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Meeting [rebel] rebuild joy
Posted 08-17-2017, 02:05 PM |
in, lbs

we all still hurt. your bodies, our souls. we are all sensitive. we all need healing. these were bjorn's thought in the last days back into the ridge. rebel was hurt and sad. there was no sign that happiness ever lived in these sharp red rocks. but he would not his people be so depressed. he would do his part, or even more, to bring them a moment of joy and a little of life to their hearts.

the mountain goat's body was dragged in the ground, making some sort of blood trail in the path from the deep owound in it's throat, being carried by the ebony warrior's strong muscles and sharp teeth. the prey was not the largest he even hunt down, but it was a young healthy animal. it was finally dropped down in a sort of arena surriounded by a few inches higher rocks, almost forming a full circle if not from the entry bjorn came from with the fresh meat. here, a few other fresh carcasses were awaiting, all killed by bjorn.

besides the single goat, a couple of small turkeys, an single armadillo and, at last, a very fat jackrabbit - probably the hardest prey of the day, besides of the goat. all this, even that not much, was for his fellow packmates. bjorn lays the goat's body near the other bodies, analizing the situation before a small proud smile form in his lips.

He was tired and puffing, since he probably never hunt that much in the day. he was in the chase of these animals since the very first houers of the day, and now in probably two or three hours, the sun would start to give place to the moon. yet, he use the last of his energy to howl for his comrades, all of them. inclusing the hard-to-deal-with brother valerian. even his mate, if he was nearby, was invited to the "meal".

while waiting, the valentine boy would lay in the bare ground, keeping the head high to any approaching figures, but allowing his muscles to finally rest.


this is some short of "meeting" to all rebel wolves + Claymore, if he wants to come. it's not mandatory or anything, just for fun. Rebel is kinda "touched" after Kerri's death so Bjorn wants to bring some better times to everyone, with interaction and food. c:

I'll be tagging everyone, but you don't need to bring your char if not wanted! Charlotte Valerian Ketamine Famine @[Archer] Asclepius Eloise Titania Vedetta Kynaios Scorpius Nicharion Sibyl Tarot Roswell Valeraine Vahagn Rikke Alexander Lorelei Valentin Cecily Reiner Praelia

Posted 08-17-2017, 02:27 PM |
in, lbs
Oh, another thing: I'll be posting again in Aug 24th

Posted 08-19-2017, 06:50 PM |
Enigma Wolf
Male, 4.00
35 in, 130 lbs
63 ep
© joel
"Bitter would have me taste: my taste was me."

He was unresponsive in the moons that passed. He knew this as he studied its body and measure of contrast by each night, knowing well the vastness existing out there. The nihilism. Some primordial fascination with stars and outer-realms where his reach was null. The momentum of possibility, infinite. He'd discovered other bodies, too, planets briefly glimpsed on the highways of solar matter. He traced the tails of comets' orbits, each spec of light a second into the past. A place of places composed of what once was. That his current reality was built on a foundation of sand. The absurdism. Only time and the force of which he'll consume will press it down, condensing his basic self. Asclepius was idle when the stranger summoned them. Nestled in the many catacombs of their ridge, he stood near the wall. A hiss unsettled the air. A spark where his toes dragged over, raking down the red rock. Small grooves had worked along the expanse, fitting his nails. The gesture held no account for being, his paw simply moved. up and down. up. down. Dragging over scar tissue, it wrestled for a memory of sensation. His breathe was vacant. Eyes blurred with moisture as he stared and stared by the glow of deep, blue irises. He is perplexed in his solitude. Playing scenes of violent reckonings, a blur of teeth and purpose; vexed him. That he had failed did not bring him shame. No. His body had been her vehicle and he is humbled for it. Possessed, even, for what she imparted to him. More gifts than scars or blood. He has realized his own cage. Flesh remained in place as his ears swiveled, unable to recognize the howl. A moment after it ceased, his limbs found animation. His anatomy, toiled in bruises and prospect, is precise in ambling the summit's shoulder. Navigating his homeland was becoming a second nature - an extension of him. Familiarizing the rock's formation, carvings, garnish, textures. They are quiet giants, each detail. He follows them to Bjorn and his feast. Vaguely, does he remember him from a meeting what seemed those same moons ago. The bull is skeptical of anything not entirely familiar. Rebel is still a raw wound; and he was its shepherd, its sentinel. He does not smile but with his posture, a sophisticated diplomacy that paused in his approach. "What do we celebrate?" His disposition, was engaged only by the lilt of his voice. That it would envelope a space, and draw back into his stare.

