R-Vivarium - Westmoor Wakes

Late at night, I toss and I turn

Tue, 03 Jun 2025 20:36:10 -0400

Thread Title: Shrek 2: 「 Holding out for a hero」
Skill : 「None」
|| backdated to when Jaxxon and the gang are gone

It had taken days of thinking and consideration, but Freya had finalized her choice. It was the best path going forward, the thing that would shape and mould her children’s lives. She was going to run. Run and not look back.

Miss Eldritch? a soft voice called out to summon the resident healer. Miss Eldritch was a woman she’d come to respect and view in a light unlike anyone else. There was a crack in Freya’s heart as she thought of the idea of never getting to see her again.

A sickening knot tied in her stomach. How was she meant to say goodbye without actually saying it? Would Miss Eldritch know…?

In the spring, I shed my skin

Mon, 02 Jun 2025 18:29:14 -0400

❖

If hunger from a day’s trekking, unease from a lengthening promise hangs heavy in the air between two men, Modea only glances sidelong at . Green-tan frogflesh glinting against a black throat, nucleus of temptation condensing, before turning away.

The brush thins, emerges into a worn sacbeob path. The pillars which flanked either side reduced to their bases and engulfed by fruiting ficus, flaming gurania, phalanx bromeliad.

(Heraclitus’ only book destroyed, Democritus’ works lost, Pythagoras’ every credit contested.)

Modea had never seen such violet against yellow, red against blue. Overabundance, near-pointillism, phantom gradients of simultaneous contrast.

Peppered by light rain, Modea ducks beneath the colonnades. Archways shaded by matted curtains of vine whose white-pink flowers litter the ground.

(Pythagoras, branded a mathematician, his incarnations lost in time, his metempsychosis petered into oblivion.)

The colonnade’s end diverts against a small temple. Modea slips through the broken wall. Sight adjusts, though light, speckling from the roof through corded vine, casts red onto a row of limestone troughs.

He passes two, stops at the third. His head dips and, ever slowly, eyes fluttered closed, his tender, stiffened jaw releases its prey into the murk inside.

(A barbed cilice digging deeper with every step, released at sundown with a seductive relief so great it nearly eclipses God Himself.)

Modea, capitoline, bowed, gaze now locked fully with his conspirator, ready to drink.

(If his are burning salt, then whatever sacrificial lamb they purify is in the name of something that has yet to ever answer.)

He presents Irineu with no mantelpiece, but a viscous slurry of plant and animal from the pagan forces of this lowland: hidden tubers unearthed by the ash witch to the east, prairie blossoms worn by the meadow girl to the west. The moorland frog which has numbed his tongue into prickling static and corded vine from this very vestige of humanity, bled by a claw, sap thickening the mixture into its final tar-like consistency.

The crinkle of humor along his nose and crow’s feet relent: if Irineu allows him to drink first, the man will be safe to watch him writhe, foam, and possibly die in this concrete catacomb.

“Mostre me?”

❖

But don't you know we're stronger now

Mon, 02 Jun 2025 14:05:43 -0400

The densites had been quiet. Saga had always been settled near the Huntsman den, on Joxers orders, and though she wasn't close enough to be privy to any intimate secrets, she was well aware when Freya left. She didn't see the Mother flee, but even had she, Saga wouldn't have said a word. Not to Freya, not to herself, and not to those who would inevitably go looking for her. It wasn't Sagas business, she had no interest in leaving the safety of the pack, and she wasn't going to get into trouble for a stranger. Still, she knew this life wasn't for everyone, and she knew not everyone had come of their own free will as Saga had. The silver woman wished Freya well, hoped she and the children got far, far from here and never returned, never found themselves fearing the shadows again.

Saga was a soft, barely trained woman, but she was still a Fox; she smelled opportunity in the air, and she wouldn't let a chance to rise in station to slip through her jaws. She wasn't dumb enough to believe she could be anything more than a Pet for their new Huntsman, but Joxers absence left her filled with hope.

Saga approached the den of the beast late at night, nostrils flaring to see if he was here but a call of his name slipping like a breath from her lips all the same: Jaxxon?

If he was asleep, she'd slip away and leave him to rest. But his bed wasn't the only one chilly at night, and after a nice vacation in which she felt more energized, the pale waif sought further socialization. Who better than the only person she considered a friend, the sweet man who had been helping her learn, the dark creature her heart yearned for?

