The air of the Astral Kingdom, ordinarily shimmering with serene light and hushed consensus, had grown thin and stifling for eight members of the Myotis clan. Their hearts hammered with a rhythm too wild, their thoughts pulsed with an intensity too bright, their fury was simply too potent for the gentle hum of Zeik's domain. So, under the benevolent, albeit wary, gaze of the Astral King, Inariel, the current Crown of the Myotis, gathered his chosen eight.
He led them away from the crystalline towers and fields of starlight, through the shimmering veil that separated realms, and into the profound, earthy darkness of the Maaluuki Woods. Specifically, the Black Forest. Here, ancient trees clawed at a perpetually twilight sky, their roots thick and gnarled like sleeping beasts. The air smelled of damp earth, decay, and something primal and untamed.
Inariel landed on a mossy clearing, his own deep obsidian fur blending seamlessly with the shadow-draped ground. Behind him, the eight landed, their wings folding, their forms settling into varying postures of readiness and uncertainty.
Erebus, a deeper void within the shadows, barely seemed to land, his silence a physical presence. His silver eyes were the only glint of light, absorbing the dim forest glow. He stood on the edge of the group, his dark silks whispering around him, already an observer lost in the forest's secrets, mirroring the introspection that had made him restless in the Astral light.
Cinderwing, his fur a warm, compassionate red, landed with a soft rustle, his presence immediately radiating a gentle calm that seemed almost out of place here. Despite the ferocity of his appearance was he carried a heart of compassion. His eyes, though fierce, held a sorrowful depth, a testament to the pain that often fueled his own quiet rage – a rage against suffering itself.
Stoneflight, a solid presence of grey-brown fur and sturdy armor, landed with more weight, his broad wings folding back like weathered shields. His earthy brown eyes scanned the ancient trees, pragmatic and assessing, his stance embodying the grounded strength that the Astral Kingdom had found too unyielding.
Aethel, her pale silver fur catching the faint light and making her seem almost luminous, landed gracefully, her delicate, ornate wings shimmering. The soft chime of her silver jewelry and the warm gleam in her insightful blue eyes spoke of encouragement, a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere, yet her own deep-seated frustration with limits had brought her here.
Selene, the most visually striking, descended like a falling star, her pure white fur radiating a soft glow, her magnificent wings tipped with iridescent light. Her glowing silver eyes burned with an intense, barely contained energy, and her grip on her moonstone staff was tight, reflecting the volatile passion that had felt caged by astral serenity.
Echo, her speckled grey and white fur blending into the complex textures of the forest floor, landed with the quiet assurance of long experience. Her deep yellow eyes, weighted with knowledge, observed the surroundings with analytical calm, the wisdom they held a counterpoint to the raw fury beneath the surface, a fury born of seeing cycles of stagnation repeat.
Cragclaw, his weathered, dark grey fur a map of past struggles, landed with a restless energy. His scarred wings folded, and his sharp emerald green eyes darted around, judging, questioning. He adjusted the grip on his crescent blade, the embodiment of a challenging spirit whose rage was directed at complacency and restrictive norms.
Whisperwind, her light grey fur almost fading into the mist rising from the damp ground, landed with ethereal quietness. Her delicate wings made no sound, and her mystical indigo eyes, partially veiled, seemed to see beyond the physical realm. Her small bone flute was clutched gently, her empathy a powerful force, but her rage stemmed from the unseen hurts and disharmony she constantly perceived.
The silence stretched, broken only by the sounds of the forest itself. Inariel waited, letting the weight of their new location, the purpose of their journey, settle upon them. Slowly, one by one, or in quiet waves, their thoughts began to surface, filling the clearing not with sound, but with palpable waves of feeling.
Erebus remained silent, but the depth of the shadow he cast seemed to intensify, a quiet acknowledgement of the kinship he felt with this darkness, a realm where his inner turmoil felt less alien.
Cinderwing spoke softly, his voice a balm against the tension. "The stillness... in the Astral Kingdom... it felt like denial. As if feeling too much was a fault. Perhaps here... feeling is permitted."
