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Stardust Festival dead men and their stories
Posted 03-22-2018, 05:58 PM |
Rebel
Roswell
Rebel Sub-Alpha
Male, 3.75
Endomorph
37 in, 140 lbs
175 ep
© Apax
Vahagn
if you arent okay with me assuming vahagns location, or anything else, just let me know and i can edit. <3
boredom, it's blatant on the face of the cool toned bear. eyes unplaced. distant and compressed onto nothing but the ground that keeps the fields alive. (bustling, liquor on the air and the constellations keep the reflection in his eye) he is not still, fueled with a fever of paranoia and questionable passion in the air. at the church of believers and their hearts. (what is he, if not a believer?) uncomfortable tones lurk, chest deflates like a balloon caught at high altitudes. there is that familiar grasp, the way suddenly he is at the back of Vahagn's throat. the attempt to cradle his jaw agaisnt the scruff, his own ears flattened and composed. the growl that came more out as a grumble, an greeting through tight lips and pink gums. he is testing through his fever of murder, the release of the dead man into the living. his hind end low to the ground, he had approached from Vahagn's right in his greeting. formal, a brotherhood. (the older brother grabbing the back of his youngest with a firm hand) "im surprised to see you so festive, Vahagn." it's a murmur through fur, embedded into his skin as the grey bear would attempt to fall back and away. to ease, with rough hands. to understand the state of the claymen, to his brother. to blood.




[ Reply ]






Posted 03-22-2018, 08:43 PM | This post was last modified: 03-22-2018, 08:45 PM by Vahagn
Rebel
Vahagn
Rebel Heir
Male, 1.75
Endomorph
38 in, 140 lbs
39 ep
© vik
dragonslayer
Manic and on guard, he heard his Red brother before he saw him. Heard the man’s soft footsteps, then saw Roswell’s distinctive bearlike silhouette slinging closer. Vahagn made a half-shrug like he was going to point out something in the crowd. But a jaw weighed against his scruff. Not hard; not soft either. Clenching. A scowl corrugated the thick bridge of his nose. Heavy black lips rolled up over the gum line, wide tongue tucked back in his mouth. The volcanic growl thundering through his chest rattled the stiff black mohawk bristled quilllike above Roswell’s black nose. Vahagn rammed his neck in toward his alpha, hoping to shove the man’s grip off him. A loose grin warmed the harsh edges of his half-snarl. Nothing but a younger brother resisting his big brother’s hold over him. But there was a raw glow to his pine eyes, a flicker of instinct bucking dangerously against a grip on his neck.

“It is a party, isn’t it?” he replied with a grunt, curved right ear briefly folding against the stiff hair of his neck as Roswell moved back and away. Vahagn turned abruptly, facing the man as soon as he had quarter to do so, and immediately took a step closer to the greyscale wolf, toothy maw dragging him forward before he held himself back. He retreated a half-step. The new slack on his lips eased into a grin as he studied Roswell’s face. It occurred to him, in the back of his mind, that his brother seemed troubled. As raw around the edges as he. Like knows like. He heaved a faint sigh and glanced back at the feast. “What are they celebrating?” He asked with muted interest. In truth, it didn’t matter to him. Rebels were not barred from anything, religious festivals included. That was their freedom. “And why don’t you do the same?” He slung his gaze at Roswell, a pointed curiosity suddenly in his eyes. His tone was friendly but he was clearly considering his brother’s agitation.

Roswell, all good with me dude, no worries :D



[ Reply ]






Posted 03-23-2018, 09:36 AM |
Rebel
Roswell
Rebel Sub-Alpha
Male, 3.75
Endomorph
37 in, 140 lbs
175 ep
© Apax
Vahagn

do you still feel me?

distraught eyes, there is that bubbling in the thickness of his throat. toes calloused and dug, he feels the wetness of the soil beneath his toes. interest in the wetness that bubbles below his feet, the interest in feeling more then just how it feels agaisnt the calloused pads. sliding within cracks and beyond, he is distant but thorough. his jaw that ducks to his neck in the swift charge of his brother. almost a dare, brought with bare pink gums and folded ears. despite the pains in the twisting of his hind end, he is a boar with a gnarled tooth. waiting, ready but there would be no wrestling this night. no boyish play, with tensed muscles and furrowed brows. "i see a lack of women and the smell of booze, it's no party." a soft murmur, brought on by wandering eyes as if looking for his own blood in the crowd. surely young, he didn't want Badr here. surely she had left them with Famine or the such. "the fuckin gods." and that was the truth, the complete truth and it bounced between his teeth like some sort of sour tooth. suddenly something of a laugh came from him, in between a grunt and groan of loose frustration. "have you not ever wondered why your mother and i are littered in burns, what the valley of black rock is from?" the laugh was not raw of his lack of knowledge, the naivety but brief in the distant idea of rykerri. what she would think, in that moment. the distant woman he hadn't thought of in months. shame the dead, shame that his eyes had been clouded by the white fibers of badr as they wallowed in the den of the dead. where no-longer it was just that, the place of life.

