SKILL : HEARTBROKEN ( 1 / 5 )

Like the days before it, Fable spent much of her morning searching for her two wayward daughters.

Their initial absence had not been immediately alarming - though something in the pit of her stomach stirred, an intuition she had oft ignored out of some sense of self-doubt and blithe optimism that her worries were overzealous. Eidola had been keeping her distance - which she permitted, thinking she needed space and time to adjust to what life now looked like - and Fable did not bar the children from visiting their father at the border even as concern billowed like blood in the water. It was presumed, by Fable, that Archon was looking over her and that, as much as he had failed as her lover, he might succeed as a positive parental figure. The girls were old enough now that their legs could travel further and their scents had remained present enough, for a time, that she was able to curb her anxieties for a day when they had gone unseen.

However, when evening's dusk fell upon the next day and she could find neither of them, the worries she kept at bay had been brought to the forefront. She searched in all of her free hours, trying to find their trails, but she could never keep it; she would pick it up for a brief and effervescent moment, only to lose it again. Too much time had spanned now and their scents had grown stale - in their absence, a feeling of failure settled sorely. Fable prayed to - pleaded with - every deity and power she knew of that they were accompanied by Archon, wherever it was they had gone, and had not found a fate aligned with Gamma's, but she still hadn't stopped searching the terrain and horizon for signs of Eidola or Kyros.

She still had three daughters to tend to and an entire pack to run, scarce though its ranks might be. Without enough hours in the day, she encroached on her own sleep, returning home to her den beneath the boughs of Aine's Whisper with only hours left before dawn would rise - the light by which she would wake again.

Eventually, it would catch up to her, but she steeled her resolve for now. Strain etched itself into every stitch of her, ever faintly below the effort she took to hide it. She plastered a serene facade across her despair while, inwardly, she wondered how many children she must lose before the world had wrought whatever tithe she owed it. What had she done that had been such a grievous slight?

Her nose skimmed across the ground, sorting the scents of rapidly thawing earth and prey. The tell-tale signs of her daughters were nowhere to be found, but an uncharacteristically bleak part of herself had expected that. Fable pressed a long and steadying breath through her nostrils as she drew to a pause, lifting her head and settling her weary gaze upon the Vale to the north in deep thought. She would have to tell Shiloh soon that two of his nieces were missing, and she also knew he would be cross with her for not asking for help when he could have made a difference.

He operated on logic, less so emotion; he didn't yet understand the frazzled thought process of a mother trying to retrieve missing children - she had pressed into motion without thinking and the sands of time had already been slipping through her fingers with each passing moment.

skill: heartboken · ( 1 of 5 )

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Blue eyes blinked slowly open, vision blurred; his eyes were crusted and felt thick, so he spent a moment to blink away his weary sleep. Habit drew a hand to the corner of his right eye, his goal to rub the closed lids to free them, but something big touched his cheek instead. Immediately his eyes snapped open, hands—paws—pushing against the ground to get him upright. A beast's paw sat beneath him and he bristled, his lips pulling back over his teeth—but he could not make out the beast. No, when he turned to view it, it was always just beyond his vision, its tail trailing his sight. He felt a guttural snarl rip from his chest and this surprised him. Somnus had never snarled like a beast before, though he may have been close...

But as he turned, he realized the beast's paws were moving in tune to him, its tracks beneath him. A chill froze his blood.

He was the beast.

Studying his paws, he focused on the way the white of the beast's legs ended at the toes, like the fingerless gloves of his armor. He felt the beast's lips relax, his gums dry and sticky from being exposed. Within his chest he felt the beast's growl, rumbling and angry and confused.

What manner of nightmare was this? Had he even been asleep?

Like a poor puppeteer he turned the beast's body, suddenly clumsy on his legs when instinct did not move his muscles. He found it difficult to move smoothly but at the same time it felt almost as natural as breathing. It was easier to steady on four legs but he still found that he could stumble and catch in his footsteps. With the beast's sharp eyes he scanned his surroundings. If this was a nightmare, it was incredibly real feeling. Perhaps the most unholy thing he had ever experienced. Unholy... Instead of looking through the scenery, he took a second to look at it.

It was beautiful. Stained in a blush that he could only imagine his family would enjoy. Some kind of place they'd drag him to on a lazy weekend...

Stellia, he stammered, choking on the name as he began to turn wildly again. She wasn't there. Or over there. Or... Stellia? he called, louder. For the first time since he woke, he felt his nose draw in the scents around him like some kind of outreaching grasp—and had he ever contemplated looking for his daughter by scent? It was ingrained in him then, some primordial knowledge, something that he could feel and understand as a part of him. A part of the beast.

Reluctantly, he let himself rely on the beast's nose, but the absence of her scent made him panic. Her scent, soft and floral and sweet, was not here. Her shimmering hair in the sunlight, her laughter rising in the air, the way her eyes regarded him like he was the pillar of the world: they were all missing. Was this how she had felt, when she accepted that death meant these things are gone forever? Was this how she felt when she realized her mother would never lift her again, never walk through the door to smile at her again...? Had he left her, too?

He crumbled. He'd never felt his legs shake the way they did now and he found the beast was gasping for air.

