GF Tha puing-tionndaidh ann eadar diathan agus uilebheistean. - Printable Version +- Vivarium (https://vivariumrpg.com) +-- Forum: Vivarium (https://vivariumrpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=3) +--- Forum: Spirited Highlands (https://vivariumrpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=25) +--- Thread: GF Tha puing-tionndaidh ann eadar diathan agus uilebheistean. (/showthread.php?tid=12935)

Tha puing-tionndaidh ann eadar diathan agus uilebheistean. - Mor'Du - 7/27/2026 Your fragile peace will crumble. 3-3-3 OC Speech Emotional Actions Thoughts "You're weak." His father's voice. Deep. Cold. Close enough that Mor'du could smell him before he saw him. Rust. Rot. Blood. A massive paw slammed into his shoulder, forcing him against the stone until he couldn't breathe. "Stand up." Another strike. "Look at me." Teeth bared. Not in warning. In punishment. Mor'du was small again. Far too small. His legs trembled beneath him as the towering wolf circled like a vulture, every step echoing through the cavern. "Pathetic." The words came with another blow. His ears flattened instinctively. I-I tried... "Trying is for failures." A muzzle seized the loose skin around his neck. The crushing pressure. The helplessness. The certainty that no one was coming. "You were born wrong." The cavern blurred. His father's face melted into shadow. The scent became suffocating. Breath hot against his ear. "You'll never be enough." ____________ Mor'du exploded awake. A strangled, broken snarl ripped from his throat before he even knew where he was. His body lurched violently upright, claws scraping furiously against earth as he stumbled backward into the den wall. Stone cracked against his shoulder, but he didn't seem to feel it. No— His breathing refused to cooperate. One inhale. Too short. Another. Nothing. His chest tightened until it felt as though iron bands had wrapped around his ribs, crushing tighter with every frantic gasp. Air refused to stay in his lungs. No... no... no... His eyes darted wildly through the darkness. Every shifting shadow became broad shoulders. Every whisper of wind became footsteps. Every scent was wrong. Rot. Blood. Rust. His father. He knew—knew—his father wasn't here. But terror wasn't interested in reason. Mor'du's legs gave out beneath him, collapsing into the coarse dirt. His breaths came too fast to count, each one shallower than the last until his lungs burned from the effort of trying to breathe at all. He dug his claws into the earth with desperate force, grounding himself against the volcanic grit until the dirt packed beneath his nails. He's gone... he rasped to no one. He's dead... he's gone... Again. Louder. As if repetition alone could make it true. The wind carried no voice but its own. Still, Mor'du flinched at every gust. His body remained locked in a battle that had ended years ago, muscles trembling uncontrollably beneath a hide marked by old scars. Shame churned with fear until he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. He curled tighter into himself, tail wrapped around his body like a shield that had failed him before. The volcano stood unmoving overhead, the sea continued its endless rhythm, and the world carried on as though nothing had happened. But for Mor'du, waking up again had simply become another nightmare.