Vivarium - Great Woodlands

Talking like you should

Wed, 12 Aug 2026 21:22:13 -0400

*backdated, vague!

In her maw, hung a heavy bundle of flowers and various plants. Purple, bleeding pink, moonlit silver, and plants of pale green, all gathered from today’s journey down the mountain. As the pups grew more capable, and helping hands more confident, more and more did the new mother begin gathering again.

It felt good. More like herself than she’d been in many seasons. Soon, she’d be able to teach her children the ways of the earth. She knew not all of them would be interested. Some would most likely prefer tooth and claw to that of a gentler hand.

She would not choose for any of them. Their fates rested within their own paws. Theirs — and the Star Mother’s.

Heavy with their mingled aromas, the bundle had made her nose itch for half the journey home, until finally, when she had nearly made it back, she had no choice but to drop it at her paws and sneeze.

Not once, but twice. Then another! Her entire body shook with the effort, eyes squeezed shut as petal and leaf alike scattered around her.

welcome to anyone in velaris <3

dreaming big

Wed, 12 Aug 2026 20:48:04 -0400

backdated, vague timeline!

Rain still clung to Moonpeak, even hours after its departure. Rocks shone with lingering droplets, greenery blushed green with life, and the air itself still hung heavy with moisture. Her own freckled coat lay heavy against her limbs, nowhere near dry, and each step came slower, more practiced with their placement.

It had been days since she’d had any real time to herself, and when she’d finally been ushered from the den with the promise of a few uninterrupted hours, she’d gone. It had taken more than a little convincing, but once she’d finally relented, the tired mother had slipped away before she could change her mind — or anyone could start screaming "muña, muña, muña."

She walked in silence, lost within her own thoughts, pale eyes wandering the grey skies. Clouds hung heavy above her, slow in their travels, and little light managed to bleed through. The sun hid somewhere beyond them and, as usual, Tove did not mind.

She’d always preferred the moon.

shadows untimely

Wed, 12 Aug 2026 15:33:11 -0400

Skill: 0/5[/small]

They had left Ravorn together.

Neither had spoken much of it. There had been no solemn vow, no promise that their paths would remain intertwined beyond the next ridge or the next nightfall. They had simply begun walking in the same direction, and somewhere along the way, the distance between them had ceased to exist. Perhaps they were searching for something, hoping without might that a purpose might arise. That they might find their home. Perhaps it was peace. Perhaps it was some small remnant of themselves they had each lost somewhere behind them and were too frightened to admit they still wanted back. Yet, that something neither one had been brave enough to name, and neither had they found it yet.

Twyla was beginning to think she did not mind—because he was there.

She knew when he followed her. She knew the particular cadence of his paws behind her, the occasional shift of grass beneath his weight, the quiet huff he gave when she wandered somewhere inconveniently steep. She knew without looking, just as she knew the moon was above her even when clouds concealed it. He had become a constant. A great, quiet shadow at her back, and there was something almost unbearably comforting in it.

Twyla walked slowly through the meadow, the late light catching along the dark planes of her coat. A few pale flowers brushed her legs as she moved, their delicate heads bending beneath her paws. She stopped now and then to examine them, sometimes plucking one carefully, sometimes leaving it untouched. She never had to wonder if Nycteus would still be there when she looked back, for he always was. Never straying too far for fear he might lose her, or perhaps she—him. So eventually, she stopped looking, trusting him without word to remain.

And perhaps that realization should have frightened her. But it instead loosened something inside her, unfurling petals that had wilted long before he'd ever found a foothold in her life. Her heart had become accustomed to the shape of him, and it was a strange thing. She had spent so much of her life learning how not to lean. How not to need. How to make herself small enough that another person's absence could never hollow her out. Yet Nycteus had somehow become the stone beneath her paw when the earth shifted.

Her rock.

Not because he was unbreakable; Twyla knew better than anyone that he wasn't. Perhaps that was why she trusted him—he was wounded and still stood, carrying his ghosts and still walking beside her like he had no other purpose in the world. He did not pretend that fate had been kind to him, but had continued forward regardless. To find her, to witness to her, to just be there. And how pathetically needing of him she was. To give her own self purpose, to find meaning in his presence, to live. Her loneliness had caved just as her endurance was waning. To give up would have been so easy, so quick and effortless—did he know? How he had saved her? How his sorrows had whispered life back into her?

