The Veteran's Plateau and the surrounding lands of Hells River, the Battlefield, Locus Obscuro, The Range and the Whistling Willows are all affected by a magical autumn, additionally each land seems to have manifested permanently wet pools of blood, weapons and a lingering scent of iron. In the center of the plateau you find a statue:

A large lupine figure carved of stone looms over the plateau, it stands on a simple rectangular stone base but even without the base the statue is larger than any wolf ever seen in Boreas or Auster, larger by far. The figure is carved roughly from dark grey stone, the surface is uneven and rough, there is no sign of fine artistry in the carve instead each part of the statue is shaped to be just good enough to suggest what it’s portraying. Even still the form is clearly of a large imposing wolf, it stands with its legs spread evenly apart, its chest pushed forward and chin tilted up, a pair of dark stone eyes rolled down to sneer down at anyone who stands before it. It wears a stone cape around its neck which cascades down its right shoulder, a time-worn claps sitting at the base of its throat. Its left ear has crumbled, giving the appearance it has been torn and its right hind leg has a large chunk taken out of the stone. The statue is spotted with dark brownish stains that resist even the most persistent cleaning. When it’s dark, or when passerbys catch a glimpse of the statue out of the corner of their eye they swear the eyes glow a deep red.

The stone slab that functions as the altar for this time-worn statue has been freshly cleaned, though to what end you do not know. The fervor from the familiars from earlier has died down and there now seems to only be a low murmur, it rises and falls in an almost rhythmic chanting though you can't make out any distinct words. The familiar tabby cat has a much more somber expression and when it beckons you forwards it's tone is less demanding: "Think carefully about the gift you wish to give, the gods are much closer now and they may not take kindly to thoughtless offerings." There is a distinct warning in its eyes and every familiar seems to lean forward in anticipation to see what it is you'll be offering.

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Make an IC post in this thread of your character making an offering on the altar before the statue found in the Veteran's Plateau. Each character may only make a single offering. Each player may only participate in 8 total events this week. Note: For the purpose of not making people read and memorize every single post, you can assume the familiars are actively shuffling things around to make more room, and it’s totally fine to say that you put down flowers on the same area where someone else just put a pelt.

Deadline for offering: October 30th 9PM PST

All submissions must be posted by the deadline with no exceptions

Real gods require blood.  It was as it has always been.  It is as it will always be.  Their presence, Víðarr can feel it.  Always around this time of year, but more than usual, even.  Though the gods walked among them always, this was... this was even more.  The shadow could feel it in his very bones.  He did his best to steady his thoughts, loud as they'd been lately.  The call of the familiars wasn't just so, this was the call of the gods themselves.  Anticipation welled up in Víðarr's chest, in his throat.  The familiars had sought him, and he'd do well to answer their call.  By the same token, he chooses to ask his own to remain encamped.  This would be a journey for the shadow, and the shadow alone.

He came upon the statue, and was at once struck by its condition.  The staining, as if bloodstained in battle.  The stoic expression, the strength, the poise of it all.  The likenesses Víðarr pulls apart, considering the tabby's words carefully as he does.  He would hear their voices, let them speak through him now.  It's a long thought before Víðarr approaches the statue, head bowed.  Solemn, though he usually was.  

With one fluid motion, the shadow drew the pad of his paw across one of the sharpened jet spikes in his gauntlets.  It was enough to make a clean break in the flesh, blood bubbling to the surface moments later.  Víðarr barely flinched, though the pain was enough to jolt and shock his system.  A religious experience in and of itself.  Víðarr allowed a small amount of blood to pool on the altar, speaking quietly in his mother tongue.  The prayer came first, words that he still managed to hold from his mother.  

Lowering his head further, voice barely a whisper, he offered his conclusion.  "Real gods require blood."

"Víðarr"

NPC:

A few murmurs go up from the familiars as you offer your own blood, a bold first offering to be sure. Your prayer is lifted to the sky and you feel as if something is pressing down on you and the world around you flashes away for a moment. You are in the dark, the only color you can see is your own blood, which seems unearthly bright in the ethereal dark.

The ringing of steel on steel echoes around you, and after a moment of this metallic cacophony a cry goes up, voices lifted in a victory yell and the pain in your cut paw dulls and disappears. You feel yourself being jostled, warm bodies and a sense of commradery settle over you, you are being greeted by your peers, your friends, your brothers in arms. Tonight you drink to your victory and share tales of your past struggles! Tonight you are with your brothers!

And then the world snaps back to. There are no warm bodies giving you friendly shoves, there is only a low rumble of voices but no words calling for stories or drinks or calling a name you now realize was never yours but felt like it was. The tabby cat steps forward, nodding in what you can only assume is an approving manner and you realize there is a weight against your chest, a pouch has made it around your neck, but you dare not open it here or now. All things in time. “Real Gods require blood.” The tabby says in that growling voice and you feel whatever was rooting you to the spot release you, gently, as if it searched you and approved.

You have received:
A Boosted companion pass

Staff: note when claimed

Tyrfing had spent the week prior very torn and in deep argument with his beloved hummingbird companion as the two tried to make a decision on whether or not participation in this faith-based festival would piss off his Gods or not. Tyrfing argued for caution, thinking it was better to not offer anything then to risk his offering losing him favor with the Gods, and the hummingbird championed devil's advocate. The small creature who had guided him through life and held a part of his soul vehemently insisted that all Gods were his Gods, no matter what face they chose or what names they might call themselves. In the end, Tyrfing buckled beneath the wisdom of his fylgja and made his way to the plateau. Choosing to believe that this God might be some representation of Odin, Tyrfing came prepared. Upon the altar he placed his offering - a heavy headed hammer he had purchased from a trader, it's handle decorated in black raven feathers and painted in blood upon it's cheek, runes meant to protect. The hammer symbolized Mjölnir - a devastating weapon as well as an instrument of blessing - the feathers representing Odin's faithful companions, and the runes intended to bestow protection upon the God. With his offering placed the man withdrew, bowing his head reverently. He hoped the Gods would appreciate his gift, and moreso that his companion was right and that this would not backfire on him heavily tomorrow. "Speech" table art by nightauctor

NPC:

The hammer rests upon the stone and there is hardly a sound, the world seems to be holding its breath as if expecting something, but when nothing happens and you start to turn to leave, but as you turn around the plateau has fallen away, the crashing of thunder echoes around you suddenly and all you can see is a great grey cloudy sky, you are on the ground no more and a feeling of vertigo. Instinct drives you to fall to the ground and clinging to the rough stone under you. The thunder rumbles all around you and a primal fear of being struck by lightning fills you, you are aware that you are rising, the grey clouds dropping away from your little platform.

Then you break through the cloud cover, and blink against a bright light, you expect to see Valhalla, or the Bifröst, surely you were ascending towards the heavens right? But instead, all you can see is pale blue sky, and despite everything, you feel something of a calm settle over you.

You close your eyes and feel the sun on your face and when you open them again you are standing before the statue, never having even turned around. The tabby steps forward and looks you over and seems to be considering you for a moment, but finally gives you a small hesitant nod. “May your gods bless you for your generosity.” You feel a weight against your chest and realize somehow a pouch has materialized around your neck and you give a nod, your brain not quite grasping the exact wording the cat said as you leave.

You have received:
Defensive Battle Accessory - A set of 4 black hard leather bracers, each bracer has a line of runes running from top to bottom that pulse in a light blue light.

Staff: note when claimed

Word had spread of alters and statues and gods coming to life. Aslatiel had never given such things much thought, but she felt the urge to travel to one and see for herself. It was customary to make some sort of offering, she knew. If the gods were alive and were all powerful, then they deserved something nice, did they not? The scarred warrioress made her way to the Veteran's Plateau, a place that she had been to many times. The atmosphere had changed, however. Galactic eyes were instantly drawn to the statue. A warrior, for sure covered in battle wounds, each a tale of its exploits. This was a god that Aslatiel could respect. Though she was small and a woman, she was a warrior at heart. Moving up to the statue, Asla shifted, letting a sack fall to the ground. Digging about within, she removed her very first piece of armor that she'd ever had; reinforced, leather covered steel coated with porcupine quills. Asla placed the piece of armor, used, but still in very good shape, at the paws of the statue. "A piece of armor stained with the blood of my enemies," she told the statue. She then removed the buffalo hide cloak that went with the armor and flung it about the statue's shoulders. "And a thick hide to keep a warrior warm at night." With a nod of her head, the fawn and grey woman turned and began moving off, feeling... oddly satisfied. "Speech"

NPC:

There seems to be a murmur of approval as you offer the armor, used but clearly once loved. You look up at the large imposing stone figure and you feel it is somehow looking down at you, your legs freeze and you cannot move, you do not know how long you stand there frozen, unmoving and feeling the appraising gaze.

