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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


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    CHAPTER FIVE: the darkest depth [final round]
    #1
    Congratulations – there will be no elimination this round.
    You have all intrigued me enough to keep you.
    Only three will make it to the end. Make it good.

    The Underneath: The Darkest Depth
    As the mist slips away into the ether, parting to each side and drifting towards the fading edges of the shore, there is an unveiling of a loved one, a friend – oneself; it does not matter. Each representation is different from one to the next. Motionless and still, its eyes bore into you – its familiarity eerie and disconcerting, though it lures you ever closer to it. The song is soft and subtle, slowly fading into an oblivion, as the creature before you (as whomever it has glamoured itself to appear to you as) bores into you with its deep and soulful eyes – an inky blackness to them, unlike anything ever seen before, living or dead. 

    The air is still, and softly, it whispers to you –

    Come to me, don’t be frightened –

    Oh, but you are!
    The once quiet and still water has begun to move beneath you, but still you do not fall into it. The waters churn and pull into a riptide so unnatural for a body of fresh water, but had anything been natural at all in this hellish nightmare? A frothing seafoam erupts from the beneath you, lapping eagerly at your long legs, attempting to drag you beneath into its watery depths. 

    The creature before you is changing, shifting - transforming, and suddenly it is nothing like what you have perceived! With long, jagged teeth extending from its altogether equine muzzle, lips parted and curled back in a gaping snarl, it has begun to reshape itself – its four legs become only two, with a thick, coiled tail emerging where its haunches had been. Its front legs reshape themselves into pale, gangly appendages (arms, with long, gangling fingers, reaching) and before you can process what has happened, its grimy fingernails are clawing at you.

    With a great, ringing shriek, it is pulling you closer, attempting to drown you in the great, wild churning sea it has created.

    A surge of power you never knew you possessed emerges from the depth of your soul –
    You must use it to fight it; you must resist it – you must shed its blood and end it.

    Or it will take you to the deepest, darkest depths of the loch, never to be heard from again.
    • This is it: the final round.
    • The siren has lured you in with imagery of the vision you long for most – but as you move closer, you realize it is not at all what you thought. The siren is lunging for you, attempting to drown you – you must fight it off, you must find a way to defeat it, or risk drowning and drifting to the bottom of the lake.
    • This is your time to be creative and set yourself apart: for this round, your character is capable of any ONE ability. Pyrokinesis, mind reading, bone-bending, you name it. No “magic” – that is too generic. Let this ability represent them – their demons, their past, their present, their future – make it represent who they are. Make it matter. You may also use your other abilities too. Make an OOC note at the end of your post as to which ability you used, in case there is any confusion.
    • Defeat the siren, and end the post with your character finding their way back to shore, whatever the cost.
    You have until July 28th at 5pm PST to reply.
    Reply
    #2
    The song begins to fall, the motionless lips of the foal suddenly closing as the fading notes hang in the air around them. The air is still, the vapid mist evaporating between them but still curls around the edges of the lake like a wall. With the disappearance of the music, a sudden uneasiness returns. The sharp hot pain of her wounds are remembered and she takes a slow step forward, still captured in the swirling of the fillies eyes. ”What do you want to show me..?” She breathes softly, the longing still fighting against the common sense that’s waving a red flag in the back of her mind.

    There’s a whisper that calls to her, Come to me, don’t be frightened. The hair on the back of her arched nape tingles, her skin starts to crawl. Unable to tear her gaze from the one penetrating right through her, something is not right. Nothing has been right but there’s an alarm bell frantically ringing in her head. It takes her a second to realize that the swirling in the girl’s eyes has changed. Black begins to seep into the whirls of silver. She watches as they completely blot out her eyes, turning as black as the land that she’s been trapped in.

    Now her pulse is racing again, she’s taking a step backwards and looks down. The lake is solid but no longer still. The water is rippling beneath her, the stones choppy as the water froths beneath her feet. The lake is becoming agitated, whirling and swirling around her. Still she does not fall in, something dark and wicked keeping her afloat. Churning and frothing, a dark pit opening beneath her. Void and empty, a hungry mouth waiting to devour her.

