Honey and blood fall against my face Like sticky, warm rain. It makes me shudder and sigh Equal parts Pleased and shy, Then I open my eyes to Look across To the endless sky And think "What a magnificent dream." I dart my tongue out To taste the rain And it begins again as I fall awake
I Fall Awake is at times coldly logical and at others recklessly passionate. Sometimes sweet, sometimes cruel, ze is a daydreamer with a boundless imagination. However, ze is a grounded individual who understands that life is not a dream and that it can be a tragic combination of the highest highs and the lowest lows. For that reason ze walks in a waking dream where ze experiences these highs and lows in hir mind while living in between, always average, normal, and unremarkable. Sometimes ze wishes ze were extraordinary but then ze remembers that what goes up must come down and is not willing to sacrifice hir security for greatness. Sometimes it seems that ze will take a great leap out of passion, but then ze will remember the consequences and pull back, consciously being very logical and cautious to make up for the moment of recklessness. There has always been something off about hir, not sadism, but simply a morbid fascination with pain, hir own and others, blood, and death. Ze sees both elation and suffering as beautiful things. I Fall Awake can come off as aloof and even hostile, but in reality ze just doesn't know how to interact with others.
kimeti ;; doe or buck ;; semi-custom non-growing ;; edited or non-edited
what i liked about the picture: the hazy, vintage look combined with the sharp contrast in the background, the faded lights and heavy shadows
...will quest for a matching cheetah familiar... Eyes Wide Open
It all seemed to go out of focus As he stepped forward into the flames And where his hooves landed The flames guttered before Dying down to ashes But the flames did not Go out And when his hooves lifted He left behind a trail of Ashes on fire
Ashes on Fire values perseverance beyond all else. He was born in the far reaches of the swamp, nearly frozen to death in the snowy cold, but he somehow survived, like ashes that somehow still burn. He doesn't ever expect anything good to happen to him, but he makes the most of all situations anyways. He is always helpful because he wants to help others survive just like he believes the swamp helped him survive against all odds and he is always courteous because he will never take anything for granted, any good windfall is something precious and something to be eternally thankful for. Once Flicker gives you his word, you can trust him to keep it and if you ever need someone to talk to, he will be there to listen to you. Despite this innate desire to support others, he finds it difficult to really connect with others. Instead, he acts the same way he believes the swamp acts, as a benevolent, kind, caring figure who will always be there, but cannot connect to kin the same way most kin connect with each other in that highly reciprocal, emotional way.
buck ;; semi-custom non-growing ;; edited or non-edited
...will quest for a matching owlcat familiar... Guttering Flame
Posted: Wed Mar 07, 2012 8:39 pm
Flowers for the Dead (Mourner)
They stood in a procession, Flowers were grasped gently In the delicate grasp of Sometimes deadly Jaws I stare up at them and I see Them come towards me I cannot move And I cannot speak I cannot even breath As each one of them Comes closer, and closer, One step at a time They drop the flowers On me, By me, For me, I realize What these are They a flowers, Flowers for the dead
The torrent batters against My body It hurts And yet, I feel More calm than ever before. It is the water, Slicing me away in its Relentless battle to reach the ground I am torn away By the constant Deluge Until there is nothing left of me Except for all the small pieces That joins the battle cry of the sky And It all falls down
I look at the world And I see a world That does not see me As I see me And when I think I know that there is no More to me, the world, everything Than simply being me, the world, everything. Nothing of what those that cannot see Say there is And I think, 'How sad it is to live blinded to the nothingness that is life." Except it is not sad Because existence is Just that, Existence, Nothing more, Nothing less. And so I would accept, Quite happily, What death may come
absurdist ;; existential nihilist
What Death May Come doesn't believe that there is any meaning to life and chooses to do what she wants simply because she wants it. To her, life itself has no worth and death is the only way to escape the inherent clash between living creatures' desire to rationalize the world and apply meaning to it. Nothingness doesn't want to live, but neither does she want to die. She merely doesn't see any point in living or dying either way. She is guided by her integrity is always truthful to herself and is consistent in her actions, but she is amoral because she believes that morals do not exist and are merely contraptions fabricated by living creatures to attempt to apply meaning to life. She respects the Swamp, but rejects the idea that there is anything special about the Swamp and doesn't believe in the power of the MotherFather, BrotherSister. She lives because she is alive, and lives simply because of this. She follows her instincts and desires unfailingly without much thought of why she wants what she wants, merely following her instincts because there isn't any reason not to. Nice enough, but not caring at all, she is neither cold nor warm, Nothingness is very neutral about all things.
