scarlet letters [] open, joining/resurrection

[CORRUPTTIMELINES]

A dawning light had encased his vision. Suddenly, a shiver was sent down his spine, and then darkness. An eerily black pit swallowed what was nine feet of pure muscle. With that, the divine ones would collapse him unto this Earth, limbs sprawled and wings tucked neatly into a body of orange and blue hues. Slowly, he drifts awake, his piercing vision falling upon The Typhoon's lands. Gentle coughs expel the dust from his lungs as he breaths, huffing up a storm out of sheer pain. Then, he is here. He is alive, and by gods is he confused. The wyvern tried his hardest to remember where he was, all to no avail. Then, more reality had set in.

He didn't even truly know who he was anymore.

Slowly, large feet dug into soil, an arch of his spine propelling him to balance. His gaze traversed the land, taking it in with shallow breaths as the day dawned upon his scales. Sighing, he would await someone to address him in his stupor, and hopefully offer insight as to what was happening around him.

code by spacexual

[riftweaver]

[align=center]

RIFTWEAVER

---

[div style="background-color:#BG COLOR;width:90%; overflow: stretch;text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt;"]
Riftweaver could sympathize. Or maybe it was empathize. Either way, he knew what it was like to not really know himself. His memories were all fuzzy, barely a glimpse of his past available to him through the faint cracks in the walls of his mind. The male made his way over, two toned eyes flicking over the joiner. "Hello. You are...?" Perhaps not the nicest of greetings, but Rift was exhausted. His mother was captured, his family and clan a wreck, his mind a torrent of anger and frustration, among other things. He simply did not have the energy for a proper greeting.


-

[W]isker

[CORRUPTTIMELINES]

Piercing eyes trail down at the echo of a voice. Their greeting comes across less than pleasant, and provoked a certain thought from his time in the land of before. Nevertheless, the wyvern appears strangely tame. His eyes, glimmering with an urge to provide disrespect in return, lock upon the current member. Internally, he wondered of their significance. A soft huff passes tender lips, bringing himself to adjust the scarf unknowingly draped around his large neck. A stature of nine feet, sprawled each way, would curl simply to get a better look at this stranger to provide a reply. “Corrupttimelines. Where is this?”

code by spacexual

[riftweaver]

[align=center]

RIFTWEAVER

---

[div style="background-color:#BG COLOR;width:90%; overflow: stretch;text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt;"]
An interesting name, certainly, for an even more interesting person. Riftweaver tilted his head, flicking his tail as he considered whether to tell the truth or lie. Finally, the male would shake out his mane of leaves, offering a small, seemingly forced smile. "I'm Riftweaver Roux. You're in The Palm Glades." he replied, his voice gentle, but halting and guarded. He didn't want to give all his trust to the male. After all, he could have very well been a Coalition spy, sent to tear the Glades apart even more than his mother's capture already had.


-

[W]isker

[CORRUPTTIMELINES]

Odd.

This creature struck interest into the heart of the skyscraper disguised with scales. They weren’t like those he knew once before. Though...in his aging and aching bones the memories lie stagnant. He huffed, nodding his head in the direction of the camp drifting behind this stranger. In fact, Cory didn’t even know what to refer to this stranger as. Was he to respect them? To know? He didn’t understand. Nevertheless, the male would perk his head up and let out a snide laugh. Then, he acknowledged the name.

Almost as odd as the person whom uttered it.

“I don’t know how I got here. I don’t remember anything but my name. Any chance you have room for a nine foot dragon?”

code by spacexual

[riftweaver]

[align=center]

RIFTWEAVER

---

[div style="background-color:#BG COLOR;width:90%; overflow: stretch;text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt;"]
The male nodded, scratching at his leaf-adorned mane with his front paw. "We've always got room." he answered, glancing over the dragon once more. "You look starved. I'll show you to the tavern and get you some grub." With that, the male pushed to his paws and began to lead the way, mismatched eyes trained low on the ground as he wove through the territory towards camp. Upon their arrival, Rift would motion to the tavern. "Help yourself. Take as much as you need. Meanwhile, I'm going to go find you a placeto sleep. I'll be back momentarily, and if I'm not then just ask around."


-

[W]isker

[michael t.]

pills don't help, but it sure is funny!  ☆  ☆  ☆

MICHAEL TOWNLEY

THE TYPHOON

DEALER

It really did seem as though they were having more and more amnesiacs washing up on their shores these days, whether it be literally or figuratively. Michael wasn't really sure what the cause of it was, considering he had never had to deal with amnesia, and usually those who did, didn't know what had caused it. However, as long as it seemed as though they weren't violent or some kind of obvious shithead – like someone such as Stryker – then the thief didn't really have a problem with them being let in. He more just felt bad that he didn't know of any way to help them. It wasn't an area that he had any sort of expertise in.

Either way, when Riftweaver came trotting up to the tavern with a new guide in tow, Michael found himself intrigued. The dealer tilted his head to one side, ears perked to listen to what Rift was saying. It soon became obvious that the other was joining – or at the very least staying temporarily – which meant he might as well introduce himself. With a bit of a smirk on his muzzle, the melanistic bobcat got to his paws, gold jewelry glinting in the light as he moved over, "Hey there, new guy. You're one of the bigger newcomers I've seen in a while... my name is Michael Townley-Phillips. I'm a dealer here in The Typhoon, which is one of the assistant deputy type positions. So, if you've got any questions... I suppose I can try helping out." It was debatable whether or not he'd be able to answer every question that Corrupttimelines would have, but he would still offer. Answering questions was part of his job as dealer, after all.

☆  ☆  ☆  gimme, gimme some of that vampire money, come on!

— Reggan

[CORRUPTTIMELINES]

A hasty breath passed his lips, his lumbering body squelching the ground beneath him. All nine feet of the wyvern traversed the murky lands, his eyes daunting to investigate this person. They were foreign to him, a complacent one as well. Rift’s hues stood out, not much less like his own. A small sniff passed a large snout, and the dragon wandered. Then, the tavern came into view. His escort uttered a couple words about him being starved, and Cory sure felt it. Wandering closer, he began to feast, his eyes trailing slowly to the mangled meal beneath him.

Another.

Michael appeared, introducing himself without a second thought in the dragon’s eyes. Typically, people cowered away from him. It was odd to see someone not. Sniffing softly, he nodded to the former.  “Corrupttimelines...Cory if I like you enough.”

code by spacexual