Beasts of Beyond

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The Typhoon / Re: 「 INTO THE UNKNOWN : INTRO 」
« Last post by elijah on Today at 07:35:14 AM »
If it weren't for the missing fur in all areas but a few, the sight of the young girl reminded Elijah of one of his sisters. Like her, he was a ragdoll kitten. The main difference, however, was that he had large feathered wings that let him fly. He was an angel, tainted by earthly shades of brown upon his pelt, corrupted by the greyness that surrounds his baby-blue irises. He isn't blind to the look of fear that overwhelms the hairless girl, semi-glowing gaze wafting towards her as angelic wings bring him closer. Atop is head is a black rat, Thirteen - named after the deep scar across its back. It looks at her in an observing silence, whiskers twitching. Although not a whisper can be heard from the rodent, it appears to be communicating to Elijah through a mental link, the child biting his inner cheek when he observes the three adults that surround her. If he had known adults to be like Caesar, he would have been just as afraid of them as she was. "Salve..." he begins in a soft voice, appearing in front of her but not taking any sudden moves, "do you want me to tell them to go away?"

The young boy puffs his cheeks, taking a step back before looking at the three: Aphra, Hawke and Desperado. While he doesn't want to insult them and although they aren't too close to her, he still speaks up and asks: "Maybe you should all take a few steps back...just to make sure." He offers them all a sheepish and childish smile, as Thirteen scurries down his neck and rests within the comfort of Elijah's feathers. The demidemon looks at her for another moment, not understanding what would have led her to hiss at them. Perhaps words have escaped her, perhaps words do not even exist within her. He doesn't know, suddenly scavenging his satchel and pulling out a flower with his telekinesis and puts it in front of her on the ground. It was a gift but he wasn't sure if she would take it, if she would understand the meaning. He once read in a book that the colour yellow symbolised happiness, joy and optimism. He was hoping the petals would give a sign that it was safe for the stranger to relax.
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The Typhoon / Re: ( LOYALTIES ) — open, joining
« Last post by DESPERADO on Today at 07:33:17 AM »
[ I hope you don't mind I sorta just recopy/edit my own response because I was particularly proud of it // wheeze ]

Pack above all.

The sentiment had been shared, in some twisted way, by Desperado once upon a time. It had been different wording and a different fate that had befallen him, but the message was still the same in the end. Your life was dispensable in the name of the group you worked for. His life had been dispensable, as had his body, soul, and mind.

The canine had never been groomed into anything, too old to be naive but too young to make for a good candidate for anything but a punching bag for others to use as they deemed fit. His skill was the only thing that kept him alive most days, as it was the only reason that the gang had ever decided to keep him and fix him up to begin with, but there were days that they would push him to the very limits of what he could call sanity, until he was nothing but a broken shell of who he had once been. He had been flesh, bones, tendons... held together by nothing but a seething hatred that festered inside of him like the plague. Thoughts of murder and arson were what kept him alive... and one day, he had enough.

The pack had never abandoned him. His parents had, but the pack had been determined to keep him even if it meant killing him so that others would not share his skill. The powers he once held were vast and powerful, even if they were now forgotten until the pretext of self-preservation. His mind had shut off that part of him, shoving it away into a little box labeled 'trauma,' and left him with nothing but tough paws and a tougher heart, no matter how light his disposition seemed to be.

No. He had abandoned the pack after one too many nights spent under the false pretext of 'safety,' when the warm body sleeping next to him was anything but. It had been warm when it had gone to sleep, pulse beating in tune with Des' heart until it overcame him and only one thought became clear among the pain. He had to get out. And he did. The blood had rushed beneath his fangs, spine cracking with one of the most satisfying sounds that still haunted him to this day.

Those who dared stand in his way got to know what the wrath of the void meant.

Now, it was different. There was no 'Desperado above all.' There wasn't any chant of 'The Typhoon above all.' There was nothing but a hollowness as he tried to find something to give meaning to the life he had led, his mind silent save for the one primal need to survive. The scars had healed over, but they still remained to remind him what had happened, and he was not a man who could simply forget. It was hard enough to try to get him to forgive, impossible to have him pretend like it never happened and try to build a new life beyond his history. It was what had shaped him, and all he could hope for was that someday he'd find meaning to move forward once more.

