[M] life is the vehicle for something to come to earth


POSTED: Sun Sep 27, 2015 9:58 am

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

Aaaaw yeah, time to party. Besides Salvia, Siv, Kynda, Reykja, and Loki are already present. Near the peak of moonrise, at the Stone Ship.

They had talked for many hours, long until both throats had been sore and Siv had finally departed. In the south, Salvia's Family prospered...but they were small in number, and their presence weak.

Salvia had decided upon things, in the end, and presented them to her Capo. If they had arguments, they were wise enough not to offer them.

During the daylight hours many of the pack roamed and tried to speak to spirits, as the Crone (and her followers) insisted that the full moon helped to bridge the worlds between living and dead. They could easier speak to the gods or whatever it was they believed in.

Practical as she was, superstition was a large part of Salvia's makeup. She was wiser than her predecessor, who had given the witches power out of fear, for there was more to magic than faith. As powerful as any charm or spell could claim to be, none were as commanding as the ultimate might Salvia had here.

The sun had fallen hours ago. While the moon had begun to climb, fires stoked the dark skies and surrounded a ring of stones.

At the center of this stood two women, one tall and dark and the other pale. Siv's ritual garments were impressive looking, extravagant and nearly gaudy looking next to Salvia, who wore nothing but her belt and jewelry.

The other women – and someone who was and was not this – were finishing whatever tasks they had been set to do.

A ram, oblivious to its fate, grazed at the tall grass near where it was tethered.

Wolfsong pierced the clear night, and two commanding voices called their Family together.

The Regent (NPC)
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Luperci Cazadora, Vaquera Mate to Stannis Ultra Mega Chikkun? NO. She is legend... I will send famine and wild beasts against you, and they will rob you of your children.
occam's razor
a wild beast or a god

POSTED: Sun Sep 27, 2015 11:05 am

BD [ 356 ]

As always the Beast was hunting, but the night had beckoned him for more than just the hunt. There was something in the air, it was electric, and with the full moon slowly rising he felt it even within himself. Something was different that night than any other and though his faith in his old gods had waned somewhat, he still believed in what his ever growing family in Salsola so vehemently seemed to be spreading throughout the Thistle Kingdom.

Even without his light summer cloak the Confidant was a walking shadow, a creature of living darkness, enveloped head to toe in black. The only thing that stood out were the twin orbs of blood red peering from behind strands of rebellious hair, luminous in the low light of the moon and highlighted by the dark umbra beneath his hood. Aside from that he had nothing else on him, something of a rarity, but the atmosphere of the night had instilled in him a want to hunt with tooth and claw.

Just about to hang up his cloak and slip into secui form, his tattered ear gave a twitch as a chorus of howling rose into the sky, the notes of the Boss and the Crone most evident among the collective melodies twisting into starlight. So it seemed he was not the only one summoned out into the night by the Siren songs of spirits, and without question the Beast turned from his task and wandered in way of the bidding call.

First to arrive his mammoth form seemed to materialize out of nothingness, a statuesque body evanescing from the shadows as if he commanded them. He stepped within proximity of the ritual but kept himself at a comfortable distance from those already assembled, a wrapped hand rising to draw back the hood of his cloak and reveal his half masked features to the group. To the Boss his head dipped low and reverently, again to the Crone but not so much so. To the rest a nod of greeting, least of which was spared for the Bard, but the lack of respect was marginally notable.

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The Henchman (NPC)
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Cazador, Veleno
Valar Morghulis

POSTED: Mon Sep 28, 2015 6:19 pm

The black and golden Mistress loomed through the underbrush. As the darkness grew her mismatches hues melted against the background, blurring her form until only toxic orbs could be seen. She sensed something off in the air, something which sped up her march and turned her mind into something primal, restless.

The ravens welcomed her with news of strange ceremonies taking place within the Kingdom throughout the day. She heard their vague tales as her body popped and stretched, returning to the form she favored the most. Standing tall she adjusted her savage jewelry in a ritualistic manner. She failed to see meaning in the religious devotion many seemed to profess. There was nothing sane in the belief of some unnatural – all mighty force. Perhaps religion was meant as a way to control the masses, blind and unite the power hungry individuals to help achieve one’s greater goal.

