welcome,
MAIN MENU
Season & Time

Spring
Dec 30th - Feb 9th

01-18-2018, 01:59 AM
pack pages

                       

Resources
explore OOC Members Search Calendar Open Threads
guide Guidebook/Rules Biology Stars Sparring & Judging System
statistics Points History Cradle - Grave Legends Char. Contest
references Religion Hunting Healing & Herbs Prize Page Staff Donate
Open Cbox
Disclaimer
By using the chatbox you agree to the rules described on the Rules page under the Chatbox section. Have fun. :)

doutaini map

Map of Doutaini

Credits
Spring Icon © Astre
Current Layout Image © Sparrow
Map Drawing © Doodle
Coding © Tempy & Doutaini Staff
Original Content © Kaji & Crux
Characters © Their respective writers

Users browsing this thread:
1 Guest(s)
Private pennyroyal.
Posted 01-02-2018, 06:51 PM |
Enigma ( Admin )
Lyra
Enigma Wolf
Female, 3.25
Meso-runner
30 in, 105 lbs
240 ep
© Ly
spring stirs beneath the frozen earth, cracking winter's rime: another year rising from the ash of the last. its first pale blush spreads across the blanched moors, like the immutable, invariable drag of the sun's chariot across a noon sky (and as woefully dull). the seismic shift of power as death slips from his icy throne compels her attention. it's not grieving so much as tired ritual: the queen is dead, long live the queen.

but the carnivorous foliage of the cemetery is always in bloom. leeching color from the marrow of the fallen, its bluebells draped in soundless mourning over tombstones long since scrubbed of feature; forget-me-nots swooning over unmarked graves. she trods them irreverently into the dust. old bones have no use for prayers--and she has none to offer: all her sympathy has turned to vitriol, and her mercy to knives. (and maybe now her black heart pumps rot through her veins with the same strange alchemy of the graveyard flowers--in her multitudes she is become both death and the maiden.)

a premature dusk casts its sickly citrine glow over the grove as she comes to a halt beneath the willow, black lips drawn into a contemplative grimace. it contorts her features with an unbecoming violence. (she, naturally, does not give a damn.)


Meliae



[ Reply ]






Posted 01-13-2018, 06:58 PM | This post was last modified: 01-13-2018, 07:02 PM by Meliae
Earth
Meliae
Earth Scion
Female, 4.25
Ectomorph
38 in, 94 lbs
22 ep
© tig
a message from the gods, she knew it. a black-quiled creature, immence wings, the cruel hook of its maw. a handmaiden of death, cast down from the heavens by the bear-king to warn her. looking in that dark, dead eye she had heard a mad, little whisper. i know, i know! and for the first time in her life, she felt something like fear.

there is a primeval mechanism of the brain, a docile prescence in the brainstem, the cerebellum -- an ancient component of the subconcious, yet so very effective. her heart constricted, the skin of her stomach trembling as if she'd dropped something cold down herself.

she fled, and did not look back.


this place is a mass denouement, more incalcuable than the bones that kaede conceals at his breast.

she sees now her god's dark duty-- a vatic vission that blooms behind her eyelids in that dying light and drives a thrill along her spine. so you know what i have done. that dark little room in the depths of the temple is safe from the eyes of the living, but not her secret would not escape the notice of a god. of course.

liminal-- those neat rows of headstones, and the gates to abyss beneath. a white wraith to guard them, a soft wind to convey grim tidings. for a moment, she is content with this fantasy. the dead weigh heavy on her thoughts-- tangles of hair, the thin threads of sinnew like spiderwebs on bones. there is no place for the living in the sub-zero of those outer-space thoughts, orbiting reality like satellites and stars.

'no rest for the wicked.' a trembling little sigh, quiet words as if the woman spoke intimately to the graves she trod across. her eyes are those of animal's, moonlight like jade in the backs of her pupils. she has left her visceral fear in the debris that piles beneath the hedgerows, forgotten already without the fodder of adrenaline. the lack of irony is lost upon that impassive face, dark lips slackly closed and hooded eyelids flickering overtop the roaming eyes. every movement is a study of half-collection, one limb trailing behind every stride as meliae takes it all in. 'i hope i'm not disturbing you.' the crooked smile is indiscriminate, a vague pleasantry soon done away with. 'i'm graverobbing.'

Lyra



[ Reply ]