Fumari

Torn Across the Rift

@jdh97

Ah, thank you~ o v o/

A Wolf's Love

Lucio - Volrath’s Forest

I didn’t take Lucio too long to rediscover his alpha’s floating scent, which quickly lead him in the opposite direction of the manor, to Volrat’s Forest. He unconsciously swallowed down raw nerves, and quickly shifted into his much faster, four legged form in order to properly track. It wasn’t his specialty, not in the least, but he had a sharp enough nose to know which direction to run.

Eventually, he found his pack, or at least the few present members who stood with their leader. Then there was the much larger wolf, whose unfamiliar scent he’d caught earlier. He only caught the last few bits tossed between Damien and the stranger wolf, before the altercation seemed on the edge of being settled. Lucio huffed, making himself known while he slowed to a trot.

“Guess I’m a bit late.” He laughed in his mind, and made his way to join Damien and Aurora. The latter seemed ready to turn back, and Lucio momentarily worried that he’d only stir things more by being here.

Torn Across the Rift

Finally posted! I'm sorry it took a bit of time. I wrote too much by accident. @ n @

Torn Across the Rift

The first thing that register in Ryann’s mind was the cold. Thick gusts of air whipped and howled around the platform she’s only just come to on, making her frame shiver and shake violently. How long had she been lying here in the snow? The question echoed in her head, followed by many others, until her head was eventually crowded with unanswered inquiries and a creeping sense of anxiety. She sucked in a breath to try and calm herself, but only succeeded in causing another sharp spasm of shivering.

“How did I…?” her lips unconsciously formed the words, sounding desperate and unbelieving. Her dark eyes searched her surroundings aimlessly, while he mind, still groggy and in start-up mode, struggled to make sense of the situation. There was snow, and she was sitting on something made of stone. A building? Behind her, the starch outlines of mountains jutted up from the white landscape. In the opposite direction, a good ways below, were the remnants of some sort of castle, though the thick flurries left many of its details undefinable. Ryann noted her surroundings while she tried to collect her thoughts, and in an odd sort of way, it helped slow her panic. The last thing she recalls, if she is recalling it correctly, was being outside. She was flying, and then in a tree with Roach—she name of said crab suddenly send another spike of panic through her system, and for a moment, her limbs seized up for a reason other than the cold, and her stomach floated.

Where was Roach? He was definitely with her before, in her bag. The young avian suddenly twisted around to the left, and then to the right, frightened to the core after she failed to locate the missing knapsack.

“No.. No no no no no..” Ryann slowly began murmuring, and anxiously climbed to her feet. Everything ached, and stopped her sputtering when the familiar but unpleasant feeling of pins and needles shot down her limbs. How long had she been lying there? The question was back again, but then quickly forgotten when a rush of cold wind pushed through her. She wrapped her arms around her torso tightly and curled away from the wind. Behind her, a pair of sea eagle wings folded themselves flatly against her back, thankfully well insulated, unlike the rest of her unfeathered skin.

It took her time to waddle towards the edge of what she now knew to be a tower, and a little more afterwards to survey the rest of her current perch. There were no stairs, nor bridge left to walk down from, and by the look of the time worn brick, this wasn’t a very well kept building to begin with. She continued to pace around the circular platform, if only to help calm her nerves while she kicked at snow drifts. In the back of her mind, she hoped that maybe Roach was hiding in one of them, blended white like the rest of this god awful wonderland. She wouldn’t be that lucky, though, and was only greeted with chunks of ice and chilled toes.

“I hate the snow.” She snapped and kicked at a drift bitterly, though underneath the irritation, she was terrified. The combination of cold, lost, and suddenly finding herself alone didn’t bode well, and for the briefest of moments, she wished for her brothers to be here. She wished they would just suddenly appear and help her, as they often did in situations like this, but they didn’t this time. No, Ryann realized with a painful throb of fright, she was alone right now.

