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Luciferr · 07-29-2020, 10:22 AM

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[tw: for gore I guess jic]

One could only subsist off of the meagre pickings their territory offered for so long, which is why night found the elder brother of the swordbearer out far past where their territory was, past the barren landscapes towards the mountains that ringed one side of the neutral territories towards where one of the ‘larger’ clans resided.

On silent claws did he approach, like a wraith - his scent dampened by the mire of their caverns, unrecognisable to those who had yet to meet any of the Sect - across the borderline of this ‘elysium’.

He almost scoffed at the name - name yourself the paradise after death? How fanciful to believe they could be so.

But if they wished to provoke the spectre of that final end - then Corvannis was all to happy to don the reaper’s cloak.

The mutant - barely recognisable as a leopard - creature ghosted through the territory, searching, hunting - the razor knife edge of his hunger enough to spur him on but never enough to weaken him (he wouldn’t allow it, the disadvantages too great despite what Chesha and their lords had said - hunger of the body was a weakness, but hunger of the mind? That had its merits at least to him)

His musings were interrupted as finally his quarry wandered into view - a night’s patrol of one,

My, my, how arrogant to only have singular sentries patrolling - did they think themselves safe? with the Pitt declawed (though rumour spoke they’d found their fangs again) and now the cardinal making movements like the slow turn of the worm in earth - they should know better than to be complacent.

Well, he would have to be the teacher it seemed.

The wolf he’d set his many eyes on turned, unheeding of the danger to follow back along their patrol routes - and the dark nightly lit shrubbery was the last thing she ever beheld as something collided with her - and then, nothing.

Mandibles and blue teeth sank deep into his quarry’s neck, a loud crunch that ended it all for the wolf in his maw and Corvannis smiles around the blood welling up, the strange leopard gorging on the red liquid as he dropped the still warm corpse to his feet.

He would have roughly half an hour before another patrol crossed this route - he’d been meticulous in watching their routes after all, he did so despise mistakes.

Crouching over the Corpse, he began the meticulous stripping of skin and fur from flesh - something useful he’d be taking back with him - and tearing the claws, lower jaws teeth and skull from his quarry, bundling the items up carefully to take back with him.

It didn’t take long - long used to this routine - but now he turned back to the fleshy carcass and started slicing open the wolf - taking care to remove the unwanted pieces and intestines before starting the feast - devouring the heart, lungs and kidneys, the blood painting his muted carapace in bloody hues as more of the juicy nutritious organs were stripped of the flesh before the beast even began on the flesh ensconcing the skeleton of the wolf.

The corpse was left half desiccated, flesh barely on most of it but largely the back legs intact with a torn open head and a bare lower jaw left gaping up into the ether.

He would have liked to strip them to the bone - but time was not his ally, he’d allowed enough for his feast and his prizes - but otherwise, he would simply have to mourn the lost opportunity.

Knowing the impending arrival of another patrol - a good 8 minutes away at least, enough to slip away quickly and quietly into the night - Corvannis gathered up his bundle across his back before turning and scampering away into the dark - making sure to take a route that would collide with a river crossing - enough to wash the blood from him and his prizes.

It wouldn’t do to leave an open trail right to their home after all, no it only led to the edges of the neutral territories either way.

And just like that, he was gone - only a severely maimed corpse left behind.

Warringkingdoms · 07-29-2020, 11:32 AM

[font=trebuchet ms]/tw: detailed gore in paragraph 6

It was an uncomfortably warm night for a patrol.

Even considering that it was nighttime, and that their high altitudes mitigated the summer's heat some, the atmosphere felt thick, humid, stifling. Maybe, had she not been plagued by paranoia for this long, she might have suspected that this was an ill omen. As it were, it seemed to be just another dark night, twisted by her mind into something horrifying.

If only it had stayed that way.

The smell of blood, the sound of far-off chomping and chewing and gnashing, the general sense of something being horribly wrong, all collided headfirst with Rin's consciousness. Startled awake, she bolted towards the border, her mind flooding with all manner of worst-case scenarios- worst-case scenarios that, in her experience, were the most likely scenarios. If she didn't get there in time, if she didn't save them, if she couldn't save them-

-she arrived just in time to see a trail of blood, leading in the attacker's direction, away from- from-

The snow leopard hung there, silent, shrouded in white and red- none of it able to hide the viscera, dripping down from shredded, eviscerated flesh, the blood washing over her paws in a red tide, reaching up, strangling the life out of her- the one at fault. Your fault. YOUR FAULT.

She can't even choke out a scream-

-before she detaches once more.

She walks over to the body, left out to rot, barely identifiable. When she has distanced herself from the scene at hand, when some time has gone by and her entire mind can come together again without shattering, she will remember exactly who the wolf was. A proper memorial will be hosted, she knows that much is necessary. For now, however, it's best to bury the fallen wolf before scavengers can come by and feast on the body.

Digging a hole large enough for the wolf, Rin then cautiously lowers the wolf's body into the grave. Scrubbing the blood and gore out of the grass can be attended to later, and in the meantime it will serve as a useful reminder to anyone who comes by this part of the border. Packing a layer of dirt over the wolf slowly, gently even, Rin glances in the direction of the blood trail. It can't have been that long since the attacker left, she figures.

Planting a small stick in the dirt to mark the grave's location and dipping her head, she then starts following the trail of blood. There's a river in this direction, she remembers that much. Hopefully the attacker hasn't already crossed it.

Re-attaching, she knows, can wait.

fulzanin · 07-29-2020, 11:45 AM

CLONY
[ age mover of the oblivions ]

Their sense of smell is awful. They know its awful. They can stand before the wretched stink of a skunk or the rot of a long dead creature, and fail to flinch or complain. Truth be told, a nose was new to Clony, just as ears and tail and claws were. They didn't know how to register scents, and so they failed to bring any concern to them. The stench of blood was a little bit different. They remembered from their home the reek of dead animals by the thousands, churned up through sawblades - themself churned through the unforgiving machines equally. They thought that this new land would be free of death, that they wouldn't have to worry, that there was peace and they could exist for once without fearing for their life.

Then Clony smells blood, and they see what probably was a person at some point, and they see Rin, and the first thing that comes to mind is they really needed some lasers on the border. Something that had no life to give other than the one's it would protect with its presence. They'd been slacking, they were not working fast enough, hard enough. They were failing again and again, just as they'd failed the thousands of animals back home, and the equal amounts of themself that had perished in their efforts. They do not understand death as it is within this world. They cannot grasp it, and can only hope that what they choose to do as a result does not cause for even further turmoil.

Clony flutters down, for once silent. They do not hop or click as they frequently do. Their wings are tucked close, ears lowered, movements stiff and staggered. Loss is not natural to Clony. The survival of one clone had meant that, by all means, Clony had technically won. But there was only one here, one Clony, one of everything around them. There were no clones. This string of thought was uncomfortable, it went against nearly everything that Clony knew. They notice their leader is following the trail, their pearly eyes widening. "Rin, Rin, hey, why're you following the blood line?" Normally Clony's questions are accompanied with some childish tinge. Not now, now they must be serious, and their voice rings with concern, empathy, confusion, fear. "I don't mean to be rude but, but you're kind of smaller than the dead one; whatever killed the wolf might, they might kill you if you follow them," they continue. Offering support is lost to Clony. They are used to loosing thousands of themself in combat, in dangerous terrain. They do not understand these odd feelings, but they would try.

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