Then a low sound hum starts up around you, a melody you do not know. The sounds grow closer and you realize it’s a chorus of voices, all singing in a language you’ve never known but somehow understand. The voices have no obvious sex but the song sings of mothers, of sisters, of daughters. Women of the battle field, it is a song of their own battles, some literal: Men killed at their fangs, those that would seek to hurt them cut down and their manhoods claimed. Others are less literal: The battlefield of birth, of proving themselves again and again, of love and loss. And as the song seems to wrap around you, you understand what it is trying to say: Though you are small and a woman, there was never any doubt of who you are, and which battlefields you’ve conquered.

The song seems to swaddle you and ten whole life times pass in its warm, comforting embrace. And you don’t even notice your eyes closing, letting yourself drown in the song which you hear yourself join in singing. The verses end and you lightly hum it to yourself, your eyes opening and you are once more at the altar. The tune that was just on your lips slowly fading from your mind, and in only a few minutes you will struggle to remember its sound, but not the feeling it filled you with.

The tabby steps forward and gives you a look that you realize is a warm smile. “May fate be kind to you sister.” It says and you realize there is a weight against your chest, a pouch hanging from your neck. You look up at the statue again for a moment, feeling the word sister reverberate in your mind, there is something holding you for a moment, and then you are released.

You have received:
A Minor mutation pass


Staff: note when claimed

Lotus looked up at the statue of the warrior and felt as if he had so much to prove. He didn’t understand exactly what the statue represented. A wolf who had once been a warrior, and immortalised as a god? A god who fought in the wars of wolves? Or a god who fought other gods in great clashes across the sky?

Regardless, he had a feeling a god such as this would make a good patronage. Perhaps that was why he felt it was so important that he leave a good impression. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he planned to do, before drawing a blade he carried in his bracer across the tip of his ear. Cutting about a third of the extremity off. He paused, letting out a shaky breath that barely contained how much that had hurt before placing the ear, splattering blood and all, at the base of the altar. “A warrior does not enter battle without being willing to make sacrifices” he said boldly, wondering if he’d made a friend or a foe with his actions.

"Speech"

NPC:

As you being to work, begin to cut your ear, a gasp goes up from the familiars and you hear the tabby harshly shushing them, and they fall into a low muttering, you cannot make out the words as you continue your grisly work. When it is done you lift your head, or something lifts it for you, tips your head back so it is looking up at the statue’s face.

The face seems to shift, nearly imperceptible, lips lifting to bare fangs. The red glowing of the eyes grows stronger and then, closer and you realized streams of red glowing fireflies are leaving the empty stone sockets they swarm your head, filling your ear with their buzzing, there is a tearing noise and you feel your other ear ripping from your head and then the flies pile into the cavities left in the wake of your removed ears. You scream- And you cannot hear it. You scream and scream and scream, you find you can move your head and you yell at the faces around you, familiars looking at you in pity and though some move their mouths you cannot hear them, you cannot hear anything.

A ringing starts in the back of your head, the only sound you can hear anymore and you’re sure it’s not from outside but from inside your own skull. You flinch, you tuck your head and curl in on yourself and you scream silently as the ringing grows louder and louder and louder and-

The sounds of the world come back then, louder than they’ve ever felt before, your brain scrambling to adjust to suddenly hearing everything again and you look around frantically, you are standing just as you were a moment ago. The tabby steps forward and gives you a look that seems to be a mix of pity, understanding, and resignation? “The blood you spilled will be considered payment enough today but remember, your body is precious.” You blink down at the cat, it looks at you and there is nothing more there… Just silence and a slowly rolling sense of discomfort, you stumble back, the ringing still echoing in your head but fading quick. You decide it’s best to get out of here, whatever just happened you feel it was a warning and you’d best not tempt it much further.

You have received:
A Small unfleshed thought:

As you are leaving, the sounds of the crowd fade behind you, and you feel some sense of calm come over you. Your limbs grow weak, you let yourself collapse to the ground, your eyes closing for a moment as you let yourself breathe after that terrifying experience. You feel a sort of comfort on the ground here, and despite yourself, you wriggle in the grass. You dig down, your nose pushing through the dirt and you feel the light of the sun disappear behind you as you dig deeper and deeper, the comfort of the wet earth around you and you find an old tunnel left by a worm, it’s yours, you made it you do not know how long ago. The world of wolves does not concern you, has never concerned you, you are a worm, you have always been a worm.

Your eyes snap open and you are on the ground, basking in the autumnal sun, you are a wolf. It feels like you learned something you shouldn't know...

After a long, thoughtful, walk through the plateau Incubus was back at an alter. This one was different then the one in the Soulless Forest. The stone Wolf towered over them all, almost reminding each and everyone of them of their own pitiful mortality. Pink and blue eyes looked up at the Stone statue and took in that glistening crimson. Incubus wondered if the statues were just how the familiar's higher power connected to the mortal realm. With this thought a small twitch of his lips could be seen, a little shock. Before the unusual autumn Incubus had never even considered a higher power. A Knight's helm was held in the male's mouth as he moved closer to the statue. His offering was something he found while walking through the Plateau thinking of his life and the circle of life as a whole. The walk meant more to him then anyone will know. Inc had a quick but impactful emotional moment when he had found the helmet. After having dug it up from its resting spot the male reflected on the creature who may have worn such a thing, it was definitely not a Wolf. He thought of where their kind was now and where Wolves would be generations on. This led him to thoughts of his family and how fleeting time was. A pang of sorrow filled him again as his mother flashed through his mind. With that moment of sorrow Incubus placed the helmet down on the stone slab. The metal was loud against it but he paid no mind. Inc straightened it up and stared at it for a long moment before turning around. Would the familiars know the depth of the meaning behind his offering? Or had they paid no mind to his walk. Inc let the worry wash away as he slipped to the back of the gathering to watch others make their offering in solemn silence. ""

NPC:

There is a slight clang as the helmet is placed upon the altar, it echoes eerily over the plateau, and then it doesn’t stop, it echoes long after it should have faded, in fact, it sounds like it’s coming back towards you.

But it’s the clarion of a bell, you find yourself in the dark, the bell’s rhythmic sound all around you and then you see figures starting to materialize around you, it’s hard to make out the details but slowly, ever so slowly, you start to put names to faces, names you’ve never heard for faces you’ve never seen. It is aunts and uncles and grandparents you’ve never met before. They are silent, they are still, they all look at you, but you do not feel it is threatening, instead, all you can feel is their pride, their joy, and as more and more figures fill up the space you can’t help but marvel at the fullness of the lineage before you.

Then there is a face you’ve seen before. Closer to you than the others but still unmoving, you’re not even sure if the figures are really there or simply a vision of some sort but before you is your father. You feel worry clutch at your heart and you glance around, searching, searching, searching… Your mother eludes you, but you do not feel she is missing, you feel she is not here yet… As you slowly turn your gaze back towards where your father stands you feel there is a space reserved there for your mother but it remains empty, she never materializes.

Something else does, behind the rows of lupine figures are figures even harder to see, they stand taller than the wolves, still and silent just as the family around you, they each have a pair of glowing red eyes fixed on you, set high in those strange round heads that seem to remind you of the helmet you’d offered only moments before-

You snap back to reality, the names and faces you could never have a reason to know flee your mind and will not be summoned back no matter how you try, but the feeling of realizing your mother was not there yet… That stays. The tabby steps forward, but its eyes are not on you, but rather it is looking at the helmet you’ve offered. “Time always moves forward, empires always eventually fall. You’ll not be judged if you cannot stop time, and you cannot.” It glances at you for a moment then gives you a nod and you realize you’ve been wearing a cord with a pouch around your neck this whole time, you swallow hard and take one step, two steps, three steps… Back out into a world that still makes no sense.

You have received:
A Boosted companion pass


Staff: note when claimed

The strength of the Gods was in the air. Gimli had been seeing firsthand, the strange phenomena happening. He believed strongly in the Gods, and although he had his preferred ones, he knew there were many others out there that others believed in. The statue that had cropped up on the plateau was one such God that to him, was a similar depiction to what he imagined Odin to look like. Or at least, close enough. He carried himself somberly to the statue, the small man craning his neck up to look as the tabby cat spoke. He took a breath, slipped off the leather hide armor he had crafted so long ago, and placed it at the statue's feet. There was a valknut symbol etched into it, carved there by Gimli himself. "From one Drengr to another." He murmured before stepping back. "Gimli"||"Knut"

NPC:

A hearty laugh goes up from somewhere among the familiars as you place your armor at the altar but you do not feel it is aimed at you. You look up at the statue, you do not know how long you stand there, time seems to drop away from you.