kimeti ;; doe ;; custom ;; edited
a doe that is heavily based on the image, a skelemeti/fluttermeti with a hair edit like that in the image and a chrysanthemum somehow worked in somewhere
...will quest for a matching giant moth and crane familiar... Death is Escape How Impossible
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Posted: Sun Apr 22, 2012 9:33 pm
Rush of Wind (Howl)
Push Jump Leap, Faster, Run!
Chase down the eagle Chase down the hare Feel the sand beneath Your hooves Pounding, Unrelentingly, To bring you Soaring, Flying, Careening Over the dunes. Run!
Listen to the Rush of wind Howling in your ears As your prey gets Closer, Closer, Closer, The blood sprays In a long, graceful arc. And off you go again, Run!
A solitary hunter desperate to recreate the images that were laid before him in his naming dream, Rush of Wind is a buck shaped by both his naming dream and the events surrounding his birth. These two factors keep him from moving on and joining his pleasure seeking kin in their love of life. He is driven by his naming dream in which he hunted the fastest creatures over sand and through the air, the sound of the rushing wind howling in his ears, but he was born in the midst of a sandstorm, left behind by his parents and siblings when the storm threatened the rest of the family, and blind and helpless, his first memories are those of pain and fear. Necessity caused him to open his eyes prematurely, and thus, his eyes never developed fully and his already poor eyesight was further damaged by the sand lashing at his soft eyes, but even partly blind he stumbled upon an oasis, mostly by sheer luck and perseverance.
The other Acha took him in, but he was an oddity, the object of pity because he could barely see. He couldn’t appreciate the visual beauties of life and had trouble interacting with the other Acha and thus didn’t involve himself of the more carnal pleasures of good fun, partying, and gluttony. Because of the loss of sight, his other senses are highly developed. Howl find his way by minute shifts in his environment and is able to pinpoint other kin through scent, sound, and touch. He learned to walk and follow the tribe that had taken him in. As a yearling, barely grown into gangly limbs, he stumbled across his parents and siblings at an oasis, a family of hunters that lived a nearly solitary lifestyle and driven by the passion of the hunt. Even then, he had always been drawn back to the desert, away from the ease of the oasis. The tribe that had taken him in couldn’t understand why he would want to go back to the place that had taken his sight from him and he couldn’t quite explain it. His family, however, wouldn’t take him with them when they left oasis. He was blind and they couldn’t afford the burden of a blind son. With this rejection, Howl spent one last day and left the tribe, throwing himself once more into the inhospitable desert that had been his birth place.
Haunted, yet driven, by his naming dream, Rush of Wind taught himself how to hunt, following the instincts that he was born with. Try as he might, he couldn’t recreate his dream though because he couldn’t see the sights around him, just the dim, de-saturated blur of images rushing past him. As he grew into his buckhood, he became more than a competent hunter; he was a master of chasing down the fastest hares and birds that came bounding and swooping before him. When he began to dream of the swamp, ignored the dreams, determined that the desert, the unforgiving land of sand, would be both his damnation and his forever home, however, as the dreams became stronger and stronger, he came to understand the different implications of the dreams, wandering deeper into the swamp in his mind. These dreams, the only dreams that he had where his vision was clear other than his naming dream, convinced him that the swamp could be his salvation. He took the arduous journey alone, already well suited to the harshness of the desert. On the way there, he impressed a female sand dog with his hunting skills and although he did not claim her, she followed him and ran with him as he journeyed to the swamp. They gradually slipped into the role of partners and companions and she became his first friend. When he reached the swamp, he had to learn to adapt to a new landscape, but he did so quickly, especially with the help of Chase the Wind.
He only finds peace in hunting and the sound of the wind and thus cannot stay in one place for long and is always running, running towards or away from something, he does not know. Howl hopes that the swamp, the birthplace of kin, will be able to give him back his sight. He finds it hard to connect to other kin because he had spent most of his life alone and even when he had been with the tribe, he had never really gotten close to any of them. He is used to the life of a solitary hunter and only accepts Gale’s unwavering companionship even though he doesn’t understand why she has stuck with him so long. He does not mind other kin but he would rather be alone than with another. He is very restless and always needs to be moving.
