grow wings and rage + o, visitor

[size=9pt]A lioness collapses at the Ascendant's border at sundown. Her fur lights up gold with the rays of the failing sun, and she lies, trembling, with her maw in the dirt. Her face is painted black, symbols decorating his cheekbones, so clearly having once been flawless in its application, but smeared and messy, now. From her neck is a gash so large and gruesome one would know from a mere glance that there was no saving her, but it's what seeps from it that steals the show; gold and shimmering is her blood as it begins to pool around her, and she stares, facing her last moments with such defiance, towards the Observatory. Because the lioness knows with such certainty that exactly who she's looking for will come bounding through those plains, kicking dust up in the Grim Reaper's face, far before her heart pumps its last beat.

That child always wanted to be a hero.

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ETERNALWAR

SPINOSAURUS

ASCENDANTS

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sadly she's not who the dying broad is expecting - no doubt whomever it is will be along soon enough, they usually are.

Along with a hoard of others - vultures circling a body, eh.

Thumping footfalls trample grass under obsidian and gold inlaid feet - yellow-red eyed glancing up and down the area for any sign but no - no escort for the dying lioness.

The spines queens tops above her, sigh spiralling from reptilian nostrils and eyeing the shimmering blood - not the strangest thing she's ever seen - before it falls to the face "well fuck whatever you ran into sure did a number" she almost whistles lowly at the fact the stranger is still alive - shed ask if she could find whole ever she was looking for (because it was obvious she was given the looks towards the observatory) but thought better of it - she wasn't gonna fuckin speak anything but cough up blood probably.

"well fuck" but no doubt everyone had noticed the giant extinct predator seemingly staring at something if not were already following her out - maybe.

Aw fuck it

"alright sunshine, I'll go wake up the old folks home" she rumbled, shifting on her feet and trampling back her own way belting out a mighty roar "EY WAKE UP! WE GOT A DYING LASS ON THE BORDER"

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[size=9pt]"Here, here," comes the voice of Moon, sucking air in quick breaths between his words. He's all too predictable; at Eternalwar's shout for help, the young lion came speeding through the plains as fast as his injured body would take him. He skids to a halt behind the dragon, and falls down beside the stranger on the ground just as quick. This doesn't look good; he'd only gotten a glance, but the stuttering rise and fall of her of her chest suggests nothing good. Distracted and desperate, Moon pours his bag out on the ground, searches for some cob webs, cloth, anything. He turns her way, and--

Ahkuli. Her face paint, the jagged cut up one side of her lip, how she's got his cheekbones, and his eyes-- He's stared at himself in the mirror wanting to rip the features from his skin too many times; he recognizes her the moment he lays eyes on her. Ahkuli; Princess, Murderer, his mother's right-hand-woman. Shadows pass over her face in the shape of wings, and he should have known. Those vultures follow her everywhere she goes. It's been so long, but that same cold fear crawls up his spine, wraps its claws around his heart. There's images in his brain that flicker to life like they do every night, but here, now, they're so much stronger. He can hear his own sobs, high pitched as a child's are, and he can't breathe. Like a shadow or a wave, her presence takes him in it's grasp and his muscles won't work. His voice won't sound. She lifts a paw to his face, steady, deadly, and she starts to speak. He's frozen.

— TAGS

☽ ☽ ☽

Feyre didn't know why she was here. She was no hero, no healer, nothing but a witch fascinated by the intricacies of death; a living voice for her deceased ancestors. She hated blood, the crimson - or in this case, gold - substance always capable of twisting her stomach into knots. That stench alone should have been enough to drive her away, sending her back to the Observatory to poke around as she usually did. But today was different. Gagging and coughing aside (more of a dramatic presentation, really), she was made fascinated by the scene that expanded before her, lavender eyes gleaming with an undeniable curiosity even in the face of what she surely saw as another's death. Her perception of death was skewed anyways, the gash that decorated Ahkuli not providing her with an end but rather, a beginning.

