the winds of thor are blowing cold

the mists

POSTED: Wed Oct 02, 2019 8:23 pm

spoopy blood near the trees!! [+300]

Evenings were descending upon the land faster than before, as was usual with the arrival of autumn. However, what was unusual was the thick fog it brought with it.

It piqued her curiosity, the strangeness of it. Somehow this layer of mist clinging low to the earth changed the environment and made it darker, more uncertain. Lands the wolfess felt as though she was coming to know were foreign now, offset by gray; perhaps it was just her anxieties invading her thoughts, but it seemed more risky to be out too late, as if wandering too far into the fog would swallow one whole. It was a stupid fear, she knew, but reading far too many novels had expanded her imagination.

If nothing else, the territory had changed, however subtly. It was ominous.

Macha, meanwhile, seemed quite pleased with the phenomenon; mist absolutely confounded her because she could see it and not feel it. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, the kitten meowed gleefully, bouncing around and pawing playfully at the fog all around them.

Fennore kept a brisk pace, not wanting to really stick around any longer now that the tendrils of mist had snaked from the depths of the Enedwaith to surround them. "Let's go, Macha," she said over her shoulder, but she halted when all she saw were thin trees and fog. "Macha?"

Turning on her heel, her ears perked at the sound of a distant miaow, and she sighed irritably before heading after it, her gait having increased to a paranoid jog. Finally she could see the outline of her kitten nearby a tree, sniffing down at its base. "Macha, I thought I said we were leaving," she chided, her voice sharp. "Look, Fen," Macha called, but the woman ignored her, reaching down to scoop the feline under her arm when she saw it.

A gasp escaped her, and she instantly shrunk back, the fur on her body standing on end. Macha tilted her head at the red pool, looking back to her master with huge emerald eyes.

"Blood," she said simply, as if Fennore couldn't tell, and the woman took a slow step forward to get a better look, her movements rigid. The fog had already set her on edge, but this

This was a bit too much.


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Last edited by Fennore on Thu Oct 03, 2019 11:27 am, edited 1 time in total.

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New Caledonia
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'Souls Soldier of Love Luperci Magister III, Diplomat III, Stylist I
• moonwraith •
twilight princess

POSTED: Wed Oct 02, 2019 10:29 pm

Mists rolled across the lakes and rivers all the time; it didn't spook Willow, who felt at home among the birch forest despite its low, hanging fog. Condensation gathered on her wiry coat, and scents seemed to settle around her: loam and rotten bark, prey trails like wisps in the mist. Even as dusk settled in the Enedwaith, turning the ashen trees into pale, skeletal forms obscured by the autumn fog that swept in – she was unafraid.

Mostly.

Willow did not glance over her shoulder or walk with hurried steps, but her brown ears swiveled toward small sounds muffled in the darkness, and her mind meandered back over troubled thoughts. Vodeva had vanished, and there seemed to be no obvious sign of an intruder, no obvious scents to follow. And yet things had begun to turn up around the territory, idols not unlike the ones she'd seen crafted for the old gods, familiar and yet unsettling in this new context.

Thinking of the stories Athras told her, she wondered, but she kept most of these thoughts to herself. Mere theories would not help find Vodeva.

She toyed with the spiral conch at her throat, thinking about asking O'Brien if he could keep an eye out for the queen, when voices muffled in the mist caught her attention. She recognized the high mewl of Macha, the grey cat that had charmed her so much when they met, and assumed Fennore was not far.

She found them staring down at something at the base of a birch, something near-black in the shadows – but its iron scent was unmistakable.

Goddess, she exclaimed. She did not freeze for long, however, and crouched near the pool, her nostrils flaring and her brow furrowed. She tried to sniff for prey-scent, but if an animal had been killed here, the fog made it difficult to discern what. Reckon someone did a ritual here? she asked, wide blue eyes moving to Fennore. A blood-letting ritual could be well-intended; Athras had anointed his figurine of Nanin from an incidental cut on his hand, after all.