A scent wafts towards you, pushed by a wind you cannot feel. The scent of honey, slightly acrid in its fermentation. The scent of smoke swirls around you but it is the heady smell of a roaring campfire and not the suffocation of a wildfire. The scent of sweat, of metal and meats. You close your eyes and your ears join your nose in its supernatural sensations.

Jovial voices, crying out to each other in a language you do not know, songs in tunes unfamiliar to you. You are in a mead hall, you do not know how you know this, your eyes do not seem able to open, but you can feel the warmth of a fire, hear its crackling echoing off the wooden walls, feel the effects of the mead making your head fuzzy in a pleasant sort of way. You feel yourself sway on your paws, the pleasantness of a hearty meal and a light buzz settling over you. You are draped in a warm cape, and even with your eyes closed, you can tell you are seated at a table, the head of the table. Around you, your men sing drunken songs, bets, and boasts echo in the air. You do not know if you have just returned from a successful battle or are preparing to march in the morning but it does not matter, tonight is for drink, it’s for comradery, it’s for celebrating this exact moment.

The scents and sounds and sensations slowly fade away and you open your eyes to the world of the Plateau, but the warmth you felt inside you seems to stay. The tabby steps towards you and you feel a weight bumping against your chest, a pouch on a leather cord hangs from your neck. The cat looks up at you with a warmth that feels reminiscent of the fondness you’d felt for your unseen men only moments before. “Boldness is oft misconstrued but it is often a tool for those with less traditional blessings, never forget all you’ve fought and won.” You feel like you are no longer rooted here and you take a step back, feeling like whatever just happened, you were seen.

You have received:
A Small companion - battle upgrade


Staff: note when claimed

This place reeked of blood and conflict, the sort that ended badly with casualties on all sides, leaving those who remained to wonder if it had even been worth it in the end. Whether what had been gained was worth even a fraction of what had been lost. It was a question that stuck in Levi's mind as he approached the altar, left him quiet and almost unsure as he stared up at the statue's red eyes. Wondered what it saw, if anything, in him.

All the same, Levi intended to leave an offering. Whether it would do more harm than good, who could say? Levi certainly didn't know. Twisting around as best as he could, he ripped out a handful of spines, not even winching, from the scruff of his neck and left them on the altar. Droplets of fresh blood and all. He said nothing, felt as though actions spoke louder than words ever could. Both here in this place and in general. Leaving his offering behind, he slipped into the shadows. What was done, was done, come what may.

NPC:

Things are deathly quite as you pull the spines from your flesh, there is a slight tearing sound and it seems to echo unnaturally over the plateau, echoes… And comes back, it rings in your ears, the sound of your own flesh tearing.

It fills your head, it is all you can hear, the sound of your own flesh pulling apart, sinew by sinew. It is more violent than what your actions could have ever caused. Pain lances through your paws and you look down to see tiny insects at your paws, pulsing red. Red fireflies. You watch wide-eyed as they swarm your toes and begin slowly, one by one, pulling them from your paws. You open your mouth to scream and it is suddenly filled with fireflies, gagging you and all you can do is stare down, frozen by a means you do not know, as they crawl up your now toeless paws, and begin pulling your ankles apart. So it goes, the flies slowly, painfully, dismember you, joint by joint. They leave your head for last, somehow you are still awake, still painfully, horribly awake.

The flies get to your head and they begin to pull your skull apart, they pull your eyes from their sockets and your vision goes black but you can still feel it as they pull the cartilage of your nose from your bone, feel it as they work themselves into your jaw hinge and lever it off. You can feel yourself in pieces, feel each and every joint aching for each other, aching to be put back together but you cannot move, you will not die, but you cannot live.

You gasp as your eyes snap open, the aching in your body a dull throb that will not fade for some hours, your breathing is heavy and the tabby cat steps forward, it has a look of pity on its face. “I know you may not believe it, but you have been blessed with a more generous response than you might otherwise get. There is value in your body, please respect it.” You cannot even manage a nod, all you can do is stumble away, running on those aching joints and it’s only later you realize that a pouch had been hanging from a cord around your neck the whole time.

You have received:
A Melanism Pass


Staff: note when claimed

Beauregard had thought carefully about what he wanted to bring to one of the statues. He had made a run to the north for the item, relieved that it was still in the S.S. Antiox despite Menagerie’s fall. The yearling kept the item wrapped up in some dark, red cloth as he traveled back toward the Veteran’s Plateau. He had heard about one of the statues that gave off a warrior feel, and that was the one that the ashen cream male wanted to visit. He had no idea what a proper gift was but it didn’t hurt to offer something, right? When he arrived others were already making their offerings to the statue. Beauregard would wait his turn and then, in time, approached with his bundle. He laid the cloth down and then unfolded it to reveal a sharp dirk, its silver handle decorated with a fire agate tumble stone. Beau dipped his head to the statue respectfully. “I crafted this weapon some time ago to test my skills.” He explained. “It is lightweight but sturdy. May the blade sing true for you.” The ashen cream male backed off, wondering how his offering might go over. "Talk, 'Think.'

NPC:

The cat seems to nod as you place the weapon upon the stone, a sense of nostalgia rolls over you. It is warm and familiar and despite yourself, you feel a little sense of regret for letting go of the dirk.

Then something else comes over you, you taste blood in your mouth, it seems to fill you up, the taste of iron so strong it makes you want to gag but you cannot move, you are frozen. You can feel movement, the wind whistling in your ear as you feel yourself flying through the air. Your vision skews and goes black, and you hear a cry of pain and the blood fills your mouth again. Then there is brilliant light and you can’t see anything, except for yourself. You look down to see your forelegs are drenched in blood. Panic goes through you but is quickly settled as you seem to instinctively know you are not the one who is hurt.

Somehow, somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize these are somehow the memories of the knife you’d offered. It is sharing with you a brief moment in it’s life, you feel a sense of pride, a sense of belonging, and then it fills you with contentment. It does not resent your choices, it is only happy for the time it has had.

Things blur and the blood fades from your torso and the rest of the world slips back into focus. The sense of contentment stays but the taste of blood is already forgotten. The tabby is seated right in front of you, a low stuttering rumble you realize is it purring. “Never forget where you started when you get where you’re going.” It said before moving on, gesturing to the pouch hanging from your neck. You stay for a moment, wanting to bask in the quickly fading feeling of pride you’d experienced, but you have to keep moving forward, everyone does.

You have received:
A Boosted companion pass

Staff: Used on Bellamy's tasmanian devil companion here - nyx

As she was getting older, the young girl was starting to stretch her little legs a bit more. She had wandered this way carting her well worn bamboo practice pole. Truth was, she was on the look out for a trader that might be able to sell her something with a sharper edge… Though maybe a staff wouldn’t be so bad either? She loved the idea of having her own sword, and she had practiced the forms every day, but now, as she approached her first birthday, all she really wanted to do was surprise Usagi at their next lesson with something a bit more serious than a length of bamboo.

That being said, it was all she was carrying on her of worth when she stumbled across the intimidating statue. The red glowing eyes were what caught her attention at first and she had considered just going on her merry way, pretending she hadn’t seen a thing… But something in her gut told her it wasn’t a good idea. This was clearly someone important, who had done great deeds if their likeness was carved out in stone.

She didn’t cower as she stepped forward, and she felt a pang in her chest though if anything, it was only that she didn’t have some great battle-worn and blooded weapon to offer in this ones place. Oh sure it was probably littered with smatterings of her own blood from times she got a bit carried away in practice, but that was all it was, practice. She hadn’t seen a real battle herself yet.

Carefully she added her bamboo pole to the pile of offering and took a moment for quiet contemplation. She was young yet, but she would do her best to grow in strength and skill in the hope that one day, she might be a great warrior too.

“Speech”

Just move those left feet, go ahead, get crazy

NPC:

The distinct sound of bamboo clattering on stone cuts through the low rumble of chatter, and a few familiars stifle giggles but are quickly shushed by others. You glance around and feel heat flood your face, you make to try and leave quickly, preserve your dignity you find you… Can’t.

You try to lift your paw to turn around but something holds it to the ground, something is restraining it. You look down and swallow a yelp of fear as you notice a little green shoot that has somehow pushed through the stone, it has wrapped around your toes and is holding you fast, you try to squirm yourself free but the little plant is surprisingly strong, you go to lift your other forepaw to try and pull yourself free but with a familiar feeling, you find it is restrained. You swallow down your rising panic and glancing behind you you confirm that all four of your paws are restrained by little green plants.

You take a moment to try and breathe, the plants don’t seem to be creeping higher, just holding you still and you consider your options for a moment, deciding you had little other option you lean down to try and pull at the plants around your right paw with your teeth, but the moment your muzzle gets close it twitches, and with such a speed you hardly see it, an offshoot of the plant shoots directly into your mouth instantly triggering your gag reflex and you wobble as you cough and try to clear your throat. The plant had pulled back just as fast as it had attacked and it seems to curl back, waiting for you to try again. So you’re just… Stuck.

