[P] tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

Peregrine · 3 September 2014, 06:36 PM

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Heybby 83 NIGHT TIIEEEM yiss+000

The long, drawn, soft scraping sound was punctuated only slightly by the occasional, soft splash of a staggered step into a puddle. The season was cooling, the day's sun burning off cloud layers, until night came and cast drizzle down to the earth in tepid hours, setting a chill deep in the bones of the unprepared. The light rain had gone on for a good hour, perhaps an hour and a half, before the basilisk relinquished her post.

It had not occurred, that perhaps, she could have claimed some small, abandoned hut for her own; for not yet had she thought herself proven, and much like in her childhood, the nights were spent outside, curled up and cramped amidst roots and rocks in the dark. There was no hurry in her gait, no purpose other than shelter as she moved through the thickly-cloaked night, the tine of an elk's antler clasped in her left hand, the anchor dragging through the loam behind her as the slouched beast crept along. The bone was a prize, something she found while adventuring out in the mountains, and while others saw nothing, she saw worth. Fingers of her right hand were wound loosely about the hilt of a carving knife.

Between the paranoia and the cold (for her old cloak was abandoned to cover her horse), she was kept awake. Past the ruins the basilisk dragged, towards the stables, and she was hesitant, before sidling her way in through a cracked door. The dry was welcome, and the weary heap slid over to a wall, before slumping down to the floor.

What pelt she possessed clung to meager form, all ribs, all lean sinew, diminishing any perceived size that the hybrid could have possibly possessed. Wild, tangled mane had been tied and wrapped tight, an afterthought when the rain had started, and what was left loose hung in slightly dripping ringlets. Miasma sights were turned towards muddied feet, before shifting up, and were it not for the exhaustion, the beast would have been startled to meet the gaze of a stag in one of the stalls, sights widening in slight before blinking, once, twice, three times, to ensure it was not mere trickery.

For a moment, Peregrine was blearily enraptured by the beast, elegant as it was, before she dropped her gaze again, this time to the antler and her whittling knife, and she dragged the shed closer, before putting the blade to bone, carefully etching out the deeper lines and shapes, recollecting teachings, old heritage near lost by the Canadian-bred parts of her bloodline. The figures were, as always, intricately crafted into her work, and slowly it took form as a three headed beast with a large eye in the center of his chest. Brow was knit in concentration as she carved designs outwards in silent pondering.

Lokr Revlis · 9 September 2014, 01:14 AM

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(000) weee thank you for starting!!

The rain fell listless, a haze upon the crawling marshes and the quiet copse of pines. The sodden soil was cold underfoot, and come morning a frost would have sealed it black and grey; The coming of a winter breath, the hint of the great white chill returning.

In the night he was no more than another shadow. The light melted quietly about the dark one's pelt, mottled like underbrush, perfectly invisible. Only his eyes, a vivid green so ferocious and preternatural that they seemed uncanny, glowed luminescent in the rolling damp of the witching hour.

He came because sleep eluded him, and the still quiet of the throne room was too much to bear. Like the edge of a blade, the silence had cut at him, and when he could spare the sharp slice of it no longer Lokr burst from his cold den and out, out. He passed the lean-to, a makeshift stall where the ivory doe nursed her youngling calf - And inspired by this, the young dragon slunk through the night to the stables to tend his prized steed.

There were no candles, no flames lit. Only the grey, and the wan light of a watery moon, illuminated the husky corridor. But his eyes were predatory and they saw well in the darkness; Well enough to pick out the figure slumped against the wall near to his stag's stall.

For a moment, he thought perhaps she was dead, or dying still. The girl had a skeletal look, as though she hadn't eaten a single meal since he'd last lain eyes upon her. A frown marred his sharp face, drawing it in like a gathering of bruised clouds; The lines beneath his eyes were sullen like thunder, and his gaze bright as lightningstrike. In her hands, she held a dagger and an antler.

He knew she was alive only by the way she whittled at them, her eyes dully curtains by locks of damp hair.

"Peregrine?" The name was a question, and it rose to break the silence with his soft, chilly voice.

Peregrine · 10 September 2014, 11:12 PM

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NO PROBLEM BBY <3+000

The chant of hundreds of voiceless spirits rang in her ears. In the blackish moor stood the pallid, ivory beast, faces bare of flesh and yet those empty sockets held hunger like a mother held her babe. Ebony smoke spilled, slow, cascading from jaws with ragged, hollow breath. Amidst the thrum of a pounding heart, there was twitching, pivoting of a single eye betwixt the scrawny man's breast, pupil dilated until it came to rest on her, before contracting to pinpoint, finding its focus.

'Feed, burn, rest, freeze.'

Those words were clear among the hum of wordless sound, distorted and bewitching, somewhere between a boom and the hiss of a whisper, the soft lull of velvet and the coarseness of thorns. Perhaps it was all these things at once.