    She has no time to cry out in alarm, so much is happening. Trails of dark water flick upwards, grabbing at her long legs. Spraying water as they slap against her skin. She doesn’t even flinch, her horror fixed now on the creature before her. The foal is evolving, changing, shifting. Those cold soulful black eyes are now filled with something new, evil. The foals jaw hangs open in a silent scream as long sharp rows of teeth emerge from pale gums. Lips pulled back in a grimacing snarl. It’s expanding upwards, the front legs turning into pearly white translucent skin. They extend, nasty gangling arms that end in grimy claw like hands. It continues to rise, the back end turning into a thick curling tail that wraps around itself like a snake waiting to strike.

    Somewhere in her mind she knew what this creature was that's towering over her. Just like somewhere in the back of her mind she had known the Leshen. Like she knows everything and yet nothing. The siren is shrieking, a long yearning call for her blood that threatens to shatter her eardrums. For a moment time seems to stand still even as the creature begins to lunge forward to grab at her with those long dirty fingernails. It slows as her blood turns icy, as she hears the fast thrumming of her heart drumming in her ears. There’s a weird rushing noise as something in her snaps.

    A surge of power she has never felt before builds in her stomach, sending every tendon and nerve on fire. It courses through her chest, building and expanding. Muscles coil and tense beneath her smokey fur, her neck arched and her head bent towards her chest. Something dormant trying so badly to get out. It builds and builds until she can contain it no more. Raising her head slowly, a cold hard look narrowed in on the creature. The once motionless silver of her eyes begin to swirl once more.

    With a scream that rivals the siren’s shriek, she cries out and literally explodes with pure white light. The brightest light this underworld had ever seen. It seeks to explode from every orifice of her body, seems to leak between the wounds that cover her skin. A shining beacon of hope in an otherwise desolate place. It catches the siren off guard, shrieking and recoiling as it is blinded. Those clawing hands grabbing but not seeing.

    Ciri had always been a girl of time and space. She had known this at birth where other’s would not be aware, would not remember. But why? For she came from the stars, from a place where these things melded and blended. Where time was an illusion and centuries passed in the blink of an eye. She could not remember, mortality stifling the knowledge she had once had. The stories and lives she had seen played out below her from her seat in the sky.

    A star made mortal.

    She had forgotten but now she recalls.

    The light continues to shine, the creature before her is still real. It threatens to take her soul down into the abyss that yawns beneath her. If she loses, it will open. If she wins, she might escape this place once and for all. The creature is struggling to see and this is what she must use to her advantage. Spinning around so that her back is towards the siren, she throws herself forward and sends out a savage buck. Her hooves land solidly on the creature’s chest. It screams with rage, throwing an arm and hitting Ciri across her barrel. Nails rake along her ribcage and she squeals, the light growing brighter with her fear.

    The dark mare stumbles but does not fall. This is the fight of her life, she cannot fail. Another buck is sent forward, her neck turned so she can see when she makes contact with the siren’s left arm. It shatters, light piercing through it’s translucent wound. The siren screams and it’s pain is terrible to hear. She turns now and launches herself at the monster. Avoiding snapping teeth, she thrusts her lantern like body into it’s face. Front hooves pummeling at wherever she can hit. Where she makes contact, the light seems to burn into it like a branding iron. Oily patches of blood flow from it’s wounds and the angry churning void beneath her swallows them greedily.

    The siren screams as Ciri lands a last blow, biting at it’s neck. The siren flails, it’s piercing cries as shattering as the light that punctures through it. Then they are both falling into the blackness. Ciri’s screams weave between the siren’s and she closes her eyes, ready for the fall.