She isn’t sure how long she just stood there then, contemplating her next few courses of action. Most obviously, she wanted to find Roach, and then somewhere warm, of course. If he wasn’t on top of the tower with her, then he might have landed somewhere else, hopefully still close by. Her eyes scanned below again, now noticing the small flicker of warm light lick at the snowy landscape. Fires, though, they didn’t looked intentionally placed, much to her unease. She then looked over the ruins of a castle, and the long bridge that extended only part way to the lone tower she stood on.

“Well, that’s a start.” She huffed through jittering teeth, and then whistled out into the wind and waited for it to call back—after a few minutes, she was returned with nothing. Her face scrunched up in confusion for a moment, and she tried again. Once more, the wind ignored her and continued on in its own direction. “What the hell!” she suddenly felt irritation spark at the ends of her nerves, like live wires in the rain, “Why’re you being such a shit..?” she whined into the wind, unable to comprehend why it wouldn’t listen. She didn’t have time to argue with nature, she thought anxiously, and tried three more times before finally stomping her feet and letting loose a few more choice curses. For some ungodly reason, the wind was ignoring her, which meant that if she wanted to fly, she’d be stuck with riding out the winds as they are, and at the moment, they were nothing but a harsh mess of ice and snow.

“I freaking hate the snow..!” She whined one last time, and bitterly let her wings outstretch behind her, small but dark like a flowing cape. She imagined that sea hawk wings would fare well enough in this type of weather, and didn’t trouble herself with a change. The wind leafed through her feathers in a way she was all too familiar with, begging to lift her from the ground, and helped to relax her nerves a bit. In the next moment, she was vaulting over the edge of the tower, and into the mercy of the wind.

X-Men: The Grinder Chronicles

@knighthawk

Julian did her best to catch all of the bits of information that Leopold gave her, smiling happily while she trailed after the professor. Her ears perk up at the mention of comics, and she felt a little more excited for the class. Before she could manage to grab her own phone or respond though, they’re both stopped at what she assumes is his office door. Plaster to it, in brightly printed color, is a poster that she assumed was left there as a rude attempt to rile the professor up. She frowned a bit, looking back to Leopold and hoping he wasn’t too bothered by it.

Before Julian even had the chance to look however, something suddenly shoved into her. She braced herself against the wall, and quickly turned just in time to watch the offending woman disappear down the corridors. She mouthed a few profanities and rolled her shoulder a bit. The shove didn’t hurt any, no, but it felt off to Julian, and left her a bit bitter for not receiving an apology. She huffed, settling with the thought that all schools have rude students, and turned back to Leopold.

~ ~ ~

Daisy might have felt a bit disappointed at the rejected invitation, but the thought that they might bump into one another again later gave her some reassurance that this wasn’t a completely wasted effort. “That is a fair reason.” She smiled, and nodded in acceptance. There was always the chance they’d meet another time, so it didn’t bother her any. She dipped her head a little in response to Sumat’s gesture, smiling and saying goodbye herself before trotting off in the direction of her own dorm.

The dorm building wasn’t too far of a walk, and even short if you cut through other buildings. It only took a short time before she was back at her room, most of her things unpacked and set up thanks to her early planning. Her roommate hadn’t arrived yet, but she wasn’t too worried about who she’d be living with; she was sure she’d get along with them somehow. Sometime or another, a staff member stopped by to give her a new ID of sorts. It looked just like her driver’s license, only with a few changed markings and an additional space for powers: graspable tail, heightened hearing/smell, immunity/resistance to most venoms, playing dead. She laughed towards the end.

A Wolf's Love

- rolls with -

Dark Oceans~The war of the Land and Sea

March, Harold

“ Marche (March-EE)”

20

Female

Pansexual

Regorian

March is a very positive and happy person, with an almost insatiable amount of curiosity. Her need to be active and endless pools of wanderlust are what contribute to her nomadic nature, and her many travels have made her very independent and fast-learning. The air around her is very friendly and kind, and she’s always been easy to get along with. She dislikes fighting with others, but won’t stand down when feels the matter is important enough. She’s stubborn in that sense, and will very seldom give up once she’s determined. With people she dislikes, which are few and far between, she is mostly cold and unapproachable, making obvious that she doesn’t want a fight. When it comes to the topic of war, especially between mer-people and humans, March is very pro-peace and friendly towards both humans and mer-people, just as her mother was.