She finally turns her head, and a quiet warmth touches her eyes. Not love—not yet. She has no name for what lives there, only that she knows that gratitude has begun to take root somewhere deep inside her, and it has grown far beyond what gratitude ought to be. She is profoundly grateful for him.

For the days he has followed. For the nights he has remained. For the simple assurance of another heartbeat beside hers. For the nameless hope they carry together, even when neither can bear to look directly at it.

Her gaze touches him and fights to leave, but it is with a smile and a careful flick of her tail that her attention shifts. Flowers of orange and blue, purple and white—they bloom at her feet. She wondered then, a mirth-and-mischievous-filled thought. Come, Nycteus. His name drawled heavy in her accent. Sit.

in a state of mind

Mon, 10 Aug 2026 15:00:06 -0400

( I’m sorry this came out so long! Please don’t feel pressured to match! )

By the time Moonpeak Spire had begun to disappear behind her, Kiva had decided two things: the first was that Mythris possessed an unreasonable number of mountains. The second was that she was going to learn every damned one of them.

It was stubbornness more than necessity that kept her moving. There was no message tucked beneath her tongue, no parcel of herbs entrusted to her care, no impatient wolf waiting somewhere at the other end of the trail. Nobody had asked her to come this way. Nobody was expecting her to return with anything useful. For once, Kiva’s paws carried only herself. And it should have felt freeing, it really should have. Instead, she kept catching herself searching for a destination.

Her amber gaze would lift toward some distant landmark and immediately begin measuring. The slope of the earth. The position of the sun. Where the mountains stood behind her and where the land appeared to flatten ahead. Every stream became something worth remembering. Every unusual tree became a marker. Every branching trail demanded that she glance backward once she had chosen a direction, memorizing what the junction would look like from the opposite side. Old habits, apparently, were difficult things to kill.

The descent from Moonpeak demanded most of her attention at first. Jagged stone punished careless footing, and loose pieces occasionally skittered beneath her paws before tumbling noisily down the slope. Kiva learned quickly enough that admiring the scenery while navigating the mountain was an excellent way to become a permanent part of it. She tested questionable ground before committing her weight. Where the trail narrowed, she kept close to the mountain rather than the drop beside it. Once, a stone shifted beneath a hind paw and sent her scrambling half a stride sideways.

Kiva froze.

Pebbles bounced cheerfully away into the distance. Her ears slowly flattened. “Rude.” The mountain offered no apology. Naturally. So, she continued.

It was not until stone finally began surrendering to soil beneath her paws that some of the tension eased from her shoulders. Sparse vegetation thickened. Hardy brush became grass, grass became something softer and greener, and eventually the path carried her far enough from Moonpeak’s harsher slopes that she no longer had to inspect every step before taking it.

Kiva’s stride lengthened almost immediately. This was better, this she understood. Then, the trees opened. Kiva stopped.

The world beyond them seemed to spill outward. Golden grass rolled across an enormous stretch of open country, tall stalks bowing beneath the breeze in waves that reminded her strangely of water. Here and there, wildflowers interrupted all that gold with flashes of color. Their scent mingled with sun-warmed earth and vegetation, and somewhere beyond the nearest rise came the faint promise of water.

Movement caught her attention. Kiva lowered her head instinctively. Several dark shapes rested among the grasses farther out. Deer. Does, mostly, scattered across the open plain with the easy indifference of animals that had apparently decided nothing in the immediate vicinity deserved their concern. One lifted its head when the wind shifted, enormous ears swiveling toward her.

Kiva went still. The doe stared. Kiva stared back. Eventually, the animal lowered its head again. Her brow furrowed.

“Okay then. That’s insulting.” Nothing. “I could be extremely dangerous.” A tail flicked lazily above the grass. Kiva’s mouth twitched. “Show-offs,” she muttered. They did not appear particularly wounded by the accusation. She gave the herd a wide berth anyway.

It was tempting to move straight through the open land, but Kiva wasn’t interested in merely crossing it. She zigzagged instead, investigating anything that might help her recognize the place later. She found several game trails pressed through the grass and followed one long enough to determine its general direction before doubling back. She nosed through clusters of unfamiliar plants without eating them. A lone tree became another marker, as did a peculiar stretch of exposed stone farther south. And when she found the pond, she stopped.

Water mattered.

Kiva approached cautiously, checking the mud along its edge before lowering her muzzle. Tracks overlapped one another everywhere. Hoofprints. Smaller paws. Birds. Evidence of enough traffic that she decided the water was probably safe before drinking. It was wonderfully cold. She drank deeply, lifted her dripping muzzle, and studied the surrounding landscape again.