But the Typhoon gave him temporary refuge, as any other group probably could have. The others, though, didn't fit him. Other clans were no better than the gang he had left, murdering for the thrill of it more than anything else. Des was no murderer, no matter what he had done in the past to survive, so any of those places were out of the question... and as much as he had wanted to arrive at the doorstep of some benevolent group where he could finally try and restore his name... the guilt was too strong. He didn't deserve anything better than what he had gotten previously, and so... he had taken the same path that Mingan had, following the railroad seemingly to nowhere until the gate came into view and the fated bell seemed to mark his path.

It seemed a lot of wayward souls made the same journey as he did.

It was good for her that his hut was settled right next to the sea that bordered the Typhoon, for it seemed like she either didn't see or didn't want to ring the bell that announced the presence of newcomers. He was the first face most of them saw as a result, and often they didn't have to wait long unless he was gone doing some other arbitrary task outside of his usual 'patrolling' (if you could count sitting outside his house patrolling.) That was the benefit of having only one true place where others could appear. The chances of someone appearing on boat were rather slim, and he couldn't blame them. Drowning was, in his mind, the worst way to go.

This time he wasn't the first to arrive, though, Bakugou ever-vigilant and beating him to what he usually came forward to first. It didn't trouble him much, though, as it meant that others cared just as much as he did, and an easy smile graced his scarred muzzle despite her desolate look as he approached soon behind the other. It was one he was used to, however, the emptiness resonating with him in a way that he'd had preferred not to deal with, but much like with the other joiners who had come to this land looking like they had been through hell one way or another... he was determined to help in whatever way he could. "Hey there," his low drawl was purposefully toned to soothe, heterochromic gaze carefully warm as well to offer her some sort of solace. There wasn't much else for him to say at the moment, though, as the most important question had been asked already. Instead he fell silent, waiting for some sort of further comment from the stranger. 
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The Ascendants / Re: Holy Light || OOC PROMPTS 11/13 - 11/19
« Last post by REN on Today at 06:40:47 AM »
i'll take a prompt ^^
it'll be my 100th post for ren so yeet
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The Typhoon / Re: * chapter ii: life / exploring
« Last post by elijah on Today at 06:23:15 AM »
A peace rises from the calamity of the rains, droplets pitter and patter. Music sounds from beads of water rolling from leaves, heaviness springing from the green surface, flying outwards and rippling puddles. He doesn't mind this kind of weather. It calls for the warmth of indoors where he can make hot chocolate, ask his papa if he can bake a cake with him. The smell of fresh pastries brings him serenity, a gentle happiness that washes over his skin. Like thunder, there is a vulnerability to their emotions, fragile to the break of glass. Tranquil is the brief silence that coats plaintive mood. Don't, he internally repeats, the word echoing across the valleys of his mind as if it were a warning cry. The words, although semi-pronounced, are a constellation of stars to him. Only those who do not understand wonder will draw deaf ears towards the agender child. Elijah's shoulders relax. He feels pity for the kitten. It is a kind of pity where it stems half from him not understanding and half from his empathy. It was your parents who gave you a name, wasn't it? Your parents who shaped your identity. He doesn't dare ask where the other's family might be. Perhaps there is no family at all.

A gentle agreement touches him, eyes twinkling as he dips his head in a nod. His cheeks grow hot at the kitten's attempt to smile at him, cheeks beaming in return that his baby-blue hues sparkle in return, his semi-glowing eyes appearing as though there were white stars within his irises. "You're welcome," he says, an alabaster breath escaping his maw when he speaks. He looks at the ground, fiddling with the soil before glancing back up. "I...I can call you my friend, right?"
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Biographies / Re: potions & pastries / storage
« Last post by elijah on Today at 06:02:59 AM »
important events / links ♡ ♡ ♡
  • jucacellus adoption / link
  • family introduction / link
  • eli witnesses violence / link
  • he makes his first friend / link
  • thirteen and his rats / link
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Tanglewood / Re: HURRY HURRY ✰ joining
« Last post by AXLE on Today at 05:57:42 AM »
Axle knew what it was like to be stuck, through two previous captures being trapped was something he had first hand experience with - yet he struggled to empathise with the other's state. He responded to the yip in kind, head lowering and a low warning growl rumbling from his throat. The other's frustrations became more and more obvious as time passed, with the Guardsmen's question being thrown back at him in rude manner. The Heeler could handle being antagonised, just not when the potential of physical harm came with it. He slowly started approaching, giving quick glances to the mud every now and again so he could watch where he was stepping. Even as mud marred his orange and grey fur, he was lucky enough not to get trapped yet.