'Bring forth the new. Purge, raze, it comes to end,' the tri-headed beast spoke, with unmoving jaws which parted slowly to envelop her form with smog that froze clear to the bone. Yes, if things should end in fire, the basilisk could be clean. She could be living. Rise, rise, rise.

Peregrine?

The sound had not registered for but a moment, before she realized that chilling voice was tangible, a part of some physical plain that yanked her from some waking dream. Her whittling ceased, and the woman continued to stare, void of expression. A sharp breath was sucked inwards through parted lips, breathing life into her lithe, sinewy form, and swirled, cool eyes looked to its source, somewhat seeing, yet at the same time blind, all the same. He was dark, as always, a shadow once-prince among the thistles that both scorned and cradled him. What cruel irony, to have a birthright wrenched from extended, wanting claws.

"Lokr," came a bland response, robotic and empty, before clearing her throat, setting the blade and antler aside for a moment as she pressed palms flush to the ground to rise to her feet, as though remaining seated would portray some form of weakness. "What are you doing out and about this hour?"

The inquiry was a bit more feeling; it did not probe, it did not pry, but it was quiet, matter-of-fact, perhaps somewhat laced with a lilt of worry for the Arbiter's well-being, though phrased quite simply. In the grander scheme of all things Salsola, it was best left with less spoken.

Lokr Revlis · 23 September 2014, 01:28 AM

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(000) ---

There was a disconnect in the space between his word, and her attention; The way the woman's eyes slipped like oil about the dark hall, her pupils vague and unseeing, her face as bland and expressionless as bleached bone.

It might have chilled him had Lokr not recognized the look, not worn it enough himself. He understood, perhaps more intimately than she could imagine, the way that images pooled before the eyes and revealed things that were not real.

Thus it was left to him to consider whether her listless, phantom state was due to the lankness of her skin as it stretched over small, bird-like bones, or whether her skinniness was simply a symptom.

Finally, the woman - Peregrine, she has a name, - looked to him and truly saw the dark one where he stood. Her gaze, though now focused, was no less eerie than before. "I could not sleep," Came the automatic answer, surprisingly Lokr with its truthfulness. He did not owe her the correct answer, but had given it anyway, without thought.

Also, without thought, Lokr moved forward as though to help her stand; But the hand that reach out was awkwardly dropped back, with the thought that it would have been rejected anyway. There was a purpose to these things, to forcing the body to rise alone. He did not like to see her weakness, in the same sense that she did not like for him to see it.

"Are you ill?" He asked then, because that was a sensible fear to have. A while back, illness had torn through a pack to the South. Sickness held a certain fear in the hearts of beasts.

Peregrine · 11 October 2014, 12:44 PM

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Sorry for the awful reply *w*;;;+000

He had answered with honesty, pure and simple, and it puzzled her in slight. His form slipped closer through the dark as she stood, two bodies made of sharpness and angles, one form guilded with silver and copper, the other of rust and shadow. His question raked the forefront of her brain, an obvious, brief glimmer of irritation knitting her brow. Ill? It was a reasonable fear, however, she was not ill. True, she had been without food for...

The pang of hunger in her stomach dully struck her, something that had gone unnoticed for the past week. However, certain angles, certain leanness were to be attributed to her blood, and she cleared her throat a little, dual-tone sights peering to Lokr.

"I am not ill." Words were muttered cooly, a breath sharply inhaled. as chin angled up in slight. "I appreciate your concern, but I am fine, Lokr. I just lack a place to sleep, and I do not like the rain."

Palm came to rest flat against her hip, the other firmly grasped on the antler.

"So you cannot sleep? Perhaps a walk is in order?"

Lokr Revlis · 12 October 2014, 04:40 AM

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(000) <3 <3

There was a pride to her answer, and Lokr suspected that he had offended the woman. Still, it was a relief to know - Sickness was death, in spite of what gods were said to have sway in such things.

He did not think of insanity as sickness; Though he knew Salvia did. It did not lead to death, but something else, something far worse.

Choosing a safer path than this, Lokr shrugged one sharp shoulder roughly, as though to indicate that his concern had only been in passing; His reputation did not lend itself well to caring, or other such soft sentiments. Still, it was with a critical eye that he regarded her. "You have not taken a den?" That seemed an obvious thing to do. Though, perhaps she was not inclined to such things. The young man recalled that she had been raised a slave, once; Maybe Peregrine did not understand claimage as he did.

Still, it suited him little to pry. Let the darkness have their secrets; The night was quiet, and kept them well. Lokr nodded, his torn ears dark slashes in the gloom. "As you say," The Arbiter agreed, his voice a cool whisper in the silence of the hour. "Where shall we walk to?" My home, perhaps - For a meal.

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