screaming like a siren; wyrm

[Quark]

Screaming like a siren, alive and burning brighter.

I have been restless lately. There is an itch under my skin that no amount of time with my children and their families has been able to distract me from. So once again, I find myself wandering, roaming the countryside with no particular destination in mind. Shifting sometimes helps, stretching my skin and bones into a different form, feeling the delicious pull as my body reshapes itself.

Oh, I've tried. I shifted to my familiar dragon shape and took to the sky, stretching my wings a bit. I haven't worn it as often here in Beqanna as I did while I was gone, and my wings ached to be used. Afterward, I briefly tried a rabbit on for size and coaxed a hungry little fox to come chase me. Scared the everliving fuck out of him when I shifted into another fox just as he was about to sink his teeth into my flesh. So confusing, when prey becomes a comely vixen.

Now that was entertaining. The poor bastard had no idea how to react. A little terrified, a little hungry, a little horny, he'd frozen just long enough for me to snatch him up in newly-formed gryphon talons and snap his pretty neck with my beak. Fox may not be the tastiest thing I've ever eaten, but he certainly sufficed. Well, quenched my hunger, at least, and cleaning the blood out of my feathers gave me something to do.

Still, the itch persists, not satisfied by a few drastic changes in anatomy or a meal well played-with. I suppose I'm not surprised; it's nothing like when I was pregnant with Xero and my body would fight to shift whether I wanted it to or not. Either way, it's driving me a little bit nuts, setting my teeth on edge, almost putting me in the mood for a good fight. A little bloodshed, some bruises, work up a nice ache and then soothe it away with some healing magic. Or not. Maybe let it ride, healing on its own. Huh. That could be fun. Hell if spending so much time with my Drow hasn't rubbed off on me.

Eh. Even if I did manage to stir up that much trouble, I'd have to hold back. Stay horse, hold in the fire, how dull. With an irritated snort, I tromp into the Meadow, wearing the shape of my Amazon days. It feels appropriate somehow, the hardened warrior woman wearing her bright yellow and white pattern like armor on a broad drafty frame, fire in my mismatched blue and gold eyes and a predatory stalk in my step. Probably I should try not to scare off any potential encounter with a bloodthirsty grin, so I try to restrain myself as I scan the common land in search of something to make my day a little bit more interesting.

I am the fire.

[Wyrm]

Now my horrors have become quite real

Oh, he can be brash. When he wants to. Most of the time he is anyways, not to mention that when he was a colt, it was simple to open up his mouth and let proverbial vomit spill out. Those were the days before the Desert, before Heartfire had shown him what it was like to slip in between worlds. Before he knew what real power was. See, it’s not always about who commands the greatest magic - it’s about how they use it.

He doesn’t know her name, doesn’t know her past or what she’s capable of. He only sees her as a yellow and white mare, brazenly making her way through the others as they mill about uselessly. But Wyrm, of all horses, knows better than to judge a book by its cover. The cremello stallion discerns that he rather enjoys watching her large feet make a rough path around the gathering grounds and decides that he’s in a rather restless mood anyways. His father had found him out, sniffed him down and brought him up to speed with the going-ons of the outside world. A new half-sister and a new banishment. What fun.

Tangle that with his nearly-dead Kingdom and he’d agree that it was about time to dip his toes in some new water. He makes quick body alterations - splitting his hooves in two, giving his own tail a good shake before it thins into a lion’s tail (that same pale white to match the rest of him), and one rather robust, twisted narwhal horn to set the picture nearly perfectly. A unicorn, straight from a fairytale. He can only assume that he looks like something of an oddity, or a joke, or perhaps a mixture of the two. An odd joke. But he likes the strangeness of himself and he assumes, in some way, she might too. A moment of contemplation and then he intercepts her, head rising as his curious pink eyes blink at the harshness of her yellow-splattered coat.

“On a warpath today, are we?” He casually muses, enlarged ears tipping sideways comically as he tilts his head.

My nightmares breathe new life

W Y R M

[Quark]

Screaming like a siren, alive and burning brighter.

They don't all scatter before me like scurrying mice. One snarly mare in a temper is nothing to the seasoned veterans of the Meadow. They've faced down rampaging dragons (ha), angry magicians, all manner of horrors unleashed upon them by the wrath of those with far too much power and no reason to give a damn about the sanctity of their lives. But they aren't fools, and most of them know better than to stand in my way. One disdainful eye roll from some dainty bitch with a bit of a death wish has me staring her down with a little too much dragon in my toothy grin, and the smoke that creeps out my nostrils as I take a step closer sends her scurrying.

That's better.

Maybe tomorrow I'll wonder what the hell got into me. And I could so easily do a healing scan, soothe whatever hormones are out of whack, balance the chemicals in my brain, blah blah boring. I shrug off the urge with a bit of a snarl, just a curling of my lip, a twisting away from the impulse to restore order when chaos sounds like so much more fun today.

God, I'm really not meant for the placid contentment of herd life, am I? Maybe I should go back to the Jungle, back to a kingdom to fight for, start at the bottom and claw my way through the ranks of the army. I bet there's an open bloodrider position, and I've always liked that title. Never quite managed it, either; Kagerou named me her successor instead, which was all well and good but a hell of a lot more work and responsibility. Keeping the peace instead of gnawing on the bones of our enemies. Dull.

I would make an excellent bloodrider. Especially today.

Still, something about the idea of returning to the Jungle feels like claws running down the back of my neck, prickling and scraping and grating. Not yet. Maybe once the girls are a born and grown some. I wouldn't want to miss out on my granddaughters' early days. Family is more important. Always has been. Still, the idea of having an enemy to crush is extremely appealing. Oh, or a good war, that could be fun. I don't think I've completely let loose since the last one I was around for, and that was decades ago. Or hey, maybe Pazuzu's bored and wants a good fight. Wonder if Ryss would mind if I threw down with her fiance. We could patch ourselves back up afterward.

That actually sounds like fun, and I'm about to turn and leave when someone actually approaches and strikes up a conversation. Huh. I tilt my head, giving him a good once-over. Cloven hooves, leonine tail, and that nice, twisty horn. Unicorn, but the more complicated incarnation of it, not just a horn set into the skull of an otherwise ordinary horse. Interesting.

“Apparently,” I return, my gaze slowly making its way across the planes of his pale body and up to the odd pink color of his eyes. I've certainly seen stranger creatures. Hell, I've been stranger creatures. It wouldn't be much of a stretch to coax a horn of my own out of my forehead, split my hooves, change my tail, and join him. Lighten my build into something with a daintier grace. Still, not really my style. And dainty sure as hell doesn't suit my mood at the moment. A couple of wicked sharp horns on my nose, though, that could be fun, and as soon as I think it they grow in. Rhino-style, but smaller, a little jagged. Bone, to better match my current coloring. And I bulk up the bones of my face to support their weight, make them usable without breaking my damn nose. “Why, looking to join in?”

I am the fire.