Toes
Age: Wolf: 21 :: BPS: 33Species: Canus
Gender: MaleSpiritual Rank: Liason
Posts: 66 Stones: 1,187.25❂ Played by: Lashes
He Spoke to Me in Madness and I understood His Reason
#1

ooc::  This is a solo, liquid time thread.  'Of Mantras on Veins' is the official IC start of Jackal's recorded motions on Xalypsis; this thread pre-dates and is the experience of the Biped Syndrome that drove him to the Temple to seek Essence.

Musics :: Something Heavens : HUVA Network // Ashen : Asbestoscope // Revolution : Uppermost // Orientatons Part III : HUVA Network // Parks on Fire : Trifonic




Code : Tempest ;  Content: Lashes ; WC: 1103
I am the Foundation of my own Annihilation
 
the grasp of my failures
settles in the dust of my throat
melts in the wax of my candle
and seeps red to the earth


DIRECTION

South-east. 
A fail safe, perhaps.  A path etched in his mind, no matter the plane he tread or the environment that accompanied the feel of magneticism in his bones.  It was his affinity for the earth that promoted such sensitivity.  True North held such a vibration to the alloys in stone that he was able, after decades of commited study, to detect the different degrees depending on the cardinal path he tred.  A detail that made him impeccable at his craft, to the bane of some.  Wet tongue cast across his nose, dragging sand grains into his maw upon retreat.  Sunset only just begun to cast voracious reds across a darkening purple sky.  It was the preferred time to travel across a desert, bearing as thick a pelt as he.  The chill was hardly a bother, and the vivid heat from his Lantern retained comfort to his core.  His pace was certain, quicker than expected for a blind beast, though held no rush to his odd lope.

Mantras bubbled in the base of his skull, stewing all other thoughts in juices of personal ideologies.  The same theories that cast him from the graces of his fellows. The blind wolf grinned at the memory, pride a burning comet in his stomach, enhancing the bitterness in his bones.  He could not help his belief, and sought no reason to placate himself with theirs.  Not when such instinct could nary be ignored lest he go mad himself from denial.  He understood the fullness to the Code that guided Vagabonds, comprehended the dark truths surrounding mantras of good the Lanterns represented.

Tongue rasped Lantern handle.  Yes, he understood their purposes better than the others, though not without his attempts at teaching.  Why would he ever wish to undertake this evolution of Vagabond purpose alone? But they did not wish to evolve at all.  They were content enough to exile him from their sights, attempt to dismantle his Lantern, and sentence him to underground recovery.  A rancid laugh fell from his throat. How well that worked, hm dear? Amusement spiraled into Lantern metal.  She creaked laughter in return. 

His comprehension was thus turned upon himself as he continued to travel into the depths of the desert.  This particular journey was for no one but himself.  Jackal was uncertain why, only comprehended the importance by the measure of urge in his system, and the focus that commited him south-east.  Trials of fire, judgements of worth, expanding independence, acheiving measures of clarity...clarity. So they boiled, these thoughts of a druid's brew, and drove him deeper into the Desert of Dissention.

MEMORIES


Perhaps it was the dream that forced such a restless edge to his paws, and caused him to seek a masochistic journey such as this.  They had come for the past four measures of his sleep.  At first they were difficult to comprehend, for the visions were defined by lines of physical sight and caused a turbulent psychosis to his unconscious state.  The second time, he found he was not in the form of his birth, but a creature who rose the length of their spine upon two legs.  He recalled looking, seeing his paws, and they were not what he recalled, yet the digits that faced him felt correct nevertheless.  Upon the third, the vision was transformed back to the modes of his blindness: the structures of lines and shapes were replaced with strokes of color, fading in and out by waves of sound and kinetics.  Yet he remembered the sounds the most, interacting with another, one he knew despite the black that possessed the same form as he in this dream. What creature had he become?  The fourth solidified the unsual scope of this mental excursion, as the tangbility left upon his skin when he woke spoke more of a memory than a dream.  Covered in gooseflesh, the wolf left the comfort of ferns and groves, and sought the sifting sands to consider these unnerving circumstances.

Jackal found, as the night wore on, that his mind no longer need to be unconscious for the swell of those sensations to startto suppress upon his nerves. Muscles twitched as the impression of cloth on unpelted flesh.  Toes spasmed and claws dug at the earth as if he could force the dexterity to occur.  'You were once like this..'  Jackal clicked his teeth on Lantern handle and gave a violent shake of his head.  The voice felt like a whisper behind his ear.  Hackles stood on end and his tail thrashed behind him to reassure his mind there was nothing there.

