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All Welcome Release









The Avatars
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∞ years
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Release


It had been several seasons since the Bringer of Death cursed those who did not understand the purpose of an event that was laid forth by Mother Earth’s hand. While she ferried the spirits of the dead, imposing on the mortal realm to establish purpose to those that deserved it would be a task most necessary. A raven draped in blades black cloth, embodied shadows of skeletal remains materialized unto the graveyard’s bed, Kulla’s appearance being cast quite vividly –– cold, eerie noises lurched in rejoice, herself now perching on a deadwood tree. “Jyzara Dame, Caspian O’lov and Draven Aoric,” Telepathic tendencies implored to be heard by the names she spoke, voice cackled by a monotone sweetness that be laced in darkness, “I, the Bringer of Death, hereby renounce your curses. Let this be a lesson to the consequences you so willingly chose to partake in.” It wasn’t any of the avatar’s concern if they knew it or not, however making a statement was all she intended to achieve.

A simple one at that.

After all, if their decisions led elsewhere, Kulla wouldn’t hesitate in reversing what’s been done; neutral at best, she couldn’t care either way. Without waiting for the mortal’s arrival, swells of black smog bombarded the undead cemetery. Like a wave in an ocean’s roar, arms of the sown and reaped contoured the woman’s appearance back into the immortal realm. There’d be no use staying if this was all she sought to do.

SUMMARY
Jyzara, Azreal, Caspian, & Draven have been lifted of their curses from the Bunny Chase event!


She walks. | "She talks."







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Draven
Male
Rogue
Hyena
© YspobDon
3.00 years
Height: 38 in
Posts: 40
AP: 0AP
Linked Accounts

Weight: 160 lbs

RE: Release

(This post was last modified: 09-02-2018, 10:16 AM by Draven. Edited 2 times in total.)

[M] for many a thing'n.

How long had it been?

3 seasons? A year?

Draven couldn't remember. It all felt like a blur in his mind. He'd started his search and it had taken him... so many places. He hardly remembered any of them now.

None of them were right.

Hearing words in his head (in his head?) from a "Bringer of Death", Draven felt a burning in his chest. When he was younger, he would've known this fire to be the fire of "passionate rage within" ready to be "stored for later". Now he only saw it as the bellwether of what was to come.

Every time Draven struck out at something, which he had been doing less frequently now, or perhaps more frequently with less force, he thought of everything that was wrong. He thought of his past, and of his weaknesses, and of his time here, in Yavania. He'd so foolishly believed the impostor whom had called himself "Lazarus". He'd so easily let that man under his skin, not only under the false pretense that he knew the whereabouts of Elvira, but also that he was Lazarus Aoric. Draven's father. Elvira's father. Reign and Reznor's father. Uncle Abraxus' brother and Rasha's husband. Draven had believed him. So desperately believed him. And he'd so desperately believed that after Lazarus left him a "second" time, he could and would find him, and Elvira, again.

Draven had since given up on them both.

Whoever that man was, he was gone now. Perhaps he'd gone back to Lionel to tell that bastard where they were. Not that it mattered. Elvira was clearly gone too. And as for Reign, Reznor, and Abraxus? Draven had many theories. And none of them were good.

Draven used to be the type to have one theory. One bad theory about every situation he was confronted with, one bad theory to act off of. And now he had so many. Too many. And he was helpless. Did the whole world know? He was helpless and alone. Prince of ashes, lord of cinders. He had the power to do... nothing.

Draven had lost faith.

And he had no intention of finding it again. He had no intention of searching again. He had no intentions like he had before. He was not the same and he had no intention of changing again. He was a husk. A pathetic, shallow shell of his past self. Hell, if his past self could see him now. He would've beaten the ever-loving shit out of himself. Ah, well. There was nothing that could really be done about that either.

But Draven was still himself, if only a sickly little version. He could still care, in a strange way. Which meant that he could still hate, despise, and loathe. Which means that a fire could still burn in his chest and excite him, thrill him, if only for a moment's time. Were he still his former being, this fire would've been white hot, exciting, a sign of his well-being. A sign of his being well.

But now, as stated before, it was a warning bell.