    Instead she hits the water with a loud splash, sinking beneath the lake as the water closes around her. Her legs paddle fiercely beneath her, struggling to rise. She panics, her lungs burning for air. With a gasping cry she breaks through the surface and inhales deeply, looking about her with fear in her eyes. Nothing. The world is silent once more. The lake is still except for where she is churning in it’s depths. Wet forelock clings to her ears as she pants and thrashes around her, looking for the siren. It’s gone. The abyss had tasted blood and taken it.

    She had survived.

    Slowly she swims towards the shore, her hooves finally finding the smooth stones as she gets closer to the bank. She stumbles towards land, falling often, barely climbing out before collapsing in the mud. Shaking sobs rattle her breath as the reality of everything begins to hit her. The siren and the leshen, this terrible place, the light and her forgotten memories. Blearily she looks around as the warm tears sting her swirling silver eyes, realizing that she no longer lit up like a lightbulb. ”I am done with this place.” She spats out loud, her anger and her fear finally consuming her.
    Ciri


    Ability used: Equus Astrea
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    #3
    Jah-Lilah
    someday, we will foresee obstacles
    Listen to the wind blow.


    Jah-Lilah has never seen her lover so quiet, so still. There was always a storm brewing behind those intense amber eyes of his. She coos softly, the call ending in little clucking noises, they way they had greeted each other night after night so many moons ago. He doesn't reply. She ignores it. As my little flower child nears him, heart racing in anticipation, the mist starts to melt away. His eyes are not the answer to all her questions, like they're supposed to be. He finally speaks, his voice flat, monotone. He beckons her nearer, and she obliges. Upon closer inspection, they are not his eyes at all. They are unblinking, hollow, soulless. They are wide and white, no iris, just a black pinpoint of a pupil. They are shaped by darkness, smoky, sleepless. They stare into her, violating her. She feels dirty, disgusting, the way they oogle her in the light of the lake. Too late she realizes she'd been had.

    Watch the sun rise.

    He doesn't reply. The watergroundsand beneath her hooves begins to shake and move, and Jah-Lilah scrambles to keep her footing, her back end nearly giving out. A gruesome metamorphosis is going on right in front of her. Jah-Lilah can't look. Jah-Lilah can't look away. His beautiful face all but exploded, sharp, fearsome ivory jaws replacing the placid herbivore teeth that were there previously. It wears an awful toothy grin that makes her skin want to crawl away from her body. There is a crackling and popping of joints as bones are rearranged to show the creature's true form, it shoots up an extra foot or two, and Jah-Lilah takes one, two, three steps back as he dwarfs her in a matter of seconds. His hind legs fuse together, then coil and flick into a lengthy, treacherous tail. His front legs morph into long, spindly arms, and move with a jerking motion normally reserved for those final muscle twitches after death has come. His hands were fine and thin, with fingernails that curled into pointed hooks. They churn up the murky earth beneath him as he drops down onto her.

    Running in the shadows.

    Jah-Lilah can't look away. She should be afraid, but she is not. She should be turning and running, but she cannot. Jah-Lilah, the peace-loving, pansexual, live-and-let-die mare, is pissed. No, not pissed. It's deeper than that. My girl is fucking LIVID. He drugged her drink, sold her bad dope. He came into her, forced himself into the deepest crevices of her brain, and took what meant most to her. Then he proceeded to use it against her. He defiled her, ripped her secrets away from her, and put them on display for all to see. She had had enough. Her ears are pinned to her skull, her face pulled tight against the bone, her teeth bared in irate rebellion. A side of her unbeknownst to Beqanna, on this side of the Earth or any other, has been unleashed. The fake-ass lake beneath her desperately crawls up her hooves and fetlocks, trying to hold her down and suck her under. She snorts indignantly and jerks away first one hoof, then two, three, and four, back pedaling slowly. Each foot is torn out of the mire with a satisfying sucktion-y popping noise. The mare begins to sing softly, one of the many incantations she's committed to memory yet tried to forget. Her voice is barely audible, but her words are strong.