In the few moments of stillness that Howl has, between his running and his hunting, he delves into philosophical examinations of self and being. Rather than having his own strict moral code, Rush of Wind is morally ambivalent, not immoral, simply amoral, and is more interested in discussing morality and discovering it through thought rather than living by it and deciding it. Also morbidly fascinated by the idea of death, taking him back to his birth into the sandstorm which should have been the end of him, he sometimes feels as if he were the living dead, a being running through the desert, plains, swamp, on stolen time. These moments of stillness pass though, and then he is back to listening to the wind and feeling the blood rush past his face, tracing graceful curves in the air.
One day, he’d like to find his family again and show them the hunter he has become.
acha ;; buck ;; custom non-growing ;; edited
...will quest for a matching sand dog familiar... chase the wind
Posted: Fri Nov 02, 2012 9:54 pm
Blooms in Decay
"I was laying on the ground, one with the swamp, no breath in my body, and from me, sprung new life."
secretive ;; watchful ;; deliberate unedited ;; doe ;; zikwa ;; markings cc (preference for soft, spotted/piebald patterns or something delicate and feminine)
Amorpheous Crew
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Posted: Tue Jul 23, 2013 10:43 pm
Stillbirth
she pulls you under holds you close, dear one, kisses the breath out of your delicate lungs
she holds you close, dear one, as you go still.
obsessed ;; strange ;; loving
kimeti ;; doe ;; custom non-growing ;; edited
anything inspired by the naming dream and/or art by Leslie Ann O'Dell or Untitled 22 by Aditya Ikranegara edits that I love and am kind of set on: film over the eye; long, flowing, tangled hair; anti-butch + back scale removal edits that I would really like, but aren't necessary: foot floof + tail edit to match hair; nose + eye scale removal; horn removal; flowers tangled in her hair/floof/tail
A sad, speechless doe who identifies more strongly with the dead than she does the living. She has sequestered herself away and now, she has become a myth.
She found the area now called the Hauntlands early in her youth and decided to call it home. She does not speak or use words, and instead sings wordlessly in haunting and sad tones. Because of her lack of words, she didn't like to interact with other kin so she hid herself away. When the two End Days prophets decided to start their tribe on the lands surrounding her part of the swamp, they saw her occasionally, no more than a ghost, and fabricate the story that is now taken as fact by the tribe. While Walking Spirits isn't the doe in the story, she has heard the story so many times and has experienced enough reactions to her appearance that she has internalized the myth somewhat and so even better fulfills the role that the two prophets want her to play.
Though she is called the "End Spirit" or the "White Doe of Death", she doesn't necessarily need to be white. As long as she's pale and could be mistaken as a white doe, and she looks like she's a Swamp spirit, just risen out of the waters and tangled in the growth, anything would be lovely.
Her concept was inspired by this image by Caitlin Hackett and inspiration for mood from both the picture linked and above would be lovely. I also really like these images by Leslie Ann O'Dell, if you'd like to draw inspiration from them: here, here, here, and here. While she is not inspired by this song, I believe the phrase 'walking spirits' has been laying in the back of my mind because of Graveyard by Lucy Schwartz, specifically this bridge: "Oh, we're nothing but walking spirits/ Only shadows, we're only shadows/ Screaming out but no one will hear us/ Only shadows, we're only shadows"
Her part in End Days is below.
There once was a doe that lived in a deep, dark area of the swamp where roots twisted through the water tripping up any who sought to enter. Hanging from the branches were tendrils and fronds, dead things and living things reaching to obscure life from view. Hidden away in that dank, cold grove where no creature dared set foot was a doe dark as night with eyes hidden deep in her head so that their glow could hardly be seen. She haunted these trees though no creature challenged her claim. Hidden away from the world, she grew gaunt and thin, her words lost to the wind so that eventually she was only capable of moaning a warning sound.