“Okay that’s enough.” A growling voice breaks through your thoughts and you lift your gaze to look at the tabby who seems to be looking up at the statue with a disapproving stare. You wait, nothing happens and the cat gives a quick nod of its head then looks at you apologetically. You instinctually glance down and notice the plants are gone, not even a crack in the stone it could have grown through… You notice a pouch hanging from a cord around your neck though. “Sometimes value is easy to miss.” The cat says, seeming to be offering an apology. You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, deciding it’s probably better to leave before you end up stuck here again.

You have received:
100 Gemstones have been added to your credits.

After his last visit to the statue of the proud warrior out amongst the ancient battlefield, Saracyn’s sleep had been blessed with vivid dreams and visions of himself standing amongst a field of corpses, enemies slain by his claws and teeth and sword. The ground was dyed crimson with the blood of the unworthy opponents felled by him, and when he gazed around at the broken bodies, a triumphant pride swelled within his heart. He awoke, knowing these prophetic visions were the doing of the entity he had offered his lifeblood to. He also knew that it meant he still had more to offer. The god had chosen him and he had to make himself worthy of the deity.

Striding across the battle-scarred wasteland, the Mendacium prince approached the statue once more, its eyes at a glance appearing blood red, but when he looked again only stone stared back at him. The cat that had praised him for his offering before bid him be careful with his offering, a sober look on its face. Sara nodded to the familiar, then looked about the statue. Many had offered weapons, some armor or clothing. One highly creative individual had even seemed to like his original offering, as a small spot of fresh blood was on the statue's base. Glancing up, he noticed the ragged end of an ear left behind.

Saracyn huffed in disappointment and shook his head. Half an ear? That was the best the others could offer? Looking up into the statue's emotionless eyes, the red prince extended the smooth-edged blade from his bracer and reclined onto his haunches to steady himself. There was no fear nor apprehension in the prince's eyes as he slid the blade between the digits of his opposite paw, feeling the sharp edge of cold steel against the flesh of his middle toe. "You deserve better than a piece of an ear," he spoke, then looked up to the entity's carved face with impassive, solemn reverence. "For blood and glory." Saracyn pressed his weight down on his paw and felt the steel cut straight through flesh and bone as it was sliced at the knuckle. Searing pain flashed through his paw, stabbing into his brain and causing his glowing marking to burst into bright light, but the prince clenched his jaw and steeled his gaze, not looking away from his god as warm blood seeped from the severed toe to pool onto the statue's base. Focusing on keeping his breathing even and measured, Sara sheathed his dagger once more and lifted his amputated digit, placing it closer to the paws of the entity.

Still holding his expression hard and neutral to prevent any signs of pain or weakness from showing, Saracyn grit his teeth and lifted his paw to inspect the fresh wound, watching blood seep down over his paw and foreleg from the stump where his toe had once been. Sharp cerulean eyes looked down to the somber tabby once more, nodding to the feline and other familiars tending to the shrine. Then he rose and stepped away from the statue, leaving a spattered trail of blood in his wake as he left to build a fire so he could cauterize his wound.

"Saracyn Mendacium"

NPC:

As you start to pull at your toe, a little rumble goes up from a few of the familiars but they are quickly told not to make decisions for anyone else. You push it from your mind as you work through the pain and eventually present your offering to the altar. The taste of your own blood still fresh on your lips. As you look up at the statue a low humming fills the air, and you watch with horror as the red glowing eyes swing down to look directly down at you.

But they are not eyes, four of the largest fireflies you’ve ever seen fly from the stone sockets and latch themselves onto your legs before you can more, one for each. Your head swivels to try and pull one of the flies off but before you can get too close you feel something… You are being lifted off the ground, each fly’s wings are working overtime and you find your paws leaving the ground, your weight swinging you upside down and you panic, tucking your head so it doesn’t hit the ground, but already you are too high above it.

You crane your neck, trying to figure out if they are taking you anywhere, or if they’re just lifting you up. But there’s a pain in your hips and shoulders, and you realize with a start the flies aren’t lifting you, just your legs. With an almost comical pop, though it’s hard to even notice it with the suddenly surge of pain, all four of your legs come free of their sockets and you fall back to the ground. You hit the stone with a sickening crunch and your instinct to flee kicks in, but you can’t run, you can only wriggle around on the hard stone.

You open your mouth to scream when you realize you are standing where you were a moment before, whole of body, excepting the toe of course. Your heart is racing and you jump when you feel the tabby brushing against your leg, it looks up at you and then down at your still bleeding paw. “Do not forget to value things while you have them, don’t be in such a rush to prove yourself to your own detriment.” It says and nods to the pouch hanging from your neck, as if to say that is payment for your pain, for your fear. You swallow hard and decide it’s better to get out of here.

You have received:
A Regular shaped marking pass


Staff: Used for Prezzies for Players 2022 - nyx

Although he offered alcohol to the feast, he felt as though the altar itself could use a drink. Regardless if the mighty stone wolf had won or lost the battle he appeared to have at least survived, Grimshaw knew that there was nothing better than a good drink. Either to celebrate or numb the pain, it hardly mattered. Grabbing another bottle, this time of the strong stuff, Grimshaw made his way back to the altar and nodded towards the altar's familiars.

Setting the full, heavy bottle of his strongest make down at the feet of the altar. "You look like you could use a drink." He started, pausing briefly to sit and look up to the face of the warrior. "This alcohol is strong, like you." He finished, bowing his head in respect to the altar for a long minute before standing and doing the same, but shorter, to the familiars before parting and heading back to the Col.

"Speech!"

NPC:

Even in the more somber atmosphere of the plateau, you sense a ripple of excitement go up from the familiars when you place your drink down and a low murmur of anticipation starts. You can feel that there is a general sense of approval. You can’t help a small smile.

A pleasant fuzziness seems to sweep over you, and you find your balance fleeing you, you fall to the ground but it doesn’t hurt, instead, it feels like floating. Some part of your mind seems to realize you are drunk, on what you cannot know. Your mouth tastes of metal and blood, filled with the taste of war and of conquest. Your mouth tastes like hard work, hours put into honing yourself and your craft. Your mouth tastes of victory and hard-earned recognition.

You lay on the hard earth, your head swimming pleasantly and feeling as though you were floating. Your mouth tastes of kisses, of your boyfriend, and a warmth seems to seep out from your chest to envelop your whole body. You feel almost euphoric and can’t help but feel a little sad as it starts to fade and your brain comes back to sobriety.

You notice the tabby standing before you, a look of amusement in its eyes and it chuckles softly as it watches you get back to your paws, and you notice a pouch hanging from your neck. “Don’t forget to celebrate even the little things, a good drink is only as good as the occasion and the company.” It gives you a wink and you make your way down from the altar, still feeling a little fuzzy.

You have received:
A Somnium breeding pass


Staff: note when claimed

Word of the statues that had popped up in numerous territories all over Boreas and Auster had reached Thalia, perhaps a bit late but luckily not too late for her to pay them a visit. She had no doubt that the Fallen God himself was responsible for their creation and appearance, though the intricacies of their existence was lost on her. Not that it mattered - she intended to find one and pay it her respects. Apparently wolves were already gathering to make offerings to them and Thalia Abraxas thought long and hard about what she had to offer to her God long before she arrived at one of the statues. Abraxas didn't care for physical items, not in the way some of the wolves here thought he did. Her gaze was cold and calculating as it skimmed the wolves that filtered in and away from the altar, judging their offerings.

Hers was infinitely better. She was quiet as she approached, bowing her head solemnly for a long moment. "To you I offer my first born child. Whenever they are born, their life is yours." Not that she had any yet, but if He was willing, then hopefully soon. Children had never been something she'd considered, not seriously at least, not until now. For what better way was there to show her devotion to her God than to offer her very own flesh and blood? Her eyes gleamed, hopeful as she gazed upon the time-worn face of the statue and searched for a sign of approval. She swore as she backed up that the statue's eyes flashed blood red - which was really all the sign she needed. It'd been so long since she'd had direction and she found herself silently hoping that a sacrifice so extreme would surely sway her God in her favor and prove her devotion as true and unwavering.

NPC:

TW: Body horror around pregnancy, and dead fetus imagery.

You do in fact see the eyes flash red, and a hush falls over the familiars who all seem to turn as one to stare up at the statue and you find yourself suddenly frozen. Somewhere from among the familiars, a cry goes up: Uncontrollable sobbing.

The crying grows louder, and you realize with a start it’s the mewling of a newborn, a primal cry of a child too young to say in words what it needs. It grows louder and louder and louder until it is all you can hear. You instinctively curl in on yourself, trying to drive the deafening crying from your mind but you cannot seem to fold in on yourself the way you mean to.