Pond toward the western reaches of the grassland. Good. She tucked that information away with everything else.

Water mattered, shelter mattered, prey trails mattered, which slopes became dangerous after rain mattered, which places offered enough cover to disappear mattered. Knowing the land meant surviving it. Knowing the land meant never having to admit she was lost. The latter was, naturally, the more important consideration.

By the time the open grasslands gradually surrendered to forest again, Kiva had begun constructing another map inside her head. It was crude. Incomplete. Full of enormous blank spaces that irritated her whenever she thought about them. But it was hers. The next stretch of woodland, at least, would be considerably harder to forget: red hung everywhere. Kiva slowed almost immediately.

Long clusters of flowers spilled from the canopy in brilliant curtains, some hanging low enough to brush her shoulders as she passed beneath them. Others swayed overhead whenever the breeze reached through the trees. Red petals had accumulated across portions of the forest floor until earth and roots disappeared beneath them entirely. Among the wisteria grew apple trees.

Their branches stretched outward beneath pale blossoms, promising fruit that had not quite arrived yet. The air smelled different here, sweeter somehow beneath the familiar dampness of soil and leaves. Kiva stopped beneath one particularly extravagant curtain of red. Her nose twitched.

“Well.”

For several moments, she simply stood there. She had seen beautiful places before. Wind Haven had possessed more than its fair share of them. She’d crossed forests washed golden by autumn and mountains transformed beneath fresh snow. She’d watched dawn creep across distant peaks while carrying messages before most sensible creatures had even considered waking. Beauty wasn’t exactly new.

Mythris, however, seemed determined to be obnoxious about it. Her ears tipped backward.

“That’s just showing off.” There, much better. She ducked beneath the flowers and continued, humming contentedly.

Her pace remained slower through the woodland. Some of that was practical. Dense vegetation offered fewer opportunities to orient herself against distant landmarks, forcing her to pay closer attention to smaller things instead. A twisted tree. A patch of exposed stone. The direction water traveled. Places where sunlight penetrated the canopy. Some of it was simply because Kiva liked it here. (Not that she would be admitting that to the flowers.)

She wandered beneath the hanging blossoms until the forest began to change again. The transition was subtle at first. Vegetation thinned. Then, Kiva smelled something. Her steps slowed, her nose lifted.

Animal.

That, by itself, meant absolutely nothing. She’d spent most of the day surrounded by animal scents. This was different. There were too many. Some she recognized. Others she decidedly did not. Kiva followed the mingled scents forward, curiosity winning the argument before caution had been given much opportunity to participate.

The first wall appeared between the trees, or what remained of one. Kiva stopped several strides away from the crumbling stones, head tilting slightly.

They were… stacked?

Not scattered naturally. Not exposed from beneath eroded soil. Deliberately stacked, one upon another, though time had toppled entire sections and plants had long since begun reclaiming what remained. Interesting. She stepped closer. Her nose traced along one of the stones without touching it. Moss had crept into the cracks. Grass grew where portions had collapsed. Whatever had built this hadn’t been here recently.

Kiva followed the wall and found a building. Her entire body stilled. It sagged beneath the weight of abandonment, weathered boards and stone showing the evidence of years spent without maintenance. Part of the structure had surrendered entirely. Vegetation climbed what remained. Beyond it stood another, and another. Kiva stared.

“Huh.” That was eloquent. she snorted to herself. Her gaze traveled across the ruins.

She had stumbled across abandoned structures before, but never anything quite like this. There were too many of them gathered together, remnants of something once deliberate and organized. Paths remained where countless feet had apparently traveled them long ago, though grass had swallowed most of their edges. Then something clucked. Kiva whipped around. A bird scratched through the dirt several yards away.

She blinked. The bird pecked at something. Kiva blinked again. It was an extraordinarily round bird. She had seen plenty of birds. She had chased them as a pup. She had eaten them. She’d even developed opinions regarding which ones were worth the effort required to catch them. This one looked ridiculous.

The creature scratched backward with both feet, scattering dirt, then plunged its beak enthusiastically into whatever treasures it had uncovered. Kiva slowly looked around. There were more! One strutted from beneath a deteriorating fence with the confidence of something entirely unaware of how edible it appeared. Her stomach gave a traitorous little twist.

“You lot should really work on your survival instincts.”