She lived out her years among those trees and so still she was at times that the Swamp began to grow into her and her into the Swamp. The bones of long dead creatures grew tangled in her hair and tail, every manner of living and dead became a part of her twisted body. Still she lived on though, in those poisonous waters, in between those fatal trees. Any kin or animal that dared enter her area of the Swamp was swiftly dealt with, either through what could only be called bad luck, felled by trees, strangled by veins, drowned in a thalweg, or brought down by the doe herself. She was a quick hunter, killing not for sport or for food, but merely to protect what she thought of as hers.
Moon after moon, year after year, she lived in her impenetrable home, a doe lost to solitude and madness. She grew old while her mind remained quick and sharp. Even as her limbs failed her, she continued to drag herself around, losing parts of herself to the swamp but not caring one whit so long as she could continue to force her body to do what her mind bid it do.
At long last, however, not even a will as strong as hers could force her dying body to continue to walk as she once walked, snap as she once snapped. She lay down on the Swamp floor, water swallowing her dark sides and holding her down. She cried a song of rage, anger and mourning, still warning other kin and creatures to stay away. Her song grew weaker though, weaker and weaker still as moons dragged by.
One night, on the night she thought she must die, a white doe approached her from between two trees, glowing just slightly in the darkness of the Swamp. She stared down at the doe laying in the water, saying without words to stop her song and quieting the pain that wracked the other's body. Angry, the dark doe, struggled to rise but could not, so she screamed.
In that scream contained rage at the other doe who dared come so close. Who was she to invade her sanctuary and decide what pain she could and could not feel? Who was this doe who stood above her, playing with her fate?
It was then that she realized that the doe was the MotherFather, come down to visit her on her death bed. Her scream stopped and she closed her eyes, abhorring the idea of death, but unable to do anything to stop it. A sudden movement snapped the doe from out of her quiet death and she struck out, rising with a splash from the water to pull a large, male vulture out of the air. It had prematurely thought her dead and had come down to claim her body. Staring defiantly at the MotherFather, the doe bared her bloody teeth.
Even as she made to rise up, she also fell back down. The strength leaving her body, the dying vulture clutched in her jaws. With her final breath, she let out a low, howling sound of pain and defiance. Finally though, she stilled. The MotherFather stared down at the doe with sad eyes, and in what was both and act of kindness and the teaching of a terrible lesson, the MotherFather took the vulture from the doe's mouth, cutting it open its chest with a hoof and removed it still beating heart. Then she did the same to the doe, taking out the still dark heart and replacing it with the vulture's.
No kin can come back from the dead, not truly, but now the doe's body began to move once more, reinvigorated, but dead. The MotherFather left then, leaving the doe laying in the water, unbreathing but full of breath, dead and cold but full of life. So shehe resumed her haunting of her area of the Swamp even as it shrunk and some of it thinned away. Without herhis words, and less kin than shehe was before, shehe sang herhis moaning, howling song. Needing no rest and no air, shehe led a horrible, unending life. Even if shehe wanted to rest shehe could not.
In time, herhis dark pelt was bleached white by the wind and sun as bones are when freed from the dead. And thus is the origin of the End Spirit, both a warning and a gift, a message from the MotherFather to love life, but not at the detriment of truly living.
Creating Monsters
you must be careful about your words you must be mindful of your choices you must be cautious of your friends
Terribly driven and very much aware of the power she could wield, she is strong-willed and fierce. She uses charm as much as she uses force to get what she wants when she wants it. The world is for her to gain what she desires and no one is permitted to gain anything from her unless they give her something even greater return. Machiavellian and not much concerned with being loved, but enjoying it nonetheless, she is poised as a leader, seemingly born to have kin listening to her every word, enthralled by her charisma.
Her personal story is one of being born knowing that she was meant for something greater. She began to spin stories to suit her needs and found that kin were driven by two things: love and fear. To hold both in you jaws was the control them all. Her first victim, or if you asked her, her first devotee, was Weapon of Choice, a buck who would do anything if she showed him a passing whisper of affection. He thought himself a prophet and that was when she first conceived of her plan to be loved and feared, to have power. She convinced him of her stories of the future so much that he saw those visions in his dreams and it was thus that they started End Days. She tells kin that her name is Creator as part of her projected image, though she actually is rather proud of her real name.