It was Moonmade that confused her most, head tilting ever so slightly to the left as she regarded him. [color=#3f5351]"Aren't you supposed to... uh... Not lay there?" She inquired bluntly, her words delivered in a far harsher tone than she initially intended. She remained relatively unfazed though, white-mitted paws instead shuffling absently against the grass, a million different ideas dancing in that head of hers. [color=#3f5351]"If I made a fire, would that help? I'm good at fire!" She extended brightly, not knowing how a fire would resolve this predicament but willing to offer her services regardless. In the mind of Feyre, there was always a use for fire.

[size=9pt]She laughs. It's a blubbering, ragged thing, spilling from her mouth with golden blood.

“Ignorant child.” She breathes, and her voice is eerily sweet, even in it's last moments, eyes molten with sick, twisted recognition. “You think you can hide in these mashamba ya kijani. You think they want you, here? The stars are no place for machukizo like you.” Gold on gold, she looks into his eyes. He starts to shake before her, and she wallows in it.

There's others gathered, but she pays no mind to them. She lifts a paw to the side of his face and cups it. He makes no move to pull away, as she'd expected, because this boy was always a coward. t's almost a caress, but then her lips twitch, and they draw back in a snarl. Her breath rushes, hot, over his face, stinking of her last kill. She aches to sink her teeth into his face and make him her next. “Red-blooded fool.” She snarls, and her voice shakes with hot, molten hatred. Her claws unsheathe, and they dig into the skin of his cheek, as if to prove her words. He stays put as his blood turns her paw red, trails down her arm so slowly. There's a whimper that sounds from his throat, and she hushes him and watches, sees the confusion there, and it's then that she sucks in a wet gasp, golden fangs exposed in a grin. She's made a discovery, and she's delighted, giddy with it. "Oh. He does not know."

She balls her last drop of strength up tight in her chest, and draws his face in close. “Malkia lives.”, is what she finally whispers, and it's with that that she draws her paw back and rakes her claws through his face. His blood splatters across cheek. It's the last thing she tastes.

— TAGS

[size=9pt]All he can feel is blood pouring from the side of his face. It's strange-- He never knew he would feel that, that the physical drips, spilling down his neck. It didn't make sense that that was something he'd be so aware of, with the wound so fresh. But he is. His cheek is wet with it, and the blood seeps against his eye, turning the vision blurry. But everything is blurry; he's watching the lioness before him choke on her own blood, thrashing violently as he sinks his own claws into the gash in her throat and digs, deep into the flesh. There's a stomach-turning gargling noise, a high pitched whine, but it's over before he knows what he's done.

The lioness goes limp, and he stumbles backwards, paws dripping in gold. His own crimson pours to the ground, mixes with Ahkuli's to form a pink, of sorts, and his breathing is ragged and messy. He's aware, somewhat, of those around him, but he can lift his eyes and spare them a glance before the shadows that soared above them suddenly hail down and all hell breaks loose.

The birds dive for any flesh they can get their talons on. Vultures are supposed to be scavengers, he swears-- but he supposes it wouldn't be like Ahkuli to surround herself with anything other than the finest predators.

(to clear things up cos Some of Y'all Can't Read; he's got his cheek mostly ripped off and killed ahkuli and now the vulturs are trying to kill everyone. thanks for reading my way too dramatic, badly written thread tune in next time)

— TAGS

☽ ☽ ☽

Feyre hardly had time to react before the vultures descended upon them, eyes stretching wide as a new emotion - fear - threatened to consume her. She was rooted in place for a few, brief seconds, unable to comprehend what had just transpired or the assault that had followed the death of the gold-blooded lioness, ears pinning against her skull as a particularly nasty bird flew too close to her. You were blessed with fire, Feyre darling... Use it. The voice was unlike any she had heard before, motherly and warm and perhaps how she imagined Emilia's to sound if she could recall anything of her mother save her face. Was it her mother? Or some other entity? She supposed she didn't have time to ponder the complexities of the disembodied voice, not when talons were threatening to to dig into her back. So she did what any smart witch did- she heeded its advice.

