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From the Gates of Hell...to Me!
Soquili's Name: Abaddon
Meaning of Name?: 'destruction & ruination' - Greek variation (associated - 'of the bottomless pit')
Owner: Kaisanti
Personality: Abaddon is truly a creature from the bowls of hell. He delights in ripping flesh from bone, finds pleasure in the screams of pain from his victims. The very act of shedding blood is his aphrodisiac. He does not believe that he is 'evil', he simply IS, and he is Curious. He lives true to his nature, other living creatures are either prey or predator. If it is prey, he is totally within his right as a predator to kill and eat it. If the other is a predator like him, he will give and demand respect, will abide by another's claim to a certain place and in return, expect them to say out of his own lands. But, the only predators he recognises are other pure-skinwalkers. Cursed are a sub-race that he will let live unless they try and challenge him, then he will show them why the cursed are a lower species than pure-bred shifters. The kalona he sees as a wholy different creation, they interest him with their blood-thirst, and he enjoys how vicious they are in a fight, but he will still kill and eat them if he gets the chance. His curiosity is deadly to anything less than a pure walker, as he believes that everything a creature is, everything they hold within their personality, is visible in the flesh. Courage, fear, pride, compassion... all of it lives under the skin, written in the flesh and bones of the creature. He typically skins his victim while they still live, trying to find out exactly what makes them the way they are, what fleshy body bit is responsible for one soquili acting brave and another cowering in fear. Sadly, his blood lust usually overcomes his curiosity and he slaughters his specimen before he can find his answers, which leads to a never-ending cycle of curiosity, experimentation, dissection and slaughter.
Response: They cowed before him, huddling together as if the pressed mass of bodies would keep away his teeth and claws. Why did they do that? What drove them to pack themselves in like sardines when it only made it easier for him to tear into flesh, to spill rich red blood upon the ground. He didn't even need to aim and he was certain of his claws shredding fur. Now.. there were those that challenged him, those that moved away from the rest in order to have room to fight. They interested him, he wanted to find out what made them tick, why they were different. Just as he wanted to find out why the rest huddled, why they helped him by making perfect targets of themselves. He tried, he tried so very hard to remain aware, to fight the blood lust that washed over him when he felt their flesh parting under his claws like a lover's soft caress, the scent of their fresh, pounding blood rich and tantalising to his senses. Their fear a spine-tingling whisper of lust that shivered down his tail with a delightful zing of power. Yet, the blood-red haze always stole over him, coloured his vision with a desperate need, narrowed down his world to the feel of fur under his claws and blood running down his throat, the thick, warm weight of meat in his belly. Again and again he was foiled by his own desires yet he was still curious, still fascinated with the why. He knew the answer was just under the delicate skin, waiting for him to strip away the meat and expose it. If only... If only he could remain aware long enough to find it, to examine it with his conscious eyes, his aware eyes... before the blood lust took him away to the fierce joy of the Red, the hot tingling Red that burned down his throat, warmed his fur and made his senses sing, of ending a life so he could swallow the thick rush of power at that perfect, beautiful moment of true death...
How many Skinwalkers do you have?: None

From the Gates of Hell...to Me!
Soquili's Name: Corwan
Meaning of Name?: Spear-Wielder, however, this has no reflection on why I chose the name.
Owner: Sephiros Immortalis
Personality: The Violent Perfectionist.
A creature of passionate brutality, Corwan's mind has been pervaded with the most intense and vicious of methodic madness. With silver-tongued tyranny he chooses to terrorize those about them, and whilst he may not always allow his encounters with others to end in 'fatality', no matter the misery he inflicts, he sees his dark and holy work as a betterment to 'his' world (which, mind, is wherever he happens to conveniently be at the time). His actions are always cold, cruel, and intelligent, torturing those around them, supposedly in the name of the 'greater good' no matter how flawed his perceived ideas of 'good' might be. Agitated whenever there is not 'balance', his obsession goes so far that should he obtain a wound, he would inflict harm upon his body in order to give the injury a 'twin' and attain balance. In truth, Corwan harbors a fierce malice towards all living creatures, as they are inconsequential, and the only thing that drives him is his own desire for a symmetrical, 'perfect' world wherein he reigns supreme, the ultimate creature.
Response:

"This world is wrong." The statement hung disparagingly in the crisp night air, slowly dissipating like the wispy tendrils of the stallion's breath, obediently fading to nothingness so that they would not mar the perfect darkness of the clouded evening. With a wanting sigh, the joyless creature allowed the chill of the atmosphere to pervade his lungs once more; a laborious exchange, one for another. Breathing was as nature intended, it came with rules, checks and balances, a symmetry perfectly wrought to sustain living beings. Ah but if the rest of the world could be so, then Corwan might finally be able to glean satisfaction from it. But alas, it was simply not to be. For this place had called him, the very mountains and valleys crying out to him in the agony of their imperfection...and a thousand soiled hooves made careless tracks in once glorious lands. These ignorant fools had no idea as to how their surroundings were meant to be, should be, could be.... Ah, my, but he would bless them with his epiphany, and should he find it necessary to offer up their blood to the soil in exchange for that perfection. Then so be it. These pitiful creatures did not deserve the happiness that they had eked out for themselves. They were gluttons. Lop-sided and ugly creatures, not realizing how transient their blissful existence was about to become.

It was in this place, the very center of the mouth of this particular valley, that he would begin his work. Lest his paws further unbalance the landscape, he would explore the valley in a single, impeccable line, unerringly putting one paw before the other, and should any dare to cross that path...well then, as a missionary of the blessed dark, he would correct their flaws. And all the while, he himself must remain untainted, untouched by their heresy. Only those of his own kind, the race most-blessed by the darkness, would he see fit to treat with equality. A cold little smile touched his fanged maw, and sinking his claws into the earth, he took the first step, putting a claim on this place for as long as his kind, the vicious, the unerring, should live.

Not a half-mile from the beginning of his surveillance journey, did happenstance bring to him the first poor soul in need of correction. Topping a rise with the silence of a predator born into his role, prancing unto his nostrils came the most promising of scents....Fear, grief, and youthful folly...

Making his way down the rocky decline, the pads of his paws allowing him an easy descent, grasping the crumbling soil with almost vindictive strength it wasn't long before he found what had lured him hence. Corwan's eyes, gleaming gold in the precious hours of pre-dawn, alighted upon the forms of two younglings. Not even yearlings these, they had clearly crept their way from 'neath the noses of their guardians to have a midnight romp, a wee adventure. A young colt and a filly...each of matching pelts, siblings, twins. This might have been enough to appease the ominous creature, had it not been for one jarring difference betwixt the pair. The lass, her delicate flaxen mane splayed out in the dust...was curled upon the ground, legs tucked close to her tiny body, unmoving. The light had passed from her eyes, the robin's egg blue of them gone glassy. Death had touched her, blood seeping from one temple to stain the earth below. A swift blow, just one fumbled step, and she had likely never been aware that she was condemned. A quick demise.

"Tell me, little one, how did this tragedy occur?" Corwan's voice was rumbling, a strange lilt to it as though to soothe, an entirely false sense of peace about the hulking stallion, as he finally caught the remaining foal's attention.

No matter that the twosome had been foolish before, there clearly was some brain left in the child's head, for as he snapped to attention, fear widening his gaze. For though he'd ne'er seen a Skinwalker, he had indeed scented peril before, and the smell of coyote clung to this foreign stallion...an aberration to the equine species, paws where hooves should rightly be, and teeth that no herbivore should rightly possess. A beast of the hunt, and now, the colt had nowhere to run...and it was clear that in the desolation of his lost, he was no longer sure that he desired to flee. It was only after a few moments of that abject terror, ears flattened to the sides of his head, that he finally managed words...realizing that a question had been posed. "I-I...we were running down the hill...and she just fell...she fell and she didn't...she couldn't..." Sobbing in an entirely childish fashion, great tears darkening the grey of his coat in mourning, he tried to fumblingly explain their plight to the intruder.