Posted 08-20-2017, 10:43 AM |
Storm Wolf
Male, 3.75
33 in, 123 lbs
260 ep
© KittyKookiez
(Totes getting Claymore here. Just gonna wait a few more posts, since Rebels are fast and he'd have to go around Wind&Fire territory to get here)

KittyKookiez OOC Account

There is no need to tag me in any threads I am already in (unless it is my turn to post AND it is a multiple-party thread)!

Adopt one today!
Check out Cadmium and his friends on Dragcave :3

Posted 08-21-2017, 06:47 PM |
Rebel Scout
Male, 2.25
36 in, 135 lbs
73 ep
© Lyk
The evening promised to be utterly boring if there were to be no interruptions, so Nicharion was rather glad for the call. Whatever it was, chances that it beats lying down on some ledge and looking at the sky were pretty high, so the red male started to leisurely make his way to the gathering. As far as he knew, things were relatively calm at Rebel since the meeting, and while he wouldn't have it any other way.. something interesting every now and then really wouldn't hurt.

"Living, I suppose." And a fine cause for celebration it was, should he be right - and if those bullheaded Rebels could withhold themselves from moaning about the past for one second. Nicharion looked over the food, moving on to the male whose question he answered, and finally their host. It was pretty reasonable of him to do this, and considerate too.. maybe not everyone in this pack is stubborn to the point of insanity. "We haven't met. Nicharion Wrex-Valentine. Carion will do." He didn't really wait for them to introduce themselves before he started to walk towards a spot that seemed both comfortable and to offer a good view, but his ears remained up and attentive. He might be nonchalant, but he didn't mean to ignore them. "You could have asked for some help, though. Isn't that the point of a pack? One wolf not having to overwork himself?" His eyes went back to the food. Nicharion didn't enjoy eating what he didn't catch as much. Maybe it was pride, or something.. but if there's no one else to take it soon, it'd be stupid to hold back.

Posted 08-24-2017, 04:20 PM |
Rebel Wolf
Male, 2.75
37 in, 140 lbs
149 ep
© Apax

Nicharion Asclepius Bjorn
slowly, leathery skin composed and from heavy scaring. his hind legs, scattered and defined with growing black skin. dry;cracked. he is lame in one leg, slightly stiff of the joints that bring him to one skye. a composure that let him lay, that let him settle atop his stomach within the grooves of the earth. the split, the house he had taken of a dead grandmother. "you've outdone yourself," a murmur, brought on by a dryness to his tongue. hoarse, perhaps, in his absence from all. a shied bear who had spent the end of his spring playing with the idea of a sleep far to long. his senses that brought him to the word, the feast that he could guess on before his very own eye catches them. his weight shifted forward, toes extended as they pull himself over a stone that left the imprint of his paw to. (rain had not been gifted to them, ash still layed in thin layers over all)

eventually, he would find faces and one that was dark and smothered. (he remembers it, briefly, the dark, the rocking motion of being carried. he can see the ash in the dark headed man, how the soot lays in his throat and he remembers the noise) eye contact, it wouldn't sway as he stares. nicharions words that flood his ears and bring one back to the grey scale colors of his neck. "not the living, we celebrate the dead." a correction, swayed with a neck that would eventually find peace of its low hanging sway. for once, there was no arch to his tail, no cheek to rise. he is simply there.

Posted 08-24-2017, 08:22 PM |
in, lbs

to be honest, he expected more. only few arrived, but maybe it was because the pack was not in the mood for a party or a meating. everyone was in every level of sadness after the fire and magma catastrophe. he sighs briefly, hoping that they would not see it. He smiles at the first guest coming, someone he knew few, but already had some simpathy just for arriving for bjorn's call. before he could reply, another came, a guy with the valentine name as well. perhaps bjorn had more "relatives" than he thought. i'm bjorn daegan, son of vim. i believe we are related, somehow. i'm also a valentine. a shy smile form in his lips, as he nod his head as a slight bow. he giggles more to a sad brief laugh with carion's speech. worry not, this is a surprise for the pack, in some way. it's my way to show my loyalty to rebel. actually, bjorn rarely saw people ofering him help with anything. he was used to work alone. but he appreciated the friendly speech.

finally, the last face -- for now -- came and spoke, a face bjorn knew few too, but his name was known to him.roswell. he only knows about his father, ruslan. the one angry beast who claimed him to rebel. somwhow, bjorn was grateful for him, but after the notice of his crimes, he didn't even want to remember that face. welcome. he says, a less sweet tone than with the other two, being actually more aggressive, watching the other creature sitting by a rock. this is actually for us, the living. i know how painful was to loose rykerri. she was a mother to me. sadness was easily noticed in his speech, as his very bright gaze pass by each one of the guys presents. i lost a mother and my father in this catastrophe. we are all hurt both in body and mind. this is for bring us a bit of life back to our hearts. i expected more of us coming, but any presence is welcome. fell free to, well, get yourself a piece of this "feast". He finishes with the eyes over the preys he got, walking a few steps back to allow others to come and get theirselves some food. for himself, he ripped one of the jackrabbit's back legs.