Draven entered a graveyard. He didn't even want to think about it. He didn't even want to think -- of course, he would, but that wasn't why he was here. He was here because after seasons of having that tail and those ears, however ridiculous they were, he had gotten used to them. They had become his. And now this audacious "Bringer of Death" was taking them away. Somehow. Draven didn't care how. He stormed into the center of the graveyard, making sure to avoid crushing frail bones or kicking skulls or anything of the sort. Draven wanted to preserve his anger for the real target. A target he couldn't find, but damn it, he would be heard by! Even if said "Bringer of Death" didn't actually spend time in a massive graveyard, Draven would still be heard. He wanted to be heard.

So Draven screamed at the top of his lungs at nothing in particular, mostly the sky, anger most prevalent as he spat out, "Badger dove jest, you fast ward! Twinkling you fan rake mat snares snore tie fail to stay from tea! Ducks! Loose! On how does rue to fist? MUCK! TRUE! Heave gum SMACK!" That's what he said. What he thought and what Draven heard himself say was something entirely different. Draven thought he had just screamed, "Bringer of Death, you bastard! Thinking you can take my ears or my tail away from me! Fuck! You! Only now do you do this? FUCK! YOU! Give them BACK!" Draven paused and then realized that pausing meant silence and he didn't want to make silence. So he screamed some more. "Dew reap clove PIT! New love foe KITE! Do gave low SORORITY! Riff nor bay STINGER stove BREATH, yeah punt BREAK nigh lucky JEERS!" Once again, Draven heard himself say something else. "You piece of SHIT! You have no RIGHT! You have no AUTHORITY! If you're the BRINGER of DEATH, you can't TAKE my fucking EARS!" Draven was suddenly ten times more aware of the fact that his normal ears had returned. And his normal tail. Instinctively, he tried to bend an ear at the halfway point, like he could do with his previous ears. It... didn't work. "DAMN IT!" He meant to scream. It came out as "LAMB SHIT!" Amplify activated on the words as they came out, making them louder than normal. Draven wasn't phased. The volume sounded better than he'd hoped for, and that was good. Still, as Draven was still pissed as all hell, a vicious snarl erupted from Draven and he turned away from the sky, to whom he had been screaming. Draven instead looked to the scattered skulls and bones of various creatures that had died here however long ago. He stepped on a skull and tested it. It felt to hard to crush, so he smacked it with his right forepaw instead. He just ended up hurting himself, but he didn't care. Pain powered him onward. Draven then spent his time testing the toughness of every bone or skull he came across, crushing them when they were frail enough (which was surprisingly rare), and kicking them when they were too tough. Draven was pretty sure his paws would get bruised, but he really didn't care.

He wouldn't stop, even if something tried to make him stop. Because he was Draven, and there was no Lazarus, and so nothing had control over him anymore.


OC: Draven is affected by Defros' Gamble (he got word salad) and Defros' Temptation (he got the will to kill, oh boy) in this thread!



Narrative. "Dialogue." 'Monologue.'
Stock





Draven was adopted from The Aoric Family! (Adoption thread by Ailes)

Draven is an angry fellow, and tends to think and say many mean things. He can also be relatively graphic since he might take out his anger in creative ways. For this, he's pretty much an [M] rated character. And none of his actions or words reflect on my own opinions! :3

Draven wears a ring on his front right paw that matches his father's. The colors are different, as Draven's matches his own eye color.



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The Avatars
Other
All Powerful
Other
© Staff
∞ years
Height: -
Posts: 605
AP: 1,153AP
Linked Accounts

Weight: -

RE: Release


Of course, the Bringer of Death did not expect to have a harbinger of profanities and foolish words to spit against the avatar’s renouncement. They were ungrateful, incapable of accepting what has been sown unto them –– she certainly did not appreciate their squalls of childish actions, either. They dare insult a goddess? A curse was a lesson to be learnt, not disrespected, and it seemed as if they could not understand this very concept.

Why, then perhaps they don’t deserve it at all.