Stoneflight shifted, his armor scraping lightly. "Purpose. That is what I seek. The strength... the drive... it must serve a function, not merely fester."
Aethel's voice was clear and encouraging. "They saw our fire as destructive. We will show them it can forge. This place... it feels like potential, waiting to be shaped."
Selene flared, her white fur brightening momentarily. "Caged! We were caged! Let this forest feel the force they feared! Let our power finally be unleashed!" Her voice held both fury and a desperate longing for release.
Echo spoke with quiet authority. "Rage is energy. Untamed, it burns indiscriminately. Studied... understood... it becomes a tool. This forest holds ancient energies. It will teach us, perhaps, if we listen."
Cragclaw scoffed, a low sound in his chest. "Exiled for being too alive. Too real. If the Astral Kingdom is so fragile, maybe it deserves to be shaken. This 'fury'... it's just the refusal to be tamed."
Whisperwind's voice was barely a breath, melancholic yet hopeful. "So much pain... so much dissonance... in the quiet. Maybe here, where the struggle is visible, we can find a way to mend the breaks within ourselves... and within the world."
Inariel listened, his crimson eyes reflecting the dim light. He understood each of them, the nuances of their disallowed passion. He let their words hang in the air, acknowledging the varied faces of their shared 'rage'. But he was not here to create another tool of war, not at least, in the conventional sense.
Finally, he stepped forward, his presence commanding. "You carry a fire that even the Astral Kingdom could not contain," he said, his voice deep and resonant, yet carrying no trace of judgment. "Perhaps contain isn't the word...tolerate seems to be more correct. And yet Zeik granted you passage because he sees the potential within that flame, even if he could not harbor its intensity."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over each of the eight. "For ages we have been forced to the bottom of the barrel hunted near extinction and even now there are those who would cull us for our fangs and clip our wings. The Crystal courts, they feel your lamentation...and have deemed you. Dangerous." His gaze lingered over each of them resting on Selene a bit longer. She was the only other Myotis resnt with disticnt fox traits, the blood of their kind ran thick in her blood.
Even now he could feel the ebbs of her mystic potential. But her fury was palpable, he shared much more in common with her than he'd like to believe. Which is exactly what made him decide on this course of action. "You believe you are here to learn to control your fury," Inariel continued, his words slicing through the tension. "You are not. You are here to learn to wield it. To direct it. To let it flow through you as a river of power, not an uncontrolled flood."
He spread his hands slightly, the obsidian fur of his wings catching the shadow. "This forest is ancient, raw, and demanding. It mirrors the wildness within you. It will be your forge, and I, your smith."
A ripple of anticipation went through the group. They leaned forward, ready for instruction, for meditation, for trials of endurance or will.
Then, Inariel's crimson eyes fixed on them, and a subtle intensity filled the clearing. His voice dropped to a low hum, carrying an unnerving weight.
"But first," Inariel said, and the air grew heavy, pulling taut like a drawn bowstring. "First, you must demonstrate what you have brought with you. You must show me the fury that exiled you."
He opened his stance, presenting himself not as their leader, but as a target.
"All eight of you," Inariel concluded, his gaze unwavering, "Attack me. Now."
The statement hung in the sudden, stunned silence, more startling than any roar. The ancient trees seemed to hold their breath. The eight would be guardians, chosen for their immutable passion, stared at their Crown, the command echoing in their minds, the first, brutal lesson about to begin.
The Eight Phases Of Moonfang[END]
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Inariel Myotis
- Drifter
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The Eight Phases Of Moonfang[END]
Last edited by Inariel Myotis on Mon Aug 04, 2025 10:10 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Inariel Myotis
- Drifter
- Posts: 160
- Joined: Mon Jan 21, 2019 7:57 pm
Re: The Eight Phases Of The Lunar Veil
The silence that fell after Inariel's command was thicker than the forest mist, a heavy, expectant hush. The eight Myotis bats exchanged startled glances, their poses of readiness morphing into awkward hesitation. Attack their Crown? Their leader? The one who had brought them here, who seemed to understand them?
