Vivarium - Northern Alpines

what the frogg-o

Tue, 10 Nov 2026 19:55:25 -0500

OOC

AW — just outside Avon territory/nearby the border

Montrose was on the hunt for a very particular, very slimy toad. He'd seen it most days, hopping in and out of puddles to keep its warty skin hydrated. Why did he want this toad? Well, ever since had decided that she wanted a second skin, he had been observing the many fauna that inhabited Avon's territory. A determination to please her burned deep within the pits of his little chest.

The skin needed to be unique. But it also needed to be something he could feasibly catch with such small paws and even smaller teeth. Baby teeth were still sharp within his maw, though some of his adult dentition had finally begun to erupt.

Killing the toad would serve a couple of purposes.

A skin for Mariposa.

A teething toy for Montrose.

So he walked. And as he did, he hardly noticed that his hunt had taken him far farther from the dens than he'd intended. But soon, between the waving red flowers, he saw it. The toad, perched upon a rock in the direct sunlight, warming its ugly, warty skin.

Montrose would dip down, the red wine of his coat blending nearly seamlessly into the field of late-blooming florals. Tufted ears pressed forward, long canines softly bared as he began to creep forward. He moved as slowly as he could, careful on the loose terrain so that he wouldn't make ... a single ... sound ...

And those eyes, dancing with the pearlescence of the land's magic, would lock in on the toad.

birds of a feather

Sat, 07 Nov 2026 14:01:03 -0500

primarily, but and are more than welcome as well! || backdated/vaguely dated to a couple days ago, prior to the start of Cupid's journey

To the north, fresh honeycomb drips down the stone marking Freya's shrine. To the south, a sacrificial carcass stains Aphrodite's seashells scarlet. Cupid won't be on the island to tend the patrons for much longer, and placating the goddesses before he sets out on his journey is a vital task. Not for his sake; the dove-god offers no plea for safe travels. He asks only the goddesses' mercy, their watchful eye where he cannot see, to protect that which he has left.

Sindri. Bragi. His grandchildren, as numbered as the stars in the sky! Cupid brings them a bundle of dove feathers and an antler pried off the skull of one of the bucks who did not survive this year's rut. Toys to keep brightening minds and sprouting sharp puppy teeth occupied, lest they wear their mother to the bone pre-emptively. Cupid has aimed to give the family space to bond and settle into their new routines, devoting his efforts to preparing the island for his absence - the first in years - and bringing prey and bundles of herbs to the densite so the new parents want for nothing. Maybe more sleep, but Cupid can't do much about that.

The wings circle overhead, restless, as the dove-god approaches the gnarled tree-den. She has sensed the shift in Cupid, from catatonic grief to a need for action. She is eager to stretch her wings and fly on fresh winds, he thinks. Close enough to the den, now, Cupid sinks to his belly in the drying autumn grass and chuffs a summons.

This is never ending, we have been here before

Sat, 07 Nov 2026 12:33:29 -0500

Autumn was beginning to make room for winter.

She could feel it in the way that the chilly morning air bit her skin unrelentingly. Winter was never a bother for her, as the dragoness found it familiar in ways she still could not understand. Yet at this point, Asny had begun to adopt a “go with the flow” kind of attitude to the things she still couldn’t will herself to remember. What mattered now is that she was content with the way things currently were.

Dawnbreak had made itself out to be a lovely home. Even if the thought of not being able to figure out what pulled her to this vale still gripped something in her. There was plenty of work to do, plenty of children to take care of, plenty of game to hunt – and even a friend to call her own.

A friend that she sought out this morning, after one of her hunts.

The snow crunched beneath large paws as she made her way into the vale’s borders, carrying the carcass of a marmot she’d caught earlier. Her tail waved and ears pinned when she saw the Skuggamaður , approaching with a more subtle confidence. Far more of it than when they’d originally met…

A Cruel Angel’s Thesis (Director’s Edit Version)

Thu, 05 Nov 2026 11:45:11 -0500

Skill : 「 — 1/5 」

Finn spent many days practicing.