A cloth of raven slunk from the deadwood floor, rising up like a ghost on october’s fall -- Kulla unveiled herself in a swarm of shadows, grasping a mourning branch as eyes of violet zeroed in on the boy with dark intensity. She wouldn’t allow for such unnecessary banter to bellow again, “Silence, child, before you raise the dead.” Sickled vocals befell from the aviary’s beak, cloaked by monotone emotions and a distaste for crude mortals, now cursing Draven Aoric of all words. “You will not speak,” While the Bringer of Death didn’t particulary care much for them, this was a matter of informality and breech, “I, Kulla, hereby curse you indefinitely until you can learn to cease that tongue you so boldly speak with.” Woven by a drape of smog, she vanished back into the immortal heavens, saying no more.

SUMMARY
Draven has been cursed! He can no longer speak by the order of mute.


She walks. | "She talks."







Reply










Draven
Male
Rogue
Hyena
© YspobDon
3.00 years
Height: 38 in
Posts: 40
AP: 0AP
Linked Accounts

Weight: 160 lbs

RE: Release


[M] for many a thing'n.

It was shocking just how quickly Draven got a response.

It was really shocking that he'd gotten one.

And it was most shocking what happened next.

A massive -- not a regular kind of massive, no. A humongous, probably magical kind of massive -- raven rose up straight from the ground, like a specter of myths, and hooked its violet gaze into Draven's flesh. The mere intensity of the stare made Draven's skin want to crawl, but he stood firm, attempting to stare almost directly into the eyes of darkness, a sheen of wild malice over his own attempted counter-glare. 'I am not weak, I am not weak, I am not WEAK! I'm fucking PISSED!' Draven would have let out a snarl in the face of this danger to prove to them both that he was anything but scared. However, words stunted the attempt, and Draven fell to silence as he listened to the assumed "Death Bringer"'s short speech.

What Draven had assumed to be hallow threats he found to be true when his silence remained... against his will. After the "bird(?)" was finished, Draven attempted to look unimpressed, brows raising high (although slightly arching downwards to convey his ever-prominent anger) and eyelids half closing in a sassy look of "Are you done?" Draven then attempted to shout some witty retort, but... all he could force out was a gust of air. Breath. No words. Draven tried again. Still nothing. He slammed his right forepaw on the ground, only barely acknowledging the pain the action brought (since his right forepaw was still most definitely bruised from previous skull-smacking endeavors), and tried to scream. All that came out was a painfully hoarse and quiet whine of sorts.

It was like his vocal cords had been somehow painlessly torn from him.

And the lack of pain was what hurt the most.

Draven didn't take too long to have the realization sweep over him. He tried whispering, calling out, regular talking, more screaming. All the results reaffirmed his suspicions. All the pitiful, painfully quiet results. Draven felt his face get hot and his lungs start to hurt. 'Why are you hurting, lungs? There's no sound to hurt from,' he scolded his innards with a maliciously teasing inner voice.

Draven looked back to where the "Death Bringer" should've been, but was there no longer. He stared at the emptiness, eyes bulging with obvious loathing. That bitch had just taken away everything he had left. First his appendages that, though they were strange, he'd grown accustomed to. Now, his one last weapon when nothing else worked. His one form of expression. His voice.

Draven left, silent yet undefeated. He stormed away from the graveyard, making sure to be as loud as possible with every other part of his body. Each footstep impacted the dust below like a fallen tree, each heartbeat was loud enough in contrast to the silence, Draven swore that any other presence nearby would certainly hear it. Loud and clear. Draven wanted to prove to the "Death Bringer" and to whatever remains of his previous world were left that he was no different. That nothing would ever -- could ever take away Draven's spirit. And nothing could ever take away Draven's sound.

Silent but loud.

Beaten but unbroken.

He left, his drums beating to the rhythm of war.


- exit -

OC:



Narrative. "Dialogue." 'Monologue.'
Stock





Draven was adopted from The Aoric Family! (Adoption thread by Ailes)

Draven is an angry fellow, and tends to think and say many mean things. He can also be relatively graphic since he might take out his anger in creative ways. For this, he's pretty much an [M] rated character. And none of his actions or words reflect on my own opinions! :3

Draven wears a ring on his front right paw that matches his father's. The colors are different, as Draven's matches his own eye color.



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