Disbelief warred with a primal surge of adrenaline. This wasn't the structured discipline they might have expected. It was raw, immediate, and utterly bewildering. Yet, beneath the confusion, a different emotion stirred—a flicker of dark amusement in Cragclaw's eyes, a surge of pure, unadulterated permission in Selene's glowing gaze, a tightening of Echo's jaw, and a subtle shift in Erebus's shadow.
Inariel didn't move, his obsidian form a still point in the swirling uncertainties. He waited, the challenge clear in his unblinking crimson eyes.
The first to move wasn't the most aggressive nor the most volatile. It was Erebus. He didn't charge or strike. He melted, his form dissolving into the deep shadows pooled beneath an ancient oak. As he vanished, the air around Inariel seemed to grow colder and heavier, the shadows themselves elongating and deepening, ready to twist and lash. His fury wasn't a roar but a suffocating void, a quiet, relentless pressure.
Seeing Erebus fade, a spark ignited in Selene. The hesitation evaporated, replaced by the intense, burning energy she had suppressed for so long. With a cry that was half-fury, half-exhilaration, she launched forward. Her movement was pure, unleashed power, a streak of glowing white through the dim clearing. Moonlight energy crackled around her staff as she brought it down in a sweeping arc. The force of her attack was aimed directly at Inariel, and a palpable wave of volatile passion was finally given form.
Simultaneously, Cragclaw surged. His scoff turned into a guttural snarl as he drew his crescent blade. His movement was less elegant than Selene's, more like a coiled spring finally released. He attacked low and fast, his scarred wings beating hard against the damp air, his emerald eyes sparking with defiant challenge. This wasn't just an attack; it was a declaration – a refusal to be tamed, a demand to be acknowledged.
Stoneflight, ever pragmatic, didn't rush headlong. He assessed Inariel's stance and likely defenses. His move was heavy and deliberate, a grounded charge meant to anchor the assault. His furred body became a battering ram, a solid mass of unyielding strength driven by his need for purpose. He planned to pin Inariel, creating an opening for others, his fury manifesting immovable intent.
Aethel moved with surprising speed, a flash of luminous silver among the shadows. Her attack was less about brute force and more about disruption. She circled, a shimmering whirlwind of silver jewelry and delicate wings, her movements intricate and distracting. Her frustration with limits fueled a desire to bypass conventional defenses, seeking cracks and vulnerabilities, ready to exploit them with a focused burst of energy from her insightful gaze.
Cinderwing hesitated for a fraction longer, his fierce eyes clouded with sorrow, as if the act of aggression pained him even when commanded. But then, the memory of what it was like scrumaging in those caves, of pain left unaddressed by astral complacency, fueled his power. He flew, his warmth a strange contrast to the forest's chill, and unleashed a sudden, controlled burst of intense heat–not fire, but pure, radiating warmth, a physical manifestation of his burning compassion turned to protective fury. His aim was precise, seeking to incapacitate without lasting harm, a paradox of power and restraint.
Echo observed the initial attacks unfolding, her deep yellow eyes tracking Inariel's subtle shifts. While others relied on brute force or raw energy, she moved with the quiet assurance of the hunter. Her speckled fur was almost invisible against the forest floor as she flowed around the edges of the clearing, analyzing the emerging pattern of the assault. Her attack wasn't immediate; it was calculated, waiting for the optimal moment to strike where it would be most effective, her fury a simmering undercurrent of strategic patience.
Whisperwind's attack was the most ethereal. She didn't charge directly. Instead, she raised her small bone flute to her lips. The notes that emerged were not melodic, but dissonant, unsettling, weaving a complex tapestry of sound that seemed to ripple through the very air and earth. It was a sonic manifestation of the disharmony she perceived, a disruptive force aimed not at Inariel's body, but at his senses, seeking to disorient and expose her empathy for unseen hurts twisting into a potent, unseen attack—myotian sound magic.
