Season & Time

May 5th - Jun 15th

Current time: 12-06-2019, 12:31 PM
pack pages


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
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

Winter Icon © kaiathedragon13
Current Layout Image © Sea
Map Drawing © Doodle
Coding © Tempy & Doutaini Staff
Original Content © Kaji & Crux
Characters © Their respective writers

Pages (2): « Previous 1 2
Users browsing this thread:
1 Guest(s)
Posted 08-10-2017, 02:19 PM |
Rebel ( Admin )
Rebel Wolf
Female, 4.00
30 in, 105 lbs
264 ep
© Ly


they hold the center as the world contracts, leaving them swathed in the entropy of their own creation, ideologies made flesh and blood and promptly flayed to bone. they do not suffer the deception of words. it is a language of pure motion, intent expressed absent the fallacy of signifiers, the purest form of belief she can think to engender. and then he is torn away--her muscles straining to retain her grip on the earth, forelimb tattered and strained, its thin layers of muscle and fat exposed to the unnaturally chilled air.

lightheaded, stumbling like a fawn on her bloodied limb, she follows him blindly only to collapse to her knees before his unconscious form. the chaos between them now stilled, caught like the tongue of a bell--wordless and still brimming with latent energy. blood and dust linger heavy on the air. her thoughts take odd shapes in the fog of pain and exhaustion, flitting from the dark subconscious into light in surreal swarms of things half-conceived: memories and desires she'd long ago ripped and discarded once more billowing to the surface. (mother's milk and fresh blood intermingled on her tongue.) she reaches out and places her teeth delicately over his bare throat. feels the flicker of his heartbeat in his jugular, the rush of blood still carrying life from his heart. it isn't mercy that stays her fangs: it would be a mercy to bleed him out on this hallowed ground, and thus release him to the tides and grave-dirt, to slip between the bars of their cage as incorporeal soul. her fatigued limbs shake under the weight of her decision. paralyzed by uncertainty, by the pure impulse at her core to liberate and the dark greed at its heels, she pulls away. her jaw clenches, teeth ground all but hard enough to splinter. as the heat of battle lapses from her veins a different anger seizes her, slow-moving and bleakly frozen. she once again owes life and limb to the unnatural power that rises to her bidding. the slivers of godhood she commands on battering winds. her clarity is faith: she is not powerless to the whims of their savage world, for her power is her god. her weapon and shield. the confessional of war has purged all doubt from her mind.

she forces herself up on quavering limbs, snaking over his body to address her pack from the stairs, the ivory of her fur matted with his blood and her own. the diamond at her neck gleams brilliant against a backdrop of shocking crimson. "the gods wreath our world in violence." her voice is soft but edged, the liquid mercury of her eyes far-seeing and cold as her gaze sweeps faces both familiar and strange. the stoic cast of her face indicates the dominating will beneath. she is iron-spined in her conviction, a joan of arc pulling up her stake. "we must be as brutal to survive." permit no softness. seize every advantage. they did not spar as wolves, but as vassals for a holy war more ancient than the blood of wolves; the exertion of the divine upon the natural world. "may the nonbelievers know the righteousness of our faith." once, she had seen the nobility in rebellion; now it falls away like so much paint over decay. mortal hubris in the trappings of virtue. she rebukes the deception and embraces her truth.

her bloodsoaked jaws dip to caress asclepius's forehead, tenderly, trailing gore like a cross of ashes over his pacific features. her prophet. she brings the full weight of her crown to bear, lifting her eyes over his repose to the others, no quarter in the steel of her gaze. it is as unrelenting as the storm. "and if they cannot live in the gods' world, let them die in it."

honestly, what a great time...i love when my characters develop in ways i never saw coming lmao. tagging Divine Intervention again as the spar is over!