    And if you don't love me now,
    You will never love me again.
    You can still hear me saying,
    You will never break the chain.


    It's deeper than that. The monster comes for her, stalking ever closer, but Jah-Lilah is changed. She repeats her hymn, growing louder with each rerun of the lyrics. And if you don't love me now. Her eyes glaze over, no longer the deep leafy green of a summer forest. They are pale and hard, the color of limestone. She no longer has pupils or an iris, the whole orb is taken over by a new presence. You will never love me again. A brisk wind starts to pick up, as if it's coming from the bottom of the lake itself. The fog is twisted and swirled, encompassing the pair of combatants, creating a ring around to bind them. You can still hear me saying. The gust suddenly alters its' direction, blasting straight into the sky, like a geyser from the Earth. Jah-Lilah is still in her trance, mane and tail standing erect with the force of the gale. Her feathers are dancing and flying as if they have a life all their own. You will never break the chain. There is a whirlwind around the pool now, and Jah-Lilah braces herself for what must come next.

    Break the silence.

    Jah-Lilah is changed. The Red Wytch has come now. She continues to sing at the top of her lungs, and the being fights through the blustering winds and lashes out at her. She is tossed like a ragdoll twenty feet back, a large open wound in her left shoulder from its' razor-sharp nails. She rises shakily as he approaches for round two. And if you don't love me now. She looks down at herself, and watches her own blood drip down her body and hit the ground with a splat. It sizzles and smokes, boring into the Earth. This is what she's been waiting for. You will never love me again. Something has been asked for, something must be paid. As the pair stand off, the enemy thinks he's got my little mare where he wants her, but quite the opposite is true. He still wears that fucking creepy smile as he is within a meter of her. You can still hear me saying. The Earth beneath her feet rumbles and her voice is joined with three others. All come from Jah-Lilah's throat, but are crooning in perfect four-part harmony. The Earth-Mother has answered her yet again, even all these seasons later. You will never break the chain.

    Damn your lies.

    Something has been asked for, something must be paid. She channeled the Earth-Mother, begged for her assistance, and she had come. Jah-Lilah was a mare possessed, a Witchy Woman, a vessel for the Earth-Mother. The chorus of voices fills the air, her own siren song now. And if you don't love me now. She was now the black widow, carefully weaving her web, laying her trap. From the swampy earthlake underneath them begins to sprout branches and vines. They surround the behemoth, three on each side of him. You will never love me again. He looks around, bewildered. My renegade is stone still, the only thing on her moving is her mouth as she casts her spell over him. The vines and sprouts weave together, forming, quite literally, their version of chain links. They reach high, high, high above them, until the ends are almost out of sight. You can still hear me saying. Jah-Lilah sways, in tune with her own ballad. She is filled with light and love and him and everything in the world that the Earth-Mother had created for her people, and it makes her strong. She is not rusty, she is not out of practice. She is just out of patience. You will never break the chain. With that last powerful line of her hex, the chains come crashing down upon him, binding him, pulling him, caging him, like he so desired to cage her. She steps closer to him, repeating herself and binding their fates together. 

    YOU WILL NEVER BREAK THE CHAIN.

    Never break the chain... Her voice echoes, tearing through the once-deafening silence. She is brought to her knees, as he is pulled down into the lake he sought to drown her in. Her minions tighten their grip on him, squeezing, choking, dragging. A panicked look has taken over his visage, as he realizes the jig is up and he is swiftly losing the upper hand. He struggles and thrashes as he is pulled under, inch by inch. His shrieks permeate Jah-Lilah's ears, but go no further. She will never let him into her mind again. She has a spell for that too, but she needs to deal with one thing at a time. His arms flail wildly as he fights every nail in his watery coffin. He will drown as he sought to drown her, an eye for an eye. The universe requires balance. He is pulled under, and such is the way of wytchcraft, the chain will keep them together. But has she paid the Earth-Mother enough to keep her life? She is dragged under into the monstrosity's water grave, and suddenly everything goes black.