[color=#3f5351]"Phasmatos Incendia!" She cried out, practically shaking as flames surrounded her, hopefully catching any of the godforsaken birds who were stupid enough to get too close. She had never generated anything more than a some quick-spreading embers though, and admittedly, Feyre felt weak on her feet as she stretched herself to her capabilities. But her own limits didn't matter she believed, not when she was suddenly acutely aware of some innate desire to protect Moonmade. It made her feel the same way that that voice did, which was strange, but the witch knew she had no time to think about that.

She was unaware of the blood that trickled from her nose as she stepped forward, revolved by the crimson that stained the injured side of Moon's face but unable to stay away. She needed to help him. She, for some reason, felt as if she'd hate herself if she didn't. [color=#3f5351]"You..." Feyre panted out, pausing to catch her breath. She was not used to exerting herself in that manner- she felt like she was dying. [color=#3f5351]"You okay?" She didn't know if there were any birds left nor did she particularly care. She didn't have it in her to conjure anymore fire, she'd surely pass out if she did.

[size=9pt]A flurry of dark wings, shadows passing over his face and obscuring his vision. A debilitating panic that took hold of him and refused to let him go, avian screeches and his mothers voice, her voice, her voice-- but then it was over. As quick as it had started. A blast of heat reared up against his fur and for a moment he though, this is death. But when he opened his eyes, everything returned. He wished it didn't.

The vultures have taken off, and once they're gone, he spends too long, standing, watching the corpse before him. The pool of blood grows as the seconds tick by, gaining on him until it swamps around his paws again. He doesn't move, this time. Instead, he flexes his claws in the shimmering mess, feels it seep between the cracks in his pads, and only looks up when a voice manage to break through whatever haze he'd been in.

Bleary-eyed, he looks at Fey, and it takes his vision a moment too long to focus. He's sucking in breaths frantically and the thump of his heart is all he can hear, but he forces himself to say something. "T-that was you?" comes his voice, raspy. His cheek sets on fire with pain and he's trembling but he doesn't seem to realize; instead, he stares at the child before him, watches the blood drip down her nose until his eyes go dry and he has to blink. "Are you okay?" Says Moon, with his trademark ignorance to his own state. He seemingly hasn't registered her question, golden gaze that was usually so keen and lively, distant and spaced-out, now.

— TAGS

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BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS

BY THE GRACE OF THE FIRE AND THE FLAMES

The call of death pulled at him idly, latched onto his heels and gnawed away until he finally found himself on the border, stepping towards them as if coming out of a dream. The shock and pain and numbness, a flurry of emotions; it washed over him in quiet waves, lapping at his insides, tried to fool the boy into thinking they were his own, but Bastille caught himself and remembered to shut down the empathy as he stared at the foreign body, the sticky, golden blood. He felt transfixed, locked in place looking at her, but the second he tuned the others' emotions out he realized it was not he who was frozen in place — Moon.

Bastille's gaze snapped up, stare frosty as it raked over Moon, and he scowled. His aura was fucked, his emotions clearly rocked, and he looked between the lion and Feyre before he exhaled, noisily. [b]"We need to get that looked at," he said, voice tight with displeasure as he eyed the cut down his cheek. The insistent voice telling him that everyone was dying and would continue to do so murmured down his spine and he ignored it, casting a disdainful look at their new corpse. "We'll burn it." It. Worthless, nothing, no longer anything more that an object to him, having dropped to such a status by attacking his people. Bastille did not honor the dead who did not deserve it.

[B]ASTRAL SERAPH — THE ASCENDANTS — [color=#e2e2e2]TAGS — [color=#e2e2e2]MOODBOARD — [color=#e2e2e2]PLAYLIST