[div style="margin-bottom: 4px; height: auto; font-family: baskerville; font-size: 26px; letter-spacing: 3px; text-align: center; text-transform: uppercase; color: black;"]OH LORD, DON'T LET ME
BE MISUNDERSTOOD

ACTIONS | "SPEAKING" | THINKING | TELEPATHY

Ever since he returned to Tanglewood, the demon was on edge. He wasn't sure why he was surprised — leaving the mainland for work in a secluded location meant that he would be out of the loop. But damn, things really went downhill. In his lack of knowledge on the situation, he worried for Tanglewood. What was going to happen next? Would he stay on the island and watch over the farm's progress, or was it time to get back home and take up arms in this whole Typhoon nonsense?

It was a question he would leave for Aesior. Zjarr hoped to meet with the Luminary soon. Maybe he would have the time tomorrow. For now, it was time to rest up and gather the strength to push forward.

The task of soothing his agitated mind proved to be much more difficult than he thought it would be. The medic he visited had given him some treatment for some of his open wounds, the cuts and burns that would fade away soon enough, though their stinging brought even him to a wince at times. I'm rusty. I am. The care plan was working as intended, but his mind wandered nonetheless, riddled with questions and concerns. Zjarr couldn't sleep in these conditions. The husky threw open the bedroom door and wandered into the exposed space of the rest of his old cottage in the town. The bottle of rum, collected from a previous Typhoon visit as he last recalled, sat on a wooden cabinet with the rest of his liquor collecting dust. It was a decent height up from the floor, partially to ensure that the pups couldn't reach and partially to make alcohol less easily accessible to him. He needed to wean himself off the poison, but perhaps there were nights where he could make exceptions.

He pushed himself up onto the counter, taking the rum into his jaws and leaping back down. For a beat, he stopped to spit out the dust that accumulated on the bottle and entered his mouth, wiping the glass down before he picked it back up once more. The bottle had a little over half of its contents left. It would be more than enough for himself.

Anxious paws led Zjarr out of his cottage and beyond the boundaries of the town, eager for a less confining change in scenery. Each step shot burning fire through his muscles, up to his shoulder and across his back, making him grit his teeth against the bottle. He followed an expansive tributary river as it opened up to a great delta, with the ocean in clear sight. The air was thinner here and void of much of the humidity that plagued the town of Tanglewood's swampy domain. It was easier to breathe. His paws made contact with the wood that made up the shore's docks, some planks old and some newer from recent repairs. This would be a wonderful place for swimming. Not that he planned on swimming.

With the moon as his witness, Zjarr unscrewed the bottle and let the sweet, strong liquid trickle past his lips and down his throat, burning it as it traveled. He never loved rum, but he would accept it as an okay alternative to something better. It was a cute cop in the Typhoon (buying rum from pirates? yes sir!). Whiskey, though, would forever be his first and only love.

It was his first drink in far too long, and he hardly felt the transition between lucidity and madness. It came quickly, heavyweight as he was, but he still held onto the ounce of sobriety he had left. He hadn't gone fully mad yet, nor did he intend to. He just wanted to stop hurting, stop wondering, stop caring.

The stings faded into a deep soreness that only occasionally made its presence known, and Zjarr exhaled a deep sigh of relief. What a night.

[div style="margin-bottom: 4px; height: auto; font-family: baskerville; font-size: 26px; letter-spacing: 3px; text-align: center; text-transform: uppercase; color: black;"]OH LORD, DON'T LET ME
BE MISUNDERSTOOD

ACTIONS | "SPEAKING" | THINKING | TELEPATHY

// taking place before aesior is MIA

Zjarr had finished licking his wounds after the Typhoon's unexpected raid. He didn't exit the fight without his fair share of injuries, though he determined that none of them were serious enough to render him out of commission for too long. His muscles screamed as he moved, and he felt lethargic from tapping into much of his magical energy. His body wanted to slump down in its place and rest for ages, but his mind was wide awake.

The demon came home to an overwhelming number of questions, starting with the elephant in the room — why would the Typhoon do this in the first place? What had happened between the two clans while he was on the island? He needed time to get caught back up to speed on the mainland affairs. In the meantime, though, he could offer some better news for Aesior.