[WC: 353]

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I took the time to breathe
among the rootbuds and the weeds
but the peat moss and the leaves took turns with both my feet

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Raze
Luperci druid the wilds where the caribou call
feather, fur, & fin

POSTED: Thu Oct 03, 2019 11:12 am

spoopy blood near the trees and ties in w/a prompt! :D [+300]

The scent of blood was cold, stale; it intermingled with and was deadened by the mists, but no amount of ambiguity regarding the smell could offset what she was staring at.

There could have been a thousand reasons why blood sat at the base of this tree — few of which were innocent. No one dealing with game would do this with its blood, would they? This was something different, something intentional.

Her ears perked at the sound of footsteps, and she froze as her eyes lifted to the fog; luckily, it was just Willow, and she instantly relaxed once more. Nerves were driving her actions, and she did not like it one bit.

Macha seemed a bit shaken by the pool, and she drew back to instead greet Willow and distract herself with scritches and pets if the female would allow it. There were not many times the oblivious kitten had a real sense of danger, but here, it was clear she was at the very least uncomfortable. Perhaps if this were the blood of some small animal, she feared she was next, even if it was an irrational thing to think.

The woman knelt down near them, just as puzzled and surprised as she was, and her question seemed a viable explanation. Not an especially comforting one, though. "Who would do a ritual such as this?" she asked, not unkindly, but there was a clear distaste in her tone. Even her clan, in all its fanaticism, had never strayed so far as to demand blood.

But the gods of Old Caledonia were ancient and still a mystery to her; was it possible one of the refugees had done this? Iomair and Vodeva told her of their respective deities, and nothing in their descriptions had suggested anything of this sort. That left the others, the one of Athras and Tamlin... Of the two, only one seemed even remotely capable of something of this caliber.


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'Souls Soldier of Love Luperci Magister III, Diplomat III, Stylist I
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twilight princess

POSTED: Thu Oct 17, 2019 8:21 am

Macha wound around her ankles, and Willow smiled and reassured the young cat with gentle strokes and scratches, the knuckle of a finger rubbing against her whiskered cheek. Her blue eyes lifted to study Fennore, who wondered aloud who would spill blood in a ritual.

Priest of Nanin, maybe, she said. En't sure – I'll ask Athras. Someone could'a killed prey here 'n given their blood t' the earth. She drew in another breath, scoured the earth for signs of hoof or claw or fur, but everything was long dried and gone. This was what frustated her so much, and it showed in her wrinkled nose and brow. They were canines; scent should have provided them clues, made them feel safe, but no trail could run forever without growing cold.

Hope it's just a ritual, 't least, the Cormier woman muttered, sighing as she pushed one braid over her shoulder. Duck feathers and reeds had begun to decorate her mane, though many of these had been lost in her stroll through the wood. Whoever done it oughta know the pack's spooked, though. Even if they're well-intentioned. Prayers to old gods spilled in blood were not comforting when Vodeva had left behind dried crimson in her disappearance, even if those prayers bade her safe return. Fog en't helpin' matters, she added, glancing around at the mists.

[WC: 232]

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I took the time to breathe
among the rootbuds and the weeds
but the peat moss and the leaves took turns with both my feet

User avatar
Raze
Luperci druid the wilds where the caribou call
feather, fur, & fin

POSTED: Tue Oct 22, 2019 5:44 pm

ooc [+200]

Willow seemed a bit more welcoming to the idea of this being some sort of ritual, which baffled Fennore, to say the least; perhaps it was because of her past that she regarded gestures such as these with a strong distaste (even if true atrocities were only in lore and not prevalent in the clan), but she did not allow any sort of revulsion twist her features.

What they did share, however, was frustration: it was as if the blood emerged from the ground and that was it. No scents nor signs of anything that could have caused it remained, having long since disappeared into the fog that surrounded them. With some sort of indication, they could at least know how to move forward; but they were left in the dark, just as they had been from the very beginning with Vodeva's disappearance.