It was not hunting, fighting, or even signing that he was training for. Today he was once again hard at work, his mission clear and unwavering. He had to prepare for his next duel with Roskva, the Viking Princess Warrior.

The last time they’d played together, she’d managed to get his entire muzzle inside her mouth. THE WHOLE THING! Finn thought about it a lot since then and could only conclude it must have been special training from her home. While he didn’t have the trade secrets, he was still doing his best. He was going to win! He would fit Roskva’s entire head in his mouth if he had anything to say about it!

Finn, all oversized paws and lanky limbs, un-gracefully plopped down into a sit. Jaws stretched open and aloud AHHHHHHHHHHH, could be heard as he sat there, head tilted back and nose to the sky. His mouth closed. It still felt like there was room for improvement. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Oh yeah, it’s all coming together.

After his second scream, Finn grinned to himself. He needed to test his results. A brilliant idea popped in his head. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner?!? He’d been a fool, until now.

Eeeeeeddddiiieee? a sing-song call of his sister’s name, Finn stood up and skipped across the meadow in search of her familiar little form. Eeeedddiiieeee! She was the key.

Eden could climb into his mouth and stretch it bigger. Big enough to fit Roskva! Maybe she would let him try it on her, only a little bit. Finn’s mouth was already ajar, opened widely while gleefully frolicking. Eeeee-eeee, ere are ooooo!?

Sing me a song with your wicked mortal mouth

Mon, 02 Nov 2026 13:24:48 -0500

Backdated for Halloween 👻

Something brought him back here.

Something blocked the ghost's memory, perhaps it was his anxieties, his desperation to be a good dog, perhaps something beyond had blocked his memory to... protect him?

This had been the last place he had any hope, as twisted as it was, a ghost trying again what had doomed him the first time as if this was the very first time.

But here he was on a pack's border, nervously twitching his ear as he gathered the courage to howl out, and when he did so it was...well, probably the most pathetic howl they would ever hear. One they have heard before, a year ago, a year and two weeks exactly!

But instead of waiting, this time Bad Dog put his nose to the ground and continued on further into the territory than what was proper for someone that howled at the border.

Soundless, nearly scentless.

Hunting for his salvation.

frag me out

Fri, 30 Oct 2026 22:24:06 -0400

It was dark. So dark that he was flying blind. Casted away, bleeding into the ocean below him. He tried to fly low enough not to get zapped out of the sky, but not enough to be swallowed by the sea. It was a hard to fight battle, one he was losing as the blood poured down his paw and into the ocean. Rain pelting his tattered wings, making them heavy and soaked.

The sky roared, the world shook, and one bad turn away from the storm and into the mouth of a massive wave consumed him entirely. Underwater he gasped for air that was entirely and impossibly away from him. One last struggle, the ego in his heart trying to keep him from dying.

Not yet. This can't be how I die.

But the sea only entered his mouth and into his lungs. It felt like the freezing waters only made it even harder to move. He looks up, sees the bright white lightning light up the surface of the stormy ocean into beautiful blues and white rings. His eyes close, despite his fighting, and then there's nothing.

Nothing for a while. Nothing for God knows how long. A part of him wishes it would stay that way.

It was the sound of seagulls that finally woke him up. Squawking and pecking at his frigid body, crumpled like sandy, seaweed covered garbage on the shore. He grumbles, tries to adjust, but only the shocking pain of his body runs through him.

The mass of sea trash groans and moans, trying it's best to come alive again.

Open to more folks coming in! Just shoot me a DM ahead of time so I know what's goin on. Varied reply speed due to school. Bear with me <3 lil rusty

Please also note that the part about flying and having wings is a pre-viv memory.

Had it Coming

Thu, 29 Oct 2026 18:49:59 -0400

Iscaria inhaled sharply.