    Damn your love, damn your lies.

    She will never let him into her mind again. She is coughing, gagging, drowning, but her nose is above water. Weeds and gunk encase her legs, but she fights desperately to stay afloat. Her front hooves catch footing below her, and she drags herself painfully to the shoreline. Her right rear leg and left shoulder burn, throb, ache, but she has her life today. The Earth-Mother has accepted her payment one more time. She struggles to get her feet beneath her, so lays sprawled out on her side in the grass, hind legs still half submerged in the aqua. Her breathing is labored, she is soaked to the bone, but she has her life today. She struggles, fights, wills herself to stand, and barely makes it. She is reborn again from the lake, a newborn on wobbly stilts for the first time. She has her life today.


    STAY WOKE. 






    Power used: Wytchcraft (Witchcraft)
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    #4

    Crevan

    We forget all the names that we used to know

    Sadly, it’s already too late for Crevan when reality hits. While his dark eyes bore into the even darker ones of Canaan the colt chokes again, wheezing air through flared nostrils that seem to burn. More tears slip over his ruddy cheeks and his eyes narrow, the vision of his father blurring behind a veil of water as the pegasus only whispers for Crevan to come closer; there would be no help from him. “Just like all the times before this one,” The boy thinks with spitfire in his veins, gasping for air as he truly struggles now to remain conscious, “why would I expect anything different?”

    Bitter thoughts for a dying child to have.

    “Fuck … you …” He manages to gasp, a pale effort at cursing the bastard who made him feel, for the entirety of his life up until this point, that he was inconsequential. As blackness creeps across the edges of Crevan’s sight, Canaan cackles and extends arms … wait, what? … arms out from a body that is no longer horse, but snake, myth, and nightmare combined together. It’s strangling the broken colt, violently now so that Crevan’s head jerks from side to side while his eyes roll lifelessly backwards into his skull. The fire of life within the youth dims, quivering to the point of snuffing out, and water rises like a blanket over his shoulders, back. He will die (from a broken heart or drowning?) and it will be with a curse on his tongue.

    There are some, though, that like curses.

    They enjoy exchanges, too, and are always waiting with baited breath for some unfortunate soul to strike a bargain that cannot be resisted. Only the most daring and most desperate are eligible for their help and in this very moment, Crevan is both very daring and very desperate. A perfect candidate. Outside of the darkness that consumes him Crevan is faintly aware that the siren is screeching her victory while his crushed windpipe fills with frothing water. He can’t even struggle (does he really want to anymore?) and so instead he closes off his thoughts and tries to think of his mother, his brother, Taiga - anything that will comfort him in these final few seconds.

    “Oh not yet,” A strange voice croons to his soul, “take heart, fierce little wolf!” Remarkably, the half-dead boy does. Beneath the surface of the lake his lids burst apart, bloodshot eyes taking in the shape of his murderer. “That’s it.” The eerie words seem to say, “Your soul isn’t ripe enough for plucking just yet.”

    Crevan’s legs churn.

    “Here … let me help you, don’t be shy now; we’ll be good friends - you and I.” The detached sound tells him. His heart thuds weakly in protest as a foreign energy overtakes him, body and soul, and like a mad dog Crevan trembles violently before exploding through the surface of his watery grave. “THAT’S IT!” The possessed horse screams, air filling his lungs once more with savage fire. Who he is anymore cannot be determined - those once navy eyes have turned bloodred, across his chest and over his shoulders a trail of flame licks golden fur clean from his skin and etches the shape of a mighty Roc into a tattoo, and his mind that had only moments before been dull is now clambering with not one or two but three voices. The hissing, indistinct one is his killer, the siren, and she’s coiled upright on her ass of a tail watching the boy as he stares her down in return. Her thoughts seem confused, why wasn’t the horse dead?.