In truth, mind, he cared little for such trivial sadnesses; only that something as flawlessly symmetrical as their matching pelts had been sullied by the passing of the female. Snorting in derision, as though to mock the child for his idiocy, he stepped forward, that predator's gaze of his narrowing, catching the youth inescapably in their glow. "There, there...you must realize that not all is lost. The two of you in tandem were a thing of vast beauty, it would be a tremendous detriment to the world if things were to continue in such a way. So very, very...disproportionate...but I promise that I shall make it better. That is why I have sojourned thus far, for the setting aright of great sins such as this one." And with each word his grin seemed to widen, malice fueling that hell-wrought gaze as every paw-step seemed to be a further descent into Corwan's madness.

As he drew nearer, it finally dawned on the babe that perhaps he was not so enamored of dying after all...and that if he wanted to survive, he best ought to try running, and with a squeal of unbridled terror, he made his best attempt at fleeing, turning tail and taking great, hurried, leaps towards the home and safety that he'd taken for granted not hours before. Ah, but it was far too late for such judgments. Crouching slightly, the great creature leapt forward, his sheer weight bearing the much smaller equine into the ground, and though he whinnied his protest, and a few broken, terrified pleas were managed, trying at all costs to sustain his own existence, a crushing paw was placed on his windpipe, slowly sealing off the air from his lungs.

Checks and balances.

"There, there...little one, it's not so horrendous a thing is it? I promise to place you where you belong, all tucked up next to your sister. You know you wouldn't want to leave her...it was a true shame your deaths did not come in tandem. Could you imagine the glory of such a demise?" The Skinwalker all but purred as the child thrashed beneath him, fading from this world in a most undignified fashion, his tears stirring the dust he swirled up in silent atonement for his grievous error. That of survival when his other half had perished.

When finally the struggle faded into feeble twitching...and but moments after, the colt succumbed, going still, the pale gold of his lashes only half-shrouding lifeless eyes. And at this triumph, Corwan finally took his weight from the younger's slender throat, and fixed his teeth gingerly at the junction of the neck and spine. Dragging him the few yards back to the body of his sister, the ebon-pelted coyote painstakingly arranged them with his paws, the two now back to back, eyes closed as though they had merely fallen asleep, legs artfully tucked against frail bodies. Manes and tails were splayed and coiled, intertwining as though to connect them eternally, a symbol of the twin bond that they'd certainly shared in life.

"Magnificent..." He whispered, "Now you will ne'er be parted, forever perfect..." speaking as one might praise a sanctuary, a holy place, christened now with the blood of the innocent. It boded well to the success of his mission within this place. He'd come here to seek out such error, and to raise it to the highest level of perfection. And turning, finally, he felt that he could continue his trek with confidence, an intense pride twisting malevolently in his chest. Tilting head to the skies, he let out a blood-curdling, undulating howl of triumph...a predator more deadly than any this idyllic valley had known. And already his first task, granted him by his holy dark, had been fulfilled.

It had been set aright, an eerie harbinger of the descending revival...a sign of his coming. Indeed. All the world would be set aright.

How many Skinwalkers do you have?: 0

From the Gates of Hell...to Me!
Soquili's Name: Merihim
Meaning of Name?: Named after a demon of pestilence.
Owner: Tsunake
Personality: Merihim is a simple creature with a simple purpose; to watch chaos embrace everything and relish in the beauty it will bring. Only when the world has been reduced to its most ragged, primal state will he deem himself... satisfied. He is an embodiment of that chaos, one of its finest and first tools to be inflicted upon the world. Though his mind is ancient, his body is young, fit, and ready for the strain he shall put upon it as he begins his ageless task.

He is pleasant to anyone has the opportunity of bespeaking him, and perhaps right away (if his general appearance did not seem to shriek danger for whatever reason), they might find him acceptable company. He's perfectly willing to have conversation--though that conversation will inevitably turn to something entirely unpleasant. What Merihim really wants to talk about is... you. How worthy you are. How beautiful. How strong.