The eclipsed demoness both despised and admired those who called themselves ambassadors of the unnatural. With the ability to blend reality into their own made-up illusions they managed to spread both fear and wonder. She had learned to be cautious against such power – she must be now more than ever. The Thistle Kingdom was home to more than one witch.

Salvia’s summon rang loud and demanding, a chorus of many unknown voices tangling with the Boss’s call as it echoed through the night. Come with me. Kaeli told the ravens before disappearing into the woods once again. She dared not refuse the Queen’s command, even though she would rather spend the night on patrol before attending the strange ceremony that was about to take place.

Sha stepped into the firelight dressed in gold and charcoal, only a few leather and bone adornments covered her otherwise nude body. Some had already gathered around the altar and Kaeli did herself good by staying at the outskirts of the group. She watched as silent as a statue and nearly as still as one. Three looming shadows circled above the trees, one of them descending swiftly to poise itself at her Mistress’s shoulder.

The Henchman
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Luperci Cavalleria Mate to Shaamah

POSTED: Thu Oct 01, 2015 7:09 am

and i'll rise like the day

A part of her faith in the foundation of the Thistle Kingdom had been shaken. She had been careful, ever careful to not let it show. When the Boss's cry went up, she was relieved it was not his. The Boss was to be feared and worshipped and she knew how to do those things as skillfully as she knew how to heal. She exited her cabin without a thought for the rest of the waking world, leaving Samman and Dama behind as she made her way. She arrived swiftly enough, taking in the sight of those lucky enough to already be there.

Helsi's gathered, each that she knew of, and she bowed her head to them all, though she dropped lowest before Siv, and nearly as low before Loki. She saved her greatest sign of subjugation for Salvia, and her gold-green eyes eagerly drank in the sight of the Crone and Boss as she took a place by herself, near the ram, curious as to what would come with the ritual.

| [wc — ??]

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Luperci Curander, Boticario Mate to Basilaris tak

the night is dark
and full of terrors

POSTED: Thu Oct 01, 2015 7:35 am

Ankh attended faithfully, leaving his book open as his leader's call filled the air. Superstition, magic and spirituality were Ankh's own makeup. He himself had no set creed, he picked and chose from what suited him, what he felt was neccissary. Therefore he classed his belief as a spirituality rather than a religion. With influences mainly from Khalif and Egypt (and in the future, from the sun, moon and stars) he strongly believed that it was his beliefs that had kept him afloat in times of need. Of course he was skeptical, especially when magic was concerned. But he refused to believe that it was impossible.

Pumpkin eyes regarded the ram, tether and unaware. 'Alḥamdulillāh' he said idly under his breath. Though what god he was talking to was a mystery. He nodded his greetings to those few already there, spoke them to those who were specifically worthy of such respect. Then he took his place and waited.
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Luperci Lucky Little Leaf
pale man
danse macabre

POSTED: Thu Oct 01, 2015 12:38 pm

Hel had been waiting as the moon shone down on her and the stars twinkled overhead. It was coming, she knew. The call that would summon them together, the sacrifice to be made. Her hackles prickled in anticipation as she tried to settle her heart. It was beating faster with the excitement, the desire to participate, to be part of something bigger than her.

With care, she had selected her adornments. In the end she had selected a simple silver crescent moon pendant to swing on the end of a silver chain and thin silver bangles to adorn her wrists. The dagger her father had gifted her was also sheathed at her hip, though it hadn't left that position whenever she was in Optime form since she had received it. It was not a time to be flashy when she was not the witch in charge. That was for Siv, who would surely be there with vestments and power radiating from her. Hel had no desire to try to outshine the Crone, not that anyone could on a night like this.

She heard the song and felt her fur rise along her entire body with a grin; it was time and she was ready for it. The girl walked at an unhurried pace, as she was near enough to the ritual location. Her eyes went first to her father who she greeted with a smile, then she greeted the others who were assembled with nods. Salvia and Siv both received a half-bow from her, to show respect. Her gaze flickered to the ram, then back to the Crone. Eager for it to begin.
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The Arbiter (NPC)
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POSTED: Thu Oct 01, 2015 9:17 pm

The swollen moon rose, illuminating the clouds around it in a mystic halo, and beneath the sacred sky Loki made his own light in whispered, shaky jokes and too-quick smiles as he worked alongside his sister and his niece. Kynda knowingly smirked at him, teasing him about nerves which he denied, but when Loki smiled at Reykja the girl looked seriously absorbed in her own tasks. He did not blame her -- for she had a part to play in this, as much as him, and whatever made the Helsi matriarch overlook Loki's actions was not present in her critical eye of her grandchild.