He had died. He had died and gone to hell to live as a beast for his sins. As he struggled to collect himself, he found solace in the absence of his daughter. At least whatever fate he was given was not also passed to her.

Somnus was not religious, but he found himself closing his watered eyes and praying for her safety and her happiness. If anything, he knew his brothers- and sisters-in-arms would not leave her an orphan. She had family in the knights but for her father to leave her, too—he shook his head. Maybe this was temporary. Maybe he would wake and find her sitting on the bed with a bundle of flowers to greet him: "You slept in again!" she'd gripe though a laugh.

Blue eyes blinked slowly open and he was met with the same blushed meadow as before, and while beautiful, it was utterly and wholly absent of Lia. She had been the only thing he had left in life, his purpose for living and being and breathing. He could not help but wonder if she thought the same of him. Would her world now feel so empty, even if it was full of the life around her?

A knot of regret twisted in his chest and he felt his heart die. Such was hell.

SKILL : --- ( 1 / 5 )

One ear twisted at the emergence of a voice - its notes laced with the sort of furtiveness that lay within her own heart. It bore only a name, but the quality was the same - its owner searched, prayed, perhaps even bargained for the presence of another.

She was always quick and content to greet others, but it was especially keen now - if she could not find her own charges, perhaps she could point them in the way of theirs. There was no need for two sundered hearts, if she could help it.

Fable turned her head in earnest, ears pricked as green eyes sought the source. She shifted her paws to track in the voice's direction and, before long, his dusky form stood out among the pale grasses. He was a stranger, but she felt no fear or hesitation in approaching. Her countenance and carriage was soft, open - there was no malice to line her frame as she closed the distance between her and the Meadows' latest guest.

So many had found their ways into her meadow and Fable couldn't help but think it was by design, a byproduct of fate's deft hands. Just as so much was upended, new life had found root.

Perhaps there was life left within Avon's veins yet.

Hello, she called to the figure as she neared, her tail swaying amicably. Are ye well, friend?

If he was injured, she would do her best to stabilize him, even amid her limited herb stores.

skill: --- · ( 1 of 5 )

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An emptiness drifted in his mind as Somnus stood dazed, until a voice called for his attention. Glazed eyes snapped into focus and he turned his head to find its source: another beast. Instinct bristled his fur—he would, in his normal mindset, not want to appear defensive toward a stranger but he had yet to learn to fine-tune the control of his own beast.

Almost as if the two hellish creatures communicated on a different level than he knew, his felt his body relax: her stature was not aggressive, and he felt the fire that was igniting in his blood immediately begin to cool. He felt his fur smooth and his shoulders dropped slightly. This was okay. But aside from how his body reacted to her, his mind was set tumbling with questions. Was she a natural beast, or one like him, sent here to live as a beast as some kind of punishment?

Are ye well, friend?

The question sat in his mind like a weight. No, he wanted to answer. Of course I'm not. Was she? Was she quite well? How could he be? But he bit back these retorts and collected himself, trying to judge how best to word his answer. Friend. He let the word sit by itself for a moment and after several breaths, he shook his head.

No, he said finally in a genuine, honest answer. For the first time, his eyes regarded her wholly: she had bits of flowers throughout her fur and it was colored differently than his seemed to be. So they were not all the same manner of beast. Through his beast's nose he smelled soft scents like lavender and honey, where his own body reminded him of a burned-out fireplace. What does it mean for each of hell's beasts to be unique? he wondered. Why should it matter?

Is this Hell? he asked, studying her expression for changes. I am no beast... but here I stand, with a beast's claws and a beast's fangs. Why? Even if she could not answer, he repeated, Why?

Why was he taken from his life, from Stellia? Surely there was an answer. He was desperate for the meaning, because without Lia, what meaning was there?

SKILL : - - - ( 1 / 5 )

She watched the stranger with a near-serene expression, unmoved by his brief show of proposed aggression. Fable drew to a stop, though provided him a buffer of personal space, and allowed him to cool - to deescalate, to dial into a more conducive state. There was hesitation in the wake of her question and she permitted him all the time he needed, steadily holding space for him to fill when he was ready.

Patience was one of her virtues and it came in quite handy as a healer; bedside manner was best conducted with a softened demeanor, though sometimes a firm word or two was needed. Should the stranger decide to test her, she might fire back - but it was not her first instinct.

When he finally answered her, it was an honest one - no, he was not okay. Given the shaken quality of his person, she wondered if he had just appeared here as she had, ever so long ago.

Questions filtered in after his answer and her facade gentled further. Her theory was correct - he was new to Mythris.

Was this place Hell? She supposed it depended on who one asked and the events of the day. Her own answer might have differed, had he given her the question on the day of Gamma's death or the day she lost her children. On those days, it was Hell - a twisted, cold, and dark place deprived of all meaning.

But on this day, it was a new beginning for the man made beast, whatever that might mean for him.

No, it is not Hell - though at times it might try t' be. Th' fae have yet t' share their plans for us here, Fable supplied. He described himself as once not bearing claws and fangs of a "beast" and her ears pressed forward curiously. Were ye human before this?

What else could he have been, if not wolf? She had yet to meet any who shared a fate similar to her own - thus far, she had encountered fae and canines, but no other humankind made feral.