Stopping just outside of biting distance, Axle would contemplate over the other's question. He's lost and confused like you were, why can't you ease up? No, that was the clan's influence talking to him, he couldn't listen to it, he couldn't. "Tanglewood," he cleared his throat, silence enveloping him as his brain went through what he'd have to say next. "Trespassing too. Lucky, crocodiles aren't hungry today. Can you not get yourself out?". An obvious question directed towards Jim's stuck appendage, Axle wanted to weigh his options before helping the other out. What benefits would he get?
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The Typhoon / Open make them remember you — rats
« Last post by elijah on Today at 05:52:15 AM »
[ ooc ] you only need to read the last paragraph since the whole thing is just backstory. please note that eli's everything in italics cannot be heard by your characters. also i apologise for all the typo's in here where i'll miss out or write a random word instead of what it's supposed to say. i'll edit it after my posts :shrug:

The panorama of his escape - perfect to the untrained eyes, a landscape brimming with fantasy. Wonders spill across the edges, glistening like star dust. His gaze is a mirror to his childlike heart, encapsulated by the intangible realm that spreads before the mesmerised youth. He is enchanted by the skies and the seas, taken aback by the unraveling beauty of the trees that rise above his tiny form. Moss grow between the cracks, dewdrops refracting light that dares to reach the undergrowth of the rainforest. The boy is a warlock, determination marks his sweet expression, searching for anything that will inspire him. Like a solider, he marches with high steps, not stealth about his walk as his baby-blue eyes dart back and forth. He catches the sight of flowers, grass and retreating critters, vanishing from his keen peripherals so not to be hunted. Elijah breathes at the summit of his universe, unfolding petals cloud his soft gaze. There is a plaintive sadness where he stands, an underlying loneliness that seeps from his isolation. While he is willing to welcome anyone to see the wonderland his heart has created, he is almost aware that it is his and his alone.

"There are flowers over there," the kitten murmurs to his rabbit doll. Rupert, he had named it. The patterned face only drops towards the ground, no life or muscle to hold it upwards as it hovers from the grasp of his maw. He puts the soft animal down and then walks towards the plants, fluttering his wings behind him for balance. "It's called marigold," he adds, plucking the yellow flower and taking a whiff of its scent. He remembers seeing mama use it before but the memory is faint, a mere shard that holds on desperately to survive, to persist and exist. "You use it for infected wounds and to stop bleeding. It's magical, don't you think?" He can't help but be impressed by the smallest of things, the very qualities of certain herbs leaves the child mystified. Rupert gives him no response, beady buttons staring towards the soiled ground. Elijah merely smiles at it, picking up the doll and sliding it over his back, the rabbit's ungracefully long arms wrapping around his neck. He takes the marigold and puts it inside his satchel.

It is easy to imagine the universe as his idealised fantasy but, truth be told, it is draining to speak to silence. His words are drowned by deaf companions, ears that do not work but appear only for effect. Born of his subconscious is his desire for adventure, his inability to accept that the world is mundane. Although he is open, gullible and carefree, he feels deeply isolated from the ones around him. They simply do not see what he sees. He is like a fish underwater, swimming and aware of a place called Atlantis while they are the land dwellers, walking upon sand and never seeing below the surface. Prismarine optics twinkle towards the sight of poppies, growing within a green field that extends along a brief clearing of the forest. "I'm not supposed to take painkillers," Elijah says to his friend, laughing a little to himself: "not that I need them." There isn't a cure for his heart condition, the weak walls of his ventricles. He doesn't feel tired. It isn't time for him to sleep yet - he doesn't want to be defeated by fatigue. The child, seeing the use in the seeds, takes a few poppies and stores them as well. He is sure there is a concoction he can learn to make with them. They say the Necro Mambas, after all, dabble in magic and potions. Besides, he is more than certain that they look attractive inside his jars.

