Sleeping Beauty [Awiergan]

[Red February]

{RED FEBRUARY}
Delusional I believed I could cure it all for you dear
Coax or trick or drive or drag the demons from you
Make it right for you sleeping beauty
Truly thought I could heal you.

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There were simply divine, utterly lovely, secrets precipitating behind every corner of Sarnes. Trees right and left, before and behind, lamented in the murmuring wind; they could sense the closeted desires as if a skeletal hand stroked them and thus moaned and sighed in despair. Knowledge was a breath on the back of one’s neck, elusive and intangible if one did not know to turn and look. Much like the whisperings of star-crossed lovers, their kisses and embraces as easily plucked apart as daisy petals, the mysteries were actually barely so -- a bright and hooked claw was all that one needed to separate fact from fiction. Truth from assumption. A furtively unhappy wolf from his pack. The trees had eyes, but not ears, and so they did feel but could not listen to the near-silent confessions murmured from lupine faces. These were the realities palpitating above the lands, dark and promisingly lethal as the silent beating of Death’s black wings (or one’s heart. Take your delicious pick.)

She just couldn’t sleep.

At the Halian Rendezvous -- what misnomer -- it was miraculous that being so close to the river and in the midst of a swamp, the hollowed tunnel had not been filled in by either rancid water or marsh filth. Perhaps the hollow den was not that susceptible to flooding, virtually enclosed in naturally occurring limestone slabs, and also untouched by the soft white powder that was roosting in the trees. Encased in silence as well, the only noticeable sounds penetrating the quiet were the sporadic plunk of a river rat, or perhaps some other vermin (these lands housing rodents quite large, say, the size of a whorish wolfess). And yet another shawl to drape the shoulders of this theatre was that of nighttime, as it seemed to always be dark to the nocturnal. Gloomy and menacing with burnt tongues stunned to silence were the shadows of the bog. The mysteries waited to unravel themselves, a silhouette beginning to separate herself from them.

She would speak.

Riddled with insomnia now, capable only of napping for perhaps an hour at a time, the inhabitant of the medic’s tunnel needed healing herself. Standing right outside of the dry hole, of which the size would accommodate the nurse and a single patient only, Kiora could feel something dark and demanding stalking just her way. Her russet-speckled hairs, if cleaned would glint the same glossy crème as her sister’s, stood erected along her nape and between her ears. It was as if something was panting along her spine and the base of her head, nibbling teasingly at her ears but not informing her of its confidentialities! Oh dear, it felt as if insects crept up her trembling stilts, and she spun a triple prayer to consecrate her sanctum.

She was desperately tired.

But youre far too poisoned for me
Such a fool to think that I could wake you from your slumber
That I could actually heal you

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[Awiergan]

Pain. That was the word most often that came to mind when one thought of the words Sarnes. It was no ironic feat that the pack’s founders had derived Sarnes name from the very word it was most associated with. Sarnes, the varg word for pain. Indeed anyone familiar with the packs sordid history and shady members would agree that the name was fitting. Since it’s founding at the joint efforts of the former Second Serg and mysterious Eveline of the Nightdancer sect Sarnes had been nothing but a festering cesspool of scum and villainy, housing everything from the most vile and sadistic of the lupine race. In time Sarnes had flourished, with no enemies to think of and the protection of the Balkar to ward away any potential thread the pack had thrived. Eventually that all came to change, spurred by a simple act of betrayal that resulted in a bitter blood feud with the wolves of Ge-Rad. After that things had gone down hill for a time, the disappearance of the packs founding Drappa and Serg’s ascension to First among the Balkar spearheading the descent of the once glorious pack.

Gradually the pack’s numbers decreased until only a handful of varg remain left in Sarnes, it was in that time in which the emancipated Shunke had come to power and brought Sarnes back from the brink of extinction. Since then Sarnes had become a home for misfits and outcast alike, once again becoming one of the most feared packs in all of Transylvania under the rule of Shunke and her collaboration of assorted elites.

Deep within the furthest recesses of Sarnes a lone figure worked its way through the uneven terrain of the marsh. Mud squelching beneath limbs of onyx and ebony he moved with purpose, each graceful movement carried out with poise and precision. Glass orbs glimmering in the moonless night he stare out into the dim gloom of the marsh, gift of night vision allowing him to peer ahead through even the darkest corners of Sarnes with almost no effort. There was no weariness in his movements, no fatigue, he function best at night, when shadows were at their darkest and his black pelt allow him to blend in more readily with his surroundings. Ebon nasal scenting the air he examine the multitude of smells on the breeze, taking in them in and dissecting each one with the same cool calculating precision a surgeon might use on a patient. His belly knotted tightly in first signs of hunger he searched the darkness for the telltale signs of passing prey, his search for a meal had failed to bear fruit thus far however such was the nature of the hunt.

Then he caught it, familiar feminine scent wafting against his nose. Progressed unhindered the olfactory intrusion he continued, sensitive nasal filtering through the various array of countless odors polluting the night air. In an instant his hunger had been forgotten, replaced by curiosity and another need he had grown all too used to catering since his introduction into the fem dominated pack. The elements working in favor with his keen senses he had little trouble locating his quarry, following her scent into a reclusive area in Sarnes he had yet to familiarize himself with. Soulless gaze drawn towards the impressive display of limestone clustered together like one of man’s perverse shelters he spotted her, russet hued fur standing out against the gloom like subtle beacon.

