They couldn't be rid of, simply for the incestual circumstance of their creation. The child whines at the lack of parental affection being showed to it and Vaati lays down, cleaning the child comfortingly and eventually, placing it beside the unconscious mother for him to latch on to. He does the same with the rest, the sister and then the spotted brother. Vaati cannot be the mother they need, nor the father, but it is in his capability to ensure that what happened to the two gooey messes of what was once pups laying off to the side does not happen to the perfectly precious trio before him. Or worse, that his mother would intentionally be the one to do it.

He got no more than a few warm mouthfuls before he was knocked aside. Euron wailed loudly as one of his mother's kicking feet sent him rolling, scrabbling, and flailing across the den floor. He cried urgently for help — for protection — as his tiny claws curled into the dirt attempting to anchor him to the ground. The pup shook and shivered, and whimpered once — quietly — before he stilled and made no more sound. Euron, defenseless and fearful of another strike, pressed his tail to his flank, laid his white chin on the ground and drew in his paws, bade by instinct to make himself as small and inconspicuous as he could be.

Even as Euron was lifted again he uttered nothing and made no twitch. He was limp like the dead, and placed again where he last had been — at his mother's side. His nose was engulfed in the same scent as before. He felt her presence. Only this time nothing about it felt right. The pup made no move at first, and then his only action was to stretch out his forelegs in a weak attempt to shove himself away. But hunger was a demanding master. So Euron pulled himself closer and fed ravenously. He would take in as much milk as he could muster before he was deprived of the chance again.

Last post

For a moment it felt right. This would please the gods, this would cleanse their sins and cast a new light upon Blackfeather Woods. But Potema did not seem to understand. She kicked and struggled to get the pups off of her, and Damien could not allow it. He tried to comfort his sister, whispering to her ear that the gods would forgive them all if they did this right, if they kept the creatures from death long enough for their problems to disappear, but it didn't seem to help.

Sooner rather than later Damien was cast aside by his own nephew, who would have gotten a harsher response from the once powerful monarch, but instead was met with dazzled eyes, his uncle was in a forced state of euphoria that made him manageable enough for Cicero to remove him from the scene with ease. His voice could be heard through the tunnels singing to the gods in the daedric tongue, muffled by each turn they took within the web, and finally silenced by it's own echoes.

Last post.

In the absence of Potema's attention, Vaati took over, cleansing the remaining afterbirth from his downy raven coat and warming him against the den's unwelcoming chill. All around he could feel the press of tension, but with no means to respond to or stymie it, Ramsay could only ignore it. He whimpered at the loveless feel of his mother even as he was placed beside her, but his lips eventually found a teat and he suckled, soon forgetting all about the fear and emptiness that had ruled his world just a moment before. In time he drifted off, watched carefully by his older brother so that Potema had no chance to do anything to him or his two litter mates.

Last post. If @Euron, @Vaati, @Maegi, @Cicero @Kotake want a last post go ahead

She does not move, unflinching and unresponsive to the wolves around her. She knew that her bastards would be taken care of, but it does not make her happy. She would rather kill them, smother or break the wretched bodies like she had the one with the bulbous eyes. But she is exhausted, her muscles sinking her against the ground. When they eventually were presented to her, she would devour them witht he last vestiges of energy she had left, then lose herself in the fog of what happiness she had in her mind left.

For a moment it looked as though Damien would assault Vaati for his words, but then something seemed to snap. Cicero nuzzled Damien's shoulder roughly and he was then able to guide him away from the scene. He left, not looking back to the spawn that they had brought to the earth. Cicero did not care if it would be killed or not, and for now he simply stayed with Damien and away from his sister; deciding it were best if she did not see much of him for a while. Instead he stayed by his brother's side, whose mad cackling was soon heard in the dark webs of the Woods again, and Cicero stayed there, visible or not, making sure that he would live to hopefully be better one day.

He fed until he was full enough that sleep became a more pressing issue. Unaware of the peculiarities and perversions of the situation, the boy drifted off. Despite all that was going against them, him and two of his littermates would live to see another day.

Last post.