After a visit to a medic, Zjarr had spent the night in his old cottage in the Tanglewood town. Dust collected on the shelves from lack of use and cleaning, and the trinkets he had set out months ago still remained in their place, perfectly sound. Bottles of liquor sat where they always were, with a glass sitting out next to them. He drank that night, though he was too tired to push his limits as he often did. He only needed enough to get his mind off the pain that shot through his body when he moved, just enough to aid his slumber. Once in a while, he caught himself casting a glance in the room where his children once slept. Their makeshift beds were there still, empty and unmade. No one had been in the room in months. They grew up. They don't gotta stay if they don't wanna.

The resources he brought back from the island were delivered to his cottage, sitting down in the center of the house in a stack. It wasn't everything they harvested from the island; the haul merely served as a taste of what the new land could offer, but it would do for now.

When the sun made its way through the windows of the cottage, Zjarr stirred himself awake and pushed through the door, maneuvering himself to where he remembered Aesior making his residence in. He held his breath for a beat as he stood at the entrance. Would he even be here? He hadn't paid much attention to the Luminary during the battle and wasn't certain about his physical state afterwards. Regardless, it was worth a shot. If he wasn't here, he'd just go out looking for the feline. "Aes. Let's chat, if yer up for it."

Here he was again. Another year passed by, another year spent away from the people he'd lost. Another year of living and grieving. Weren't birthdays supposed to be some kind of celebration Some kind of event to enjoy? The morning had found him waking up alone in his home again, the whispers of ghosts in his ears, ghostly feelings accompanying him all morning. He'd gone about making himself a fresh hot cup of tea and had taken it outside of his house, to the planter pots he owned with plants beginning to grow in them. Watching over his seedlings, the gray tom had sat in relative silence before the sun had come up, the chill in the air making his breath mist around his face and steam rise from his mug of tea. Eyes half-closed as the sun began to climb the sky, it's rays slowly illuminating drifts of fog and moisture rolling through Tanglewood's village, his only working eye spotting the shapes of ghosts among the rays of sunshine. His breath barely stirred the air around him, watching with a removed sadness to him as the ghosts went about their business, their hazy forms and shapes moving about slowly, unaware of the tears that had built in his eye. He didn't need to look to know who sat beside him, who played at the bottom of the steps to his house. He'd known them well in life, those he had called family, the partner he'd loved and the children he had raised until they were taken from him by life. He could feel the ghostly press of fur and hear the faint whispers of laughter, his head bowed as he fought between reality and his memories, the two meshing all too well. He dared not open his eyes because he knew if he saw them again, he would be destroyed.

Inhaling now as bird song reached his ears, the feelings drifting away as the sun bore through the mist and fog, warming his fur slowly. He didn't know how long he sat there, reminiscing years past, birthdays past. Lifting his head now, knowing that the ghosts wouldn't be close enough to touch him and taking some solace in that. Gazing out over the sleepy village he curled his tail and got to his paws, stretching his back upwards with a soft groan. Drinking the last of his tea, he turned to head inside his home, mug in mouth. Pushing the door open, he drifted indoors and breathed out, letting the door remain open for some air circulation. Walking over to the wall, he set the mug down by his other few dishes of assortment to be washed at a later time, turning to the chest he owned. Brushing dust from the top with a paw, he opened it with a bit of a labored push of paws, listening to the creak of it's old hinges. Peering inside, his heart beginning to beat in his throat. Corrupttimelines ... where are you now? Where have you gone?, he found himself asking into the silence, his throat unable to form the words he wanted to say. Where had the other gone, so soon after returning?

Taking out a carefully wrapped package in beeswax covered fabric, he would set it down on one of the pillows he slept with. Paws carefully unwrapped the protective covering, his ears drooping with his whiskers as he trembled with tension. Taking a breath, he finished unwrapping a beautiful necklace, it's silver face catching sunlight spilling in from the door. He'd received this last year, from the one that he wondered about. The one who had managed to convince him without a single word that his broken heart could heal and feel once again. The one who had left him and everyone else behind. The one who was missing, the one who he feared would never return again. Had he been too cold in his pain when he'd returned? He had not remembered the other, too destroyed by the confusion wrought of fighting for his soul. For his life. Breath shuddering in his lungs, he would pick up the necklace that held the emblem of the world tree and slip it over his head, shocked by the chill of the metal against the scar tissue on his throat.