Custom form:
[color=blue][b]Custom Request[/b] [b]username:[/b] Amorpheous [b]kin name:[/b] Creating Monsters [b]kin species:[/b] Kimeti [b]gender:[/b] Doe [b]growing or non:[/b] Non [b]request:[/b] [url=http://www.gaiaonline.com/guilds/viewtopic.php?page=1&t=22658383#358293585]Quest[/url], she's the second quest in the post since I put all my End Days quests together. Here are some pictures that I really like as far as mood/look: [url=http://25.media.tumblr.com/3613f6d52829c218b19c637c577778d6/tumblr_mif6jawqc01qg50cfo1_1280.jpg]Photograph by Avine[/url], [url=http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m875xwOzrJ1qlq9poo1_500.jpg]Fashion by Isabel Vollrath[/url], [url=http://th06.deviantart.net/fs71/PRE/f/2011/346/3/b/hunter___03_by_aditya777-d4iz0qs.jpg]Hunter 03 by Aditya Ikranegara[/url], [url=http://thehouseofvines.files.wordpress.com/2012/12/15621929927776909_rulvqe3j_c.jpg?w=690]photo by unknown source[/url], [url=http://www.olivecocomag.com/wp-content/uploads/FF.jpg]3D printed dresses by Iris van Herpen[/url], and [url=http://3dprinting.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/3D-printed-dress-Iris-van-Herpen.jpg]another 3D printed dress by Iris van Herpen[/url]. I don't really have a specific idea in my mind, but I'm just looking for a play between light and dark, strong and soft, cutting and gentle; she should look like she's capable of creating ruins, but also incredibly beautiful since she definitely uses her looks to seduce and persuade. [b]edits? what do you want and what will you pay?[/b] Please feel free to take artistic liberties. c: But er, hm, I guess I'd really like a headpiece of some sort, feathers or something sculptural, over hair? And then anything else that you'd be willing to do with the rest of her body would be amazing. Some edits that are a play between smooth/soft and violent/hard? [b]anything special about your request (RP need, etc.):[/b] She's going to be the tribe leader of [url=http://www.gaiaonline.com/guilds/viewtopic.php?t=24008589]End Days[/url]. She's the more important of the two tribe leaders, definitely the brains [i]and[/i] brawn behind the whole operation. Weapon of Choice is... more eye-candy...[/color]
Weapon of Choice
'who are you, little one?' they asked him
he sang honey sweet words so charming false
'what do you desire, little one?' they asked him
he spun words that reeked of desperation needy
'what do you mean, little one?' they asked
he spat out poetry about respect love
'how will you claim you dreams, little one?' they asked
he simpered and danced, striking out kill
'what is your weapon of choice, little one?' they asked
Desperate for love and adoration, he will do anything to gain the respect and affection he craves. So certain of Creating Monsters' appeal and power, he hangs on to her every word and believes, quiet genuinely, that the things she says are true. Despite his belief in her, he's not above using dishonesty to further both their causes. While he grovels in respect for Creating Monsters and wouldn't dare cross her, he tolerates disrespect from no one else. He demands that others revere him, which isn't so difficult in some cases due to his natural charisma and charm and his easy affable-seeming nature. Possessed of great talent in weaving pretty words and making nice, he tends to use kindness to get what he wants before turning to force, but when he does, it is perhaps with a touch of the deranged and uncontrolled.
From his very first moment he has worked to have others love him and believes that he is one of the Swamp's most beloved creations. There is no reason why any kin shouldn't love him. He sees End Days as the perfect setting for him to receive the respect and adulation he craves.
As for appearance, like with Creating Monsters, the picture is more for atmosphere and less for specific inspiration. He should be softer than Creating Monsters, ethereally beautiful, and maybe looking a little adoring, but still with something just a little sinister about him.
Amorpheous Crew
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Posted: Fri Feb 07, 2014 11:12 pm
Darkness on My Shoulders
I stood there seeing nothing ahead except the lights that faded in and out of shadows until they stilled and settled
against so empty a dark the black swallowed the light like a shroud so deep and heavy made of dust, blood, sorrow, and darkness
I step forward, press on feeling strange shadows brush my shoulders I search for something, I will be burdened until I discover the truth anew
And though all this came forth in his mind, all he could say was, "I carry a burden of truth and darkness, it settles on my shoulders."
Sad, Passionate, Withdrawn unedited ;; semi-custom ;; buck
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