His ears twitch at the buzzing sound of a bee, swiveling his body to notice the hive of bees nearby. A catacomb of complex shapes, glistening in the rich colour of honey. The bees look angry today. They fly in an agitated motion, a dangerous dance that entrances his perplexed mind. Elijah has an affinity with the bees. They do not strike him with their venom no matter how close he approaches. A mutual respect exists between them between the child is the demidemon of infestation. They protect each other, they are living armour. "What's wrong?" the child calls out, wagging his fluffy tail. His ears twitch innocently for a response but silence blares back him, a suffocating quiet. Inaudible tones embrace the near-immortal boy, overwhelmed by the earth's cold front. To nature, he is yet another pest striving to survive. "I just want a honeycomb for mama. Is that okay?" Since the tavern had burned down, honey was being used for those who worked in and out of the fire. Even the victims had a bit of honey to ease them after having inhaled so much smoke.

"You might hurt yourself if you do that."

Elijah blinks confusedly, a breath ejecting from his lips in surprise. He looks around, eyeing the bushes. His brows furrow intensely, cheeks puffed and brain stretching. He echoes the words in his head, realising that his ears hadn't picked up the voice at all. It was his mind. "Amandi stranger," he begins, raising his wings to allow Rupert to fall to the ground. His nose touches the doll's forehead, curious if it was his mute companion speaking to him for the first time. "The bees won't hurt me." He presses a loving smile. "Non turbetur." Although he is telling the truth, putting full faith in the yellow and black insects, he is internally hoping that the stranger would speak again. But, now that the kitten has stopped moving, he finally begins to notice the stench of blood. He feels his own pulse weaken, his breathing pause in a panicked halt. Elijah, for the past few days, has worked very hard in suppressing the memories. They are a nightmare, a blurred mess that comes and goes. If he lets them in, they will intertwine with the world he wishes to protect and continue creating, building, forming.

The warlock is afraid to follow the smell but his paws move before his thoughts have ordered them to, drawing him closer and closer to the metallic smell. His throat feels dry and, without any further whispers in his head, the boy had begun to move by himself. He weaves through the underbrush, ducking his head to avoid low hanging branches and flickering his sight at the splatter of red against soil. The sanguine melts into the earthen hues of the rainforest's floor. "Salve?" His voice travels across the short range, nervousness lacing his sounds, "...tu vivit?" Elijah, chest thundering, follows the stream of scarlet, the vivid paint that leads him towards the trunk of a tree. A thin, brown tail uncoils in front of him as he tilts his head curiously. A black rat, heavily wounded and bleeding, struggles to breathe. Watery abyssal eyes stare at him in an almost pleading fashion, nostrils flared as its chest rises and falls against the sensation of pain.

Pity fills the boy's tiny vessel and, as if they could read each other's thoughts, he scavenges through the plants he has already. It was as if it were fate drawing him to the rodent's last few moments of life, caught within a rift of emotion. He has seen mama work before, watched the way Junji went about his appliance of herbs and bandages. As his mother was the former soothsayer of the island, Elijah sometimes brought medical supplies with him on his adventures. He liked the feeling of preparedness as he slowly and carefully patches the creature whose eyes were still wide open, watching the way he worked as if it intrigued its very being. With a final tug, the same voice murmurs in his mind: gratias tibi. He flinches, paws sinking beneath the soil as if to stabilise himself. "Were you the kind stranger who spoke to me?" he asks, face glistening with tears, "was it you?"

No response.

His shoulders slump forward, the kitten sitting there without another word as he looks at the creature. It is resting, lying on its side. If Elijah were petty, he would have left it because, like everything else, it made him feel isolated and alone. He wanted a companion but he received none of it. Even when speaking to the other pirates who cheerfully invited his stories of pillaging and slaying dragons, they saw it as 'just a story'. There was nothing real about the world he conceived to be beautiful, nothing real about his stories. To Elijah, it was the same as saying his passions were not real, that his feelings and thoughts were all lies. But if that were truly the case, how was he supposed to live with himself? How could he begin to bear the world as it was? "It's okay, Elijah. As you are here for me, I am here for you." The child merely sniffles, wafting his gaze towards the rodent. As if touching souls, the two creatures understand each other and their purposes. The universe has brought them together, bonded through soul and body, a protection formed by destiny.