his nose slung in the direction of the boy again, suddenly his body pushing forward. throwing his chest into the growing boy with an exposed throat. throwing his weaknesses at the child, exposed. are you crazy? a grumble, but he is idle. his tongue clicks agaisnt the roof of his mouth, his ears folded into the grey of his back. "they kill who you love because they are incapable of it themselves.."






[ Reply ]






Posted 03-23-2018, 07:48 PM |
Rebel
Vahagn
Rebel Heir
Male, 1.75
Endomorph
38 in, 140 lbs
39 ep
© vik
dragonslayer
He laughed. It was a keen, dark sound. He’d never been drunk or with a woman before, though, and he shifted his weight in minor embarrassment. He was still young, but he was embarrassed of that excuse, too. “The gods do not have that kind of imagination,” he offered, instead. He threw a churlish bearlike grin in their direction. Maybe it could not be helped. The gods lacked the hungers of the flesh. What were they to know of pleasure? Maybe Rebel should throw its own party and spite this shallow magic show. He found himself distracted by the thought, staring around at the faces mingling in the crowd. He was often distracted now, without a firm locus of control.

“The fuckin gods.”

Vahagn turned, narrowing his eyes at the rancor in Roswell’s voice. It was more than a theological disdain. The man exhaled a sound that was neither quite a laugh nor a groan but something in between, like it stemmed from something rotten deep down inside. The youth stood mute, ears pointed rigidly forward. His brother’s next question snapped into him... littered in burns. His pale pine eyes flashed, all pretense of mirth replaced with a look of stone. “I thought it was a campaign,” he answered quietly, although the question seemed largely rhetorical. “A-a battle.” But it did seem strange, didn’t it? That no one ever spoke of their blistered wounds. His light gaze swooped down toward his brother’s twisted scars. His thoughts flew to the blasted black rock on the ridge. No one ever told their tale. Even if it had been a loss for Rebel, it would have been an opportunity to beget wisdom and inspire cunning... If it was a battle.

Roswell was on him again. Instinct raised Vahagn's hackles and curled his snout. He braced his legs, muscles stiffening across his shoulders and abdomen. But he took no advantage. He couldn’t. He took the brunt of his brother’s force like a floodwall, instead. “Explain.” Quietly demanding, he forced his own weight back toward Roswell, knocking his huge wedge head forward so not even a whisper could escape him. His muzzle bent over the crook of his broad throat. “Tell me.” Everything.

Roswell



[ Reply ]






Posted 03-23-2018, 09:10 PM |
Rebel
Roswell
Rebel Sub-Alpha
Male, 3.75
Endomorph
37 in, 140 lbs
175 ep
© Apax
Vahagn
uh surprise roswell still isnt over rykerri dying oops
there is a laugh at the comment, a lack of imagination. a good way to put it, something that would have made him set back and let his eyes take to the crowd again. families gathered, picnics given. something smelt sour in the air, but perhaps it was just the mass of bodies together. or even the mass of food laid out mingling and messing with his heightened senses. part of him was curious to ask, such a naive question would drop from his tongue to the boy although. shame peaked, curious in the eyes of his relative youth as the conversation turned with soured moods.

naive creature, but roswell could not help but feel the smallest of pity for the young boy. (man, in the names of gunslingers and the law of taking a life) though part of him kept a disdain for taste, for the brother that stood before him. that he would take a life for, there would be no hesitation. flashbacks of crippling ketamine in the name of vahagns very own mother, wishing it was the thin tendons of her thighs that covered arteries instead of the bone of one of the pussy boys that were no longer to be seen.

he is a pester, curiosity to the boys well-being. silent observations - waiting for the snap of the twig to set him off - but there is nothing but the stinging of his chest as muscle collides. solid barrels clashing, he inhales sharply before moving away to the broad headed demands of a story time. "rage, they are children but not gods." he'd say from the corner of his eye, shoulder turning to face the crowd again. he will not look up to them, to the skies where they sit. "akako brought lava up from the caverns, killed and destroyed anything in his way." the tension in his jaw, its almost as if he can feel the pain of the day. the heaviness in his chest, the weight of the agile rykerri on his chest was somehow worse than his skin melting to the flame. and above all else, waking from famines medication to find out charlotte had let her die. his snout shot back to the bear-headed boy, eyes narrowed but quiet. (those electric blue gems never simmered, forever hissing) "your mother let a woman who gave her this ridge die because she was afraid you'd come to a simmer in her stomach." accusations, true as they were even if twisted. impressions, he would stand by the belief of getting the crippled woman out of her death-bed if he was not on his own. he would have died trying, the living before the unborn. (you have children now..) he would slaughter them all if it meant his twisted god-loving wife would live.