Posted 08-10-2017, 03:06 PM | This post was last modified: 08-14-2017, 05:46 PM by Freya
Storm Alpha
Female, 2.25
40" in, 95 lbs
56 ep
© borne.
Dead Girl Walking; there is a sucked in breath of air, slithering in her chest as a wretched wail of destruction sounds from the caverns of her throat. silence and abandonment, the corpse of a child who witnesses warfare between her ivory queen and a nobody metallic eyes stare sightlessly in fear, wathing mutely as they rush forward, and penance narrowly helps her avoid inevitable injury. the winds that strike and cut are but naught a mere avoidance of haruko's wrath, and still, she stares helplessly as lyra and ascleipus throw teeth, strength, and the air god's might. mini jaws open themselves, crying out to her empress, heart developing a hate for the stench that surrounded her challenger. the challenger of lyra's gem, her brood, her subjects. lips silently peel over the yellow stained canines, the few, far, and between teeth baring themselves for the world to see. but she can naught but curl in a ball of self-pity, and pray to whatever god will listen, for the patience to save lyra.

the genetic makeup of pure wolf in slathered on the bones of the believers, the goddess of all these primal had graced everyone with her presence tonight. as tooth cut through flesh and muscle, baring to everyone pure bone of the savior. air struck her pink skin, making her appear wind-tussled, but it was nothing but a blessing. they were blessed, even if this rebel dweller didn't care to see. they have promised themselves to our brood's might. freya hissed to everyone strongly, ears flicking back into the intricate curve of her skull. the girl's tail moved to dwell between her soft thighs. there was something purely wretched within her now, a coming of age into the rebellion of her loyalties and the revolt genes. she would spare no mercy, for rebel had tried to take something precious. her majesty, lyra. she'd rise to her feet, unraveling from the cowering position from before. freya promised to herself to be every bit of wind princess that she was given. even if princess was not her original duty in mind.

they wanted our queen, so they felt our teeth.

Posted 08-14-2017, 04:41 PM |
in, lbs
been reading books of old, the legends &a the myths,
there is power before her very eyes; awesome and mighty. As Pantaleon's eyes consume the appearance of a twister, there is fear and wonder in her, squinting her eyes, and gathering her children about her with well intentioned paws to direct them beneath her body. She would crouch over them; her lips peeled back in distaste for the recklessness of thenattack when so many bystanders lingered. As quickly as it was produced, so it went; with her twin's body falling limp in the hold of another. Fear surges through her, and Pantaleon finds herself reliving the day Kaeden died at the mercy of another element. Without much pause, save for the strictest instruction to 'stay here', she vaults over her children as the wind she-wolf places her brother on the ground with near reverence; reverence she would have noted calmly if there was not terror in her blood and a cold so fierce in her gaze, it spoke entirely of her element. Pantaleon's head quickly moves down, muzzle dipping at a forty-five degree angle as her lips peel up in a flash of warning, gaze narrowed upon these wind wolves and their declarations for the gods. Toes splayed, hackles flaring, Pantaleon moves to stand at her brother's back, resisting the urge to glance down at him.

"Get," punctuated and bridled with a steel edge, she feels all the righteous anger she'd felt in the wake of Kaeden's death; bitterness emerging at the mere memory of her mother mourning. "Away from him." she would wait for Asclepius to wake, and, gods willing, these wolves wouldn't try anything untoward. Like a rubber band stretched tight, Pan felt her muscles tense, her balance evened out and her body feared to react. She'd one brother, she'd lost time with her family, her children, Anaxagoras...she would not lose the other half of her soul to Haruko's flock. "he's my brother, you won, leave him alone." measured and far more level than before, part of her knows it would not be smart to start something here; that deescalation was the safer bet.

Pantaleon, upon seeing Asclepius fall, rushes to him and confronts Lyra and the other wolves present.


Posted 08-16-2017, 08:05 PM |
Divine Intervention
N/A, 11.50
x in, x lbs
0 ep
© Divinity
god of wind

    He appeared suddenly, as did any great wind that blew from the north. Debris and fur would scatter, coats would whip and perhaps their footing would even falter in face of the cyclone’s power. But as entirely and viciously as his wind brushed them all, it would vanish with a hasty whisper, leaving utter stillness in its wake. There he stood at the center, atop a nearby pillar of stone to Lyra’s right. Haruko took the shape of a pale wolf, tall and thin—nearly gaunt in his poised manner. Muscles were defined beneath the silken mane that draped his chest and forearms; the lines of his face were sharp, but not harsh. He had a starlit face, the color of clouds in a misty dawn, and from his architectured brow protruded a wreath of silver feathers. They lined his crown much in the manner of a great bird’s, thick and glistening, disappearing into the relaxed arches of his shoulders. For a moment, he merely stood there, his intense, metallic eyes scanning the crowd.

