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5 days ago
Current The highest, most decisive experience is to be alone with one's own self. You must be alone to find out what supports you, when you find that you can not support yourself.
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1 mo ago
Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.
3 likes
2 mos ago
Creative power is mightier than its possessor.
4 likes
2 mos ago
In each of us there is another whom we do not know.
2 likes
3 mos ago
But the universal consciousness of the real Ego transcends a million fold the self-consciousness of the personal for false ego.

Bio

The Harbinger of Ferocity


Agent of the Wild, Aspect of the Ferine
Nature, red in tooth and claw.

"There is, indeed, no single quality of the cat that man could not emulate to his advantage."
- Carl Van Vechten

I am, at my core, a personification and manifestation of those characters whose blood and hearts run red with the ferocity of the animal world. It is that which convicts and controls my works - my writing; the force and guidance in which I gain creativity from. It is what inspires me as a creator and weaver of words, the very thing I admire as an author.

My leanings, savage as they are, are of the feline sort and there exists no greater lineage of beasts whom I draw from. No others captivate and motivate my talent as the greatest of cats do.

Most Recent Posts

I do not understand the connection people have to dogs, but I do understand the dislike most have for cats. The fact of the matter is, is that I cannot hold the dog in high regard when I know the wolf.
There was little that Brannor proved to dwell on in the response. It was, regretfully, less than he had hoped as knowing just how many might suggest a better method to destroying the clutch than the obvious. That too posed an obvious issue, a question so simple it seemed almost foolish to ask, but up until recently presumably none had ever even seen a dragon. That question specifically? What did it take to destroy one of their eggs? Was it so simple as just a barrage of steel and spell, much like it had been when the mature dragon that assaulted the keep and laid waste to many of its defenders was driven off through immense effort? Or would it be a matter that was... time consuming in volume only, anything and everything capable of destroying the meager shell.

In the mean time the elven priestess spoke up, Shepard posing the more important question of how to return to the cave so that the eggs might even be handled. It was indeed very, very unlikely that their troupe would be able to so much as edge their way in covertly now; the enemy would surely be wary of anything and everything for at least weeks to come, expecting an attack as this. Unlike the world outside which held threats potentially around every corner, under every bush, and every stretch of sky, mortals were quick and become riled and roused. Perhaps for good reason, but they handled it poorly; it would be something that would be exploitable. Breaking their dark spirit by continually harassing and harrying them.

Yet as was made increasingly clear, the unusual band of fellows now set against this draconic cult were the only ones capable of doing anything whatsoever about it. Which only proved to tug at the lips of the moontouched, brow falling as well into a subdued frown. Hand removed from his talisman, he stepped to beside the cleric, lingering gaze over her then back to Leosin, "And how might one kill a dragon and its clutch?"

@Hekazu@Gordian Nought@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen
The others that accompany me have made it a game of providing me things I cannot or do not drink or eat for their amusement. They have provided me everything from a bay leaf, which I came to immediately regret eating, to simply a banana just to evoke a reaction. To date none of the varied things provided have gone well, not the radishes, not the melons, not the peaches, not the comparison of colas. To be fair, I have no idea how or why people eat these.
The ensuing shakedown of electronic bits and bobs went about as well as anything could have in the zone. All of the gathered scavengers, like chrome vultures pecking at a machine corpse, after all valued the pieces enough that getting blasted by one another in some standoff was not in their interest. The spindly legged cyborg left with the precious, precious hardware which was laden with everything from combat data to whatever soft updates he had jammed in, while the boosters picked apart the metal and left with arms, forearms, hands, an eye or two, among others. Theron waited patiently despite all of this, the quarry as close as it could be to its extraction as it had been and still alive, remarkably.

All the gizmos inside keeping Golemeth going the gang wasn't about to play with, at least not without their ripper doc. Like the shaggy band of hyenas they were, they were hooting and hollering from start to finish, and with it all said and done left the once giant, unstoppable killer a mess of deformed flesh. Cyber didn't actually go in the body, but people forgot that and just hacked off and jammed in all they could fit. Take it off? Well, as the hunter noted, boots splashing through a blood tinged puddle by the target, it left them as a lump not even capable of defending itself. That was the issue Theron had with cyberware, one really, but a big one. Without your tech, you were just meat and everything wanted to eat you. If the world outside didn't get you because you lived in the wrong side of the city, the corps would and just devour your livelihood. Something they couldn't take away from you was whatever was in your blood, some things just that permanent, and not everyone was interested in taking a life so they could later get hosed by corporate security or the cops. Vigilante justice wasn't a thing, but what was a thing was revenge killing, so picking people apart of their gear? A better option than coldblood unless you knew no one would notice or miss them.