The clearing erupted. Eight distinct manifestations of fury converged on a single point. Shadows twisted, moonlight energy flared, metal scraped, stone ground, silver flashed, heat radiated, the air hummed with strategic intent, and unsettling sound waves pulsed through the forest. The calm clearing transformed into a maelstrom of controlled chaos, each Myotis unleashing the very power that had deemed them dangerous.
Inariel stood his ground, a remarkable calm radiating from his obsidian form. He wasn't fighting back with equal force; he was interacting. He flowed like water around Stoneflight's charge, a blur of black against grey. He deflected Selene's potent energy blast with a subtle flick of his wing, redirecting it into the air where it dissipated harmlessly among the trees. He evaded Cragclaw's blade with minimal movement, letting the challenging spirit exhaust itself on empty air. He ducked beneath Aethel's shimmering distractions, his crimson eyes tracking her movements. He absorbed Cinderwing's heat wave, letting it wash over him without flinching, the black blood trivializing his arbiter. He anticipated Echo's calculated strike before she even committed, shifting position just enough to negate its advantage. And Whisperwind's dissonant music seemed to pass through him, unsettling the air around him but not disturbing his core focus. For Inari's sense of self could not be better by one with a il lesser than his.
He was a master conductor, not of harmony, but of their collective fury. He was not suppressing it; he was allowing it, absorbing it, witnessing it in its rawest form. His gaze lingered on Selene, the shared intensity in their bloodline a silent acknowledgment of the potential — and danger — of her untamed power.
The roar of their combined assault was a symphony of disallowed passion, echoing through the ancient trees of the Black Forest. This wasn't just a test of their strength but the first step in learning how to shape the fire that had exiled them. The forge was hot, and the hammering had just begun.
Disbelief warred with a primal surge of adrenaline. This wasn't the structured discipline they might have expected. It was raw, immediate, and utterly bewildering. Yet, beneath the confusion, a different emotion stirred—a flicker of dark amusement in Cragclaw's eyes, a surge of pure, unadulterated permission in Selene's glowing gaze, a tightening of Echo's jaw, and a subtle shift in Erebus's shadow.
Inariel didn't move, his obsidian form a still point in the swirling uncertainties. He waited, the challenge clear in his unblinking crimson eyes.
The first to move wasn't the most aggressive nor the most volatile. It was Erebus. He didn't charge or strike. He melted, his form dissolving into the deep shadows pooled beneath an ancient oak. As he vanished, the air around Inariel seemed to grow colder and heavier, the shadows themselves elongating and deepening, ready to twist and lash. His fury wasn't a roar but a suffocating void, a quiet, relentless pressure.
Seeing Erebus fade, a spark ignited in Selene. The hesitation evaporated, replaced by the intense, burning energy she had suppressed for so long. With a cry that was half-fury, half-exhilaration, she launched forward. Her movement was pure, unleashed power, a streak of glowing white through the dim clearing. Moonlight energy crackled around her staff as she brought it down in a sweeping arc. The force of her attack was aimed directly at Inariel, and a palpable wave of volatile passion was finally given form.
Simultaneously, Cragclaw surged. His scoff turned into a guttural snarl as he drew his crescent blade. His movement was less elegant than Selene's, more like a coiled spring finally released. He attacked low and fast, his scarred wings beating hard against the damp air, his emerald eyes sparking with defiant challenge. This wasn't just an attack; it was a declaration – a refusal to be tamed, a demand to be acknowledged.
Stoneflight, ever pragmatic, didn't rush headlong. He assessed Inariel's stance and likely defenses. His move was heavy and deliberate, a grounded charge meant to anchor the assault. His furred body became a battering ram, a solid mass of unyielding strength driven by his need for purpose. He planned to pin Inariel, creating an opening for others, his fury manifesting immovable intent.
Aethel moved with surprising speed, a flash of luminous silver among the shadows. Her attack was less about brute force and more about disruption. She circled, a shimmering whirlwind of silver jewelry and delicate wings, her movements intricate and distracting. Her frustration with limits fueled a desire to bypass conventional defenses, seeking cracks and vulnerabilities, ready to exploit them with a focused burst of energy from her insightful gaze.