You peer between your forelegs and have to fight back a wave of nausea, your abdomen is swollen, you are pregnant, not just pregnant but you are close to bursting. Before your eyes, you see your flesh writhe, whatever is growing inside you is trying to fight its way out. You retch then, your stomach heaving and you vomit onto the ground. The crying grows louder and you stare in horror at the former contents of your stomach, on the ground, covered in blood and bile are several small bean-shaped creatures, vestigial legs struggling to move as your unborn puppies struggle to live in the world before they grow still, and still, your stomach writhes, whatever is inside you is not a puppy-

You scream so loudly your throat is sore and it takes several of the familiars pressing themselves into you to bring you back to reality, their gentle cooing, trying to calm you feeling too close to a mother calming their upset child for you in this moment. You can feel tears running down your face and you shakily get to your paws. The tabby cat steps forward, worry clear in its face. “Best get home and get some rest, you’re in for a long one.” You hardly even hear it, nodding numbly and you feel cold and exhausted, your return home is slow and miserable.

You have recieved:
The seasonal flu, your symptoms include but are not limited to: Chills, body aches, and fatigue. You must include at least one symptom in all new threads from now until November 27th, when Thalia is allowed to recover.

TW: Suicide. Self Harm. Sads. Probably other stuff too. When Zee was young would have never dreamed that one day she would run towards death rather than away from it. She had never been much of a fighter, no matter how her track record in recent events might say otherwise. For as long as she could remember her goal as a child had always been to secure a crown upon her head and to rise up above what any member of her humble family ever had. That ambition had led to Archon and then to Deathbelle, crumbling into dust beneath the Empress' gloved paw. The self-sold slave had developed an unlikely loyalty and love toward her mistress and furthermore, to her sworn protector (and soon to be Warlord,) Sirius. Their romance was a whirlwind, culminating in the birth of four perfect children in a territory they could call their own. Zee had the crown she had long dreamed of, but the accomplishment was nothing compared to that of her growing family. Her children were and would always be the thing that mattered more than anything else in this world, and today she would leave them. It was a hard truth to accept, made harder by the fact that this would not be the first time that nine of the sixteen would have to face her death. Her kidnapping and subsequent disappearance had fractured many of her treasured relationships with her children. Zee could not blame them for it, not when they had all been made to come to terms with their denial, their anger, their grief, to attend a funeral, and to watch her 'bones' return to the earth. Some individuals had recovered enough to return to decent terms with her while others had split further as time went by. There were few she remained truly close with, and the acknowledgement of that divide had taken Zee seasons to overcome. The birth of her newest litter was supposed to be a joyous occasion, something to heal that gaping hole in Zee's chest and to bring back her purpose in life. Without her children she was nothing; with them, she began to live again. It was cruel irony that it might have been the same event to bring about her demise. Regardless, Zee loved them. Cherished them. She found it too difficult to even consider their role in her sickness and doubled down on placing the blame on herself instead. On herself, fate, and the Gods that had previously blessed her and her family so generously. It made logical sense that the infection had stemmed from the crystal deformities three of her pups were born with, but would they have been made to suffer those deformities if Zee herself had not been similarly touched? The Long Night was almost exclusively a period of pain and suffering, she should have considered the repercussions for the fur which had been regrown into crystalline shards. It was not the first time either that Zee had been 'blessed' by a God - or messenger of one, her faith was strong, though she had never sought to understand it beyond what was blatantly shown to her - and she was not the only member of her family to be blessed, either. Sirius and Zee both had acquired unique mutations in their adult life by such a figure, and then years later Zee's had been stolen away. It was made abundantly clear to her in the dark caverns of Descensum that somewhere along the line, she had fucked up. The fireflies had enraged and pelted themselves against her fur and in apology, Zee had offered up her precious horns. She might have thought at that moment in time that in offering them she would gain favor and not lose the mutation, but she was not permitted to entertain the idea very long. The horns vanished painlessly and she was sent home, leaving Zee apologetic, confused, and very understanding of the fact that the Gods did not make bluffs. It was why today as she stood before the stone altar, she knew her sacrifice would bring her no cure. If she offered the Gods her life then they would take it, and that would be that. While she would not dare to try and cheat the Gods by requesting anything resembling a way to give back the life she was offering, Zee was not devoting herself without good reason. Her children may have for the most part grown and begun lives of their own, but it only felt right that she would give herself in their names. Aslatiel and Indigo had visited the Armada most recently, their lives had been as wanderers as they felt they could not fit in at home. For this and much more, Zee felt tremendous guilt. She hadn't even been there to support her son when Indigo had lost a litter of children of his own, nor was she around to lend herself to Asla's pregnancy or to watch her pups grow. For her two soul-bound misfits, Zee prayed simply for peace and happiness. That they might find comfort in Valta and in each other. Azure and Mortis had always been different sides of the same coin and it saddened Zee to know they would likely never rule in tandem, as was their plan. Each wolf held the best of the other within them, though rather than balance each other's extremes as they came of age, Mortis grew softer and Azure more hardened. Her gentle-hearted winged boy deserved the world and everything he ever dared to strive for, and Zee regretted not spending more time getting to know his mate. If only the men could bear children together... for without that, she was not sure if Mortis could ever truly be happy. Azure had taken up the mantle of leadership after his father and all that Zee could hope for was that the crown might do for him what it did for her husband. Sirius had been a cruel man once upon a time too, but wolves to call his own had brought out the best in him. Her second litter had grown to become just as unique as the first, a sad fact as Zee had inescapably missed out on the majority of their first year. From little potatoes they had shot up and into grown wolves she could be proud of, even if she had such a little hand in it. Briar had found love the earliest of them all, moving away from her home pack to rule as the Hallows' Queen alongside her new husband. Attending their wedding had been an experience Zee would always treasure, and seeing the rest of the family come together to witness the vows gave her hope that even without her, they would all be okay. Now she had embarked on the next portion of her married life and had given birth to five perfect little puppies. If there was something Zee was most regretting, it was not being able to see her grandchildren (past, present and future) grow. Though she prayed for their good health and a happy life, Zee knew it was unnecessary. Briar would be a wonderful mother and alongside Artorias, the puppies had as bright a future as possible.   Kotori had aimed high too, reaching as great a height as any of her children when he challenged for the right to lead a pack of his own. While he may have lost the initial bout to claim Abaven's ashes, her son did not allow the failure to weaken his resolve. Not a season later he had placed his mark on the world and brought Valta to life. Providing the Armada a powerful new ally and to others of her children, offering a home. She had no choice in trusting Asla, Indy and Mortis' lives to her younger son, but still did not worry for them. Kotori's love for his family had always been something he had carried, and she knew he would make proud his father and lead them to the best of his ability. While it would be easy to hope that Valta could simply stand the test of time and become a constant in their world, Zee prayed differently for Kotori. The boy had always wanted a family, and Zee wished for him to find that love and fulfillment when the time was right. Gossamer's growth was perhaps the most difficult to watch of them all. The young warrior had always shown an innate understanding of the art of combat, but had worked until she had mastered healing as well. By all rights she should have been one of the most successful of Zee's children, but fate had thrown her daughter curveball after curveball. The family's rivalry with the Pirates had only made life that much harder for Goss, who had fielded assault after assault on her person and even an attempted kidnapping. The saddest part was how each time her monochromatic girl seemed to build back up her self-confidence and begin to believe in herself, something inevitably always came up to drag her back into the ground. Zee had faith in her daughter even beyond the faith the girl could scavenge for herself. She prayed that one day Gossamer might finally soon see her true worth, beyond what the disruptive Pirates would have her believe.   Aris was a hard wolf to even think about at this time, fresh from the bomb that had been dropped on a sick Zee's bedside. Briar's grandkids would be the last she would see and meet, but not the last of even this year. True to her word she had promised not to share the girl's precious secret. She had faith that her second smallest of daughters could find the right time to reveal the new life that would soon find the Armada, perhaps it would be what the family needed to begin to heal. It was a never ending cycle, death and life, and while it hurt to know that these pups would never know her face it was comforting, too. It was irrefutable evidence that life would go on without her. Of the youngest of pups, Zee was hopeful that things would turn out okay. Plenty of children lost their parents young and adjusted past it, and while youth could exacerbate trauma it could also in many places help to ease it. Kite, Vanta, Charlie, Andy, Dread, Stratum and Crux would have the love of their massive family to ease the weight from their tiny shoulders, and small gifts and mementos from their mother handed out by Sirius himself when the time was right. Of the seven, Zee's concerns rested mostly upon the pups who had been born differently. Would they grow to realize that they may have had a hand in what had happened to her? Perhaps that was another reason she was so determined to follow this route to the altar; hoping that by not waiting the illness out that the pups when grown could have a rational argument that it was not their fault. To not be there to guide them was a difficult thought, she never wanted them to have to fight through life with disabilities and certainly not without the support of their mother. For them, she prayed a final time, focusing her thoughts and energy upon not just the three crystal-touched puppies but on all seven innocents. She begged the Gods to let them retain their childhoods and to shield them from the grief that was to come. To let them feel her presence around them in each individual's own defining moments, and to ensure they grew up free from the burden that was the cruel truth of their birth. Zee had hardly noticed time passing as she stood before the altar, lost in her own thoughts. Beside her idled her faithful husband and mate, who accompanied her here to her own death against his own wants and needs. At one point Zee had been certain she would have needed someone to restrain him and lock him in a cell deep below the Hallows while she arrived here, but Sirius had been uncharacteristically accepting of this choice of hers. The choice to leave him, however early it may be. She pushed off from where she had been leaning against his fur, slipping off her cheetah pelt and helping him to slide it overtop his broad shoulders. Gently she slid her neck up along his own, nuzzling her cheek against his own and stealing a lingering kiss from his lips. "I love you. Remember your promise." She said, but beneath the words was more. 'Please don't hate me.' Approaching the altar with her greatest vessel of strength left behind her, Zee could hardly tip her head up to look the towering statue in the eye. He was carved in the shape of a warrior, that much she could discern. A life in the Armada watching some of the strongest of fighters learn and grow had left little to the imagination on what battle did to wolves both of body and of spirit. From the proud posture he held to the chunks missing from the stone flesh, Zee found it easy to determine what was at the heart of this wolf. It all boiled down in the end to pain and blood. This statue - this God - had seen pain, felt pain, inflicted pain. He had spilled blood and bled himself. Zee found herself suddenly second guessing her plan to drink the vial she had brought along. To take the cowards way out and opt for a dreamless sleep. She was desperate to do this right and achieve the best chance she could at having her prayers for her family answered. If that meant blood and pain, then she only hoped it would not last long. At least for Sirius' sake. Projecting her voice, she began to address the sneering statue. "I come to you willingly, to give myself and all that I am in tribute to the Gods."The last time the cloaked figure had appeared to her, his words had been a mystery, a riddle to be solved. Zee had bypassed the offer of unique and mysterious items upon his table and had asked the God instead to offer his protection to her loved ones. She stood before it now with the missing piece of the puzzle, believing to now fully understand the God's lesson. 'In times like these, your horns may not aide you as well as your being.' He had said to her that night. Zee understood now that her whole self was the very best she could offer and the most effective way to protect those that she loved. Though she felt the urge to turn back and look upon her husband once more, Zee did not want the last thing she saw to be the devastation on his face. Destruction she had brought upon him with her own words and her own actions. It was selfish, but when could one be forgiven for a little selfishness, if not at the moment of their own death? "Close your eyes, Seer." She said aloud, knowing he would be listening to her every movement, word, and breath, though she would not turn to see if he obeyed her request or not. Heart pounding, the sickly woman took in a deep and grounding breath. She was scared, yes, but fear was a natural part of this that she would not attempt to deny. Only idiots did not fear death, and the warriors who entered a battlefield with no worry for whether or not they would return home were less effective warriors. Fear was necessary for survival, so why should it not have an important place at death's table, too? Zee accepted the feeling and closed her eyes, entertaining the emotion respectfully while it came and passed. When her eyes reopened to look back upon the statue once more, her resolve was as strong as it was going to get. One forelimb stretched out toward the roughly carved stone, her paw pad sliding up and down the edges gently until she had found one that might be suitable for her needs. Before she could change her mind on it, Zee pressed her limb down hard and pulled it back toward her, rending open the flesh on her forearm and beginning a steady stream of blood down the statue's own limb. Somehow the pain was much less then she had anticipated and steeled herself for, and while quickly her vision was beginning to grow dim at the edges, she maintained enough clarity to repeat the process with the other limb. She had more limbs and more arteries, but was woefully unable to ignore the presence of her beloved mate behind her. Sparing him more suffering, Zee declared the amount of bloodshed to be enough for her purposes. With her time draining, Zee took the last moments of clarity to curl her body around the crimson flecked paws of the statue, resting her spine against the stone slab altar and tucking her tail in submission. Her neck extended outward and off to the side, offering her throat to the God while her blood continued to drain out and pool around his paws. She did not remember holding the position long before her weakness intensified, the drowsy fog of blood loss quickly overtaking her. 'For my family.' She thought before the world went black. -Exit via Death- "Speech"