A glance down an alley then back, Theron was alone - brain dead cyborgs without enough processing power to think don't count more than a potted plant does - and now it was his turn. Granted this was going to be a challenge, all he had to do was get him to the nearest terminal, make the call, and the extraction team would find itself here to haul good old Golemeth away to his fate. So with one knee down, both enhanced hands on the effective corpse, the solo gripped and strained. In one motion, one burst of energy, he lifted and tossed up over his shoulders the prize and pushed to standing.

The reeking scent of damaged coolant, mingling with singed blood, burnt electronics, and some exposed ports where limbs once were did not make this any more pleasant. If anything this was the worst part about all of this, worse than the gunfire and exchange, worse than the freakshows that might go back on him, worse than any of that. Why? Hauling around dead weight that was pretty vile wasn't his idea of glory or goods. But the promise of more modifications? Some exceptions could be made, which was what he kept reminding himself as he staggered slowly around a corner, carrying the awkward shape up on his upper back. A terminal was never far, most every corner had them, but ones that were still operating in this side of the Combat Zone? That took time.

All the locals kept their heads indoors and had shut out the nightly crazed gunfight, making the march a comparatively easy task. The haze and glow was gone, the man mostly a silhouette in the darkness, trying to slip from street to street covertly like a pantherine cat.
Once upon a time, I was mechanically inclined and fascinated. For no apparent reason, I have since lost all of my interest in engineering or mechanics, yet all the books sit on my shelf be them automotive to architecture. Related to this, all of my proficiency and ability in it vanished at roughly the same time. Now all of my talent in it, what does exist in void, is intuitive rather than learned.
As fitted as he was in the suit of new armor, it now joining alongside the well-worn cloth and leather that too found itself part of his apparel, the outlander, outsider, and now hero moved slightly as the man crossed his arms. One palm laid upon the upper mass of the arm just below the shoulder, it clenched tighter as the monk's dialogue evolved and elaborated. All of the green-cloak warrior seemed to seethe slightly at recollection of the enemy, although that might well have been the ambiance that had grown increasingly strong with the man's ties to nature's unnatural power. The other hand, previously unoccupied, now calmly toyed with the snarling silver medallion that hung from Brannor's neck; a scar among lining his flesh where divine grant quite literally turned a killing blow aside.

His amber eyes narrowed further in deepening thought, although a certain streak of pleasure welled up in him. If the enemy was to use said cave for rearing dragons, it meant it was difficult for them to move. The cult would be mostly static game, the sort of thing they could press and harry by exerting the slightest of force, one compensated for by numbers only. The monk revealed nothing about if there were more of them to come, but the history he portrayed from where he sat made it plain that others had come to the outskirts of Greenest to establish this camp. Just as they were novices before, it was clear they were novices now and expanded right into the town, sacking it for their lair. Had they stayed as covert as possible and ignored the farmers and the farmland, who knows what they could have accomplished? Now they were being forced to show themselves.

Brannor's stupor broke as he audibly sighed, finger so faintly tapping his breastplate. There was nothing to be gained on dwelling about the events that could have been, rather only the gifts they had been given unknowingly by their enemy and carried in secret by the monk back to this very room.

"And when you say "dragons" just how many do you believe?" The man's voice piqued with interest, as the hunter knew he and the others could well kill whelps and lesser scaled-ones, but the greater and more numerous they were, the more difficult or perhaps erring toward impossible would such a quest be.

@Hekazu@Gordian Nought@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen
The plants I had tended to in the garden have begun yielding results. While the flowers have mostly come and gone, there are now pumpkins of various kinds. Throughout the year there had been wild flowers, sunflowers, and ultimately now these additions.
Likewise, I will likely have something the next few days to move the scene along for my own character. That said, I intend to just make it an "up and go" type scene. Nothing too evolved or in-depth on the matter.
I will address the turn of events this evening when I am next available.
I unironically enjoy calm acoustic country music as a sense of ambiance. Perhaps there is a certainly familiarity to it that it evokes that acts just as it should on my emotion and impression, but it is a very specific and unlikely thing to enjoy.
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