    Now it was Crevan’s turn to cackle. He speaks, the sound of two souls, two distinct voices, overlapping each other as he says, “You suck at your job.” The siren isn’t amused. She lunges for him, wailing in red-hot anger, but this time it’s too late for her - his tattoo has sprung to life and ripped free from his chest where it strikes out to meet her, sword-like talons spread wide to snatch her by that slimy tail. The Roc makes easy pickings of her while they soar ever higher into the dark sky, fleshy bits raining down to pepper the surface of her once great domain before they sink to unknown depths.

    “Looks like I win.” The two voices chuckle. “And looks like you’ve had more than your taste of power.”  Says the more haunting one within, energy sapping from every cell of Crevan’s body while the Roc descends swiftly to pluck the yearling from where he crumples. Finally, finally the shifter has reached his limit. With a tepid smile on his bleached lips he nods again into unconsciousness, happy to welcome the night-without-end. “Don’t be dramatic,” The voice whispers on the edges of his mind, “You wanted someone who would never desert you, ever again, and you were willing to give up everything for that security.”

    “Now sleep,” It commands, and Crevan obeys without protest. “Sleep long, hard. Sleep for years and when you wake, never sleep again. This nightmare will be waiting for you when you do.”

    Then our skin gets thicker, living out in the snow



    Crevan has discovered Demon Morphing and was aided by ‘Malphas’, a prince of the underworld.
    In accordance to the trait, Malphas granted him three abilities:

    Tattoo Animation [2 spaces]
    Serial Regeneration [1 space]
    Telepathy [1 space]
    Reply
    #5
    Atrani
    ”Daddy,” she says again, choked with emotion for the first time in years.

    For years she has avoided him, avoided Zoryn, avoided her.
    For years she closed herself to others, encasing her brittle heart in a steel prison.

    But seeing him here - seeing him – overwhelms her and she cannot hide it. Atrani almost crumbles to her knees, but finds the strength to remain standing. ”This is what you look like,” she breathes as he edges closer to her, his porcelain bones catching the moonlight. ”I’m sorry,” her voice is hardly more than a murmur as she edges closer, her heart thrumming in her chest.

    But then there is a shriek.
    And her body is enveloped by water.

    It crashes as she plunges down into its dark depths. She had time only for one, quick breath. It doesn’t last her long as the siren yanks her farther and farther down. A meager struggle at best, her body atrophied, weakened, and bloody. Her strength is fleeting, her hope diminishing. Atrani cannot see how dark the lake is underneath – everything is dark again. The vision of father was her first – and last – time ever seeing anything. A kick here and a balk there, but that’s all she can muster with her one breath before drawing in a lungful of water. It weighs her down like bricks as the siren brings her to the bottom.

    This is the end, Atrani thinks, as her muscles quiver and twitch with a grim finality.

    But she doesn’t die, not this time.

    The water that flushes through her brings with it a surge of power, a foreign trace of magic that she has never before experienced. Even beneath the water she can hear her bones break only to rejoin again. She doesn’t know what’s happening, or even how she can recognize the change in her body. The idea of dying had been welcomed; she succumbed to the possibility of it, let her body be pulled down by the siren.

    But, now?

    Now, there is an energy flocking to her weak muscles. Her lungs expand and she breathes in a gulp of water, but this time it’s light as air. It doesn’t burn or hurt. Gills flutter and her legs are fins. She still cannot see, her eternally-black world, but her senses come alive in a way they never have. It startles her initially, and she shies to the right. It seemingly startles the siren too, however, as Atrani notices how the water buffets her in the creature’s manner of escape. Immediately, she veers to the left in pursuit, not understanding what’s happening, what she is, or how she is breathing underwater. She doesn’t ask. Not this time. And she doesn’t wait for an imaginary vision.

    Instead, she reacts on instinct.

    The movement in the water stirs her mouth to open – filled with serrated teeth – and bite down. Blood pools around her; it has an iron tang that disgusts her at first. There is a scream from the siren. Then an attempt to sing to weaken Atrani again, but its pain hinders the siren’s song.

    Silence.

    That’s how Atrani escapes.