Yet still this sight persisted.  His gait slowed to a pause, orange light radiating amongst navy night and an expansive spackle of starlght. He felt the alloy in his toes and knew the way he faced was correct, yet.  His flesh felt wrong.  His head seared as muscles attempted to spark sight, only to cause memorial flashes and further vex his system.  Why was he walking on all fours? No, that was incorrect..Another swing of his tail.  He was wolf, wolf.  

Another violent spasm overtook his skull.  The wolf groaned low, head bowing to the earth as he waited for the agony to pass. Curiosity was a stinger within his mind, enticing rational observation of this overwhelming experience. Severe, sharp, through temple, eyes, lobes and sinuses. Beyond that, how strange the sensation of my own skin. Why do I feel disproportiant to what I am? 

He considered setting his Lantern down here; at the thought she flared white and singed the fur on his throat. .GO. A yelp of laughter followed suit as he obeyed the command.  The jerk in his gut, the leap of his heart, the thrill of adrenaline at Her verbal call crashed against the influxes of disorentation.  Jackal continued his trek at a stagger, drifting west before correcting, leaning on north before opposing. Cold night eased the burn of his nose, and swirled chill through the pulsing heat of his panting.

He could not remember the number of heartbeats that passed before the command began to wear thin and fade.  He paused again, wheezing hot mist.  Sand danced off stone: an outcrop over thirty wolf lengths, with a drop perhaps another ten, guaging from the whirl of sand grains and their residual echo.  This clear calculation of distance was a slice of glacier snow to his head.  Carefully and with aching pace, Jackal worked his way below. Tucked beneath the overcast of jutting stone above, Jackal released his charge with careful placement, and sunk to the cold beside her with a sigh of unconsciousness.


Sound of my Brother * Voice of Self * The Motion of My Lantern

Vagabond of Reconstruction :: Beast of Fortune

Jackal possesses the Unicorn's Tear. He is able to heal any wound but his own.
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Age: Wolf: 21 :: BPS: 33Species: Canus
Gender: MaleSpiritual Rank: Liason
Posts: 66 Stones: 1,187.25❂ Played by: Lashes
He Spoke to Me in Madness and I understood His Reason
#2


Code : Tempest ;  Content: Lashes ;  WC : 1104
I am the Foundation of my own Annihilation
 
the grasp of my failures
settles in the dust of my throat
melts in the wax of my candle
and seeps red to the earth



FEVER

He felt as if he baked under the desert sun. Only remnents of starlight painted the night.  His skin trembled in unnatural chill, though the liquid seeping from his eyes burned and his nose cracked in its dry fever-heat. He settled above unconsciousness with a sensitive awareness to his surroundings and an unnatural quiet to his mind.  Floated on an ether he dare not rise above or submerge within.  Not yet. Instead he breathed.  Listened to snakes and scorpions.  The occasional pop of his candle flame shining into the cloudy cataracts of his eyes.  The change in atmosphere as winds began to converge.  He could hear the hum of the horizon line, as if hundred thousand bees swarmed together witha  distant buzz. A storm. His thought spoke this fact with acceptance.  He had no will to move.  No strength to do so.  Jackal recalled a day dancing across his skin before night returned.  The incessent drip of water ten paces into shadow: she led him a place with a natural well, a miniscule stream of water dripping off porous stone he could nurse himself on.  The desert was known to have such resources, particularly with expansive outcroppings such as this.

The band of pressure and discomfort around his skull was consistant. Inescapable.  The creak of his bones sent a shock through his cerbereal. Scents were being confused as memories became more potent, falsifying his sensories and merging reality with the throes of his head. Though he stilled his mind enough to let these aspects slip over him like water, he could not escape the sensations they left upon him or the torment these cross-wires caused his nuerons.  He could smell oranges and rot, charred flesh and lotus.  The scents were sickly sweet and turned his stomach over.  There were hands upon him, carressing and grabbing -- hands; the term was so simple, yet one he never heard. how? - but the definition was there as the pressures of ghost fingers continued to permeate his fur.

The flash of vision was a loud crack of thunder in his mind.  A savage inhale did not clear the definitive shapes behind his eyes, imprinted with stark and abusive clarity. Jackal hissed, teeth grinding together as he bore the bright white in his head.  So real his eyes ached and watered.  No matter which way he thrashed his skull, it would not leave him. Metal and glass constructions, the scent of poisoned air and foreign bodies: tens of thousands all weaving through each other, populating everything like ants.  And he, he stood in the midst of all this unusual construction, seeing the glare of noon sun on glass and the sight of his own hands gripping..his Lantern?

His temperature steadily rose.