NPC:

The tabby watches you with eyes that say it seems to understand what you’re planning to do, gently raising its tail to silence another familiar that was about to speak, seeming to understand as well and protest your choice. The tabby’s gaze never leaves you as you step forward, a few soft voices start to lift in protest to what they can see you’re about to do but older voices quickly shush them. It seems this is not something totally foreign to the more experienced creatures and a hush falls over the familiars, a few quickly shuffle a few things out of the way and then they all stand back, some turning away and others refusing to look away. Only the tabby stays close to the statue, never once leaving its post. It watches you in silence as you speak your intentions aloud, it hardly even blinks as you cut yourself open and allow yourself to bleed over the stone.

Somewhere, however, something shudders as your blood flows, and the direction of the air changes somehow, although there is no breeze to be felt.

It is as if the air is buzzing.

The tabby moves only when you settle yourself upon the plain rock base, a low, stuttering purr the only noise it makes as it settles itself beside you, a small pocket of warmth as the heat starts to bleed from your body just as you had bled yourself only moments before.

Your horns miraculously feel warm still, although usually they provide no real feeling at all. The tips hum with the vibration in the air, moving to your ears. He tells you to hold on just a moment longer.

How much time passes will be hard to say, for the unfortunate living who are present to see your offering it will be mere moments between this gesture and your final breath, but for you, your consciousness will stand in stasis for some time. You will die, or you are already dead, you’re not sure. A light red glows above you, in the space you can assume is the eyes of the statue, pulsing at the edges of your vision, slowly growing stronger until it is all around you, blocking out the world that once existed around the statue, all you can see is white, the edges of your vision tinged in red. There is no malice here though. You are dead, or you are dying, you’re still not sure, and nothing more will hurt you here. A form materialises from the white… Or maybe it was always there. It is a shape, unmoving, but flickering so not unmoving. A shape identical in silhouette to the statue you offered your life to, two pin pricks of red eyes the only solid part of the shape which is translucent and hardly visible except for its constantly shifting outline.

Another figure, though cloaked, hazes in the space behind the statue, but your focus remains on the altar’s form.

A voice, deep but ambiguous in its gender, reaches you. It echoes around you, or it’s in your head, you are not sure. “Sometimes the soundest choice a warrior can make is knowing when you cannot win, and choosing the terms of your losses.” It says, the voice softer somehow than you would have assumed from the imposing form it seems to belong too. “This is not a defeat, merely a tie.”

“Death and I are not the same, cousins though we may be, and there is much overlap in our domains.” There was a sound you could not describe it seemed to last for centuries, it seemed to last less than a second. The voice was laughing. “Not every death comes from battle, but every battle brushes against death and in this moment I recognize your fight, your fights, and welcome you to come and share your stories, bring us tales of your glories and your failures, share with us your hard earned adventures.”

Though the shimmering, hardly visible form never moves from the pose you saw in life, wide stance, head thrown back… You get the feeling it is tipping its head and listening for something you cannot hear…

The figure behind the statue reaches out, placing a glowing hand on the statue’s shoulder for a moment.

“Or that is what I wish to tell you, but it appears you already have been claimed by another. I am sorry, sister.”

The two glowing red eyes split. They go from two red dots to four, then to eight, a seemingly never ending cycle of red mitosis until the figure is lost behind a curtain of flowing red, and a low hum builds in the air, in your head, you’re not sure. The hum slowly gets louder, growing from a hum to a cacophony. It is not a hum, it is buzzing. You realize with a start, with a sluggishness that you’ve never felt before, that the red dots have always been little red fireflies. The curtain of red flies move towards you, they blanket you, they swarm you, they caress you and they deafen you with their noise. The last thing you realize before the fireflies blot out your vision is that the warmth of the tabby is gone, you had not even noticed it had been there the whole time and now it fades, a cool spot growing where its heat once was and then everything around you goes black. But you are not dead, or not dying, yet, of this you are sure.

”There is clarity in death,” a familiar voice echoes. Your vision returns and you are standing before the statue again, everything frozen in time just before the first drop of blood falls from your veins. ”But your story isn’t over just yet, wolf.” The cloaked figure of thousands of fireflies kneels on one knee before you, his buzzing hand outstretched. ”Come,” he says, and you do so without thought, stepping out of your body, you turn and watch as time resumes and you take your life. You see as your husband clings to you, offering you his love as your blood clings to him.

