Dog-men and their mean women - any.

[Aurane]

Cold. Cold and stark. Rigid and gnarled around the edges, the  great sharp dentition of black spruce and jack pines reach into the grey sky around the borders. They are trying to come together with some waiting darkness above — they are trying to close in on the world, a mighty mouth of soil and earthworms and stars and terrible black. Together, in a exhilarating moment of heat and indomitable, raw energy. Implosion.
(A world, a universe entire, curling in on itself and sputtering. An end time. A bacchanalia for the wretched and ignoble pantheon. A playtime.)

It is grey and hard, rock and frozen ground below and a sky heavy with thin and paltry clouds above. Trees have dropped their fruit to rot and all the sex that was to be had has been spent. The world is hungover and sickly. She is gaudy in comparison. Carnal and remarkably supple. Red and black, rich and boldly curved. There is nothing subtle about her. She oozes, and it is off-putting and enticing in equal measure.

(She blinks. Fire lashes her feet where the ground has split open. A wound, deep and infected to the core. Blink.)
She settles in the clean and unforgiving light. It washes her, scrubs and cleanses, but what clings to her has found root in deeper places. She is not beautiful, not truly. She is a trap of honey and vice. She in unfriendly angles and untrustworthy contours; warning and wanton eyes. Aurane is a volatile and pliable wellspring of chaos, small and pulsing with a prevailing ill will.

The red woman idles, the bitter wind pulling at her, incessantly goading her.
Incessantly commanding her.
Incessantly fucking with her.
Blink. Their skin slips from their bones into meaty puddles. Blink.

Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings
where we had shoulders smooth as raven's claws.

[arzi]

He had seen much in his days. He was not unaccustomed to the unfamiliar, although much of his old home was unrecognizable to him. The ground was hard, cold, the trees bare and the sky more gray than blue; the wind was cold, here, but he was accustomed to such conditions. He was used to the coldness of the world, of others, and had seen many a devilish and many a saintly soul. 

She was unlike anything he had seen.

She was not particularly unique, exactly, but something was off in her. He sensed that from the moment he laid eyes on her that there was a power that hid underneath. He is intrigued by her nonetheless. There will be more than one barrier there, he knows that.  But he is drawn to her off-putting aura. So he approaches, ears trained on her; he is a stallion, but no fool - she could be dangerous, and he had just returned. Injury would be potentially fatal in such conditions.

So he approaches. And he waits. 

He stopped by her, close enough to hear her breathing, and pawed the ground. If his approach hadn't caught her attention, he hoped that would. A low nicker sounded, deep in his throat, eyes looking over her body. She was strong, stronger than she appeared, and smart. He knew that instantly. Arzi could see the devil in her eyes, in the quivers in her coat, the way she faced the wind. Yet he stayed, waiting. 

If he had anything, it was patience. And time.

[Oricle]

what scares you?..everything

He may be a stranger to this world, maybe a bit of a oddity with his milky eyes, and sharp unpleasant voice, but the scrawny boy was not at all useless. He could say that he was developing his uses quite quickly, learning at a higher rate of speed, and last but not least. Following the orders of Straia. It was something, something to fill his time and come to understand the meaning to his pointless existance.

No one cared for him, and he cared for no one. Well except Straia, yes the quirky thing was finding his obcession with the Queen to be his sole focus when not otherwise preoccupied. This day, is like all others, cold, dark, and bitterly stale. Visiting the different areas, learning of the world had been the orders that Straia had given him, and he had, had learned so much in fact that he found that he wanted to test those skills out. He was informed by the birds and the bee's that the feild was the place to test his vocals out. What was it that they all started out with?

Hi He cackles to himself more than anyone else. But the quick nicker of another male alerts him to the presense of others. Having forgotten himself for a moment, and not sniffed the air, he had quite upon accident ran into the little group just as it was forming. With a smack of his cracked lips, red stained teeth are yawning open and his tongue lolling out to the side for a moment wetting the cracks, tasting the remnents of dried blood.