Nothing else is quite the same as how I feel when I'm at your side.

Mon, 02 Jun 2025 06:01:50 -0400

Skill: Diplomat

Set 6/1/20205

It had taken them a while to return home, stopping and resting for a few days in the great woodlands and having quite the merry reunion with Mauve, a wolf he’d met in the throes of madness one night after some hardships with his brother…

His brother…

Joxer…

Sighing heavily the man lowered his head till his nose nearly touched his paws, his eyelids lowered nearly all the way with his sadness and The new Huntsman threw back his head. The winds whipped this night as they threatened a heavy storm, his fur twisting and turning against his body as the winds raged with a near whistle.

Heavy dark clouds blocked out any trace of the moon as a sound escaped his lips. He tried to hide his sorrows but in his message even he could hear the tinges on the edges of his voice, the way his voice wavered, the way his song was more melodic then it probably shouldn’t have been.

Joxer has gone… Vanished without a trace and I am to take his Place as Huntsman… It is not a mantle I wear with pride, but a burden wrapped in pain and silence... The woods still echo his footfalls…

Jaxxon would echo through the mountain peaks, through the trees and over the hills, past the rivers and across the streams. His heart heavy as his song would end, the tune slowly ending and his head would drop again.

He would expect nothing in return and honestly he’d be surprised if he heard a rise from the emptiness of his spires and crags. His den was an empty, lonely, place now with his brother gone… His lover… His soul... With and gone… With everyone gone and him alone in the den he could hear himself breathe in the silence.

One Is the loneliest number…

And as he felt his heart slowly sink within his breast, down to his stomach, he could hear the thunder rumble above, threatening tears, tears that he wished he could make fall, tears from the heavens meant only for him…

All thoughts of the rune and its meanings lost on him in this moment as he sat within himself and his thoughts.

brooklyn baby

Sat, 31 May 2025 22:37:23 -0400

for and then aw!

a thick veil of mist cloaks the forest like an omen. only the shadows of towering pines peek through, an endless maze. the doe moves without fear—prancing through shadowed lands with her pale ears on a swivel. while on alert, she carries herself with an air of carelessness. of a confidence false, as these lands were new.

it mattered not; the thick musk of a stag drove her forward. she would find protection beneath his cloak. she would enchant him the way she'd done before. with a smile, her ghastly form cuts through mist and rows of pine tree trunks alike. hooves of pearl making gentle and shallow indents in the earth.

her tail curled, Lumia's scent is sweet. enticing. and as the trees part to reveal a misty shoreline, she floats near the edge of the calm and eerie waters. searching for the man who'd beckoned her so.

trabalhos

Sat, 31 May 2025 11:28:26 -0400

The wind brought with it something metallic. Pressed itself against the grass, countless blades readily bending as if under the weight of a great scythe. The scythe would have had to be immense, its spectral wielder even larger. But no such elephantine reaper blocked the dim skyline. It was only a wolf, Irineu.

His shuttered face suggested an absence of intention, but there was deliberation in his tread. He looked like a soldier unaware that his theatre of operations had long been destroyed—a soldier left behind from an alternate history, bereft of his comrades, all the same advancing towards the heart of enemy territory, out of a sense of honor, duty, shame, or what?

He crested a hill. The muscles near his stomach heaved with exertion, and he sat on his feet for a moment's respite. His face screwed up, as if in pain, but he only spat a thick glob of saliva to the side, splayed out like an amoeba in the dirt.

A few minutes, or many, passed. He continued his aimless campaign across the moors.

Rhuddgl ᯓ

Thu, 29 May 2025 19:28:03 -0400

AW; looking for other deer...!

the crows had not yet dared his field.
soffinas stood beneath the skeletons of trees, all leafless and hunched with the weight of age. his body was obsidian, carved from storm and shadow, antlers like twisted ruin reaching toward a sky choked with dusk. the earth split beneath his hooves, not from malice but inevitability— he was a creature meant to break what he stepped upon.
his breath misted in the dying light, curling like spirits into the air. he grazed not out of need but ritual, tongue slow against blood-warmed roots, the grass flattened in reverence. and when a raven called overhead, he did not lift his head.

Some things you chase But you cannot hold

Mon, 26 May 2025 19:00:07 -0400

Apple never thought this was a journey she would take.