He had met her only twice before, once before joining Sarnes and again during her sudden return into the menacing marsh pack though some select few varg might say reintroduction. To say that they were acquainted would be a gross assumption. No, they were strangers, despite sharing the same pack with one another. What little knowledge he did hold of her came solely from his nights spent with the nymphoric Ember and disillusioned Shunke, whom had a intimate history with the Halian drappa. Ebon paws bringing him closer to the limestone dwelling he approached her, silent movements becoming audible against the hardened soil and cool stone surface protruding from the earth. Kiora, the Red February as she liked to be dubbed. Her presence tonight was a mystery, but it was nothing that Awiergan probably couldn’t turn to his advantage. Gods knew he would certainly try.

[Red February]

{RED FEBRUARY}
Delusional I believed I could cure it all for you dear
Coax or trick or drive or drag the demons from you
Make it right for you sleeping beauty
Truly thought I could heal you.

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Sour, tangy nightmares caressed her cheeks with a teasing of vindication, acidic as her citrus eyes (Kio was still unable to sleep, poor girl.) The limitless world of sleeping imagination she so wished to escape to was actually all around her, she told herself, and the detestable swamp instead the hallucination that ailed her. Bitter, Kiora shivered at not the nippy winds but instead in restlessness, her trembling lower jaw causing her teeth to chatter noisily within her own trembling auds. She lay now, nestled at the entrance of the nurse’s den, her den, with her lank tassel obscuring the vision of one of her eyes. Muzzle wedged between a skeletal front leg and her thicker flanks, the halian was contorted into quite the tight lump of disheveled ivory-dirtied-copper, the tip of her tail flicking neurotically.

As she huddled with herself in silence, save the lamenting trees and her chattering dents, Kiora shut a lid to surroundings that were only a shade or two above complete darkness. The open lamp, a sharp taste of lemon-lime on her otherwise dingy palate, roved between the shadows that she had only recently explored with her paws. She could see nothing really, but the impression of predatory company was still tickling her nape with its respiration. Inhale, Kiora holds her breath. Exhale, Kiora bites her tongue.

Apprehension blatantly plastered to her features, although shrouded by the constant lashing of her plume, was as easily seen as the rest of her plain-Jane shape. Kiora was rather mundane and even small for a femme, not hardy by any exaggeration nor did she pack much power behind her “punch.” She was not a delicate porcelain serpent like her beloved baby sister Ember, oh she was fashioned from the most radiant of moonlight, nor a majestic black swan (here think of Shunke or Zukozu) crafted from the blackest of nights, but she was comely in the most killing of light. And in the zenith of darkness, spheres curtained by lechery and her guileless romanticism exposed, she was perhaps one of the fairest maidens of all.

For when Kiora dreamed, sleeping beauty, she fantasized of Edens intangible to many others.

But in contest against her stubborn assumptions, she was not living in a nightmare of her own devising, but in the collapsed dreams of those around her.

A growl crawled from within before she even registered the noise of a packmate straying towards the rendezvous, her unfriendliness wilting away as she caught scent of the one that approached. Again, not so pretty when she was awake, she sprang to her petite mitts with marvelous reflexes to accost him. Validated to be Awiergan, his somehow sultry orbs of nothingness and pitilessness burnished even in the pits and pockets of starless gloom and confirmed him in uniqueness. All too reminded by his presence, the commoner, the filthy and subservient peasant exterior of Kiora glowered with her preceding thoughts of secrets. Intuition pleaded the onyx brute as guilty to some clandestine politics.

But youre far too poisoned for me
Such a fool to think that I could wake you from your slumber
That I could actually heal you

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Loose post. ]: I'm getting weak with my metaphors and description.[/blockquote]

[Awiergan]

Dry soil crumbling with all the frailty of flower beneath his full weight he came forward, not bothering to mask his presence in the limestone quarry despite the implications it might cause with its keeper. Predatory gleam reflecting in his pallid hues Awiergan took stock of the scene before him, wordlessly committing each callous detail to memory for future use. This was the first time the ebon mann had ventured to this part of Sarnes, his nocturnal roving across the muddy bogs and marshes that he had come to familiarize himself with seldom carrying him away from shielded cavern that made up Sarnes subterranean dwelling. The firm, dry terra of the limestone dwelling seemed eerily out of place in the damp, muddy environment of the surrounding marsh, almost as though it had been placed there by mistake or cosmic joke. And yet perhaps more out of place was the presence of the quarries mysterious keeper.

Her russet fur stuck out like a beacon in the pervading gloom, glistening orbs shining wearily like pale lanterns, as though beckoning him to join her in the sheltered nest of moss and stone. Nary a word passed between them, each greeting the other in turn with silence save for a slight growl from which Kiora had released upon his arrival. Awiergan noted her condition with predatory interested, expression giving away nothing, prestige features remaining locked in mask of indifference. Circling her petite form he paused before her, soulless optics passing across her slender frame before settling on her sultry orbs. His attempts to court her before had been rudely interrupted by the untimely appearance of the rest of Sarnes during her reintroduction into the pack, however it seemed as though this place was reasonably hidden, at the very least unvisited, and with no one to interrupt them perhaps the onyx brute would actually be able to achieve his original goal. With a little subtlety of course.

((Sorry for the wait, and the crappy post. Couldn't think of anything.))