Finally, the corner of his soft lips turned upward. He turned his attention fully upon the one who called him—whether she had consciously realized it or not. "Lyra." He spoke her name with finality, deep chords possessing a sort of recognition that few wolves ever received from the gods. "I hear your soul, and it is louder than ever before. I have seen your doubt…" Suddenly, his voice grew dark and ominous, storm clouds that billowed over the horizon of her heart. She alone would feel the cold breeze that rushed against her chest, sending the diamond pendant to dance and beat wildly against her skin. He spoke of the Stardust Festival seasons past, of the fleeting questions that swirled in her mind. But just as the tension seemed to reach the breaking point, Haruko’s anger disappeared, the wind calmed, and he smiled gently. "But you come to me now with strength and devotion. For staying your fangs against your opponent, you have gained my approval. Perhaps I am not all-seeing, but I have seen you, Lyra, and your heart." The Wind God chuckled, and dust twirled from the ledge of his pillar with each exhalation.

"I have a task for you," he said abruptly, the silvery lines of his features hardening. He glanced down at the bloodied body behind her. "You have been reborn, through blood and tribulation; you were tested and you emerged as mine. Make him mine, Lyra." He nodded to Asclepius’ limp body. "He is your ward, protect him by my will. Teach him my ways…and make him a believer."

Upon delivering his message, Lyra would feel a warmer, kinder breeze caress the intricacies of her form. Haruko would lend but a single glance to his steadfast Queen, delight sparkling in his gaze, before his eyes roamed once more across his devout herd. Each Wind wolf would feel a fleeting touch, as well, a breath of warmth and promise, a whisper of pride. Soon, they would all know how much he cared about their eternal fate. Even those who vanish will return to me; it is the cycle. They love, and I love in return. And then, in a renewed display of vigor, the cyclone would spring from the stone and carry the god away.
╰ ❖ ╮
background from NinjaRabbit-Stock, code by Sabrina

Haruko has appeared to Lyra atop a nearby pillar. He praises her, then gives her the task of converting Asclepius to Haruko’s ways. All Wind wolves will feel his touch—a gentle, warm breeze—before he vanishes in a swirling gust.

Posted 08-22-2017, 04:21 PM |
in, lbs
She is attentive to the battle before her and though she does not war with Lyra, her hackles are bristled to their full length as her sunset peach eyes pin Asclepius, silently condemning him for his actions today. The outcome is obvious as the fight comes to an abrupt close, with Lyra as the victor.

Words, righteous and pure ring across the arena, a melody to Niyole's ears. She is greatful that her counterpart queen had won today. A victory for Wind that would represent all of Haruko's glory and put a vicious display for all Rebels not to challenge Wind's rightful authority over their faith, their people, or their land.

But as the wind picks up around them and Haruko appears for the second time in her lifetime, she is silent and her lips purse against the god's wishes. A fool! Her mind cries as anger washes over her mind with an intensity unknown to the Izaakian woman. A scowl furrows the sand strewn brow, her peach eyes grown dusky as fury presents itself in a cloud surrounding the woman. She wishes to denounce the god then, to shout her anger into the winds and to forsake everything she had stood for since her birth. Rebel was a plague that ran rampant against Doutaini's lands and threatened to extinguish the burning pillars of the magickal deities which reigned over their realms. She would not believe her god would look to this Rebel man, look to this tumor that festered, in the hopes of converting him to Haruko's loyal ranks.

It was obvious that Asclepius was a blasphemer, arrogant and foolish in his ignorant ways. There was no way this Rebel man would repent his lifetime's sins. With a small shake of her head and a huff, she would stare at Lyra, gauging the other queen's reaction, her sunset gaze leveled and hopeful that her most precious asset of Xyntanza's would not be persuaded from her grasp and then, she would turn to journey home, across the expanses of Doutaini back to Xyntanza's welcoming arms, only to feel her home slipping through her fingers.

Pages (2): « Previous 1 2