The two are very close, their scents mingle with each others, and the tangible scent of blood, fresh blood, new blood, blood like his, but not his. Sweet pungent oders of the forbidden warmth; metalic liquid lay in the air, along with something slightly more tasteful, or maybe distasteful, he couldn't decide. It was warm, smelled of fire that Straia had pointed out to him, but this consisted of an underlaying flavor that he had yet to discover. Is one of you injured well it seemed the polite thing to ask.

Thanh

idk things reasons

Photo by anapt

[Aurane]

She is a taut spread of skin over bones and muscle, cartilage and connective tissue. Synapses firing, blink. (The Wind curls its long fingers around her ear and clings on, pressing it's translucent and ratty face close. It's limp body waving like a flag, “find her and rip. Her. Eyes. Out. Make her pay,” it is a sad and venomous rattle. It lets go and flings off towards the trees, wailing. A rootless messenger.)
Synapses misfiring.

The red mare is still tracking Wind's direction, her brows pulled together in an uneasy furrow, when he converges on her — she glances quickly between the two before catching on him. Corporeal, waiting him. For a moment she graces his silence with a self-same offering. His, perhaps curious. Perhaps expectant. Hers smoldering and pernicious. “I was...” there is exasperation in her voice, breath heavy, “Well I was talking to someone.” Trying to find someone. There is an almost girlish petulance in her narrow and chastising eyes.
She smooths it all out. Makes it neat and tidy. Smiling and calm, “Can I help you?” (How beyond help are you?) “Or, I suppose,” she tilts her head, pressing her lashes down towards the plane of her cheekbones exaggeratedly “You're here to help me?” Wink. She moves to brush his shoulder encouragingly before reconsidering and dropping the pretense.

“Listen. Quiet. You seem nice and all...”
(Haven't had nice in a while. We could do nice. Why don't you be nice to Quiet? Don't handle him so roughly! He didn't do anything to deserve it. Yes, be nice. And normal! Nice and normal and quiet.) Aurane fixes him with a patronizing smile, a gruesome and unnatural fixture. (No. Its wrong. Abort.)

The red woman shifts her weight, dropping the corners of her mouth again, “Quiet, my name is Aur...” Her ears flick to the unhealthy squawk. “Hi.” Her dark eyes turn to the youth, a grin widening her face. She takes a half step towards him, stretching her neck out to examine the perverse, whiteish haze of his eyes. She is testing the boundaries around him, the hot exhale from her nostrils shifting strands of his hair before withdrawing.

“Is one of you injured?”
She narrows her eyes, a playful madness pulling at her face.
“Is one of you injured?”
“Would you like one of us to be? Because I'm sure if we put our heads together, the three of us, we could figure something out.”

(Blink. Quiet and Eyes march towards each other with a slow and ceremonial highstep. Pressing their foreheads together firmly. Firmly until their skulls fracture like eggshells, hatchlings of bone and brain poking out.) “What have you two come to tell me? Quickly. This is getting weird.”

Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings
where we had shoulders smooth as raven's claws.

[arzi]

Quiet. That's what she calls him.

She isn't wrong, by any means, but he bristles all the same; his name means much more than just his silence. His name is meaningful, and his silence is not his fault; his feral upbringing is a part of him, just as this mare's strange behavior must be a part of hers. The brush against his shoulder was as deliberate as the sugar-sweetness in her voice, fake but obviously playing along with what she thinks he is. He is not a fighter, or a fake, but he knows this mare must be trouble. Her patronizing smile is enough to make his instincts worry, warning signs flashing.

He wants her anyways.