Merihim is shamanistic in nature, a believer in rituals and blood sacrifices. The finest hunt in the world is one that ends with him bringing down the strong. He does not judge by species or sex; only strength matters to the coyote. Are you a unicorn, blessed with the power of healing? You are desirable. A mare or stallion in their prime, filled with the riches of life and love? Merihim needs that spirit--and more importantly, he'll get it.

He believes that by devouring the flesh of the chosen, he will also consume their spirit, blessing and enriching himself with their power so that he may complete his task. The more souls to devour, the more his influence grows... and the more homage he can pay to chaos. However, he is patient; he knows better than to rush foolishly into the heart of things, and instead works at delicately nibbling away tiny threads with the knowledge that, eventually with enough damage, the entire web will give way.

It's simple, all so simple. He holds nothing against his victims; no, quite the opposite. They are special, and he will take their gifts for his own bounty in order to live on forever.

Response: Life. It was everywhere, as far as the eye could see. Every breath he took seared his nostrils with it, the rich, almost putrid stench of it. He longed for sweeter scents, decay and misery, but all in due time.

The stalk had been slow, if sweet, and he had tracked the Unicorn for nearly an hour now, lovely elusive thing that it was. It made it all so easy, and the coyote trotted closer, jaws hung open in a canine grin. Sometimes they talked before the end. Now was not one of those times. He had ample opportunity to admire the stallion’s serene grace and lofty composure, and saw no need to prolong the moment his heart ached for. The creature was breathtaking, and Merihim kept close to the shadows while the Unicorn paused to drink from a nearby river.

As soon as the stallion’s guard was dropped, the coyote struck. Jaws hit the side of the unicorn’s throat, not thick enough to wrap around it entirely, but the force behind it was enough to knock the Soquili off balance. He went down hard, a spray of mud and water soaking the attacking Skinwalker from head to tail, but Merihim had been covered in worse than a bit of cold muck before. He evaded the thrashing hooves, unable to help adding his own, savage snarls among the sounds of terrified whinnies.

Mighty as the Unicorn may have been head on, he was no match for the four-legged beast when he was downed, and before long, the coyote held the bleating, spasming throat within his mouth. One.... two... three... With each passing second, he tightened his hold until his muscles ached, relentlessly holding tight until, almost blissfully, the shuddered jerking began to cease. The sudden silence was eerie compared to the cataclysmic din that had filled the peaceful forest only moments before, and not even the birds sang now, shocked into silence by the gruesome scene.

Finally, Merihim let go.

Even in death, the Unicorn was a beautiful creature, his long and slender legs still dripping with mud and held at odd angles. Panting, feeling himself already infused with the beginnings of the stallion’s fiery spirit, the coyote paced to the creature’s head, his long, dripping jaws pausing to caress the fine horn. “Unto me, in death.” Came the gravelly intonation, and he was suddenly baring teeth.

The work was messy and painstaking, but he eventually gnawed the horn of the beast free, ignoring the way his teeth cried out and threatened to splinter under such duress. Nothing else mattered, however, nothing but that beautiful, precious gift of Life. With a decisive crunch, the horn fell free. Merihim looked it over once, carefully cleaned it within the riverbed, and left it for now. Later, it would be ground to fine powder underneath his hooves, and the remnants used to grant him the gifts of Healing. Nothing of this creature would go to waste—not when he was willing and fully capable of using it... ...But to do that, the Unicorn’s spirit needed to be consumed. Merihim did that the only way he knew how.

The birds watched as the coyote feasted upon the cooling body of the stallion, and could do nothing more than shiver within their nests.

This would be one of many.

How many Skinwalkers do you have?: None. Thank you for the opportunity!

After long debate (and an interval of the judges being eaten by RL), we finally have a winner!

Congrats to Faithofthefallen! Please PM Niloufer with Barracus' cert info!

Also, here are your uncerts!



This is just for purposes of seeing his markings in full, it does not exist ICly.