Procession
Age: Wolf: 21 :: BPS: 33Species: Canus
Gender: MaleSpiritual Rank: Liason
Posts: 50 Stones: 1,084.25❂ Played by: Lashes
He Spoke to Me in Madness and I understood His Reason
#7

Lunaria Wilds :: South-East :: Pyre :: Waxing Moon
 

Heart-racing drama.  
It was a strange duality of duration: time slowed so each action and reaction could be savored by his starving senses, yet all her symptoms increased with a furocity that was shocking and intriguing.  The wolf could not help but feel there was an additional variable to the equation not present in the prior three he'd witnessed - not including his own experience, which could not be entirely trusted if one was to consider the toll of his dilirium on his memory.  Once again he recalled the sensations from their earlier location, the sense of influx, an inhalation of magicka. Certaintly this seed could no longer be ignored and roots sprouted to bury further in his attentive conscious.

You... A bell of clarity. His flesh tingled thrill. She writhed away from him as he dipped his maw closer, wet nose huffing the moisture of her pants.

A gasp heaved.  Cells split. The blind wolf jerked backward.  Ears pinned to his skull, grinning with mad delight as he crouched below the bellow of her agonized howl.  The symphonic desperation of transformation.  A phase of conjunction.. he mused, frozen by awe.  His proximity allowed every savage shred of sinew and twist of tendon to be heard.  Bone grew - from matter already present, or altogether new? - and morphed her quadraped frame to sustain an upright balance.  She shrunk, the sense of her space falling to the earth, so even his crouch mantained height.  

Truly, in little time the harrowing event completed.  Sweat a sheen on her skin, a scent enhancer Jackal appreciated.  Her flavour laced the air, bathed his nose and tongue.  Muscles trembled to sustain her new weight.  Hands and knees pressed into soil, close enough for Jackal to use his element to grasp physical dimension.  Vibration feeding up his paw-pads, an electric current attached to the neon strings of shape on black space.  Crimson sketch of slender fingers, spiraling up cut arms - knees, shins, ten toes and curved heels.  

Contact caught him unprepared.  Fingers curled into his ruff and bore pressure of shifting weight.  Heat swarmed his shoulder, so her palm felt his furnace.  Yet her strength could not sustain.  Ysabeaux slid back to soft layers of forest floor.  He smiled, following the track of her motion with minor twitches of shepherd ears. I remember... Brush of fingers through hair follicules. Of course it would be you. It's always you.

Jackal laughed.  His bass was a rhythm that caused stone and soil to shiver. He folded legs to curl around her, leaning his ribcage into her smooth back. Of course it would be me. He echoed, delighted.  He could only linger in these steaming moments before necessity would drive him to source her water, substance. For now, he lavished lying in the quake of her evolution.

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

Ysabeaux * Voice of Self * The Motion of My Lantern

@Ysabeaux

Jackal possesses the Unicorn's Tear. He is able to heal any wound but his own.
Reply
Age: IV Wolf | XXV BipedSpecies: Canine
Gender: FemaleSpiritual Rank: Conceiver
Posts: 11 Stones: 113❂ Played by: Ally
Travel I, in dreams, when the material world should weigh me down I fly, unburdened by the suffocating chains of reality.
#8




The dousing of her own internal flames allowed the woman to feel the wolf’s heat like a blanket of cashmere against her naked skin, a striking counterpart to the coolness of the earth beneath her. Jackal’s low chuckle vibrated all the way down to her newly-minted bones, his echo of her words a much sweeter caress in her ears than her harsh croak. Silently Ysabeaux thanked him for the steady comfort at her back, though she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it aloud. He may not have caused this change directly, but his presence upon this island of crossroads and clandestine meetings had certainly propelled her forward. She didn’t know whether to curse him, or laugh, or cry.

For long moments she did none of those things and simply laid there, as recollections continued to trickle in after the initial onslaught. Ysabeaux continued to hide her eyes, steadying her breaths, and cataloguing her new/old body. Shape-changing had not been something alien to her in her previous life, yet this was...different. This was more than a change of form, this was a change of mind, a consciousness yanked forward through time and dimension to clash and meld with the self of now. She was different.

Soil painted her body in mocking imitation of her wolf’s calico fur. Gradually the woman lowered her hands, blinking in the sunlight stabbing through the forest canopy, pupils contracting to tiny pinpricks and leaving pools of chestnut and emerald to spark against the light. Slowly she raised herself off the ground, every fiber of her body wrung of its strength from the violence of the first change. There was no pain; even that sensation had been spent. She continued to brace against Jackal’s indigo-sheathed back, tucking her knees up to her chest and resting her chin upon them. As her eyes adjusted she studied the slim dexterity of her hand, the gentle crescent of human fingernails, and her mouth twitched into a faint smile. A mild throb still beat a tattoo inside her skull but compared to the previous minutes it was nothing.

With some trepidation towards the wolf at her side, Ysabeaux reached out, and gently laid that hand upon the Vagabond’s shoulder. The sensitivity of her finger-pads was something she had nearly forgotten. Corded strands of rough silk slid under her hand, and she regarded the novelty of the sensation with a mixture of wonderment and apprehension. It was a similar fascination that had begun this merry game of cat and mouse so many eons ago. A tiny pinprick of pain flared when her cut finger slid across the grain of the indigo fur, and she jerked her hand back with a soft hiss through her teeth. 