He is alerted to another, their voice slicker than snakeskin, and his ears pin back. This is open range, he knows that, but as one stallion to another, he is not amused. But his lack of vocabulary makes voicing his displeasure harder - especially since most around him do not communicate, nor understand, through body language and wordless voice. He is curious as to why this second stallion would ask such a question, but the mare seems amused. Her joke carries more of a suggestion than he would like, and without a doubt he could see her inducing a conflict.

Still.

Her question frustrates him, and he shakes his head, a snort blowing past his lips as he fixes his eyes on her. Her being approached was 'weird'? She was alone, and so were they - it seemed only logical to approach. But to answer her question, he stepped closer, snaking out his neck to graze his teeth gently along her shoulder. Not meant to challenge, but to herd, as if she were an unruly mare trying to leave. He moved his head back, neck arching, head tilting slightly, ears flicking from the other stallion - Eyes, she called him, - to the red mare.  He could only hope she liked him better.

[Oricle]

what scares you?..everything

Lips crack and split, they are licked clean, sweet red warmth dribble from the wounds. with a shift, he feels heat of another near his face. Unblinking, looking straight ahead, he extends his nostrils slightly raising his head to inquire more from from the air.

Ears flick forward, then back, and point in the dirrection of the others intent on finding all that he can. Snow crunches, the breath of the female nears. He is sure that he could reach to touch her if he wanted. Maybe he replies, the sandpaper throat grating, not sure if he would be the resulting injury. The topic seems to be dropped quick enough though. And the other male becomes quite the irritating bully.

Of course being as young as he is, not quite 2 yet, he does not find the other stallions attempt at rivalry fascinating or intriguing in any way. Instead of engaging the other, he simply looks on, in the dark abyss that his alone. Came to say? He isn't sure the woman knows what she is talking about. Sure he was here, but it was all of simple chance, not like he picked her out of the lot to strike up a conversation with. Not like he COULD even if he wanted to. I am of the Chamber, not sure there is anything to say in particular. his voice chokes out wetly, from the blood that he had just swallowed off the cracks in his lips. Seems this one is quite taken with you. Even blind he could hear the thud of bodies, and the other agressively attempts to push her around. Ears lay flat eyes glaring attempting to see past his dark world, and know what the stallion was up to.

He wouldn't get away with pushing her around, his lips snarl into a smile ready to strike should the mare make any sound of annoyance. He was used to catching snakes, had tasted the skin of horses, he knows how to lash out, and cause damage, should things get out of hand. Of course, anyone is welcome to the Chamber, Straia... He pauses a moment, lost in his world the name scraping out of his throat lovingly, almost possessively on his tongue. Straia welcomes new blood, there are many opportunities to cause injury there if you like. sarcasticly he brings up the previous topic. Came to say indeed, there was nothing he could say that would be interesting, nothing that he would desire to say. It was all just a matter of wasted breath to him.

Thanh

idk things reasons

Photo by anapt

[Aurane]

She thinks she feels the ground rumble. Shift and shake. Time's up. Blink. (The universe screams. It is angry. Or sad. Or both in heavy admixture. But the world is ready. Laughing, cracking and splitting loudly and around her bodies fall through steaming fissures.) But it's all still here. Dull and grey, cold and impeccably whole. Not time yet. She shakes out her black mane, having caught fat and sticky snowflakes like flies on a web. A virgin snowfall.
A fine cover gathering at their feet. Slowly. Softly smothering their sustenance. Magical.

She watches Quiet with narrowed eyes, ears twitching back and forth. They are separated by a gulf wider than either can imagine. Black and gaping. (Make him talk. Draw it from him. Bleed it from him, it's there somewhere. Hiding. It could be a game.) “Maybe.” Eyes says, and she smiles, eyes still on Quiet. Maybe. “Ask and you shall recieve,” she drawls under her breath, turning again to the blind stallion. Young. Maybe soft if he weren't so lacking for fat. So weak, perhaps. That could be enough.

