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Spotlights: FALL Y9
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I'm Just a Poor Boy, Nobody Loves Me

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All Welcome Wither









Regalia
Female
Valkyrja Commander
Wolf
© Amelia
3.5 (11) years
Height: 35 in
Posts: 538
AP: 215.5AP
Linked Accounts

Weight: 131 lbs

Wither

It seemed like forever ago that Saffron Meadows was part of the Kingdom. It hadn't been owned since then, to Regalia's knowledge, and it likely wouldn't be as long as the Kingdom remained. Their leaders didn't care to have realms they didn't know claim lands close by, and Regalia agreed with that sentiment. It made sense for security purposes. Then again, maybe Regalia was just paranoid in her old age.

Definitely paranoid.

She would never be caught off guard again. Never.

The day turned to overcast as Regalia walked further from the Kingdom, aimlessly enjoying the exercise. Before leaving the grove, she'd done some border patrol (mostly out of habit). She was nearing where the meadows met the woodlands, and she paused. There were a few things she could do with her time, but she couldn't decide what. Hunt? Nap in the tall flowers? Take a swim in the river up ahead?



OC: Defros' Gamble and Defros' Temptation are welcome. <3

Action | "Speech" | Thought | Element |
stock images taken by Dawnthieves.





Wears a silver ring with blue topaz gems and a bracelet made of tiger eye gemstones with a golden lion head.


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Exposed
Female
Havok Queen
Wolf
© Akradr
4.5 (6.75) years
Height: 38in
Posts: 125
AP: 119.5AP
Linked Accounts

Weight: 160lbs

RE: Wither


Exposed “Artio” Lebraid


Wrong me once, I'll kill you twice.


Ageing had become of the children, and their responsibilities among Havok had yet to be ordered — not only that, but the offspring of a Lebraid.

And no, she dare not to include their pitiful, pathetic and cowardly father; he was a traitor, an embarrassment to the throne. Why, she’d slit the cunt’s throat in an instant. A snarl gargled from the back of her throat, incinerating and drowned by loathe as she paved among the saffron: plans were festering, deployment inventive as she sought to get exactly what she wanted. Perhaps not here, but soon. Ventriloquism geared into action without rhythm or rhyme, amplify therein grating Lebraid’s vocals across the dull meadow’s abode -- overcast came, but it wouldn’t be known. Being blind had its curses, though she managed nonetheless. Smoketrail wisped a parade of white and wine-like smog, ashes corroding from the mist like a pulsating fire –– a simple rise in power proved the devil well, did it not? Havok would not fail, and she expected absolute compliance. If these expectations could not be met by those who subordinated beneath the throne, then so be it, for they’ll simply be removed. One way or another, mercy will be given. White, milken orbs refused to blink at the praise of audition and radar’s curse, eyeing the vacant space of darkness and depression –– a mere disadvantage would not stop the queen, and that was that. Had they not understood this by now? Do any of them dare go against the laws and foundations of Havok’s leadership? She wouldn’t let it become the epiphany or shame of Arkham’s disbandment, nor the Coven’s pathetic outcome by a broth of fools. Ashen ears pinned in utter disdain as the woman bled over the earth (metaphorically), skin practically crawling with anticipation, jaws unhinged and breaths ragged at the pinnacle of a novel. Rough, metal-like vocals slithered past Lebraid’s lips in gurgled hisses, unaware of the other woman -- she couldn’t care less if it were reversed, simply because she did not find interest in conversing.

Slowly, those over-extended canines licked every ounce of saliva that plagued her lips, tongue furled and expression void of emotion.



Psychic 0/15 | Bardic 3/15 | Shadow 0/2.
Charm 0/1 | Smoketrail 1/1.
Audition ∞ | Radar ∞ | Endurance ∞.


Action. | “Speech.” | Magic.

Original Image





Exposed is cold, calculating, disturbed & psychotic.
Wears a satanic sigil necklace w/ shadow infused on it.

"Wrong me once, I'll kill you twice."


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Lysander
Male
Havok Resident
Wolf
© Abnormal
1.25 years
Height: 40 in
Posts: 7
AP: 12AP
Linked Accounts

Weight: 180 lbs

RE: Wither


Lysander had no time for foolishness, no, he wanted to keep at the heels of his mother. The best that he could, at least. Ears tall as antlers sprouted between them like weeds. The weight was more so, normal. What was normal? Surely not the son of Lebraid, he was far from it, but what did it matter? Eyes lock upon his mother, long limbs beneath him would extend in rhythmic motion. Carrying the handsome young man towards her. Tail aided in any balance needed as he approached, no sound made other than his paws against the terrain. He needed not to present himself, no, his mother was no moron, not like the others she came to face with. No, his mother was disgustingly brilliant. He urned for the trait, though he was no mongrel, he wanted to be like her.

Nose twitches as brow would arch, ears remain back as the handsome devil himself slowed his gait to match his mothers. Aiming to step his paws as she did, if she would allow him, he would attempt to be upon his left side. Daring not to touch her, yet he wanted to try to be close enough to her that hair ends may brush against one and other. Chill would activate, eyes narrowing upon the path ahead, ice cold skin was normal to him. He knew nothing else other than how he always was. Head would aim to lift up, he would narrow his eyes forth, scents rush into his nose. Twitching in disgust what was that? Hackles bristle along his spine, tail stiffening a bit behind himself. What a vile smell...

Though Lysander grew up smothered in decay and the hope that everything in his life was ‘normal’. Eyes roll at his own thoughts, lips peel back, revealing teeth. Eyes shift to look to his mother, Disturbing as she was to others, she was his mother and he admired her. Growling lowly as his vocals scrape his chords. Ears remain back, brown furrows, ”My Queen.” His matured vocals were much deeper as he aged, yet not so deep that they were gross. He had a slight hoarse rasp to them yet they were gentle on the ears. He always gave his mother respect by addressing her in the eye of potential strangers, as his queen. There was many reasons for this, but mostly it was for respect. ”There is something that stinks out here...” Tongue runs over teeth as he wrinkles his nose in disgust. Almost gagging as he snarls lowly, ”Want me to see what is it?” He would ask, though Lysander knew his mother well enough, she didn’t give a fuck about what it was. That alone, made him smirk.








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