Cinderwing hesitated for a fraction longer, his fierce eyes clouded with sorrow, as if the act of aggression pained him even when commanded. But then, the memory of what it was like scrumaging in those caves, of pain left unaddressed by astral complacency, fueled his power. He flew, his warmth a strange contrast to the forest's chill, and unleashed a sudden, controlled burst of intense heat–not fire, but pure, radiating warmth, a physical manifestation of his burning compassion turned to protective fury. His aim was precise, seeking to incapacitate without lasting harm, a paradox of power and restraint.
Echo observed the initial attacks unfolding, her deep yellow eyes tracking Inariel's subtle shifts. While others relied on brute force or raw energy, she moved with the quiet assurance of the hunter. Her speckled fur was almost invisible against the forest floor as she flowed around the edges of the clearing, analyzing the emerging pattern of the assault. Her attack wasn't immediate; it was calculated, waiting for the optimal moment to strike where it would be most effective, her fury a simmering undercurrent of strategic patience.
Whisperwind's attack was the most ethereal. She didn't charge directly. Instead, she raised her small bone flute to her lips. The notes that emerged were not melodic, but dissonant, unsettling, weaving a complex tapestry of sound that seemed to ripple through the very air and earth. It was a sonic manifestation of the disharmony she perceived, a disruptive force aimed not at Inariel's body, but at his senses, seeking to disorient and expose her empathy for unseen hurts twisting into a potent, unseen attack—myotian sound magic.
The clearing erupted. Eight distinct manifestations of fury converged on a single point. Shadows twisted, moonlight energy flared, metal scraped, stone ground, silver flashed, heat radiated, the air hummed with strategic intent, and unsettling sound waves pulsed through the forest. The calm clearing transformed into a maelstrom of controlled chaos, each Myotis unleashing the very power that had deemed them dangerous.
Inariel stood his ground, a remarkable calm radiating from his obsidian form. He wasn't fighting back with equal force; he was interacting. He flowed like water around Stoneflight's charge, a blur of black against grey. He deflected Selene's potent energy blast with a subtle flick of his wing, redirecting it into the air where it dissipated harmlessly among the trees. He evaded Cragclaw's blade with minimal movement, letting the challenging spirit exhaust itself on empty air. He ducked beneath Aethel's shimmering distractions, his crimson eyes tracking her movements. He absorbed Cinderwing's heat wave, letting it wash over him without flinching, the black blood trivializing his arbiter. He anticipated Echo's calculated strike before she even committed, shifting position just enough to negate its advantage. And Whisperwind's dissonant music seemed to pass through him, unsettling the air around him but not disturbing his core focus. For Inari's sense of self could not be better by one with a il lesser than his.
He was a master conductor, not of harmony, but of their collective fury. He was not suppressing it; he was allowing it, absorbing it, witnessing it in its rawest form. His gaze lingered on Selene, the shared intensity in their bloodline a silent acknowledgment of the potential — and danger — of her untamed power.
The roar of their combined assault was a symphony of disallowed passion, echoing through the ancient trees of the Black Forest. This wasn't just a test of their strength but the first step in learning how to shape the fire that had exiled them. The forge was hot, and the hammering had just begun.
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Inariel Myotis
- Drifter
- Posts: 160
- Joined: Mon Jan 21, 2019 7:57 pm
Re: The Eight Phases Of Moonfang
The air in the darkened forest thrummed with frustrated energy. Cragclaw, a creature of sharp angles and raw power, swiped again, his claws missing Inari by a whisper. "He's babying us..." he grumbled through gritted teeth, the words tight with fury at the effortless evasion.
Across the training clearing, Selene barked, her voice sharp as the lunar magic radiating from her staff. "Well, you keep running ahead of everyone else!" She brought the staff down like a hammer of retribution, a bolt of shimmering light aimed squarely at Inari. Its power was palpable, yet Inari met it not with a shield or counter-spell, but with his bare hand. A faint, dark charring spread across his skin where the magic impacted, but the attack was stalled, the immense force held effortlessly at bay.
