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+---- Thread: One of them was me; Atrox (/showthread.php?tid=25468)
Biting’s excellent. It’s like kissing, only there’s a winner.
Thank the Mountain, the sickness was gone. And with it, most of her headache. Not that she was ever sick, mind you - but if you wouldn’t get a headache from horses coughing and snottering all around you, wailing about how bad their lives had gotten - well, nobody ever bothered to ask how she was holding up between all the ewiness of it. It’d been disgusting.
So yeah, that was done. Everybody continued to live their petty lives, and she did too. Awesome. Now, the only thing she would do was continue as she had, and so she did. Snarled away those who came too close, and that was that.
She lived in the common lands, and today was not different. The forest was the place of her choosing at the moment, and then - then when she thought nothing was more disgusting than the Plague - a dead horse had passed her.
The mare had been kind in life and in death, and told her she wasn’t the only one who’d crossed the threshold. Maiko had slowly backed away from her, and now she was hiding (of course she never would admit her scare) in a darker part, hoping the dead and sick would finally cease to follow her.
@[atrox]
RE: One of them was me; Atrox - atrox - 11-09-2019
hangman hooded, softly swinging; don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive
Atrox enjoys his vantage point in the trees.
If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that these forests are the forests of his home in the Chamber. He can pretend that he can hear his heart thumping somewhere beneath the surface of the dirt and feel the strange gravitational pull of the kingdom beneath the soil—as though it was crooking a finger his way.
But, in the end, it’s never his true home.
The pine is not nearly as strong, the fog not as dense, and his heart is so far buried beneath the soil and soul of Beqanna that he has no hope of ever hearing it ever again. It leaves him a little bored and a little without anchor—making him purposeless and vicious because of it. There is only so much of his boredom he can scratch with cutting words and observing the meaningless lives of these new inhabitants.
Still, he tries.
He lies in his panther form in some of the lower hanging branches, two souls standing sentinel beneath him. They are as equally silent and useless as the others so far, but he doesn’t mind their presence—even though they still reek of the death he has escaped so many times before.
When she wanders by, clearing hiding from something, it piques his interest. He angles his wide, heavy head, yellow eyes narrowing as he calls down to the vibrant girl below.
“You should be careful coming so deep into the woods.”
ATROX | THE PANTHER KING
RE: One of them was me; Atrox - Maiko - 12-10-2019
Maiko
Biting’s excellent. It’s like kissing, only there’s a winner.
Finally she thinks she has found a death-reek-free spot. Well, not entirely. It still smells of predators and their carcasses, but those are fresh, if you know what she means. She’s not too bothered by those, and so she looks forward to resting in a clearing she spots up ahead, even if it is still dark with the overhanging canopy.
She is stopped by the purring voice from above, warning her. Or rather, threatening her. She narrows her eyes at the animal – a shifter, obviously, or he wouldn’t have talked to her like that. ”Caw canny yerself. Ye’ll lose yersel’ in th’ mirk.” Shaking her too-vibrant crest, she then walks on. What’s it to him, anyway? It’s not like he owns the forest.
@[atrox] Whoops I forgot this thread existed I’m so sorry. Also it is kinda short but I hope you can work with it
RE: One of them was me; Atrox - atrox - 12-14-2019
hangman hooded, softly swinging; don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive
The foul mood that slithers beneath the surface does not leave easily these days.
It exists constantly, a nagging, biting sensation that he can never quite get to go away. He does his best to just ignore it—to find humor in these dull sort of interactions and amusement in the odd—but it does not always scratch the itch. It does not always leave him content and he finds he instead hungers for more.
So when the obscenely colored mare smirks and responds in what he can only assume is gibberish, he finds that his long-waning patience snaps. It’s been too long, he reasons, but really, he needs no reasoning. Instead, he leaps from the tree in a fluid motion, launching himself toward the mare with claws out.
Something thrills through him as he grabs for her, as his jaws snap and as finds the throat.
Perhaps this would ease the ache within him that hungers for more.
Or at least it would stave off the growl in his belly.