Nicharion, Roswell, Asclepius (anyone still welcome to join)

Posted 08-25-2017, 01:42 AM | This post was last modified: 08-25-2017, 01:43 AM by Verona
Rebel Healer
Female, 2.50
33 in, 115 lbs
o49 ep
© tam

and I see fire hollowing souls, she comes quietly, still unsure of where she fits beside these newcomers who did not burn for the ridge as the rest of them have. her scars seem to pulse the worst in their presence, reminding her that she bled for her pack and they had given none of themselves, only empty words mistaken for wisdom. wearily, she watches the one who'd addressed her at the pack meeting, her thoughts hissing with anger at the sight of him. what did he know of revenge? nothing. a sniff dismissed nicharion from her thoughts as she brushes past, careless of whether or not she jostles him. if fate was kind, a mountain lion will kill him and her people would be rid of the rest of the false rebels molded in his image. she listens as they talk of the dead and of the living, coming to understand in the slow way of sorrow that rebel had lost some of their own to akako's flames. guilt stirs in her breast. it had been her former god to cause them such pain, to destroy their home. she wants to sigh, to bear the bulk of this burden they all seem to share amongst themselves, but she remains quiet, watching the way their faces bear their losses so openly. she hurts for them, these men who have lived among these rocks far longer than she, and she wishes she would fix them, but she can't. they wish to celebrate the living, forgetting that remembering the dead is the best celebration of life. she would know. this wasn't her first or even her second brush with death and the dying. this was only the latest in a long train of funeral shrouds decorating her memory. there would be more. there would always be more. resigned, verona steps past the gathered wolves to pluck a turkey from the small offering bjorn had gathered together. callously, with one paw pressing down on the body as a stabilizer, verona rips its head from the rest of the corpse to the sound of splattering blood. spitting the head to the side, she gingerly grasps it by the feet to jerk it upright and release the rest of the blood before it can coagulate in the heat. the red dust darkens beneath her paws as it mixes with bits of feathers and gore into a muddy paste. when the blood flow slows and verona deems the resultant puddle large enough, she tosses what remains of the bird to the side. it collapses to the ground with a dull thud just inches away from its still fleshed skull. her toes are matted with blood and soot and claw. it's a stain that only seems to spread when verona slams her paw into the muck she's created, pushing her toes deep into the mixture. her weight shifts as she cradles the leg to her chest and begins the long, clumsy walk to the nearest, largest boulder. scorch marks streak its proud surface, but it remains unbroken. it gleams dully beneath the sun and does not shy from its eye-catching shade of desert orange. indelicately and without ceremony, verona slams her bloodstained paw onto the boulder's surface and presses as much of her body weight as she can into that one paw. when she pulls it away, a perfect paw print remains. she nearly stumbles when she pushes away from it, staring at the way it still seems to spark and glow in the light. "for those we lost," she says, her voice high and clear. "we celebrate our living by remembering their sacrifice."
i see fire
this is poop.

Posted 09-10-2017, 06:51 PM |
Rebel Alpha
Female, 5.50
40 in, 100 lbs
399 ep
© Lou

She couldn't attend, the illness had begun to take hold and it had racked her body with a plague she distrusted around the others in her pack. From above though she watched as they came and questioned, Asclepius, Nicharion, Roswell even showed, and Verona. Bjorn had outdone himself and she so wished to applaud him, but as her nose filled with gunk and her eyes watered for no reason; she stands above like an angel of death and shares a smile with the wind alone. Ears tilted, she dips her chin to the sky and lets loose a howl for him, for Bjorn, to show him that she appreciated his efforts even if she could not present herself. It is short and sickening, a song of death, and as she pulls her mouth from the sky a dozen coughs embrace her. Wheezing. Emerald eyes take one last glance before she retreats from the ledge she'd been standing on, only rest would help her now.

terrible, but wanted her to at least acknowledge this.

Charlotte is riddled with scars from head to toe, the right side of her face is bare of fur, and both her ears are in tatters at the tips.