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Borders possum kingdom.
Posted 01-01-2018, 11:59 AM | This post was last modified: 01-01-2018, 11:59 AM by Lyra
Enigma ( Admin )
Lyra
Enigma Wolf
Female, 3.25
Meso-runner
30 in, 105 lbs
240 ep
© Ly
UNBURY THE SWORD FROM MY SIDE
SUCK IT LIKE A THUMB
I DON'T WANT A FAMILY
I WANT A FIRE

kristin chang, “defense mechanisms”




she storms the kingdom at dawn, an army of one.

wild-eyed and feral, frame distorted by her recent pregnancy, there is nothing of herself in the image but the burning fury in her pale eyes. would that she could rip her god from the stars to make him answer for his sins. a sob racks her chest unexpectedly, frustration made physical, proverbial fists thrust against the walls of her mortal cage. for losing tyrus, for killing niyole, for plunging his mountain to waste. what sort of god would rule so ruinously?

perhaps one already resigned to ruin. weakling god. who could not keep a pack, for all his lush terrain and asphyxiating power; who could not save his flock even from themselves. bring him asclepius? a worm's soul would befit him more. auburn hackles bristle and briefly rise, lips raising over grinding teeth, eager for a taste of godflesh--for stardusted blood on her fangs--for a reckoning. and then, with a heavy sigh and scar-twisted grimace, she cools her rage. icy purpose drowns the adrenaline in her veins. she could not kill the divine. it's only in her power to raise hell.

she barks, the harsh sound mirrored back tenfold from the dark cliffs. it was time she meet haruko's latest conquest. and, perhaps, to impart a warning from one lover to another: it will never be enough.


Devil May Cry



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Posted 01-10-2018, 01:17 PM | This post was last modified: 01-10-2018, 01:19 PM by Dhalion
Dhalion
Rogue
Male, 1.75
Endomorph
34 in, 135 lbs
0 ep
© puffball


There is a gnarled war cry, ravaged by wild fury that rises with the sun. It's a sound born of deep-seated disappointment --How could you! it screams poisonously. The voice that demands an audience is one familiar to the sleepless youth currently en route to answer for his father's sins. How could he ever forget those that had tried and failed to bring Wind glory. Tyrus, Niyole, Lyra-- these were the faces he had known as a child, these were the kings and queens that had failed him and any that may have remained loyal to Haruko, for reasons still unknown to him. His muscles are bound by tension, his breath threatening to be stolen by the exasperation of coming face-to-face with a figure-head that had let him down. He has tasted from the pool of rage that has driven the ex-Alpha to Xyntanza's door step, bitter seeds should have taken root, should have driven him away like the rest but he remains.

Devil May Cry should be the first to heed the passionate bark, as is her duty, but Lyra would not find Wind's current sovereign standing before her. She has resigned herself to linger in the shadows, vanquishing (or perhaps succumbing) to the demons that had plagued her since claiming the cursed throne. Instead, Dhalion has come to answer her demand for retribution. Davida had claimed Haruko to be his father after all; why shouldn't he take responsibility for what was happening? He was no longer a child to sit behind his mother's skirts, or wait in a vegetative state for someone else to do something about the ruinous path the Hill currently tread. He arrives with the haste of the wind at his heels, his suspicions of Lyra's return are made tangible. She is a solid mass of high-octane energy, ready to bare her fangs, eager to rip into celestial flesh of the deity she once served.

"Welcome back to Xyntanza's, Lyra." He greets her with a civil respect, even though he is acutely aware of her sullen aura. "I doubt you'll remember me, as I was only a child when you were second in command to Niyole, but let me introduce myself. I am Dhalion Eins, son of Davida, and one of two Wind members that remained after Tyrus disbanded the pack." A regrettable moment that still smarts when he recalls the burning image of his gem shattering because of one man's command. Worse that it was the very man he had looked up to growing up as a boy."A woman by the name Devil May Cry currently governs Xyntanza." Not many had come to acquaint themselves with the reclusive queen, or congratulate her, save for the trio of wolves that had supported her claim all those months ago. "So now I ask, with respect; what has brought you back here?" In his heart he already knows what it is she sought, but he asks nonetheless.

"the wind runner."

Lyra



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Posted 01-11-2018, 08:07 PM |
Enigma ( Admin )
Lyra
Enigma Wolf
Female, 3.25
Meso-runner
30 in, 105 lbs
240 ep
© Ly

welcome back to xyntanza's, lyra.

the sound of her own name rings pavlovian through the flames of her rage, summoning her to the surface like a beast from the pit. she lifts her reptilian gaze to the boy; veiled in suspicion, nothing to scry from the depths of her irises but cold derision. mercury had told her that kurai's gift was poison, but she does not feel sick. to the contrary, her mind burns with a newfound clarity of intent, one neither divine nor righteous--in the feculence of mortal emotion, she's found something true. "dhalion." she echoes the name back to him, a dull thud from her tongue. through the haze of memory she recalls, at one time, some squirming mass of pups under wind's aegis. no doubt she had kept her wary distance: motherhood sits unnaturally on the cruel jut of her shoulders and she had known it even then. (children craved softness and stability; she's splinters and turbulence.) she tilts her maw up to appraise him. and recognition dawns at last, tortured from a fraying mind. "you were there."

no longer a boy, but almost a man grown. had she been so long away? the darkness had a way of distorting the hours. "yes, you were there, when ni--" the name catches on her tongue, sanctified by death. "when we took the throne." we. she lingers for a moment in the safety of the collective pronoun, the memory of an indistinguishable pair. the heart and the fist unified under a golden crown. she tilts imperceptibly closer, something frantic inching into the mercury of her eyes, then, and searching for its echo in his eyes--some hint of remembrance. "when haruko laid waste to the hillside, and we were there to soothe his ego." her smile widens, fanged and hollow, an edge creeping into her voice like a dagger down a thigh: the subtle beginnings of a threat.