One of the birds looked directly at her, then resumed pecking. Kiva narrowed her eyes. Okay, fine. She continued deeper into the ruins.

That was when she found the cow. Kiva stopped so abruptly that one forepaw remained suspended above the ground. The enormous creature stood beyond a partially collapsed stone wall, head lowered toward the grass. Black and white patched its hide. Its tail flicked occasionally behind it. Kiva stared.

The animal raised its head. Kiva’s paw slowly returned to the earth. She knew prey. This was certainly shaped like prey. Quite a lot of prey, actually. But there was something profoundly unsettling about an animal that size standing in the middle of an abandoned settlement looking as though it had nowhere better to be.

The cow chewed. Kiva’s ears shifted forward. The cow continued chewing. “What the hell are you?” Apparently offended by neither the question nor Kiva’s existence, it lowered its head and returned to grazing. Kiva glanced around as though someone might appear and explain.

Nobody did. Of course they didn’t.

She exhaled through her nose and continued, giving the enormous creature considerably more space than she’d given the birds. The farther she ventured, the stranger the place became: there were pigs, there were more of the round birds. At one point she caught sight of horses wandering near another ruined structure and simply stopped trying to understand anything.

What fascinated her most, however, were the remnants of whatever had once existed here. Kiva wandered between collapsed walls and weathered buildings, nose working constantly. Most of the scents were old in the way abandoned things became old. Dust, rotting wood, damp stone, vegetation, animals.

But not everything was old. That realization gradually pulled some of the amusement from her expression. Kiva slowed beside another building. Wait a minute. Her nose lifted. There!

Canine. Recent. Her posture changed almost imperceptibly. Not fear, but awareness. Kiva had spent too many years crossing territories and approaching strangers to ignore a fresh scent simply because nobody had announced themselves yet.

Someone else was here. She studied the structure in front of her. It resembled some kind of shelter, though portions of it had fallen into disrepair. The opening ahead disappeared into shadow. Whatever sunlight reached inside revealed dust, old wood, and the vague shapes of things she didn’t recognize. Kiva remained outside for several seconds.

The sensible thing would have been to leave it alone. She had absolutely no reason to investigate. She knew another canine had passed through recently. That alone should have been enough to encourage some restraint. And yet, Kiva took one step closer. Then another.

“Hello?”

Nothing immediately answered. Her ears rotated forward. She stepped through the opening, just the smallest bit. The temperature dropped slightly beneath the shelter of the old structure, and the scents concentrated immediately. Dust tickled her nose. Old hay lingered somewhere beneath everything else, dry and musty with age. And there it was again: canine. Much stronger.

Kiva stopped.

Ah. Perhaps this hadn’t been one of her better decisions. Her amber gaze adjusted gradually to the dimness as she remained near the entrance, every sense suddenly attentive to the unfamiliar space around her. She did not advance farther. Instead, one ear tipped sideways.

“So,” she murmured to nobody in particular, “I’m beginning to suspect this one might be occupied.”

She waited. For once, Kiva had enough sense not to make another step.

charger

Sun, 09 Aug 2026 08:30:45 -0400

// for

The mountain to the west had been claimed, much to Iðunn's disdain. They had continued further west, then, until the two had reached a forest of blood, where Iðunn had left Larke's side yet again.

The tree's unnatural hue was no more interesting than many sights it had come across on its travels, only mildly so due to the season. But, Iðunn was hungry, which took priority over gawking at plants, wanting to rip something apart before it went looking for Larke. That was if no other wolf came looking for it, naturally. It was not fussed. Anyone would do.

The stock of its partners would not change the outcome of any pups it would birth, if it conceived. It strongly doubted such a thing would affect the taste.

taimi

Sat, 08 Aug 2026 20:44:39 -0400

there is something lost in this world, soma had come to recognize. hope sizzles out like wind against a barely fanning flame, families thin like threads too frayed to stay together. even her feathers, once beautifully hued, had now rotted into bones and torn feathers. she had finally brought herself to bury them just days before. this world, this place—it was not for her. it did not grow like rikkaruohot in her heart, but had darkened it. wilted it.

the wings upon her back were missed, like it was a piece of her that had been torn—her own wings, now just stumps. she could not fly, and neither could she dream. this world was a cruel thing, that. taking, suffocating, breaking. the days bled together—the sun, the night, the sun, the night. she had not seen many birds of her kind, had not deigned to replace the wings anew. her own lifequest had not been completed, and such treasury had not been afforded.

so with a weeping soul, soma had waited. survived. found herself living upon overripe berries and scraps left behind. never birds, she knew, never them. she slept amidst the carrion, helplessly finding whatever warmth the dead could offer. only one soul had seen her, only one soul had spoken.

she wondered of him then.