Cold air, harsh and crystaline, invaded every inch of her respiratory system, flooding her lungs with pain and chill and life. She coughed and wheezed, fighting for breath as if her body had completely forgotten what it meant to live.

Perhaps it had.

Iscaria didn’t remember much. It was blurry, save for the copper tang of blood that had filled her mouth and throat.

Those final few moments before blacking out.

She remembered dying, but there was no blood in her mouth now.

Blurrily she looked around, both gaining a sense of her surroundings and also regaining her ability to function on even the most basic level. As her eyes regained focus, she was greeted by a shockingly idyllic vista: a babbling stream, dark cedar trees and autumnal underbrush gave way to towering snowy peaks that glowed pink in the morning sun. The air was cold, but against her plush fur it was bearable. This was definitely not where she had been before.

Slowly, Iscaria attempted to heave herself up onto four legs, but her joints buckled about halfway through. She snarled and hissed in frustration as blood pounded in her head. She was vulnerable. That was a problem.

shining star

Thu, 29 Oct 2026 18:17:22 -0400

—

Lorcan woke with a start, stirring and stretching as his mossy eyes peered at the world through protective slits. The light outside the den was nearly blinding, staining little spots into his vision. A soft series of wordless protests escaped his tiny lips as he acclimated himself to the sudden shift from his dream.

It had been such a nice dream.

He’d been so small, much like he was now … but far more agile, and with powerful back legs and long, pointy ears. The sun had been just as bright as it was now, and Lore-In-Rabbit-Form had enjoyed a wonderful morning jaunt and a chew on a few very delicious blades of grass. Lore recalled the gentle warmth of the sun on his back, and the sweet flavor on his tongue …

And his tongue would roll over his lips.

Sadly, he was once more just a small, round baby in the den.

With a huff, Lore rolled to his paws, finally adjusted to the light as he made his way toward the mouth of the den. He was as quiet as he could feasibly be at this age, paws battling the loose gravel as it grit beneath him. Now, if he could just … get out …

… perhaps he could try a few of those red flowers.

He absently wondered if they would taste like they had in his dream.

didn't know that I was starving

Tue, 27 Oct 2026 20:45:51 -0400

The den had become very small.

Corax had decided this shortly after waking, though the feeling had been building for days. Outside was everything: wind, birds, trees, strange smells, and places his mother and father disappeared into before returning with the scent of the world clinging to their fur.

So he lay near the mouth of the den with his forepaws stretched toward freedom. A breeze curled inside carrying with it damp earth, bark, and the trace of something alive beyond his sight. His nose twitched ears lifting, and after one cautious glance over his shoulder, he crept forward.

Cool air ruffled the dark fur along his crown as he stepped outside the world was enormous, trees stretching impossibly high, the sky endless, and then a dark shape swept overhead.

A bird.

His whole expression sharpened as he watched it disappear beyond the trees and before he could think he hurried after it several steps, nose dropping toward the ground with grave concentration, maybe birds left trails.

Behind him the den already seemed much farther away. Corax glanced back and then forward again, tail giving a small longing flick.

& siblings!! (idk all their tags lol)

see how it shines

Mon, 26 Oct 2026 11:23:14 -0400

Light.

Flashing and beaming, channeled directly into eyes adjusted to the emptiness of night. The stars were gone tonight, with hardly a moon to navigate. The sky built in tall mirrors, empty still as abstracts of a night that falsifies day itself. A million little suns illuminating melted-and-hardened rock, still hot by a sun that'd set hours ago, trapping vapors within its deep porosity and refusing to return it to the clouds it was stolen from.

There is nothing natural here. Something all-too-known by the poor lizard melting into the pavement, tail dropped feet behind it for daring to step upon what looks so much like sand. It does not twitch.

Profitable, maybe. Edible, hopefully. Scales are torn from flesh as they stick to the endless grey, though the exposed flesh still appears valuable. Weighted only slightly, the remains are left to become dust as wings move to find refuge from the cold, dry heat.