And yet as you watch it, it is like watching a memory.

The figure stands and all that around the two of you fades. You walk for a while, silently, working out all the cricks and aches your body had in life.

In the woods, the man pauses and holds out a ghostly mask in the shape of a tiger’s face. A few fireflies take it and loop the elastic around your horns, which you now realize have grown in size, but feel weightless.

The figure beacons, ”Come, I have a Very Good Friend I would like you to meet…”

You have received:
A Somnium breeding pass


Staff: note when claimed

The denial was so strong within the Warlord. Even as grief swamped him and slowed his muscles. Perhaps he was more idealistic than even he realised. That some part of him clutched to the hope that this wouldn’t be it. How could it? He had spent more of his life with Zee now then had ever existed apart. She was integrated into every part of his life. His Queen, his Wife, the mother of their children. The matriarch of a family that had stemmed solely from their pairing. When he had once held a quivering young Zee in his arms, shielding her from a storm that had brewed in the world beyond their cave, he had never known the full extent of what their lives would become. What it would mean to pick Zee over Deathbelle. How much of himself would be entwined with her, that he feared what sanity he would have left in her leaving it.

When Zee paused before moving to the altar, Sirius stopped with her. Scarcely daring to breathe, or break the silence his Wife wrapped about herself like a shroud. No doubt she also was considering their lives, their children. What the pair had accomplished and failed, and strived for in their lives. Perhaps her pseudo death should have prepared Sirius for the knowledge that they were mortal and frail, but some part of Sirius had always considered himself invincible, and even Zee’s returning to him had seemed like fate. They were destined to be together. Now, and forever. How could something as simple as death part them?

When she silently slipped off the pelt, he struggled internally. He would not cry, he would not let her see him weep again. She had seen enough of that these last few days. He would show her only strength now, and he held his breath, lest the rattling of oxygen sound like sobs. He helped her pull the coat over his own shoulders, and was enveloped in the scent of her. The urge to grab her, to grab her and drag her away with all the strength and speed he possessed overcame him. His muscles and jaw locked with the raging feel of that desperate need. There had to be another way.
Another way. Another way. Another way.

He found the strength to loosen again when she kissed him, and he grabbed her gently, holding her lips to his. Tasting her, feeling the warmth of her breath mingling with his own. He kissed her like a drowning man. Like a man knowing he would never taste the sweetness of her mouth again. “I love you, Zee Fatalis.” mine, mine, mine it rattled against his teeth, though he did not speak the words. She would not be his, not for long. She chose to give herself to a god, and forced the promise from him that he would let her. But he could not hate her for it. Not when the alternative was a slow, agonising death. To waste away as her family watched. He could not wish her that.

When Sirius looked at the mottled statue, he did not see the same things that Zee did. He did not see a wolf that brought pain, he saw a wolf that fought for what he believed in. Fought to hold what he loved, no matter what it cost him. A wolf that had swept through wars and worlds and dared to believe he was strong enough to fight in whatever battle he deemed worthy. Would this god understand what Zee was doing? Understand the impossible strength of letting Zee walk away from him, and take this path? He let her walk away from him, though he was close behind her. Two steps, one if he let his stride be long enough. She requested he close his eyes. Did she think him such a coward? He would hold, and watch, and remember. And if she deemed to turn to look at him one last time, all she would find would be whatever visage of strength contained within his flesh. He would give the love of his life nothing less than his all.

When he realised her chosen method was more brutal than he expected, he let out a hiss of breath, and broke any rules that might have stood unspoken between them. He surged forward, and knelt at her side, pressing his side to hers, though he managed not to tremble. A growl built in his throat, and turned into a howl. A long, high note of pain as his wife died beside him, and there was nothing, nothing in the world the Warlord could do to stop it. When he fell silent, paws sticky with her blood, he looked to the woman beside him. He kissed her forehead, and used the gentlest of motions to close her eyes. Locking away the sightless orbs that resembled little of the vibrant blue of life they had once been. He turned his attention at last to the statue itself. “I had thought myself prepared to offer you a gift, but realise now there is nothing in my possession that could ever amount to what has been given. This isn't a gift, but a token. While it is yours to do with as you please, if there is an afterlife, I hope you would pass it on to the life you were given today. To my wife. Zeitgeist Fatalis of the Armada, who died with all the reason that she lived by; for the sake of those she loved. Honored and loved by her family, creator of a legacy that will never die.” He took out the mask that he had prepared for this occasion, and rested it gently beside his wife. He knew it was time then for him to rise, and leave. But he found that he could not. He was not ready to leave her. Would he ever be?

Sirius is giving: Tiger mask

"Speech"

NPC:

The tabby does not rise as you approach, its stuttering purr reaching you even through your keening howl and it watches you with a gaze that seems to speak to a deeper understanding, a look that speaks of loss and grief and having to learn to let go. It says nothing as you close her eyes and as you offer your item, finding yourself unable to get up and leave her just yet the cat shuffles over, to press its warm form into you, its purr still going, a silent understanding of your grief.

For a while nothing happens, or seems to happen. The tabby continues to purr and you can hear some of the other familiars stifling sobs, but a sort of warmth settles over you, like a blanket placed lovingly over your form. The tabby opens its mouth to speak, but the voice you hear is not the ragged voice of the cat you’d heard while you waited… A voice you could not describe comes from its maw.

“A tested warrior must know how to let go, must learn how to get back up because those who don’t die. You have proven yourself a fighter, you have taken what is yours and now you must learn to let it go. This fight will never end, eventually you won’t be fighting every day but this fight will be with you for the rest of your life, but you must continue to move forward, because to fail to do so is to die. You are a warrior, and you must get up and keep going.” The cat falls silent then and the only sound you can hear is its low rumbling purr, it doesn’t even appear to have noticed its own words.

In the corner of your vision, you see a firefly land on your wife’s horns. It blinks a few times, then flies away.

Slowly you feel the warmth receding, the only point of it coming from the tabby who looks up at you and seems to know its time. It steps away and lets you have whatever last moments you want, though it remains ever close. “We will make sure she gets the burial she deserves.” It says softly, and then pushes a pouch on a leather cord towards you across the stone. “It can never make up for what you’ve lost, nothing ever will.” There is an intense pain there, one you recognize because it is the same as yours. You silently take the pouch and eventually find the courage to leave your wife’s body behind. But you don’t leave her behind, you never will.

Bleary eyed, you force yourself away. A firefly passes your vision and you find your attention following it. For a moment, you think you see a large cloaked figure deep in the woods, and for a split second, you see something you’re sure is your wife. Her horns are larger, she’s mystical and enchanting. You look just long enough to see the man hand her a golden mask.

Your eyes burn, and you blink. Now, there is nothing but a very fat raccoon chittering happily to thin air, a firefly on his ear.

You have received:
2" Growth spurt pass


Staff: note when claimed

It was extremely late by the time Ruga got to the statue. The night was fully dark, likely close to midnight if he had to hazard a guess. This wasn't at all the time he thought he would come, but ever the perfectionist he was he worked right up until the very last moment on what he had planned to present. He had never been a religious individual and the whole idea of these statues being linked to gods and the like seemed highly unlikely at best, but regardless, he didn't often have a purpose for his more extravagant pieces that he made purely just for the joy of making them and if this would keep whatever strange being was controlling this happy then he figured it was worth a shot. When he got to the statue there was no one there other than a few sleepy looking feline attendants who seemed to be surprised to see him approaching.

Stepping up to the simple stone base of the roughly formed statue, Ruga slipped off the sword that was strapped across his back and shifted to settle back on his haunches for a moment. The scabbard was made of a deep black leather, perfectly smoothed and finely stitched around the blade. Grasping the grip of the sword between his jaws, he pulled the blade free, revealing the weapon that was made of a dark steel, the blade given a unique matte finish along the middle of the blade so that only the sharpened edge gleamed in the moonlight. The guard was made of the same dark steel, but was more rough in shape, looking almost like a jagged piece of stone that had a similar treatment done to the points so that the highest planes of the faux rock was polished and shining. The grip was made of the same blackened leather as the scabbard with a dark steel pommel at the end that was capped with a piece of red jasper inset at the tip to finish it off.

Lifting his paw, he drew the blade lightly across his paw pads, immediately causing blood to spring to the surface and darken the edge of the blade to show just how sharp the weapon was. With his blood along one side of the blade, he placed the weapon on the alter, leaving it unsheathed and instead putting the scabbard down beside it. Part of him was reluctant to leave such a fine blade behind, but he had made it specifically for this purpose so it would be silly for him to back out now. With small nod to the cats that were watching, he turned and began to walk back, ready to get back to his den and get some much needed sleep.