We are more than we are, We are one.

Sat, 08 Aug 2026 18:23:23 -0400

It seemed like only yesterday that the pups were small and blind. Squeaking and helpless as they remained in the mother's den. Now the day had finally arrived for her beloved children to see the outside world. At two months old now, her son and daughter were ready to explore and sight see. Come along, my loves. Jamila cooed for them, nuzzling her two small pups from their morning slumber. Outside the air was just starting to warm up. A slight dip in the humidity brought welcome relief to the wine colored wolf. Molten eyes turned to see if Nour and Malek were rushing to catch up to her. Somehow it was still hard to believe. Believe that she was a mother, that she had grown a real future.

near dark by the moons memory

Sat, 08 Aug 2026 05:32:02 -0400

for

Sunless realms had reigned over eternity with dark sapphire hues darting though cloud consorts that sat sprawled across the backdrop of celestia; sunsets rolled over great plains with the variegated beauty of the heavens; purples and pinks and oranges and great, beautiful yellows that had faded into the heavenly majesty of night–dark blues with shimmering diamonds resting upon the dark primordial blanket of Nyx’s creation. The sun had paled in comparison, barely above to shine rays of its own golden light through gently swaying trees; shadowed by his superior, planets were something like gods. Immovable giants of will and celestial prowess that had hoisted themselves bare in the skies for those lesser to never understand; to gaze upon raw beauty and power without an inkling of how to attain it, trembling hands reaching out for the watchful gaze of stars–only to never be seen, never be observed, because in the sprawling universe of millions of shimmering sapphires–some lying still, some darting across vast oceans of inky darkness like embers shot from the debris of something that had once been greater.

One had to imagine these celestial bodies as something greater.

Because then, there had been no point to rising above.

She’d remembered days spent stargazing on dampened soil. Soil that’d had the gift of rain sunk into it, spread to the roots of old and nourished the seedling that would not sprout for years to come. She’d remembered tracing cold and weak fingers over roots–deities tangible, divinity made nature. But then–nature had always been divinity. The silent owl that had spread wings and glided through quiet airs had been divinity. The ferocious wolf that had dug its jaws into prey, tearing sinew from flesh in bestial displays had been divine. Had been beautiful. She’d known this, since she’d been a yearling girl of trembling stature, brittle bones and malleable flesh that had yielded to the firm and sharp crevices of earth, finding itself tattered in bruises and cuts–she’d known that these were the makings of a god. Instinct. Animal instinct.

Sprawling verdure beneath gilded skies had been spoiled–gold had been plucked from the very sky to form monuments of thrones with engravings that Karina had professed as wholly unnatural. Impossible. She had looked to the grand excellency of wealth with such a disdain her stomach had threatened to spill its contents, her hands had twitched with the frenzied anger of a woman who’d seen her lifeblood ravaged for the purpose of sin, how her throat had fermented with ire till she had spit venom till it turned to bile. She’d remembered how beautiful she had become. At the hands of another, weakly limp and pale skin.. oh, paler than the moon, she remembered–cold and pale and opened in the middle like a stars supernova, a great big split where the ribbons of life had unfurled and spilled like crimson waterfalls. She’d remembered the way cries had struck into the air with such horror at her lifeless countenance, and how desperate hands had scrambled to undo what they had wrought upon her in their fit of wanton rage.

Now, new memories had come to take their place. Had the afterlife been so chilly, so cold and grainy? Head nestled against a bed of sand, the harmonious lapping of waves serving to comfort her. Eyelids thinly sealed despite the gentle sting of saltwater in the air urging her to open them once more–she could not open them, she was dead, and she could not breathe–her lungs had been constricted in a python-like vice, and her life had spilled from her ceremoniously, and that had been that. So why had she felt the chill of life creeping up her spine? Her spine, strange spine that ached, joints that had protested against position–had a benevolent god taken her apart and put her together like a virtuoso’s project? Had she been made perfect once more? Or perhaps it had been a cruel deity, punishing her.

A shrill shriek is plucked from the cords in her throat, half-lidded eyes jolt open with a sudden panic as the waves of the ocean had taken to rolling over her comfortably resting body; saltwater had nestled itself into.. into..