A Duchess. What made her think she could take on such a role? She wasn't sure, but she had asked for it, and after all... if could do the hard work in being King, then surely, she could support him as a good sister should. She had debated asking to be the Doctor, Avia Juno had taught her well in her childhood.... but she knew she could do more for her littermate, help him, be the start of his council and a shoulder to bear the burden until he found himself a Queen.
She hadn't really envisioned a life outside the Dynasty, either, though. After everything with Grimwald inside the mountain, after Izumi and her people had dragged her from the pits of hell and brought her home, she'd thought she'd waste away on the island just trying to repay that debt. Trying, desperate, to repay the life that had been given for hers, but unable to move past some invisible barrier she couldn't place.
Some very small part of her was glad it had crumbled, that she was free of the reminder -- mostly.
had followed them, and Apple was grateful someone seemed to believe in the siblings (or perhaps, just had nothing better to do); she didn't really expect anyone from the Fujiwara clan to follow after the Dusk's, but she was thankful. She had been there, that day. It was a smaller, more gentle reminder, but there was a debt there too, one she wasn't sure she could ever repay even without the added weight of throwing her loyalty to them now.
Perhaps she could be compensated with a decent rank on the council. An experienced voice might do them well -- she would speak to Apricot about it later.

It'd been a long week, and what felt like an even longer swim to get to this island. Going around had been an option, sure, but Apple had been excited to check out the place that seemed so removed. Some part of her thought perhaps it would be a nice place to live, but if disaster ever struck for any reason, that was a long, hard swim for youngsters let alone mothers with newborns, the sick or injured, the old.... Perhaps just a neat place to check out, at least. The massive tree there was alluring, mystical, and both drew her in and pushed her away at the same time -- as if she needed a purpose to go there, one she hadn't found yet.
It gave off an odd sort of vibe anyways, she thought as she jaunted across the beach, enjoying the way the sand squished between her toes as she watched the tree in the distance. It was growing late, stormy, dark clouds gathering to cover a sky growing red, and though she'd have liked to really explore her paws hurt and she was tired. She forgot how taxing traveling was, and frankly, she was still a little skinny from her time in the cave. She hadn't left the island chain the Dynasty had resided on since they'd brought her home, and a year stuck inside had taken more than its toll on her.

The golden Dusk gradually halted and stared, ears sliding back slowly at what seemed to be a damn cave tucked into the landscape of the pretty little island. She knew it would be a good place to shelter for the night from the coming rain, but....

She sucked in a slow, deep breath between slightly gaping jaws, and willed her limbs to thaw before the others caught her pre-panic.

Lost and Alone

Sun, 25 May 2025 09:16:17 -0400

The aftermath of everything had been sitting on his mind for days...without relations here in this land, Fehrduin was suddenly more than aware of how alone he was, traveling through places he held little to no familiarity. Even after the answers provided in the second dream, the pine pelted wolf held more questions upon his thoughts than ever before. They flooded his mind, bouncing about like unruly waters in a storm. Enough so that as his gaze flicked, he came to abrupt...just in time to avoid walking right into the base of a tree. He stared at the rough pine bark before him and sighed. There had been no familiar faces. No one for him to talk to...talk....Fehrduin shook his head. That was odd enough for him. Under normal circumstances, talking to anyone was not something he usually desired. Though this situation was rather unusual to begin with. Was it really true though? If any question blazed across his mind the most, it was that...was it true? Even after a couple seasons, this land was as strange to him as ever before. It wasn't like he hadn't heard about the existence of magic before, but this felt different than his understanding of it.

For a moment, as Fehrduin tilted his head to the side to glance around the tree, he recalled the wolves of his home. Only a few appeared with clear recognition in his mind and he recalled a single face the most. She hadn't been a leader of sorts, but her claimed gifts had held the pack of his birth together for generations and...now that Fehrduin thought about it, he had recalled something she had once told him before the hunt that had landed him...here. Though in all truth of the matter, he was still trying to figure out where 'here' even was. Given those visions, it gave him a slightly better understanding. It was surely much...much...so much bigger than he imagined it to be.

The sound of a snap in the foliage had Fehrduin straighten. He had traveled quite a bit the past few days and found himself here, a little farther away from his usual jaunt. Maybe it was the distractions of his thoughts or memories of what he'd seen or even...another snap and this time, the bulk of body turned, his ears standing high, taking in a short breath and holding it fast. Yet, all that came from the brush in the shadows of the pines...was a bird. It hopped about, not minding his presence, confident enough that if he dared to approach any closer, it would easily escape. Fehrduin sighed heavily, giving a wave of a short tail and turned away, padding farther into this terrain.