Strong howls echoed over the crackling flame, and wolves began to gather. The Bard lingered a moment to greet those who heeded the call, the faithful and the critical, and brightened especially at the sight of his daughter. To the dark Confidant the silver witch only graced with a warm smile and lift of his chin; it was the reverent eyes that made him most nervous, the friendly look of a pale D'Angelo and the bow of a dark one, the expectancy in Hel's face.

Between the time the first wolves arrived and the last finally found their place, Loki vanished.

And emerged again secretly, cloaked in dark fabric to hide the ethereal shine of his silvery fur under the light of the moon. He cast his hand in a motion that made the flames jump higher, crackling hungrily, and pulled a hood from his fiendish face.

There is a story, said the liesmith and teller of tales, of a Wild Hunt.

It was a story his mother had told him, a child shivering with pleasure at the sound of baying hounds and hunting horns singing in his head, and he told it now. But where the hooded hunters on their black horses and their black goats with their black hounds at their heels had been things of phantasm and fright, as his voice lifted and carried across the crowd the hunters became them, racing through shadowed pine forests, thistles and thorns tearing at the flanks of their prey.

Accompanying the rise and fall of his voice, the gestures of his hands that every so often sent a wild crackle along the flames, Reykja sang -- a song of words with no meaning, a haunting melody, that went up with his words and the smoke to the blackening belly of the moon.

He walked in shadow as the horns called the hungry hunters, and raised clacking, sooty antlers as ghostly deer, ever fleeing, rushed ahead and broke through the forests. His voice jumped in pitch and fell into whispers as a maiden hid from the phantoms, throwing her apron over her head with a motion of dark cloth. He spoke of the land of the dead, and of the hungry gods, and warned the men and women before him of howls in the forest, as Reyjka's voice climbed higher and higher.

And all at once it stopped, a pregnant silence, and Loki's fur seemed to grow darker, losing the bright silver gleam of moonlight on his heaving, slender chest and pale throat.

He dared to smile, proud, when he suddenly caught Hope's eyes flying wide and a terrified gasp caught in her throat.

Bemused, the witch looked up.

With your feathers and thorns sticking to my hide
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Luperci raven & dove
trickster god

POSTED: Thu Oct 01, 2015 9:29 pm

While everyone watched the Bard, weaving his magic through word and gesture, Blair watched Reykja. She was wearing the purples of her family, and her long hair was laced with silver – some of it leather, some of it metal – as if she was meant to resemble the tall woman presiding over them like a god herself.

The witches acted as a unit, each filling purposes in the sum of the ritual. Kynda kept to the ram, his eyes glassy looking. They must have done something beforehand, Blair thought – something to calm Reykja, who even now looked nervous beneath her beautiful hair. She stood dutifully near the fire, and when a silent cue was given to her, began to sing.

It wasn't quite a wordless song, for they were words – old words, ones whose true meanings had been lost to her family generations ago.

Something strange began to happen the longer Loki talked.

A shadow began to cross over the moon. Someone murmured something in the crowd. Siv was looking upwards now, with her back to the assembled crowd. Salvia, too, had turned.

The shadow was not just a shadow now – it was color, an rusty orange. The longer they watched – entranced by the image and the substances many had (knowingly or not) taken – the true length of this process was lost.

Then the moon turned fully red, and a woman let out a keeling wail that made Blair bristle from head to toe.

Blair heard Salvia whisper something sharply to Siv, and the black witch turned at once.

Now! You see! All the gods demand the same thing – and we, who serve them, who live and prosper, must remember why!

She lifted a knife above her head, and it gleamed in the firelight.

We are strong as long as our ways are kept! We are strong as a Family, and our fates are tied to one another and to this land. We ensure our prosperity through toil and sacrifice, and we are rewarded for it. Do not forget that what we build here and what we raise here are what allow us to survive and grow as we have!

Kynda brought the ram forward. Blair stared, wide eyed. She knew what was coming, had seen it before, and still her eyes widened when the animals throat was split open.

Reykja and Loki caught the blood in bowls.

Blair looked to her mother, and saw that Salvia had not stopped watching the strange moon.