Fur.

There was a brief moment of shock, crimson eyes fixated on the pale fur she had now sported, speckled with black–the mane of an animal. No, not any animal–a wolf. There was a particularly sluggish attitude that had dampened the level of her frightened panic, and aching joints would not allow for sudden movements no longer; flesh throbbing in pain, nerves alight as slender legs outstretched to reveal paws that desperately gripped at damp and yielding sand to pull herself upright. Her throat was painfully coarse in such an extreme her gaze had briefly flitted towards the rolling silvery waves with a brief impulsive consideration to eagerly lap up the water to soothe the dry ache. She had decided against it, despite the agony that spread throughout like the sinew of her flesh had been lit ablaze, her mind had remained intact. Somewhat. Better senses had urged her to continue crawling away from the gaping maw of the ocean, lest it swallow her alive and drag her to the inky dark of it’s depths, fodder for something bigger and greater than herself.

Her head–her snout, now, had tilted upwards to gaze upon the sky. Clouds acting as the guards for the kingly sun that shone through them, casting rays of unwanted light atop pale fur and sensitive eyes that made her hiss–had she not endured enough? Suffered thoroughly? Did she not deserve to be free and cleansed of sin? Had the gods taken to making a mockery of her, washing her up from seafoam like a cursed reenactment of Aphrodites birth, sent her to live her life as a beast–to eat, to live, to hunt, to kill and to die?

She calls out–she does not know who–but she calls out with a raspy shriek once more. Looking back, she sees her fur damp with blood and the ocean eagerly lapping it up. Had she been injured?

Oh, what a cruel fate, indeed.

Karina is a 3-3-3 character.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ gods favourite little sinner ˖ ࣪ ⊹
my disease, my infection,
i am so impure

Darling, I think you can make the devil cry.

Thu, 06 Aug 2026 20:22:34 -0400

The snow had thinned in places, replaced by a denser, darker green that pressed close on either side of the narrow game trails. The woodland did not open the way the alpine had; it closed in, heavy with the scent of damp earth, rotting leaves, and the faint metallic tang of running water somewhere below the canopy.

Starling moved through it the same way she had moved through everything else—low, deliberate, one careful step after another. Her coat had grown thicker with the season, the lead-black now dusted at the edges with the pale gray of old frost. The white star on her forehead was still bright against the darker fur, a clean mark that caught what little light filtered down through the pines and birches.

She had not spoken to another wolf since the white one who left the fish. The memory of that meal sat in her the way Torvak’s stories used to: useful, but distant. She had not sought company. She had not needed to. The woodlands offered enough—voles in the leaf litter, the occasional hare that broke cover too late, berries that left her tongue stained but her stomach quieter than it had been on the open tundra.

Still, the restlessness remained.

It was quieter here, but not empty. Scents crossed and recrossed the trails: old wolf, new wolf, the musk of something larger that had passed days before.

She paused at the edge of a shallow stream, watching the water move over dark stones. Her reflection looked back—glacial eyes, the star, the lean lines of a yearling who had learned to keep moving. She drank, then lifted her head and tasted the air again.

Somewhere ahead, the forest opened into a broader stand of older trees. The wind carried the faint sound of wings and the softer, wetter smell of deeper soil. No voices. No laughter. No sharp commands.

Starling stepped forward, leaving the stream behind. Her paws made almost no sound on the moss. She did not hurry. She did not look back.

The Great Woodlands stretched around her, vast and indifferent, and for the first time in a long while the girl who had been called Starling felt the quiet certainty that she could remain alone here if she chose.

Or not.

The choice, at least, was still hers.

CRIMSON AMONGST MIDNIGHT

Thu, 06 Aug 2026 00:00:05 -0400

Eyes the colour of dark honey squinted, squeezing shut firmly against the drastic change of lighting— a sudden flash, as if having fallen through worlds in a dream-like way. As the breaths calmed in his lungs, flanks falling gently now beneath monochrome furs, Roryn stifled a breath and peeled open his eyes, digesting the scenery like a wild beast. Uncertain, almost fearful, dark woodlands loomed overhead, the ground splayed with thick trunks and gnarled roots.

A serene, chilling silence encapsulated the forest save for the odd croak of a toad or the chirps of insects, a warm breeze swaying the foliage. Thick canopies of summer leaves packed the sky, blanketing the twilight forest in near-darkness.