General Appearance

Tail

March is a very petite and slender woman, with small breasts and faint hips. Her hair is a very dark brown, almost black, and long enough to teach her lower back, and curls in just lightly thanks to being sea soaked so often. She has a round face, with soft features and very bright, frost blue eyes. Her skin is extremely pale, covered at her forearms and hips in patches of silvery and shiny black scales. The pattern is similar to that of a Frosted Flatwoods salamander and continues down to her tail, which is about 6 feet long (beginning from her hips). It is pretty chubby in appearance, eventually tapering off into a flatter, more rounded tip, and is moist and smooth to the touch. A lot of her looks are inherited from her mother, except for her eyes, which she was told look just like her fathers.


March’s parents were young when she was born, both in their early twenties and completely unprepared for a child. Her father left to become a soldier a little after she turned two, claiming that the peace between humans and merpeople wouldn’t last and that there needed to be soldiers to protect the kingdom in case a war broke out, or at least, that’s what her mother tells her. She didn’t have much of an opinion on the matter herself while growing up. Her and her mother lived near the coasts, nestled in a large kelp forest that laid beside a small peninsula, where humans rarely sailed.

Life was mostly peaceful while she grew up, filled with seaside adventures and time spent listening to stories from her mother. The woman was a born story-teller, and her tales often taught March about the world, and about humans. Her mother was a firm believer in the peace between humans and merpeople, and trusted the royal family to keep that peace alive. A lot of those thoughts were instilled in March from a young age, thanks to all of the stories.

One of her favorites though, was the tale behind their only family heirloom, a small, dusty old ram horn that her mother claimed could call upon any and all of the crustaceans in the ocean if one played the right notes. It had apparently been gifted to her great-great-great grandfather by a close but mysterious friend shortly before they disappeared, saying only that it once belong to a sea-goat, and that it will someday aid his family. Although mysterious, he accepted the gift and then gave it to his wife. It was said that she could play a tune so joyful that even the crabs at sea would dance. From her, it was passed down from generation to generation, usually to the first born daughter. March’s mother often told her that one day, she too would inherit the horn. The very notion often excited the girl, and was the main motive behind her attempts at learning how to play a normal brass trumpet (she’d found it adrift by some rocks sometime when she was 9).

During March’s 17th year, her mother became ill and quickly passed away. The sickness swept through her so fast that it left March almost in shock; not horrified or depressed, but much more adrift. Before she passed, her mother had given her two things: the family horn, and her father’s name and location. She told March to do whatever she wanted, but deep down, she knew her mother wanted her to meet her father. It took her a long while to finally leave her home, and make her way into the world. She held off on finding her father, declaring to herself that she would not go and stir up trouble with the man unless she was absolutely sure it’s what she wanted to do. Call it a cry for independence, but in all honesty, she wasn’t ready to be around another parent yet, and so she want on her own way.

She spent the next three years of her life living as a nomad, her wanderlust never seeming quenchable no matter how far she traveled. She’s come through the new kingdom plenty of times, and even settled a bit in a small home. Although she doesn’t stay for long, she can happily call it her home, one that she always seems to come back to.

the Ram Horn

It’s just small enough to fit neatly in the palm of March’s hand.