Days pass, and little changes. Nothing to stalk when life has already been claimed by artificial earth, sulfurous roaring machinery, and its crushing weight. Flight can only move one so far, and nothing seems far enough when the map instinctually ingrained in you is blocked by suns that radiate no heat, no comfort.

The stars look different tonight.

They flash and beam from their home above, blinking reds and whites while the birds that carry them howl their terrible, chopping howls. The wind picks up speed, and something is very wrong.

This is no forest. These are no deer. The vultures seen circling above are not vultures at all, and this carcass is not suitable for something alive. Her crop is full of meat, sour and sharp with shrapnel that burns. Weighted down by heavy metals fashioned as weapons, the remains are trapped within the ever-porous material of her insides. Some escapes, though that sharpness is too painful to be removed. She smacks her beak, held wide for breath that struggles to come.

Flight does not come easily, and she finds herself seeking the same glued carrion she had found days ago. She succeeds in her search, too quickly and too easily, and attempts to consume something flattened, polluted by that roaring, rotting, rolling machine. Clutched in her talons, she powers herself upwards.

The ground finds her sooner than she could seek the sky. Two suns blind her, and she gapes. The stars are brilliant tonight, she thinks.

And then they are gone. The abyss is wider than ever, and her talons still clutch the hefty body, but she notices its weight is gone. She notices her weight is gone, too.

Purples and pinks coat her body. The sky reflected on her feathers, tinged with bulging reds and tarry residue from those unnatural, rolling legs. Her talons twitch. Her wings strain weakly against the pavement. The ground finds her again. The tall, too-close, white sun taunts from above.

The light wavers and blinks, and unlike those sun-carrying birds she had seen persevere before, the world goes with it.

Hello, sun. You are warmer than I recall, she thinks. Her eyes remain shut, enjoying the glow from behind her protective shield. Her feathers are no longer sticky, she notices. Soft snowflakes hit her coat, melting against her clean warmth. A ruffle, a rouse, and she feels comfortable. Tucking a foot into the comfort of her feathers, she is full, satiated, safe. There is food-smell nearby, coupled with words she does not understand. They are rushed, hurried words, tinged with fear and anticipation.

She pays them no mind, and tucks her head back into her feathers. Goodnight, sun. I'll see you soon.

Heaven or Las Vegas.

Mon, 26 Oct 2026 02:42:56 -0400

There's much to attend to where the Howff is concerned but Kaloula is a beast burdened by the weight of hunger. It wasn't lost on him that, just as many guests do, he could bed one of the entertainers—at last make use of such proximity...

But he's - unfortunately - a man who rather not mix his pleasure with his work. It's more trouble than it's worth.

And so he begins his venture North where he's certain he'll find some familiar body, some familiar face. had been reliable in reception during their last meeting, anyway. He hoped it was a lasting fact, even if just once more.

I'll be there, painting the flowers

Mon, 26 Oct 2026 00:22:25 -0400

✿ Skill ✿

Seer (1/5)

The morning was marked with low-lying fog. It swirled and danced around her paws as she waded through it, five smaller sets ambling behind her.

Soon, the mist would grow cold - it would linger as it crystalized on their fur. But for now, the north was mild... or at least as mild as the meadow could reasonably be. Her shoulder brushed against Fox's, the glancing contact still bringing with it a zip of fuzzy feelings that expanded within her chest, unfolding into impossible multitudes. The dreamer spared him a fond smile before returning her attention to the path before them: The Morrigan's Eye.

The hag stone bore a thin layer of frost, promising a cold touch if she reached out in its direction - but she had no interest in touching it. It felt too hallowed to be defiled by mortal hands - or paws, as it were.

Fable paused at the stone's edge, inspecting it quietly. Samhain would arrive soon and the Eye would be the hub for their activities. It served as a lens between worlds, a truth-revealer; a few times since they'd discovered it, she could have sworn she saw movement or a glimmer of something not of this world.