A whirr of perspective and vertigo caused the wolf to wretch.  He was inside, in this vision planted behind his eyes, a room red in drapes and cushions, gold from the decorative lanterns trailing through on strings. The terms for these visions rose from mist, defining what was while leaving more questions to mingle in the dark.  A woman..woman? ..held his hand, guided him further into orange spectrum.  Then, with a flicker and a jumpstarting hum of electricity, his sight went black.  Stark, the jet ink he knew so well. Yet this creature, this woman, still held his fingers; Jackal could feel her palm sweat on his toes.  Her scent overwhelmed wet stone and stomach acid with perfumes of lily and mango, so his loins churned with recognition. Imara?.. But no, that made even less - yet every faucet of his sensories told him this was so, this was she in a form he did not recognize, yet matched his own.

The one beneath his skin.

DILIRIUM


He sat upright with that single thought, a mad edge to the angles of his expressive face. Yet he only paused, claws lifted above his left foreleg, realizing he could not see whether that skin was there, and would he be able to feel that pink, almost hairless flesh beneath the slick ooze of his blood?  Ears fell backwards, hearing laughter bounce on stone.  His own?  Might be.  Or perhaps the group the woman sat him in front of, in the visions still reigning his mind. He could not bear feeling two worlds much longer.  With a grunt, Jackal staggered into a boulder, fangs bearing blindly towards a wall.

There were people there, those biped creatures that he saw everywhere, felt everywhere, as if they polluted the space upon which he stood.  In the room of red, with the wolfess in strange guise, where he sat with the same strange form bearing dexterity, others faced him. Looked at him.  He felt their eyes in pairs, felt where they landed on his skin and considered the features of his body.  The sight was gone, returned to the blindness he knew.  Yet still their scents and tastes, sounds and contact with him was to a point of maddening truth.  They were there just as the wind now scoring his back with gusts of sand was there.

Instinct drew him to his Lantern, and he took her in his jaws with a disgruntled moan.  He needed to move, he could not stand to suffer in one area.  This was reality, this was. Jackal, where are you going? Questioned sweet Porteguese accent as if she breathed in his ear.  Jackal spun back to the outcropping, panting over the fumes of candle smoke. She stood as a haze of orange. He chuffed. The storm..

Why must you? Stay here. Rest.

He took a step back, shaking with laughter and nerves.  There are no answers here..

Then, let me come with you? She stepped forward, so certain and poised on these two lengthy limbs.  Cut against skittering sands.  Another prelimenary gust pushed against his chest.

Can you? Asked he in rasping ache, hopeful and further perplexed. Her motion was like fog, a shimmer of fire hue, until she took the tip of his ear in thumb and forefinger.

Aren't you afraid? 

It would be no fun if I wasn't. Came the ironic flicker of his humor. He and his tangible vision stepped forward into the savage whistle of a sandstorm.

He did have a singular purpose.  He faced true north, leaning solely on the magnetic pulse to guide him forward.  Frought with the barrages of these memories, he found comfort in the sear and gust of sand and wind. An ever present sensaton of this reality while he continued to stretch into the continuous, building structures of his mind.

He wished to seek Essence. Answers.  Understanding.


----- * ---- * ----

Vagabond of Reconstruction :: Beast of Fortune

@Essence

Jackal possesses the Unicorn's Tear. He is able to heal any wound but his own.
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Age: ImmortalSpecies: Deity
Gender: Spiritual Rank: The One
Posts: 30 Stones: 7,290.58❂ Played by: Xalypsis Staff
all that was, is, and will ever be.
#3

“When wings unfold you yield to them, though the sword hidden among their pinions may wound you. And when they speak to you, believe in them, though their voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden."



His transformation, so vivid, so throbbing in visceral placental thoughts and visions we are surprised (a truly rare, and succulent gift for we who are omnipotent) he was able to survive his own genetics, and his own seething maelstrom of spiritual convolution. Surely, for moments that came and long since passed, he had seen that which he had not for many, many years. Landscapes that spanned beyond the utmost beyond. Endless space, stars, nebulae glimmering with unfurling life, and untold mystery. From our cosmic roost we deem him more worthy, and far more willing than we had admittedly perceived. 

What wisdom would he glean from his transformation; the prospects were wildly alarming, and undoubtedly seducing our already heightened intrigue. What an intricate man; one whose depths cover even more profound depths, like layers of space and time unable to surface on their own, and accessed only when his consciousness strained in sanctified focus unleash them. We would emerge, from a portal gently torn through space and time, climbing out from the vena portae of our cosmic domain into our intrinsic world of tangibility, of palpable sensory stimulation. All real, everything real, nothing illusory, nothing that defiantly treks betwixt the silken mutable veils of dreams and realism. 

He appeared almost ensnared by bewilderment, the shock, and wonder, exquisitely etched in the lines of his handsome face. What he had experienced had affected him greatly, and we would smile warmly unto his presence, his holy suffrage that would reap from him a power unlike any mortal's comprehension. 

You have done so well, my son.