Dark Oceans~The war of the Land and Sea

March, Harold

“ Marche (March-EE)”

20

Female

Pansexual

Regorian

March is a very positive and happy person, with an almost insatiable amount of curiosity. Her need to be active and endless pools of wanderlust are what contribute to her nomadic nature, and her many travels have made her very independent and fast-learning. The air around her is very friendly and kind, and she’s always been easy to get along with. She dislikes fighting with others, but won’t stand down when feels the matter is important enough. She’s stubborn in that sense, and will very seldom give up once she’s determined. With people she dislikes, which are few and far between, she is mostly cold and unapproachable, making obvious that she doesn’t want a fight. When it comes to the topic of war, especially between mer-people and humans, March is very pro-peace and friendly towards both humans and mer-people, just as her mother was.

General Appearance

Tail

March is a very petite and slender woman, with small breasts and faint hips. Her hair is a very dark brown, almost black, and long enough to teach her lower back, and curls in just lightly thanks to being sea soaked so often. She has a round face, with soft features and very bright, frost blue eyes. Her skin is extremely pale, covered at her forearms and hips in patches of silvery and shiny black scales. The pattern is similar to that of a Frosted Flatwoods salamander and continues down to her tail, which is about 6 feet long (beginning from her hips). It is pretty chubby in appearance, eventually tapering off into a flatter, more rounded tip, and is moist and smooth to the touch. A lot of her looks are inherited from her mother, except for her eyes, which she was told look just like her fathers.


March’s parents were young when she was born, both in their early twenties and completely unprepared for a child. Her father left to become a soldier a little after she turned two, claiming that the peace between humans and merpeople wouldn’t last and that there needed to be soldiers to protect the kingdom in case a war broke out, or at least, that’s what her mother tells her. She didn’t have much of an opinion on the matter herself while growing up. Her and her mother lived near the coasts, nestled in a large kelp forest that laid beside a small peninsula, where humans rarely sailed.

Life was mostly peaceful while she grew up, filled with seaside adventures and time spent listening to stories from her mother. The woman was a born story-teller, and her tales often taught March about the world, and about humans. Her mother was a firm believer in the peace between humans and merpeople, and trusted the royal family to keep that peace alive. A lot of those thoughts were instilled in March from a young age, thanks to all of the stories.

One of her favorites though, was the tale behind their only family heirloom, a small, dusty old ram horn that her mother claimed could call upon any and all of the crustaceans in the ocean if one played the right notes. It had apparently been gifted to her great-great-great grandfather by a close but mysterious friend shortly before they disappeared, saying only that it once belong to a sea-goat, and that it will someday aid his family. Although mysterious, he accepted the gift and then gave it to his wife. It was said that she could play a tune so joyful that even the crabs at sea would dance. From her, it was passed down from generation to generation, usually to the first born daughter. March’s mother often told her that one day, she too would inherit the horn. The very notion often excited the girl, and was the main motive behind her attempts at learning how to play a normal brass trumpet (she’d found it adrift by some rocks sometime when she was 9).

During March’s 17th year, her mother became ill and quickly passed away. The sickness swept through her so fast that it left March almost in shock; not horrified or depressed, but much more adrift. Before she passed, her mother had given her two things: the family horn, and her father’s name and location. She told March to do whatever she wanted, but deep down, she knew her mother wanted her to meet her father. It took her a long while to finally leave her home, and make her way into the world. She held off on finding her father, declaring to herself that she would not go and stir up trouble with the man unless she was absolutely sure it’s what she wanted to do. Call it a cry for independence, but in all honesty, she wasn’t ready to be around another parent yet, and so she want on her own way.

She spent the next three years of her life living as a nomad, her wanderlust never seeming quenchable no matter how far she traveled. She’s come through the new kingdom plenty of times, and even settled a bit in a small home. Although she doesn’t stay for long, she can happily call it her home, one that she always seems to come back to.

the Ram Horn

It’s just small enough to fit neatly in the palm of March’s hand.

Dark Oceans~The war of the Land and Sea

@Silen Syanka

Thank you, and sorry for the dumb question, pff. I'll be working on a CS then, yep. o v o/

Dark Oceans~The war of the Land and Sea

Really interested in this, but could I get a bit more of a description of what a Regorians tail would look like?