The Crone stood, dark and terrible, and thrust her hand into one of the presented bowls. When she lifted it to the sky, the blood looked black.

Salvia finally turned. Siv approached her, hesitated for a moment, and then pressed her hand across the mark on Salvia's breast. The print left was thick, and it dripped down the center of her chest.

Then, with slow, measured strides, Siv began to walk around and annoint others with this blood – in various places as she perhaps saw fit.

When she came to Blair, she flicked this onto her face.

The wolfdog flinched, surprised. She saw Reykja's mouth open with shock, but by then they were moving on.

Blair touched her face in disbelief. Someone was praying behind her. The guttural words were low and fast, but she understood.

The Governor (NPC)
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POSTED: Fri Oct 02, 2015 11:25 pm

.[ 404 ]

Sanguine sights panned the scene as others began to arrive, his dark maw dipping ever so in slight to those he recognized while those he did not were met with an expressionless stare. Once all were in attendance the ceremony finally commenced, the Bard dancing forward cloaked and ready to spin a tale, which he did, teasing the fire to accent his words as the youngest Helsi crooned a mysterious tune. Together they were haunting, mesmerizing to some, and downright captivating to the most devout of the Family gathered in the crowd.

For a while the Beast stood unimpressed, his muscular arms rising to cross against his chest as the witches carried on, but as the story reached its climax things began to change, and it wasn't long before a gasp and murmurs drew the gaze of the collective skyward. Blood reds rose to take in the transition, the moon shifting colors from bright white to rusty orange to deep red in its entirety. His stoic features were deadpan but inwardly the master hunter was stunned, his eyes narrowing into slits as his mind tried to wrap itself around the phenomenon.

A feminine wail broke the silence and caused his hackles to rise, pupils mere pinpricks in a sea of red as his attention dropped to the Crone, who quickly moved forward with the ritual while the moon still held its rubicund luster. The goat was slaughtered, its blood pooled in bowls, and before he could he even try to make sense of what had transpired the elder Helsi was on the move, anointing the Queen in crimson and slipping through the crowd to spread the fresh warm essence of life upon those in attendance.

The Beast held his breath and squared his shoulders back when the Crone approached him – expecting her to place her anointment upon his own Hand of Eris etched into the flesh of his shoulder – but instead her bloodied hand rose and took hold of his muzzle, swiping it to the side before she danced away to continue spreading her blessings. He took in a sharp breath now heavy with the metallic scent of organic iron and flews twitched a little but did not wrinkle at the sanguine substance now soaking into his mouth. He tasted it, and somehow it didn't taste like blood, and rather than snort or spit it away he breathed in deeply again, and was entranced.

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The Henchman (NPC)
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Cazador, Veleno
Valar Morghulis

POSTED: Sat Oct 03, 2015 7:43 pm

His blood hummed with the fruit of the vine as darkness swept in, thick and black. The moon rose, pale and white and full as the eye of a preternatural goddess. Bacchus was naked and feral, despite his form, as he walked on two legs toward the sound of wolf song.

There was nothing more powerful or beautiful than the skin that cloaked his muscle and bone, and he could not stand to hide himself this evening. He would stand, open and vulnerable, with nothing to shield him.

Two voices called the family in close, and Bacchus complied. The Boss and the Crone gathered them toward the stone circles that marked where ritual and witchcraft were commonly held. He was last to arrive as the others swarmed in close, long before he encroached upon the moonlit stones. Reverent, he watched as Loki spoke, spinning a tale as his voice entwined with song.

Bacchus was the god of fervor and maniacal ritual. The shapes and figures gathered in the night sang to him in solemn silence, and his limbs were heavy. His eyes lifted toward the moon, where a bloodied orange shadow had begun to creep across her face. His lips pulled back from his teeth as he smiled in ecstasy.

The gods were speaking to them. The very ground and sky were alive with magic.

A wail rang out as the moon changed fully to red, and Bacchus found his eyes lowering fast and sharp. The knife rose, and blood splashed as the ram’s throat was slashed. It was gathered into bowls and the Crone plunged her hand into the blood.

She painted them each with blood, anointing them with the sacrifice. She touched his brow in passing with bloodied fingers, and a rivulet ran down between his eyes, toward his cheek.

He closed his eyes and sank to his knees. There he remained, swaying ever so slightly from side to side as the blood ran toward his chin.

The Tradesman (NPC)
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