Sing me a song, dead bird.

Sat, 24 May 2025 08:55:16 -0400

Skillpoint 1 - Herbalist

For once, wretch grew bored of spilling blood; for as sweet a ritual as it might've been, it was.... simple. Rip, gnash, tear, easy as taking a breath, natural, innate... It was child's play. Where was the challenge? The challenge she needed so that madness did not eclipse what little remained of clarity in the dark of her mind.

Oh she was so bored! Surgeons hands itched to stitch, depraved eyes longed to see flesh rended become flesh mended. The birds would sing tales of her woe, even now they sat in the treetops and mocked her with sweet song, song she wished to tear forever from their throats.

Today she occupies herself with a search, learning the lay of the land, and dedicating a higher degree of her concentration to the plants that grew upon it, cradled between sinners teeth she carried a bunch of red clover, stalks of yarrow and sprigs of a royal pink prize. Thoughts move fast, as do the stick-thin legs that hoist her up, the cold evening breeze letting a shiver burn through every muscle and sinew of a scrawny figure, keeping her moving with the hopes that warmth might replace this ice in her veins. Envy makes her way across the meadow in a world entirely her own.

Travel light, let the sun eclipse you

Thu, 22 May 2025 03:27:57 -0400

Fiora headed further south, still relatively sure Mir was hanging out nearby but also unphased if they'd lost one another. It'd never really been a joint effort, just the start of a search they'd started side-by-side. Spreading out was always in the plan; if her little sister couldn't find or call to her anymore, she was ready to assume they'd just meet up back at home. They were both adults, and even though Mir was young, Fiora certainly assumed her as capable as any of Harper's children.

Plus, she had a god complex that would carry her through many trials, Fiora was confident.

Clouds clumped together on the horizon, which had hidden a rather glorious sunset the Elysium cryptid had enjoyed nonetheless during a swim; the nights were growing long, and Fiora relished in the way the world was warming, coming out of its slumber. Flowers were sprouting, budding, blossoming, and even through the threat of peril, the Bacchus was coming to enjoy this little search. Thus far she'd only come across a lake so large she was sure it couldn't be crossed from side to side in a single day, and she was vaguely sure this must've been the magic tree in which her Aunt's had come by their last litter. It was the biggest tree she'd ever seen in her life, and there was some push from the island she didn't really feel so much as understand in her bones, as if telling herself it wasn't a proper place to be.

Even so, her heartstrings ached at the thought of evil in such a blessed place and pushed her to make the journey, to make sure such a sacred area was not struggling with corruption.

Fiora pulled herself from the water, sides heaving with each breath, and simply enjoyed the purple dusk as she caught her breath. The journey across the lake had been so much longer than it'd looked -- and shit on a stick, she'd known it would take a while.
She wondered if there was anyone else on this island, or if most others followed the compulsion to stay away unless they needed the tree.

I shant linger, she hummed oh-so-softly to herself once she'd caught her breath and stood, turning inland, I just want to make sure the island is okay.

A soft promise to a place she wasn't sure was listening.

Phoenix-Fire

Wed, 14 May 2025 12:51:38 -0400

For <333 | Located somewhere between Hangman's Hollow and The Mire

There was, firstly, the roiling void that came at once as her body hit the cobblestones - her blood pooling around her from the angry wound beyond her ribs, the one that impaled her heart with such cold carelessness of the life that had so suddenly been snuffed as consequence of her efforts to interfere and save her fellow woman from assault.
The kind of assault that would, inevitably, draw pity from some and anger, even disgust, from others.

The soiling of a perfect flower, some might've called it.

Arcana remembered the torn skirts and fabrics of the targeted woman, the harsh grabbing from entitled mens' hands at her hips and chest.
She remembered the fear and desperation that clearly sung in both their hearts as Arcana swooped in to try and play hero.

Maybe that poor young lady got away, and was safe for at least another day...
Arcana's last dying thoughts were for her, and that wish almost - almost, took precidence over the last sensations of her own ripped skirts being moved out of the way-

With uncomprehensible swiftness, she felt reality reeling around her soul, morphing and twisting-

Arcana sat upright with a loud, shuddering gasp; At the same time as her eyes flew open.