Within the next few days, the sight of Elijah became less frequent around Barracuda Bay. But, every time he went outside, one would see the child always be accompanied by a darkfurred rat. It sits atop his head, watching and peeping. Sometimes, however, there would be more than one receiving a free lift. As of today, there are three rodents that ride the winged demidangel, relaxed and feeding on grains found from his tiny plant satchel. Crewmates raise their head to look at him, confused screeches suddenly erupting from a fem's maw when she realises the sea of rodents scurrying behind Elijah. The kitten stops, wriggling his whiskers. "Don't you want to meet my friends?" he inquires aloud but some pirates are already bolting the other direction as the mischief of rats halt around him in a protective circle before relaxing and lounging around him. Paenitet, he apologises to the creatures telepathically, do you think I walked in a scary way?

mobile translation: ShowHide
amandi — loving
non turbetur — do not worry
salve — hello
tu vivit — are you alive
gratias tibi — thank you
paenitet — sorry
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The Rosebloods OOC / Re: useless facts about your character~
« Last post by THE GOLDEN BOY. on Today at 05:49:39 AM »
I LOVE USELESS FACTS

- goldenboy's favorite color actually isnt gold, it's red. gold is a sign of status, power, and wealth - none of which he had as a child, so he absolutely adores it now

- he was EXTREMELY promiscuous as a human, and slept with literally anyone that showed interest in him. as a caracal however he moreso aligns with asexual, unable to feel sexual attraction to anything/anyone in the bobverse because theyre animals

- his cockney accent is pretty light but if he's ever talking to another brit its almost impossible to understand what the fuck he's saying

- one of his favorite snacks is grapes
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The Rosebloods / Open VANITY
« Last post by THE GOLDEN BOY. on Today at 05:43:36 AM »
Well, that had certainly been an adventure.

Releasing captives was not something Goldenboy and the crew did often, and he knew he was likely to be questioned for doing such - Goldenboy could be downright idiotic at times. Although, truthfully, that rarely bled into his line of work. Releasing Titan was far more of a power move than killing him and leaving his body for the others ever could have been. The sun was starting to crest the horizon as Goldenboy returned to the windy deserts of the Rosebloods, having first stopped in the distant forests to wash his paws in a babbling stream. There was no class in leaving bloody footprints (quite literally) the entire way home, or having to deal with the disgusting crust it would leave between his toes. Tawny paws pressed gently into the sands as he returned "home", eyes wandering the dunes to search for Vagabond and Rimmy. Surely those two would be back and cleaned up by now as well, and he wanted to talk to them - as well some of the other natives of the land - about the odd vision he had seen. It surely had to be normal here, right? Abnormalities were the norm, paranormal abilities just a daily aspect of life.

Humming idly to himself and thinking back on the events, Goldenboy continued back to the rainforest shelter in search of some other creature he could strike conversation with.
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Tanglewood / Re: THIS IS ME // Ascendants Ambassador Visit
« Last post by AXLE on Today at 05:43:15 AM »
Rosebloods, Pitt, Sunhaven, so many other groups that inhabited the world yet he'd never heard of the Ascendants. Even if knowledge of which clans lived where would be terribly beneficial, Axle had never bothered seeking it out for he had no intentions of joining a bigger group, even temporarily. Smelling Atbash on the borders therefore brought his mind to mither about the legitimacy of her intentions, being able to pinpoint when a scent belonged to a collective group as opposed to an individual. He approached, honey eyes watching sternly for any signs of aggression or misdemeanor, wondering if he should take better note of the apparent nervousness the other showed. 

This was hard. No amount of greeting joiners and allies could prepare him for 'clan life', everyone was a threat lest they proved otherwise. Sometimes, in the case of the Rosebloods, even a clans supposed friends could turn out to be nothing more than monsters. Had he been a proud creature, an 'I told you so' would've been in order, but with a loss of life stemming from bad interactions with an ally, it felt immoral to focus on himself. "Mm," he grunted, breaking himself out of his unnecessary thoughts as he hoped that'd be enough to prompt Atbash to talk. She'd gotten his attention at least.
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