"Athras could have done this," she suggested darkly. "Would you say he is capable of doing something like this?" She prayed this was the explanation, for it seemed the less sinister of all the possible options, ironic though that was. "He is a follow of Nanin," she said, almost accusatory, as if that could pin the blame on the Lord-Regent.

"And what would he — or anymore else, for that matter, would have wanted to spill blood for?" Her questions became less pointed at Willow and moreso murmurs under her breath, a clear lack of understanding in her voice. Perhaps this was for Vodeva...

Or perhaps this was Vodeva. Her own blood ran cold, and she bit into the corner of her lip.


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POSTED: Mon Nov 04, 2019 4:43 pm

(323) Accusation turned Fennore's tone bitter as she mentioned the Lord-Regent's faith, and Willow's brown ears sank into her wild mane. Her expression remained pleasantly relaxed, but her lake blue eyes seemed to stare at Fennore a little more directly as she replied, her voice almost careful.

That's why I said I'd ask 'im.

She didn't know why she felt defensive about the druid, because she knew full well that his demeanor didn't do him any favors. Even Willow was prickled by his arrogance and coldness sometimes, but it was not a side shown to her often. She didn't even know if Fennore disliked him, or if this was nerves talking, a desire to place the blame on someone tangible rather than feel lost in the mist. But the dark mutterings made her feel like a pike was sinking its teeth in her guts and wreaking havoc with them.

Maybe she just wanted others to give Athras the chance she had. Maybe that was naive of her. She didn't know.

He might be. It might be a worshiper's own blood. She thought about how he'd consecrated his idol, explaining that Nanin had not demanded it – was not a blood-hungry god – but that he'd given it freely in his faith. Or just prey. I got a friend who buries hearts after he hunts. An' he's a good person. Her finger played with the shell at her collarbone again, thoughtful.

All I'm sayin' is – could be a ritual for protection. Maybe askin' the gods t' bring Vodeva back.

She scratched at her head, dislodging a broken reed.

Might be up t' the gods, now, since we en't havin' any luck, Willow confessed, frowning. The queen had disappeared without a trace, as if the mists had swallowed her up. She looked around at the fog, a little more on edge.

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I took the time to breathe
among the rootbuds and the weeds
but the peat moss and the leaves took turns with both my feet

User avatar
Raze
Luperci druid the wilds where the caribou call
feather, fur, & fin

POSTED: Wed Nov 20, 2019 7:08 pm

we can wrap this up if you'd like! [+300]

Where Fennore wanted to point fingers and get to the bottom of whatever this was — Willow erred on the side of caution. There was no perceivable change in her demeanor, but there was a quality to her words that the Moonwraith automatically did not like. Perhaps it was because she knew that Willow was close to Athras — or as close as she supposed one could get to the Lord-Regent. Perhaps it was just that she associated in a friendly manner with the man whereas Fennore could not even glean any ounce of civility out of him. Perhaps she was bitter that somehow he had earned Willow's respect but not her own.

No, it's because there is blood here and he's the only one that comes to mind. But in all her haste, there was room for error. She hoped she was wrong, but at the same time she hoped she was right, if only to have an answer to this crimson spilt.

She'd much rather it be Athras' — no, a worshiper's blood than Vodeva's. Even though it was still off-putting and strange and perhaps in poor taste given the climate surrounding Caledonia, it was better than the alternative.

Her ears pricked. Buried hearts? It was familiar, like déjà vu. She wondered idly if she too knew this friend of hers, but her stiffness outweighed her curiosity in this moment.

There was warmth at her leg. Macha was purring loudly into her fur, prompting the woman to pick her up. Willow was right, of course; there was nothing for them to do about it now. "I will... alert the king," she sighed, defeated. "Given we can do little else." Her eyes wandered back to Willow as she forced herself not to look down again. "If you'd like to accompany me," she offered flatly, as a courtesy. Anything to get away from this sight and push it far from her mind. Though it felt a disservice to their Queen.


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New Caledonia
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'Souls Soldier of Love Luperci Magister III, Diplomat III, Stylist I
• moonwraith •
twilight princess

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