New sensations.

The sky was brighter...
But it was still raining.

Her surroundings were by far, so drastically different than the cobblestones and bricks of the city.
But then again, she saw no signs of any cities here.

Looking down at where she expected to see pale, soft, feminine and human hands - she saw sturdy paws in vibrant red.
Dog paws??? - No.
Wolf paws?!

She thought in a snap this was the afterlife, but the soil and grass beneath her felt so real...
Too real to be any kind of otherworld - this, she was solidly certain of.

Tentatively, Arcana stood, swaying a little on all four paws at first until she was confidant enough to take a careful step - and another, and another...
The red lady found herself unsure of exactly where she was going.

The soft patter of rain was calming, at least.
Looking over her shoulder to the Northwest...
There were more trees that way...

Arcana took a steadying breath, turning her body for that direction instead of South.

Maybe she would find eventually find something, or someone?

vivo muriendo prisonero

Sat, 10 May 2025 20:30:20 -0400

SKILL stylist 1/5 · for

days on the island were quiet, and peaceful. good for the heart and soul, but the girl couldn't remain confined to the island for forever. she drafts into the mainland like a butterfly. she will return, as she always does. it never hurt anyone to explore.

and there was a loneliness that captured her. she never did find any familiar face from acadia. not even a vision of her family came to her in sleep. they were starting to fade from her memories, now that she's grown.

spring came in full bloom, though. a lone, blossoming tree stands. pink petals drift from it, sitting nicely atop rio's mane. and soon, the girl that stumbled through the mainland like a wisp took to plucking from the petals that landed on the ground and stuffing them in the nooks and crannies of her chocolate fur.

Dabbling in the dark arts

Fri, 09 May 2025 17:50:36 -0400

grievous is considered a 3-3-3 character

♔

「 Skill Point: Gravedigger 」

Something had died.

Grievous could smell the sickly sulphuric scent thick in his nostrils as he waded through the ruins. Nothing was normal about this place, a long-since-gone civilisation shrouded in a dense green haze. It was abnormal but alluring all at once, the burn in his lungs and watering of his eyes causing discomfort, and yet it was... intoxicating.

Perhaps it was his strange body nullifying the pain, or that the unusual ability to feel was heightened by this green fog, whatever the case, Grievous was addicted to being able to feel something.

It made navigating the crumbling walls difficult. The odd bump here, a random scrape there, he was blind on all accounts except that scent behind the burn; a familiar smell of death. It lured him in like a red string of fate, beckoning him through the stone corridors and out into the open air; if you could call this fog air.

He'd found himself in a courtyard, likely a thing of beauty in its time, now no better than a graveyard with discarded stones fallen and embedded in the ground like tombstones.

It was here that the scent resonated in his head, like a dinner bell summoning you to lunch.

The cadaver was partially buried, crushed by fallen rocks, and sunken into the ground. Beneath soil and rock, the preserved meal remained, skin tought and meat rotting with the most divine flavouring. Grievous couldn't help but begin to dig at the surface, a paw catching the top of the decomposing skull and pulling it from the concealed body effortlessly.

They'd been dead for a while, he could already imagine peeling the meat off the bones so easily, so much so that saliva began to pool at the edges of his lips.

Drip, drip, dripping onto the grave he began to dig.

sweet blood

Fri, 09 May 2025 13:37:14 -0400

Herbalist 1/5

the fog curled around her ankles like a lover, clinging and reluctant to let go. the deeper she wandered, the more the light began to die. distant, colorless. she liked it here. the wild silence. it left her with more time to herself, to think.
she pauses near a cluster of knotted roots, kneeling with a grace that betrays her predatory frame. the low light made color useless, but suyin didn’t need her eyes. she knew the scent of pain-leaf, the sting of ashwort when plucked too soon, the telltale prickle along her spine when venomroot slept just beneath the moss.
one claw hooked into the soil, gently unearthing a thick-tubered sprout—sickly sweet and green-veined. her tongue flicks against her teeth, you are perfect, she murmurs.
there was something indulgent about it, this work. the quiet ritual of searching and collecting. the forest—this cursed place with its fog-thick breath and silence that rang louder than thunder—was not kind. but it was generous, if one knew how to ask.
suyin rose again, eyes gleaming beneath the shroud of mist. the shoreline would be near. and if luck was with her, so would the bloom of nightshade she had been tracking for days.