    A traumatic bite to the siren’s leg before she swerves into another direction to follow the rippling noises at the surface. Her body is strong, much more powerful than it has ever been, but the flesh is still taut, a sense of undead as rags of skin sway with her lateral movements. If only she could see herself as this monster piercing the inky black of the lake, a torpedo of destruction in the night.

    But she isn’t used to this change - this power - and so her body revolts and uncontrollably shifts again. Where there had been tattered sandpaper skin of a shark – tinted blue after a near-death by drowning before reviving -, fins, and an immense jaw, she now has armored scales, claws, a long muzzle with teeth, and a sweeping tail to balance it all. She drifts to the surface, her nostrils opening to inhale air for the first time in what seems like an eternity.

    And she drifts, exhausted.

    But then there are nails scraping her tender underbelly. A hiss slips form her crocodilian maw as she squirms in distress, snapping through the water blindly. Fresh blood seeps from her wounds, but the siren has already sunken and succumbed to her disastrous wounds, drifting into the darkness where she had pulled Atrani only minutes prior.

    Everything is still again, even the water.

    Another breath. Another groan.

    With movements like that of a serpent, Atrani swims toward where she can hear the grass whisper and the lake lap at the edge. It calls to her much as the siren had, but there is no imagery of happiness – only an abysmal darkness.

    She stops only when she has made contact with soil, dragging herself up the bank with ragged pieces of flesh hanging down, exposing fragments of her bones.

    Another shift.

    It hurts. Everything in her body jerks and cracks until she is herself again – emaciated, ever eyeless, and weak – lying nearly dead in the grass. Even the putrid stench of decay hangs in the air, but she blames it on the blood that had been shed – both hers and the sirens.

    She had become a monster of death and of chaos, but that is what she had always been. She has only caused pain to those she surrounds, cursing them with her hovering presence. Mother died partially because of her. Father became reclusive because of her, and he lost all sense of happiness because of her.

    Atrani broke apart a family and she tore lovers apart.

    She has, and always will be, a monster – a creature that brings only pain – a curse. For a moment, when she saw her father, she had hoped everything would be fixed and that she could hope to love and find joy again, but it was stripped from her. Torn to pieces.

    With rivulets of blood trailing down her body, Atrani lies in the grass. She doesn’t realize how her skin remains a deep blue or how emaciated she is or how wounded she is. With her cheek pressed to the dirt, she lies in wait, wondering if death is looming near or if she had beaten it down in the lake’s depths.

    Either way, she refuses to move just yet, exhausted and beaten.


    dove into her eyes and starved all the fears
    picture by haenuli shin- HTML by Call - words: ________

    [Image: callwolf_zpsasro4cel.png]


    Atrani drowned in the lake, but with the lungful of water she became a Draugr which is like an animated corpse from Norse mythology and creature of darkness. Involved in this was shapeshifting (shifted into an undead shark & crocodile), additional strength, and her skin turning a "death-blue" color.

    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Draugr
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    #6

    The sun crashed down to the ground, the moon rose up into the sky bright red,
    the dead climbed up from their graves and fell to their knees saying
    "Come one, come all, come see and believe."

    He is lost inside that vision, in the still form of a friend that is not and has never been. It is not real, but every piece of him wishes it were. At first he doesn’t even notice the mist drifting away, doesn’t notice the subtle shifting of the water, doesn’t notice the music slowly beginning to soften and die. But the longer he stares into those ink dark eyes, the more uneasy he grows. The more reality begins to intrude upon his sweet oblivion.

    Come to me, don’t be frightened…

    The eerie whisper is what brings him sharply back to the present. What reminds him of just where he is. A young, foolish colt perched precariously upon shifting waters that somehow refuse to swallow him.