The sudden movement swamped her with a wave of dizziness to accompany the faint throbbing, and she swallowed past the roughness in her throat. “Water?” she rasped, then coughed. As the paroxysm subsided her gaze fell upon the daggers, and she ran her tongue unconsciously across her teeth--all still present--the sensation of having them ripped from her skull by the change a mere leftover of an old shaman's 'gift.’ The smile she wore twisted into something with more wryness. This human version of herself had been thrust back into the world so completely that even old habits, old tics like the one she had just performed without conscious awareness, were lodged firmly in her psyche. Her eyes drifted to the Lantern. Perhaps even old obsessions…? She quickly looked away, licking her lips.   “Please.”






@Jackal

Reply
Age: Wolf: 21 :: BPS: 33Species: Canus
Gender: MaleSpiritual Rank: Liason
Posts: 50 Stones: 1,084.25❂ Played by: Lashes
He Spoke to Me in Madness and I understood His Reason
#9


THE ANCIENT GREEK
μαντείο



Water.  A pant, a plea, a soft coo against his cheek. Crisp apple and cinnamon spiced his nostrils. The wolf smiled, purple tongue trailing his lips with a gloss of saliva.  Please.  Added she the formality and a chuckle more felt than heard rumbled through his chest. Carefully the wolf detached himself from her body heat and left her side without a word. He left his Lantern to remain as Ysa's warmth and company while the blind wolf scouted forward.  Focus brought the chime of slowing water to his honed ears.  Flaring notrils confirmed this source,paws already creating a steady path to the brook.  The tip of his nose touched flowing water with satisfaction.

Jackal returned to her, flashing fangs in another grin.  'Come, let us stretch your new legs.'  He said, then took beloved iron in maw.  Offering a shoulder for her to lean on, he guided her to his find in slow and certain steps.  Algea and moss enticed him to an embankement, where he eased his sore throat.  Paws sunk into cool mud. Pleasure rippled through him.  Without further consideration, Jackal laid down, so the stream ran under his armpit and across his braod chest.  He sank into mud and moss with a sigh and roll of his shoulders.

 When there is opportunity we will acquire substance for you; however, I suggest our pace resume as soon as you are able.  I have no estimation for duration to our destination.  Another chuckle growled from his throat.  I would not wish for you to suffer from exposure.

 -----

 




Coding © to Lashes




@Ysabeaux

Jackal possesses the Unicorn's Tear. He is able to heal any wound but his own.
Reply
Age: IV Wolf | XXV BipedSpecies: Canine
Gender: FemaleSpiritual Rank: Conceiver
Posts: 11 Stones: 113❂ Played by: Ally
Travel I, in dreams, when the material world should weigh me down I fly, unburdened by the suffocating chains of reality.
#10




Did he deliberately taunt and test her? Ysabeaux had to wonder as he slipped away, twilight pelt blending quickly with the dimness of the canopied forest. She watched him go for only moments, before her bi-colored gaze was dragged inexorably back towards the Lantern’s flickering light. She watched the metal-caged flame with pursed lips, her slender fingers twitching unconsciously at her side, but it was a testament to how much she had changed that instead of reaching out to snatch the iron handle, to spirit away with her prize that she dug those human digits into the rich soil instead.


The coolness of the earth against her flesh was grounding, and by the time the indigo wolf returned she was settled, her breathing steady although the air still scraped at the parched rawness in her throat left behind by the fever. Jackal's deep voice against her ears was another kind of roughness entirely, not unpleasant, as his suggestion reached her. Before she could rise to follow him however, another tug of magic called to her, the cool whisper of steel too insistent to be ignored. Her own inanimate companions, the four narrow knives in their black leather sheaths lying so innocuously on the ground begged not to be left behind as she had tried so hard to leave the rest of this human existence.


Fumbling she picked them up, feeling a disjointed awkwardness combined with familiarity as she buckled the straps in place around her forearms. Her fingers did seem quite convinced on how to work properly yet. The knives, meant for throwing, were small and slim enough to fit two to a sheath, and each pair rested easily with their hilts near the heels of her palms, able to be called into her hand with a flick of her wrist. It was that and nothing more that clad her in this new world, and it was small comfort compared to the protection of fur, fang, and claw. With that thought to dust her cheeks with faint traces of color she did finally rise at Jackal’s bidding, the legs to which he referred a bit unsteady at first but growing more comfortable with every step as he led her back towards the small forest stream. As he broke the contact of his shoulder under her hands to quench his own thirst the new-made woman sank gratefully to her knees, cupping her hands beneath the surface and bringing the crisp, cold water to her lips. She drank with the greed of one dying from dehydration but stopped short of making herself sick once again. The rest she splashed upon her face before running her fingers through the loose, calico curls of her hair. The length was much as it had been upon their last, most fatal encounter--longer than the first time they had met but only enough to kiss her shoulderblades. She looked down upon herself, streaked with dirt and other things so that she looked more like a forest nymph than a human woman. Her mouth twisted into a wry smile again. 

“Food is all well and good,” she agreed, not missing his deliberate jibe, “But either I must know how to change back, or find some other protection for this body.” She knew, despite the milky film over the wolf’s eyes, that he did not miss much, though modesty was not something that particularly bothered her. She did wonder--had Jackal’s human form been clothed? The mind of the painted wolf hadn’t considered such of any importance, and the haze of fevered delirium was not recalling enough of the memory to be sure, “Is that even possible here? Or must I skin a beast and wear its fur?” Too bad that old shaman woman had not seen fit to transform her fur to garb...a fat lot of good her fangs would do if she succumbed to the wrath of the elements.





@Jackal

Reply


Forum Jump:


Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)