Perhaps it had been tricks of the eye, but she liked to believe otherwise. The fae blood in her veins spoke of a heritage many discounted as legend or a lovely tale to put wee ones to bed.

She knew this world possessed boundless realities - nothing was ever what the naked eye perceived.

Turning to look at their amassed children, she motioned for them to draw closer to the Eye.

This is Th' Morrigan's Eye - a hag stone, she told them. It would be information they may not retain so easily given their age, but she hoped some of it stuck. Ye can see fae sometimes, should ye look through the hole.

By demonstration, she aligned her body so she could easily peer through the hole forged in the center of the misshapen stone. Beyond it, the leaning stone plinth she'd become familiar with always seeing was not as lonely as she always found it to be - today, it was accompanied by... something.

Fable's ears cupped forward, lips pursed as she studied the creature who was not of this world.

A deer stood beside the solitary stone, framed by the portal she looked through. It plucked idly at the pink grasses that so matched its own pelt; horns twisted up from its head to create massive boughs as though it were not an animal, but a plant. The tines curved up and out, whimsy reigning as each branching extension fed into delicate pink blossoms. Beneath its crown of flowers, there was only bone where a face should have been. Sightless pits spoke of the false promise of eyes while moss and lichen shielded some of the stark white bone from view on one side of its face and reclaimed one ear.

Beneath its jaw, profuse and plush fur occupied its neck before thinning once more at its shoulders. Mushrooms grew from its body, seemingly at random with little rhyme or reason, and fibers she could only call roots bound themselves around its legs.

It was not troubled by its blindness, nor did it appear to acknowledge their existence.

It was terrifying and beautiful, living and not.

A fae, she half breathed, half stated. Despite its unappealing appearance, it was surely the patron fae of this area - they were embodiments of nature, the ebb and flow of life and the reclaiming of it. Wide-eyed, she turned her gaze to Fox, a quiet question lingering in her sage green eyes. Do ye see it, too?

If this was an omen for Samhain, she would have to redouble her efforts to provide a suitable offering.

[BIRTH] ghastly

Sun, 25 Oct 2026 02:26:51 -0400

Iðunn had given in to the dark, terrible part of itself that was bound to instinct in the recent days. Travel had weakened it, only able to reach an area slightly warmer, which normally would have made it flee, but something tugged, twisted, pulled at it to settle, and so it stayed. It rested its bloated form, wriggling with the promise of an easy meal, but only for a day. When its brain finally woke, it had begun to dig and was unable to stop.

Something itched at the base of its skull to make things small, and clean, and warm, an urge that was so vastly different to heat in a way it could not explain. It was deaf to anything anyone might have said, scraping cold earth from underneath an appropriate tangle of roots until its aching paws and limbs shrieked at it to stop, and that was only after it decided it was finished.

Then, it slept, but not before consuming the few hares left at the mouth of the den, an offering. Larke had proved his worth, but Iðunn had no such time for pleasantries on any ordinary day.

When it woke, it knew it was beginning labour. Unable to stand, legs far too weak, it could only lay there as powerful contactions ripped down its bloated belly, growling and groaning as they increased in strength in a way that was entirely unpleasant. When they grew agonising, it resisted the urge to tear into its own stomach to rip the spawn out itself, and spare it the trouble.

But, that was exactly when it felt a slippery, warm lump slither from between its legs. Immediately, it was reaching over with bared jaws, but instead of swallowing, it brought it closer for inspection. It did not open the birth sac, instead watching for any signs of life instinctively.

There were none, so the whelp became a snack, bones crunching messily as it snapped up the little wretch, violent with anger at its own hesitation. How stupid to wait, instead of eating it as soon as it was birthed. It growled as the labour continued, birthing the second snack not too long afterwards. Again, it waited, body seized to see if it wriggled within its clear birth sac, to no avail. Blood dripped from its chin, and it rumbled, stomach already full, squished from the spawn custered inside its belly.