Somewhere between the gawking and a stumbling of limbs, Roryn clambered to his paws with a rough shake of his frame. A plethora of new scents danced in his nostrils, those of prey, predator, and wolf.

“Well shit.” He huffed, muted golden eyes flickering left to right. What was he to do now? Stumble around like a drunken idiot? Something had plucked him from his sorry life, tossing him into the unknown like a pitiful scrap. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Grumbling, broad paws drifted aimlessly as the male picked his way through the forest, his strides slow and sluggish, a sleepy ache gnawing at his bones.

where do we go from here?

Tue, 04 Aug 2026 21:18:42 -0400

Don't be a hero, kid.

He awoke to rain dancing down his spine and a skull that felt like it'd been split in two. Cradled in a bed of golden grass, Lorcan owlishly blinked away the black spots in his vision, as he came to. This...wasn't home. This wasn't Brooklyn.

Where is he? Where is—

As he righted himself and pushed himself up onto shaky limbs, a wave of nausea-inducing memories made him slap back onto the wet earth with a hiss. He trembled where his strength failed him, and where the soft fall of the rain began to bite.

His dad. All he can make sense of right now is the memories of his dad; baseball stadiums, old muscle cars, the brownstone that was home. The way his dad always knew the right things to say when Lorcan was down, or the way he had a sixth sense of knowing if something was wrong.

His dad's pale face as Lorcan watched him bleed out. He hadn't been able to save him.

No. No, no, no—shit— Lorcan gasped between heaving breaths. Bile rolled in his throat, right behind the stone in his throat that made it hurt to breathe. Where his hands should have been, paws dug at the muck beneath him as he crawled out of the soggy bed of grass to find himself staring down an empty, still field.

Dad? His voice cracked beneath the weight of his fear. Of his guilt. If he was here, would his father be here too?

To The Ocean, Take Me

Tue, 04 Aug 2026 20:03:46 -0400

Back dated to July 31st.

The afternoon sun hung low enough to soften its warmth, casting molten ribbons of gold across the quiet cove. Gentle waves rolled ashore in an endless rhythm, each one dissolving into white foam before slipping back into the endless blue from which it came. Seagulls wheeled overhead, their sharp cries echoing between weathered cliffs where countless nests clung stubbornly to the stone. Somewhere farther along the shoreline, hidden behind a curve of rock, the skeletal remains of an abandoned vessel rested half-swallowed by sand and tide, now claimed by birds rather than sailors.

It should have been peaceful. It was. And yet...

A quiet sigh escaped Finnegan as he settled himself upon the warm sand, pale amber eyes fixed upon the endless horizon where sea met sky in a seamless wash of blue.

...I do miss you.

His voice barely rose above the whisper of the surf.

The physician had never imagined he would become sentimental over saltwater.

He had once considered the sea little more than the road beneath the Jackdaw's keel—temperamental, dangerous, forever threatening to spill its crew into an early grave. He had complained endlessly about damp cabins, endless storms, and the perpetual scent of rum and brine that clung stubbornly to everything aboard.

Now...Now he found himself longing for it. The steady creak of timber beneath his paws. The canvas snapping high overhead. The laughter of his crewmates drifting across the deck while someone inevitably ignored his latest medical advice. Even the endless rocking of the waves had become something he missed.

His ears folded slightly. I never thought I'd say such a thing... A faint chuckle escaped him. The breeze wandered in from the open water, carrying with it the unmistakable perfume of salt, kelp, and distant rain upon the sea. Finnegan closed his eyes, drawing in a long, slow breath until his lungs were full.

There it was.

That scent.

It lingered somewhere beneath the herbs forever woven into his fur—lavender, rosemary, chamomile, and yarrow—all of it briefly overtaken by the ocean's embrace. His smile became wistful. It almost smells like home. Not the marble estate where he had been born. Not the polished halls where every step had been measured and every smile carefully rehearsed. Home had become something altogether different.

A weather-beaten pirate ship filled with loud, reckless, impossible people who somehow managed to become his family despite every odd stacked against them. He wondered how they were faring. Whether Rook had managed to avoid another spectacular injury. Whether Flea had listened to even a fraction of his instructions. Whether someone had pilfered the herbs he'd so meticulously sorted. The thought earned a small, fond laugh.

His tail swept lazily through the sand behind him. For a while he simply watched the waves.

One after another.

Patient.

Endless.