"such a proud god! oh, i have seen his pride flattered; when we gathered to praise him at the festival of stars. when i shed blood in his name. and i have seen that pride betrayed." he had scored his own face for love of tyrus, but tyrus was not the only. he had not been the only among the throng on the mountainside to comfort the grieving god. and he had not been the only before niyole when she had crowned a successor. (the ghost of that betrayal momentarily flutters in her throat; she bites it back. the pain is but kerosene to her fury.) her hackles stir, raised as bristling razorwire over her spine. are you listening, haruko? this is an accounting of your sins.

"but she never betrayed him."

now account for them.

twice abandoned by his chosen king. forsaken by his blade. but niyole's faith had been resolute, her devotion to the hill and its people unwavering. lyra's head drops between her shoulders, teeth gritted, and the confession that she whispers is for the earth alone; "he should have taken me." she had always been the snake in the garden. he had seen her doubts, and turned a blind eye to them; charmed by her ambition. that would haunt him now. she could not change the past, but oh, she could be a plague upon the future.

"tell your queen, boy. tell her what a vain god she serves. and as for him--" her voice trembles, the icy resolve slipping away to reveal the nerve beneath; exposed and volatile. twitching with electric current. "he stole something i treasured dearly."

what has brought you back here? not retribution, not vengeance, but a balancing of the scales.
she marks her curse on the god with a lipless snarl, hatred burning cold in her slitted eyes. beauty molded into something horrible.

(once upon a time, she had chosen him for her god. that choice had marked her fate: whatever her path, they were forever bound.)

"he will never find peace."

*

LYRA EXITS UNLESS STOPPED.




Dhalion i think lyra spoke more in this post than she has in her entire life jslkfsg. she has uh lost her mind a bit!!! sorry for her rant!!!



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Posted 01-12-2018, 04:54 PM | This post was last modified: 01-17-2018, 12:54 PM by Dhalion
Dhalion
Rogue
Male, 1.75
Endomorph
34 in, 135 lbs
0 ep
© puffball


You were there.

A humble witness to the rise and fall, the push and pull of Xyntanza's rulers as they bled for the pride of their absent god but fell short in their sacrifice. The blame was not all theirs to carry, and perhaps this is why Dhalion regards her with the same respect deserving of a queen. She is the very frost of Hell, frigid indignation fanned by loss of a beloved, and augmented by the sins of the master of turbulent wind. Where was he now as his son paid the price for his misdeeds? Instability shook the Hill to its core, the decomposition a result of silence born unto his flock. There was only so much life Niyole and Lyra could have devoted to Wind after Tyrus had (perhaps, not intentionally) spurned the chances (and favor) bestowed upon him in good faith. The caustic memories came in full swing as he went toe-to-toe with the former queen-regent. As a boy he'd only known her as an ivory gargoyle, stoic and calculated in her approach, and a lethal force to go up against. "Yes, I was there for it all."

Now, nearly peaking to full manhood, he saw a nocuous serpent waiting to strike from her nest of darkness. Enigma had welcomed her into their realm of oddities, amplified the vortex of emotion and feeling that he now saw returned in the inferno of her gaze. Her ferocity is a nightmare, chipping at her and daring to pull him under as he watches the armored snake take a step back to slither into a skin she had already shed and left behind. There is hope she might reclaim the fragments of her psyche that Dhalion had once put his faith into, a desperation that hid beneath the starlight of his eyes as she searches him frantically, inching closer until she is teleported too far from reach. Her lips are pulled in such a way (so void) that it is as though winter had returned, freezing his very soul and causing the rise of his hackles. A blackhole sucks the color from his skin, his 'brow furrowed, wary of the blade she grasps with white knuckles, biding her time until she can feed it the lifeblood of her cursed enemy.

Mistakes were made, Haruko's transgression against Lyra a trap now sprung in motion. There was no stopping the boulder from tumbling, her path was chosen and now he was there to witness this, as well. Was it his burden to scribe the convoluted saga of fallen kings and queens of the Hill? Her words are made of steel conviction; there was nothing he could vocalize to assemble an apology for the god she condemned. No way of coaxing her to forgive as he had and abstain from swinging her sword at Haruko's head.

Give her peace.

Dhalion observes the turmoil, heavy-hearted in the way his facial muscles react to the chemical explosion of gasoline turned to flame by the flick of a lighter. Even amidst the chaos of flame igniting her ire, she whispers, it is a secret he does not quite pick up but Xyntanza has heard the pained words, she keeps them in the center of her mountain, mourning the loss of her kin. Lyra's request is not taken lightly, he knows the weight which her message carries as he can feel it burgeoning on his shoulders -- but would the stranger now comfortably situated on Wind's throne care to receive it? "Lyra," queen. "I know we can't always predict how right or how wrong the gods might treat us, but we can always set ourselves apart from their mistakes, if we just learn from them and forgive." Niyole's loss is a devastating blow that would be felt across all Doutaini, to some more than others, and this may have been a sin too grievous to forgive.

And her hex is sent to the heavens in a roaring snarl, the beasts teeth reared in a threatening display. Dhalion is only a statue, left standing in place with ears pinned back and his head lowered between his shoulders as she marches from the kingdom.

On his behalf, I apologize.

"Travel safely." he murmurs to the wind, hoping it would stay with her.

"the wind runner."

Lyra just gotta say it was such a great post to read and react to! definitely no need to say sorry. that was amazing.



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