"Ruga Amanto"

NPC:

The fact you seemed to have caught the tabby napping, its paws folded under its body in a perfect little cat loaf and it’s eyes closed, flying open only as you get close, is probably a very lucky thing, as far as anyone can tell the tabby is always on top of things. But now you know different. It watches blearily as you offer your sword and gives you a tired nod, letting its eyelids slide closed though you can see its ears are still perked, angled towards you. Clearly now awake and alert to you.

A sudden wave of heat hits you, the roar of a blazing fire surrounding you and for a moment you feel panic rising in your chest before your eyes adjust. You are no longer standing before the statue, you are in the dark, a stone dome shape with a raging fire visible in a window in the stone before you is the only thing you can see… But no, you can make out the hilt of a sword, the blade well within the flames. You reach forward, instinctually, gripping the hilt and quenching the red blade with a deftness that speaks to years of practice, speaks to a solid hand.

You see an anvil to your side and without thinking about it, you reach for a hammer you know hangs from your belt, and you begin to shape the steaming metal, you think of the warrior who will hold this sword, the way it will fit in their hand, the way it will balance in their grip, how hard it’ll be to follow through and as you do so you shape a masterpiece before you, a blade built specifically for its weilder. You will never know how it will save its users life, how it will glance death away with ease. But you are building the prefect weapon for one person and one person only, and it will fit like a glove.

You blink and the fire is gone, the sound of metal on metal is gone, the smell of steam is gone, and the images will never come back to you, you will quickly forget the feeling of your body but not your body, forget it all. You notice a pouch lazily tied around your ankle and the tabby speaks softly. “There is merit in hard work, even if you’re the only one who ever sees it. Know the value of your work, and be proud.” The cat’s eyes remain closed the whole time you turn and leave and yet somehow, you feel seen.

You have received:
Minor mutation pass


Staff: Used on Rebel for thicker fur mutation (defensive)

OOC: Obviously set before Zee's offering

Calm now, Aris meandered slowly through the unnatural autumn of the plateau. She'd left her new lover in the soulless forest and made her way here to assuage her curiosity about some odd warlike statue thing that had apparently appeared there. There was one in the soulless forest too, but she'd thought it best to get out of there as soon as possible so that the tiger guy didn't get too attached. She'd probably find him again later, but it would be a good idea to start things off the way she intended them to go. No strings, free and clear, no attachments. So she'd come here instead. She'd head down to the Hallows after, to see Briar's brats and make sure her mom was doing ok after the long journey, and she supposed make sure none of her younger siblings had managed to get themselves killed yet. Yawning and stretching, she made her way up to the statue to give it a good look over. It took her a moment to realize that the critters there seemed to be expecting something, and there'd been some words that she'd ignored. Thinking back, it was something about making an offering. What, like to a god or something? Aris grinned, rolling her eyes a little. Discretely. "Sure, if your god can give me prowess in battle or something, he can... have my firstborn child I guess." She laughed, smugly confident in the herbs she took to prevent that and completely unaware of the lives she actually did have beginning within her. As a gesture of goodwill and to pretend to play along, she plucked out one of her spines along her shoulders - ouch, but oh well it would grow back - and tossed it up on the pile of stuff. "There you go, all symbolic of my firstborn, and whatever."

NPC:

The air is oppressive as you give your offerings, it's as if every set of eyes in the plateau is on you, and judging you. The tabby audibly sighs and nods to itself, muttering inaudibly to a little white rat, glancing in your direction as it speaks. You watch it for a moment, and are about to turn and go when…

You are in a den, your den. The air is thick with sweat and blood. 4 little bundles lay nursing at your stomach but you cannot bring yourself to look at them. To look down and see 4 tiny, perfect little copies of you. Not a single strand of fur out of place, not a single shade even remotely off. They are all mirror images of each other, and you. And it deeply unsettles you. Time moves differently around you than it ever has, one moment you have 4 newborns at your side, and the next you are watching them bounce and play outside for the first time. But they are you, they laugh the way you do, they tell the same jokes you did as a child, each of them repeating them back and forth in a chorus of identical voices. Others tell you they are gorgeous, they ask who the father is, say this one must have his eyes, that one must have his nose… But you know they are all lying, they are all you. Worst of all they tell you how lucky you are to have 5 healthy children… You’ve never had 5, you’ve always had 4

They grow, and as they do they are still you. They do what you do, they are interested in what you are interested in. You realized a long time ago that you have never heard them say anything you’ve never said before. You also realized a long time ago, no one is lying when they say they do not see what you see, do not hear 4 identical voices, parroting your words back to you, echoing in your head, you are the only one who sees 4 identical yous. Some nights you wake up in a cold sweat, suddenly unsure if you’re even the original you. You do not think you love them, do not think you can. You are unsure if you’re the real you, you are unsure if you’ve ever been the real you. Who is the missing 5th child? Do they look just like you? Or are you the 5th child?

You come too and realize you are covered in a cold sweat, you do not feel connected to your body, which seems to thrash without your meaning too. The tabby sits nearby, not looking at you but giving instructions to the other familiars to make sure you don’t hurt yourself, then it looks at you, meeting your wide horrified gaze, and sighs. “It is one thing to make a promise you can’t keep in ignorance, it’s another to knowingly never intend to hold up your end of the bargain.” There is an edge to the cat’s voice, but it softens slightly as it speaks next. “I don’t know if it’s lucky or not that it seems you are mistaken.” The cat gets up then and with a flick of its tail the warm bodies around you rise, familiars who glance at you with something akin to disdain, leaving you alone and cold on the ground. You are still struggling to feel connected, to feel right in your body, and a pit forms in your stomach, a dread you cannot name for the coming days, for reasons you don’t know yet, but soon will.

You have received:
280 Gemstones have been removed from Aris’ account.

Tor squinted at the rough stone statue, then nodded to himself. Yeah, this was the sort of dignified, fierce and war like sort of guy that he thought could have been his grandfather's vision of a perfect Imperialis. He was still going by Regni and hadn't yet distinguished himself enough to go by Imperialis, but Tor had confidence that he would. But being confident didn't mean you couldn't cheat a little, like asking a god to get you there a little faster. Swaggering up with a sharp knife, he poked the familiars aside, then laid his head on the altar until he was satisfied with his position. Help me earn my name. Then, with the knife attached via it's strap to his paw... He sliced through the flap of his ear in a gout of blood. Yeah. Perfect. What was left of his cropped ear was a tall sharp point, the rest of it left at the statue's paws. "Cool," was all he said, giving his head a shake that speckled blood everywhere. He left the knife layin beside the ear, then turned and walked away.

NPC:

As you cut your ear from your head you hear a few hushed whispers from around you, one in particular that sounds like “another ear?” But it’s shushed so loudly it drowns out the words. You shake your head when you’re done, splattering blood on the stone and turn to go when you find your legs locked, your knees rigid and unmoving. You cock your head to the side in confusion and try a few more times to move, only managing to wobble a little bit with the effort.

You glance around about to ask for help when you realize everyone is looking up at the statue and you too turn your gaze to look up, the eyes which had only hinted at a red glow are bright,so bright, nearly blinding and you have to narrow your eyes to keep looking at them. The largest cloud of red fireflies you’ve ever seen burst from the stone eyes of the statue with a violence you’d expect to shatter the figure, all of them converging on you, you flail your head uselessly as you are covered in the flies, feeling them starting to crawl into your nose, shoving themselves behind your eyeballs and burrowing under your skin. The swarm from around one of your eyes for a moment and you can just make out the world in front of you. A single firefly lazily drifts towards the knife you left on the stone.

It lands on the blade and everything stops, the life squirming under your skin freezes, the flies you could feel worming their way up your nasal cavity towards your brain suddenly stop in their tracks, the occasional twitching of wings feels like a tickle. Then just as suddenly as it started they all swarm back out. It’s just as unpleasant as when they were entering your whole body, but they all leave, swarming the knife and the red and black cloud lift it upwards and somehow, you don’t know how, pull it into the eye of the statue.

The tabby steps forward, looking up at the once more still eyes of the statue and it gives a whistle. Then it turns its dumbfounded gaze on you, clearly it is just as confused as you are. A scraggly looking ferret bounds towards the tabby who looks at her with the same confused expression, slowly taking the pouch the ferret was offering it and it offers you the pouch in a daze. “I’ll be honest, I have no idea what just happened. Generally I’d offer some comment about caring more for your body but I guess the knife balanced everything out?” The cat shrugs and you decide it’s probably a good idea to get out of here before it’s decided the knife wasn’t good enough actually, get out of here and just tell yourself it was all a daydream. Unfortunately for that notion, you will continue to sneeze out some very snot covered flies for a few days.

You have received:
Minor mutation pass


Staff: Used on Zeitgeist Junior for kudu horns