    The abrupt churning of the lake offsets him, upsetting his balance until he stumbles forward several unsteady steps. Almost directly into the claws of the insidious beast that had lured him onto these now heaving waters. His gaze had been drawn from the horse before him for a few precious seconds, and when he pulls his gaze back, his eyes widen in horror at the sight he now beholds. A creature, shifting and changing, long muzzle melting into a wide grin filled with deadly teeth, buckling and rearranging into a beast with two legs and reaching, grasping fingers.

    His sudden, terrified winny and scrambling feet come too late. That thing has already grasped his flailing body, is already pulling him close, pulling him under. The unnatural, churning waves no longer support his weight, instead reaching to gobble him whole. His thrashing limbs offer him little aid in this battle, his slight frame far too small to be much more than a hindrance to the the beast who now holds him [who now pushes him under, damning him to a murky, watery death].

    But the shadows are there, ever his friend, ever his ally. This dark world is rife with shadow, an element he had been born too, and they would always answer his desperate, unheard cries. They wrap around him, a protective cocoon, embracing him with their familiar darkness. In that grimly desperate moment, he allows the shadow to claim him, to fill every piece of him, down to his very marrow, with its subtle, shifting power. He gives himself over to it, feeling the incredible flood of potential releasing into his veins, reshaping, remaking him into a creature of shadow, unlocking the latent skills resting deep within his soul.

    A surge of adrenaline powers through his unnaturally darkened flesh, kicking him into movement even when he hadn’t believed it possible. He pushes through, the shadows boring ahead of him, breaking the hold that monstrous creature has upon him, allowing him to break the surface of the roiling water and gulp precious breaths of air.

    But the false beast is not done with him. It’s grasping fingers and serrated teeth reach for him yet again, refusing to allow him such easy escape. A feralness he hadn’t known he possessed emerges, his eyes glowing yellow as his lips lift in a savage snarl. And as the creature attacks him, so too does he attack. He is small and lithe next to the siren’s larger frame, but the shadows freely aid him. And so, tooth meets tooth as he pushes against the siren with all his might, shadowy tendrils reach forth to wrap delicate, steely fingers about the larger beast. The creature’s yowl rips through the still air as Ether presses in further, small, sharp teeth snapping, grabbing whatever flesh he can find.

    But the creature is stronger than he had thought possible, pushing back against his shadowy might, breaking the bonds he had placed upon him. Ether is only a boy after all, with only a boy’s strength. The sudden snapping of those dark chains siphons his strength, weakening him dangerously at a time he cannot afford weakness. But he has already sustained too much injury, already pushed himself beyond endurance. And despite the surge of strength, the unlocking of this shadowy creature lurking within his soul, he is flagging far too rapidly.

    Breathing harsh and rapid, his feet pumping to keep himself afloat, he gathers what strength he has left. Gather’s himself for one last attempt at freedom. As the siren lunges for him, Ether waits. He waits until he can nearly feel the monster’s breath upon his cheek before he surges forward. Sharpened teeth bared, he leaps for the beast’s throat, using his shadows to propel him forward, upward. Using what is left of his strength in this last ditch effort to bring this creature down. He feels his teeth latch, sink deep, feels the scrape of teeth upon his own blackened skin. He can taste the pulse of blood, the surge of victory deep within his feral heart.

    But then it is falling, that horrendous beast, bringing Ether with [determined to drag him to those watery depths even in defeat]. Panic leaps inside his chest, giving him one last spurt of strength. His only thought escape, he reacts upon instinct, reaching to the shadows for aid. And they come, answering his call, wrapping him in their tender arms until he becomes one with them, until they are carrying him away.

    Moments later he is stumbling upon the pebbled shore, small frame sagging as he collapses to the damp earth. His strength gone, it is all he can do to lie on that ragged bank and breath, yellow eyes shuttered, dark barrel heaving. He can only pray nothing will disturb him here in the siren’s lair, can only hope he will be allowed time to regain his strength. Otherwise his short life will end here, on this dark, lonely beach, his hidden, tender heart left unfulfilled.

    Ether

    Shadow son of Shahrizai and Ilka



    Ether turned into a Shadow Creature
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