Pressing a paw to the metal with a quiet breath, ears flattening as he heard a voice, "Corrupttimelines left you, Aesior. Why do you hold onto this belonging? You've been left behind once again, there's no need to continue on like this. You can let it go. Let them all go."
No. I can't do that. I'd never be able to forgive myself if I did that. I can't let them go, any of them. They're all alive and precious in their own way. He can leave me as much as he wants, I will always wait for him. For all of them. he thought in answer to the voice only he could hear. Shaking his head, he got to his paws again and looked back out his front door. Closing his eyes to half lid and holding the necklace in his paw close to his chest he walked towards the open door. Stepping outside, the peace that more or less surrounded the sleepy village was shattered by the hair raising sound of a war cry, the tom's fur standing on end in surprise and apprehension as he saw bodies begin to flood into the camp of Tanglewood. His paws brought him flying out the door, tail raised high over his back and bushed out, jaws spread to warn his people, a broken throat unable to speak keeping him from it. The sound of a snarl and the creak of wooden boards took his attention as motion blurred at the side of his vision, an assailant on his porch. Turning to face his attacker with a silent snarl the scarred male felt his claws sink into wood as he attempted to throw himself towards his assailant, gray eye glowing a violent bright blue.

please wait for [member=16992]SHERBET[/member] to post! //
and we're gonna pretend i posted this yesterday aa ///

FEEL THE THUNDER START TO CALL
[ speech ] | [ american lion ] | [ appearance ]

ONLY SCARS REMAIN OF WHO I WAS!

Her steely black fur rippled with each movement, spotted with violet cheetah markings, fading into tiger stripes on her legs. Her most recent addition to the arsenal or forms she possessed. A great black tigress, contrasting the wicked lion.

As she halted at the border, Byriath drove into her thoughts as pink eyes washed over the land. Was Solsken alive? What of the Luminary? She knew that she would have to mentionca new threat to all groups, but what else could she do?

Her voice was deep and rich with anguish as she spoke, glowing tongue peeking through pearly white teeth. "Byriath of The Coalition, coming for a much needed Ambassador visit."

BYRIATH-COALITION-FALLEN GOD OF VIOLENCE, CRUELTY, AND MALICE

IT'S NOT TOO LATE
IT'S NEVER TOO LATE!

Seven had immediately taken to helping Ares, providing food, water, and some medical treatment for the now-growing problem of Ares picking at her wing feathers. Lavender and some balm to ease the itchiness of the sites. And after some very stern looks from the Regent, Ares had settled for sticking around her house.

The deinonychus, once so terrifying to her, had become her usual vessel. As painful as it was to think about, it was the only body she was comfortable around, the one that her beloved had seen past. She saw what Ares was capable of and continued to stay. But even that wasn't forever. The beast held back hiccups as she lay against Seven's porch, ragged wings falling to her sides as she rested her head in the dirt. Her eyes had shut to hold back tears, and couldn't see anyone approach her.

The serval hummed to herself, carrying a bag of items around town trying to find a quiet, safe place to make it. And after moments of scouring, she found just the right place -- next to Lucinder's house. It was almost as if by coincidence, or by fate. Maybe her mother would give her blessing. As she started to lay out the bones, sticks, and herbs, her mind wandered.

-----------------------------------

[i]"Mama, what are we?" the child asked, looking up at the serval. Her bright red fur contrasted that of the muted tones of her daughter, but their green eyes were the same. Gods, she told the little one. They were gods. "Does that mean I can shapeshift?" Not yet, but time would tell. There was always time. "Oh... well, I wanna grow up now! I wanna change forms!" In time, little Red. In time.

------------------------------------

"Alec, what's become of us?" He didn't know, but responded anyway. We've become powerful. "Oh. No, we've always been powerful. What are we?" The dark jackal was in thought. Lovers. The two were lovers. "Ah, you're right. I love you, Alec." I love you too, Red.

----------------------------

By the time she had come to her senses, the altar was finished. Three bones creating a teepee shape, with a skull under them and herbs wrapped around sticks, placed along the ground in an almost circular shape. She stared at it, her green eye awash with sadness. "Hopefully it suffices." She muttered. In time, little Red. In time.

IT'S NOT TOO LATE
IT'S NEVER TOO LATE!

The beast was lost. So incredibly lost. Drifting around like some sad feather in a lonely wind. The deinonychus, tired and mourning, found herself at the border of the swamp, caring so incredibly little about it all.

Ares snorted, skinny body on the verge of collapse as she heard noises from further within the swamp. She simply looked away, a sad groan leaving her.