this death will be art ooc. leaving details of the intro thread vague since it ain't finished yet lol The once-prince woke in a cold sweat, flashes of teeth and blood arcing across his vision as the vestiges of his dream passed into the realm of his subconscious. For a few horrible seconds, he did not know where he was. The stone walls on all sides were unfamiliar, and no light from outside reached him. Slowly it trickled in as the tenderness of his battered flesh and screaming ache in his fractured ribs roared to life; a dark beach and thunderous pawsteps pursuing him. Cold cerulean eyes staring down from an impossible height. Pluto was a captive in a blighted pack, charged with making himself useful to find a cure. A long, low groan shuddered through his chest to wheeze past his lips. He needed tea. Immediately. Something light to break his fast, perhaps. Would he be allowed to eat yet? With herculean effort, the emaciated runaway stumbled and shook until he was standing. Breathing was agony, and he knew dimly that it would continue to do so for quite some time while he healed. What time was it? There was no way to know. So he crept as silently as he could out of the alcove where he'd slept, leaving his cloak on the floor where he'd slept on it. Positively bedraggled and rumpled, this was hardly the man who'd once stood among kings. He stooped to lave his tongue gently over the scabbing wounds that he could reach, to comb his teeth through the tangles in his coat that wouldn't bring him too much pain to tidy. Not much of an improvement, by all accounts. Old habits died hard. The room opened up dramatically after a few strides, and the wary captive found himself hesitating. Peering about the corner with his good eye in search of danger, his golden ears pressed flat against his skull. Would he be punished for leaving? The customs were unfamiliar here, he knew little more than the language spoken by those he'd met thus far. What was the appropriate manner for a servant? Cream tipped tail tucked against his belly, head low between his frail shoulders as he searched for scraps that he could abscond with before he was caught.. "speaking" -- "in another language"

Oooof... The meal was not settling well, or someone within her was pushing on her stomach and making her nauseous. She was certainly tired of relieving herself every five minutes as someone else was assuredly jumping on her bladder. Another set of tiny paws was trying their best to break out of her womb in the worst spot and an area under her ribs was starting to get sore and irritated. She tried rolling over onto her other side to see if that would make whoever was kicking incessantly stop. She sighed about to relax until another spot seemed to into their favorite. Were they trying to dig their way out?

She grunted and rocked her overly stretched belly. She didn't know how much more she could take this. Will it be soon? It better be soon. She thought she might burst.

She froze her swaying and lifted her head from the nest she had made of furs and pillows, the torches and hearth had grown dim again. Was that the new songbird Bas had brought in? He must be hungry. She hadn't been able to eat a full meal all at once had still had some nearby.

"Songbird?" She called, "Slave? Help me with something?" She was still trying to find the command in her voice. They still came out as questions. Bas hadn't given her his name yet. He was funny about naming his slaves. She was in no state to get up at the moment. Her massive stomach stretched to its limits. She wondered if she could be rolled around like a barrel with short legs.

"Ignita"

this death will be art Settled amidst a luxurious nest of furs and throws, the pallid form of the queen who had been rather keen to interrogate him the night prior. In the low light of the dying fires, she seemed smaller than before. Perhaps that was reality, and the night before no more than a fever dream of exhaustion and adrenaline that had made her seem so much larger. She called out to him from across the room, requesting his assistance with no time to waste. Keeping his head low and tail loosely tucked against his inner thighs, he slipped quietly forth. Well trained paws held in such a way that his nails did not click so loudly against the stone. Holdovers from the mixed flooring of his old home. As he drew closer, he could see that she was indeed rather large, but not in stature. Basilisk must have fathered this litter, for it was visibly wreaking havoc upon her diminutive form. Her flanks were stretched with the burden of her progeny, and he prayed quietly that she was nearing the point of their birth- otherwise she may not survive. It would be a tragedy to lose her to such a preventable circumstance. He blinked a few times, banishing the altogether useless pondering. "What would you ask of me, my lady?" he questioned, vocals still hoarse with the abuse of weeks prior. He cast his gaze about, his singular functional eye seeking something that was amiss. The hearth could certainly use stoking, and the remnants of her meal appeared to have been cast aside- perhaps he was meant to tidy up. "speaking" -- "in another language"

She watched him walk over the hard cavern floor. His claws barely and softly clicked over them. Her suspicions flared anew. Servants and nobles were taught how to whisper over polished marble and sandstone floors. The old human places with tattered rugs would barely cover the polished palace floors.

He seemed taken aback by her state. Honestly, she wasn't surprised, it was dark the night before, he wouldn't have seen her that well, not with one eye in the dark. And she was... rather protruding these days.

"Plea... Stoke... Stoke the fire, please." She had tried at first with Yara to hold that powerful leader's countenance but it just wasn't something she could muster. The pleases and thank yous, pleasantries, and fawning were too well ingrained for her to battle it all at once.

"Then tell me what your story is." She was lonely. Both Bas and Yara had other duties. And the companion that she wished the most to be so near was the furthest away, safe from the blight and hating her guts.

"Ignita"

Basilisk may enter her threads without warning.