When the third slipped onto the soft earth, warmed from its overheated body, it repeated the motions, yellow eyes fixed on its form, muddied by the membrane it was encased in. It waited, body stiff, then-

Movement.

Iðunn brought its head down anyway, intending to snap up the spawn despite being content. It needed the nourishment after expending so much energy on the creatures. It was their only purpose, a lesson well-learned. Iðunn would not be so stupid when its heat came again the next year, falling victim to its desires. It would rip its uterus out if it could... or perhaps just the pups. It was not a thought it had considered yet, and likely would not until it was in estrus once again.

It wrapped its mouth around the wet bundle, almost absentmindedly. It had not been gentle with the others. Teeth pierced unmoving flesh before crunching on their soft, warm bodies, tasting of birth, blood, and itself.

Yet, for whatever reason, this wriggling thing had not been harmed. Even when it closed its mouth around the parasite, there was no force behind the action, and before it realised, it had nipped the birth sac open, an unnatural show of tenderness it did not recognise. It snorted, frustrated as the pup was exposed to air and began to squeal. The tug that had been pushed to the back of its head in the pain of birth seized its brain, and, even as it tried to take the spawn in its jaws once again, it could not find the strength to bite down and kill it.

It growled, the pup squirming in its jaws, drool slipping from between yellowed teeth. It was stuck, unable to eat the very things that had been birthed to fill its belly. Pain spiked as its labour continued, and it rumbled, frustrated. It did not want to actually raise these things, but this fog, the incapability to bring its spawn further into its mouth to swallow... how irritating.

Realising it was too much effort to force it, Iðunn placed the little wretch by its front paws, cleaning it absent-mindedly as it continued its labour. The tug subsided, and belatedly, it realised it had felt uncomfortable, fearful, even, at the notion of hurting the stupid thing. Without consumption at the front of its mind, it passed with little fuss, passing three more of the little parasites. It did not bother to remember any discerning details about of any of them, stuck in what seemed like a never-ending cycle of agony, but when it realised it was done, four dark pups at its belly, it could only stare.

What a waste of time, energy, and resources. It curled its lip at them, suckling greedily at its swollen nipples, little contented sounds coming from their throats as they fed. It ignored them, thoroughly exhausted, and unable to move away so it might have some semblance of personal space. Perhaps once birth hormones had faded, it might be able to finish the job. It felt drool pool on its tongue at the thought as it made itself comfortable, more than ready for a nap.

It had grown soft in its pregnancy, but now it was done. All it had to do is wait. After all, the bigger the spawn got, the more it could eat.

Pilot whale

Sat, 24 Oct 2026 15:05:32 -0400

There is little reason for Asxinu to leave behind her black sea, where Tata lords and Shaahk gives back in bones what they proffer him in flesh. By and by the hearth grows and the girl is its constant custodian. She hunts the waves and ice and tidepool, and when she heads into the foothills it is only in search of smaller ground prey.
Asxinu follows under the shadow of blackbirds as they cross, cawing.
Few common-wolves come out this way. When she does see them, they’re usually alone and lost. Transient. Girl has become something of a guide for this side of the mountain. Her ears cup, but not for fear of coming upon trouble.
The diamond reach belongs to the muradoii.

WILD/CHILD.

Thu, 22 Oct 2026 21:57:22 -0400

It'd been chance and chance alone that he'd been able to catch a meal in this weather; his joints never stopped their aching but fresh snowfall worsens the state of weary flesh, making slower an already slow physique. Maybe the deformed chicken felt much the same before it wound up a sagging weight in gnarled jaws. For this reason he won't complain. Whatever makes bringing something warm and fat back to Mintaka easier.

Where one issue is solved, another takes root.

He finds himself lost.

Without much knowledge of the terrain here, reliance on scent has been immense... scent that's thinned by rolling fog and a weepy sky.

When Coyote crosses into pack territory, the reason is much the same.