“Where Strangers Meet” — Halvor & Fable

Tue, 04 Aug 2026 06:30:42 -0400

Skill: —

The rabbit had escaped.
Halvor stood quietly where he’d stopped, watching the creature jump into a hole until it was nowhere to be seen again. A slow sigh escaped him as he accepted defeat with little more than a small, amused shake of his head. Not every hunt ended in success, and today, it seemed, the forest had decided to humble him.
The culprit? A loose tree root hidden beneath the moss, small enough to be unnoticed but big enough to fit the brute’s paw.
His other paws had slipped just enough to send him stumbling down a short incline and his right back leg held him from going too far. Thankfully the culprit to his fall also helped him before the fall became anything serious, but not without scraping the leg it held. The cut wasn’t deep, it looked more like a nuisance than an injury… But it had begun to sting as dirt worked its way into the wound on the process of trying to unstuck his paw.
He sighed again.
With a quick shake and a shrug of his shoulders, now that hunt was lost there was no desire to waste more energy. Halvor wandered deeper through the forest instead. Perhaps another opportunity would greef him, or maybe not. Either way, there was no reason to dwell on what had already passed.
His pace remained slow and steady, though a subtle limp betrayed the discomfort he otherwise ignored.
Eventually, he reached a quieter area and paused beside a large mossy rock. Lowering himself onto his haunches to inspect his injured paw. It wasn’t terrible… though cleaning it would certainly be wise before it had the chance to worsen because of an infection.

The Unknown Grove

Mon, 03 Aug 2026 22:38:02 -0400

A profound weariness clung to Tamsin, leaving her suspended somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Her eyelids refused to lift at first, every sense dulled beneath a heavy fog of grogginess. It was only when the gentle chorus of birdsong drifted through the canopy that awareness slowly began to return. At last, her eyes cracked open against ribbons of golden sunlight filtering between the towering pines, illuminating the patch of emerald grass where she lay. A slow breath filled her lungs with the earthy fragrance of pine resin, damp soil, moss, and weathered bark, while a faint breeze stirred her fur. She lingered there for a moment longer, stretching the stiffness from her shoulders and spine as feeling gradually returned to her limbs.

Yet as the haze continued to fade, an uneasy realization settled over her. Her gaze swept across the forest, taking in unfamiliar pines, moss-covered stones, and winding trails that failed to spark even the faintest recognition. She searched her memory, only to find empty spaces where answers should have been. There was no recollection of lying down to sleep, nor of how she had arrived in this strange woodland. It was as though one moment of her life had simply been erased, replaced by another. Unease tightened quietly in her chest as her ears tipped forward and her nose lifted to test the air once more, hoping the forest held the answers her own mind could not.

mother wound

Sun, 02 Aug 2026 21:28:19 -0400

At first, the valkyrie had convinced herself it was madness.

Surely, the sickness that greeted her each morning came from the miserable desert diet they'd adopted. Or the heat that refused to loosen its grip even after the sun had gone. Or all the walking. Gods, there had been so much walking lately, and precious little rest. It reminded her of the worst days back in purgatory, when there’d been no monsters to kill and nowhere to hide.

Then, came the changes.

Subtle, still. The sharp curve of her waist had begun to soften, filling gently beneath her ribs. A little weight clung stubbornly to her sides, enough that she caught herself staring when she drank from the shallow desert pools. And she knew, gods…. She knew. She wasn’t eating enough out here for that.

Her departure had been a thing of impulse. Of panic. Barely awake, the morning’s vomit was still drying on her maw. She didn’t even have time to cover her tracks. To think. To consider. Her thoughts had become a stampede, each one crashing into the next until she could scarcely breathe beneath them.

So she had done what she did best.

She ran.

had gone hunting, leaving before dawn to fill both their bellies. He had left her sleeping, and only when she was certain he was gone long enough, did she slip away. Mercy couldn't bring herself to face him with what she’d realized. She couldn't tell him. She couldn't...

Gods, how stupid was she? How utterly stupid!

He would hate her. She hated him. She hated herself. She hated…this. She had never asked for any of it. Never this.

He would not miss her. He would be fine. SHE would be fine. She would be completely happy being alone again.

It was a lie. Every thought was a lie. She knew this, but kept running anyway.

Uneven earth rushed beneath frantic paws, her sides burning with every desperate breath. The whites of her eyes flashed with every glance over her shoulder, as though terror itself had found legs and pursued her faster than any monster could.

Surely, it did.

What was she going to do?