[ Reply ]






Posted 03-27-2018, 05:59 PM |
Rebel
Vahagn
Rebel Heir
Male, 1.75
Endomorph
38 in, 140 lbs
39 ep
© vik
dragonslayer
Roswell obliged him. Saying the gods were nothing but children. Vahagn made no comment. He watched the man look everywhere but at the divines, and listened to him talk of Akako’s fury. How the god called upon lava to destroy the ridge. Roswell struggled with the memories; the younger wolf could see it in the tension of the gray wolf’s jaw. Vahagn took a deep breath and his eyes scouted the field for the dragon again. He stared at the creature without flinching, and his blood began pounding through his veins to the beat of a war drum.

So, he was distracted; unprepared for the next half of the story.

He tugged his head around to meet his alpha’s crackling, livewire blue eyes. He failed to see the accusation in them, at first. Not until Roswell spoke again did he realize his brother blamed Rebels for the losses they suffered that day. Rebels, when the demon who killed the woman was right there hosting the feast, drinking in the adoration of his supplicants.

At his words, the hair of Vahagn’s nape prickled straight out, and creases formed around his eyes. He pounded a single step closer, aiming to jam his chest back into Roswell’s forequarters like they were a pair of tectonic plates, and if he had the opportunity, to knock his head against his brother’s head and press. His knuckles and nails sank into the stardust and rich loamy earth. His bottlebrush tail bobbed up to the level of his waist, and his head instinctively slung down to shield his throat. But his ears were pointed proudly skyward like pylons, refusing to humble himself even in his own defense. “You blame my mother. And yet,” his voice rumbled like distant thunder; low and guttural and vaguely sad, despite his aggressive appearance, “What have you done to avenge that woman?” His eyes were narrowed and still. The skin along the bridge of his nose twitched. “What are you afraid of?”

Roswell :C



[ Reply ]






Posted 04-18-2018, 01:23 PM |
Rebel
Roswell
Rebel Sub-Alpha
Male, 3.75
Endomorph
37 in, 140 lbs
175 ep
© Apax
Vahagn

there is that bubble, that bubble of smit a his jaw works in uncomfortable frames. his body that is composed of cut stone;dusted ivory that had aged in the sand-storms that haunted parts of the ridge. he is silent as he feels the shove, the push and give of vahagn in his youth.(like looking in a mirror, he half expected the boy to raise his hand as he did. to perk his brow, a reflection of the spite and passion. the consumption of love and destruction, he is no boy. ) the fibers atop of his spine slowly begin to creep high, exposing the true size. the raw heavy-weight that stood there before him with busted knuckles and a lip sore and swollen. its a simmer, the slow rising anger and guilt. the disgust loose on his tongue still for charlotte despite the lack of care. understanding and realization, he was beyond blame and anger. hiding it in the pits of his passion and disguise with Badr. a facade as he can feel the wet soil between his pads sink and matte at hair thick. "if I truly blamed your mother she would be as dead as my legs." it's slow words, the way he talks. its loose on his lips, his tongue dry and throat grumbling momentarily. "and she knows I would not hesitate" confirmation, he hasn't spoke to charlotte in some time but there is little hesitation in his emotion and he trusted her to know. his ears had slowly been falling, tucking into his fur. his forehead crested agaisnt that of his brothers in ease. as if settled, understanding, despite the curse on his lip. his hind legs, slowly squaring and shifting weight into those sore limbs. a dance of weight, easy as he lets the teenager shove into him. as if in respect to his ways, something of a dance; a display of confidence and wavering emotion before suddenly roswell shifted his weight forward. strength letting his weight barrel forward into growing teen;attempting to shove him back. to throw him from his grasp, electric eyes cut and narrowed. there is a humble facade to his lips, something uneasy despite as the pink of his gums are exposed. a warning that could be surely enough without words, but it does not stop him. "i fear what i cannot control Vahagn, and i respect what i do not understand." he is silent then, a brooding man with his jaw lowered and tucked amongst his throat. the ache creeping into his hind legs, bruised and buried in the depths of memories




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