She sees the frustration in Quiet's face, maybe some offense. It tastes somewhat sweet, and her smile is self-congratulatory. “I did not mean to offend you Quiet, only, well you haven't offered an alternative.” She can tell it is not within him. It maybe nestles on his tongue, an impassable lump. (Do not goad him. You are not all that you think you are.) “Quiet will do,” she growls, ears pinned back as he snakes towards her. She moves aside, shivering at the pressure of his teeth against the bone of her shoulder and twisting her neck to snap back at him. “You have some nerve,” her yellowed teeth are gritted, venom. Anger sparks in her head, she can hear it like small cracks of lightening.

She pushes her face in his direction, jaw tight. It is beauty twisted. Ugly. “Next time you touch me, whatever your name is, make it worth it.” Aurane steps back, breathing and releasing the muscles of her face.

Her smirk returns, the zaps in her brain subsiding. Returning to the deep folds. There is something inborn in his movements, she almost thinks she understands it. But her instincts are amiss, like crossed wires. She flashes Quiet another uneasy and curious warning glance, before turning to Eyes, tilting her head. “Yes. You are not so young, so you should know by now that everyone that comes to anyone here has something to say,” she shifts her weight. And he says what he came to say, whether he realizes it or not. Had this ever been a place to fuck around? Those beating around the bushes are wasting time. Or are too weak to exert their will early on. (Quiet could teach them a lesson or two.)

“I know of the Chamber. You are right..” Eyes. She smiles, (keep that to ourselves, shall we? might be an ingrate like Quiet.) “There is nothing much more to say. It's reputation proceeds it.” This has gone on long enough. Put them out of their collective misery. “Bring me to Straia, and your home, then.” She eyes Quiet again, once more. “See you around, Quiet.” She winks.
Blink. Snow is falling and Quiet and Eyes stand it catching flakes on their backs. Nothing. She giggles softly. What a pair. Sew them together, and they would work just right. They would be whole.

Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings
where we had shoulders smooth as raven's claws.

Holland - just had to say, I kind of always had it in my mind that she was Chamber bound, but I'd really like to post with you and Arzi with her in the future if you'd like! May not seem like it, but I actually think it might be fun to explore it more (he/you made me do fun things with her in response to him, love it). She secretly doesn't mind him at all, and she is interested in why he is the way he is. If not her, I really think he should meet Vineine.

[arzi]

He cannot ask her a damned thing, and he can assume that she had gathered that. It's like a dam is in his throat, keeping him from ever communicating on her level. His ears twitch to match hers and he doesn't look away - a waiting game, a game of guesswork, a game of will bend and break first? This other stallion has captured her attention and he knows that, feels it in his gut. But he won't leave, not yet; he has to watch her leave before resigning himself to the fact he's lost her to the Chamber. Another fucked-up mare for their herd, and it's unsurprising; he'd lost several to the Chamber's allure. This is not a special occurrence.

She's mocking him and he knows it, so his bite is all the more sweet on his tongue. He isn't violent by nature, quite the opposite, but it is part of his natural instinct to bite and herd away - something, he knew, would be lost in this barrier, this gorge between them. It's frustrating, and he half-rears up in an attempt to avoid her teeth in a retaliating bite. His front hooves slam back down into the snow-covered earth, a trumpeting neigh coming from the lowness of his throat. Even if he knew she was lost, he wouldn't go out without making something of himself.

Her words sounded like a challenge, and he knew had he embodied something more violent he would act on those words now; but he was  a gentleman at heart and would do no such thing. The Chamber was a good place for her, and he wasn't sad to see her leave with Eyes. He had needed the practice, the interaction. It was not a failure, in his opinion - just something to learn from.

He hoped to see her again.

I think that would absolutely be fantastic! She was a good way for me to feel out his character, and she/you helped me do that. The way she was brought out the feralness of him was great, and I really enjoyed seeing their interactions with such an interesting power dynamic. I would love to explore them in the future. And in the meantime, I wouldn't mind him meeting Vineine, if you'd want to!