We speak, and we are calm, gracious, kind. We are privy to his suffering, and we do not minimize or judge it. He has succeeded where many before him have failed. He would need to hone this power, but it was within him, planted, now awakened, ready to be utilized. 

Do you really not know...what it was, that you saw?


Heed, and listen closely.
▲ And let our thoughts become one. ▲


@Jackal

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Age: Wolf: 21 :: BPS: 33Species: Canus
Gender: MaleSpiritual Rank: Liason
Posts: 66 Stones: 1,187.25❂ Played by: Lashes
He Spoke to Me in Madness and I understood His Reason
#4


OH MY DECADENT DESIRE
ELIXIR OF MY AMBITIONS
IT WAS THEE
THAT COST ME 
MY SIGHT

------------------
EUPHORIA
----------------

I cannot help but feel as if I am touching the plethora of time.  Nor can I discern whether this is a fabrication of ego, or the truth of my reality; ruled by senses that must hypothesize and guess. A game I am trapped in for eternity. One I must master to survive. Over time, the mind does not survive. In no former manner that can maintain understanding. Only evolution of conscious could obtain Enlightenment. Conscious bends, and so with it time.  The mind can fray.  Can crumble, be set aflame. These events can stain lifetimes, but they can likewise be overcome. 

I overcome.

My skin peels like paper in the storm.  My flesh sheds in chunks of slick indigo fur and blood.  Satisfying.  There is pain, but my mind acknowledges this as one takes notice of the weather.  Rather, I feel a necessity to bear this exquisite representation.  I was not alone.  In truth, three companions soothed my frenzied soul, but my focus was on the mirage of memory borne in the form of the skeleton found in my shadow.  hueghman. A sudden flicker, a spark in tinder before my histories, my thousands of histories, spread alive like a wildfire. My flesh prickled, nerves electrified with another baptismal wave of eshteth mystism.

The sweetest of miseries.

I cave to my stomach as if nauseated. Stimulations consume me until I am deaf and scentless for irregular moments. Vertigo sends me sideways in an unstable sway.  Its as if I am dancing, and this lurid thought bears a shaking grin to my lips. She is near me, this crackling design of orange hues and lily.  Imara. She smiles to me, the joy like sunlight on my collarbone.  Her histories have intwined with mine for hundreds of deaths.  How fair it is this mirage should possess her form.  Guiding me admist my madness.

I must remember to tell her.


YOU HAVE DONE WELL SO WELL, SON. ..DO YOU REALLY NOT KNOW..?.WHAT IT WAS, THAT YOU SAW?


THEY come.  He flinches as sand cracks like thunder and the presence of ESSENCE becomes prominent amongst the savage winds. THEIR words, THEIR voice, is water to thirsting souls.  Jackal stills his unsteady sway, panting within the macabre display of his shredded physique. Peace eases the creases upon his face.  Clarity shines like lantern light in midnight woods.  He hurts, with an unbearable ache in every crevass of his skeleton.  Muscle quivered as layers of its cover is tossed by sand riddled winds.

...Memories...Previous...pathways...who I was...Who we all..were....could be... And as the words slipped over his tongue, came his fountain of elated laughter.  


------------
METAMORPHISIS
---------------


Violence is sewn to my d.n.a.  It cannot be helped and cannot be resisted.  This truth permeates my symptoms. I groan and collapse to the sands.  Arid heat sears my stomach, yet the external torment is minimal to the wretched ache in my joints.  My marrow burns. 

It is utterly fascinating.

Grateful am I They are present.

Grateful am I She is still flickering elemental heat onto my face. So close to me.  My solidarity.

A mangled twist of my forelegs is followed by the arc of my cry.  I feel revived in the fires of agony.  There is no despair, for what do I have to fear?  I only must endure for moments longer.

My spine pops, then contorted with a vicious twist to my shoulders.  My chest cavity  punctured skin bfore realigning itself.  My ears are filled with the grotesque horrors of my bones and ligaments reforming, so loud I ca no longer distinguish the wind and my own voice.   I want to wretch from the shift of my intenstines, the drop of my stomach and diaphragm.  Digits elgongate.  My muzzle receeds.  Panting no longer alleviates the heat from my system and I feel a sheen of liquid coat me.

How forgein this is.  How...comforting.  The swell of ancient memories guide my instinct into satiated acceptance.  Noise receeds. Agony becomes an ache, sharp pain dulls to a throb. On hands and knees do I gasp before Them, panting and dripping sweat into sand.


Jâç-Astor Vur, Son of VAGRANT and EL Rue

{Capabilities Used  ::  Biped Shift}

telos {complete}

thought * ---- * bass * HER * Xandroth


@Essence

*All in orange is being spoken aloud*

Jackal possesses the Unicorn's Tear. He is able to heal any wound but his own.
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