"Impossible," Selene whispered in the surrounding darkness, her muscles straining as she struggled to maintain the offensive. Single-handedly, Inari was not only blocking her powerful strike but slowly, inexorably, pushing her back.
"Now, Stoneflight!" From Inari's right, a mass of muscle, fur, and wings – the Myotian behemoth known as Stoneflight – launched forward, his eyes glinting with fury and power. He delivered a bone-shattering kick aimed directly at Inari's rib cage.
Inari's eyes narrowed slightly. His other hand grew faintly, something resembling dark, viscous energy ,'naten' whipping outwardly. It formed a whip-like tendril that ensnared the Myotian's charging form mid-kick, altering his trajectory. Stoneflight's hulking body was redirected, sent hurtling not towards Inari, but crashing heavily into Selene instead. The pair crumpled into a nearby tree, discombobulated and stunned.
Inari sighed, a soft sound in the charged silence. This was going about as well as he expected. They were fumbling around each other, half-relying on the reckless individual power of the others. If they kept going on like this, their combined fangs would never reach him... let alone the jugular of the scarlet moon they were destined to confront. Still, he supposed he should offer some meager applause for the attempt at teamwork. It showed they at least shared some notion of kinship, however poorly executed.
"You'll never defeat me like this..." Inari said, his voice a silken whisper of provocation that carried clearly through the clearing. "At this rate, your flame will fizzle, your names forgotten as were the others of our families."
In that moment, Inari felt a sizzling dread permeate the area. It was palpable enough to have his ancient instinct of danger emerge. As if a twinkling ember of resentment had suddenly been doused with an ocean of lighter fluid, erupting into a swirling whirlpool of consuming flame. Perhaps he had struck a nerve... hopefully, it was the right one.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Selene's voice, though strained, was laced with venom as she struggled back to her feet, using Stoneflight, who groaned softly, as a prop. Her eyes, once focused on Inari's power, now simmered with a crimson rage directed at his words.
"You... you have no idea what it was like living in that hell space..." Erebus emerged from behind a thick tree trunk where he'd been positioning himself for an ambush. Inari's words had utterly compromised his plan, his bloodlust now too great to stuff down.
"Watching our loved ones grovel beneath the desert sand.... dying.... suffering." Echo added her voice, raw with remembered pain.
"You think because some crown contest deemed you our leader that you can criticize us? You were not there to suffer with us, you don't know what it's like to wield this rage, you who has all this power, what could you possibly know about the loss we've endured." Cinderwing bellowed, the challenge ringing through the trees. Normally the peacekeeper among them, even he could not stomach Inari's blatant dismissal of their shared bond, of what they had to face just to survive.
Inari did not respond right away. No, he let their emotion stew, their collective rage marinating the forest like well-seasoned meat. A cool smirk etched across his face as he inwardly pondered their projections, their assumptions.
"I have lived well over a thousand years..." he finally said, his voice dropping slightly, losing none of its silkiness but gaining an undercurrent of something vast and ancient. "...and in that time I have known loss in ways you could not even imagine. Trust me... I know rage."
He closed his eyes, sighing deeply, the sound carrying an unexpected weight of weariness. "You wish to see it then? The depths of my anguish?"
Inari's massive wingspan, over six feet of dark, powerful membrane, blossomed from his back, stretching far beyond his physical form. The very air grew incredibly dense, vibrating with anticipation as his mana, the Primordial Red, manifested around him. It didn't swirl or flow like typical magic; it scratched, it clawed against the very seams of reality, pressing down on them like the tonnage of mountains. Hundreds of years of pain, wallowing, festering guilt, and fury cascading down upon them like that of a flash flood.
It was crippling, nearly forcing them all to their knees. Inari's own eyes, previously calm, became bloodshot red, thick with the resonant screams, the terrors, the memories of the cursed existence he once clung to.
"Such... overwhelming grief." Whisperwind, the one most tethered to the unseen, the one who could interpret the subtle energies and spiritual forces, struggled to speak. She could interpret the sulking cries of Inari's mana, the lamentation drenching each and every note. "He mourns," Whisperwind realized, "he mourns the loss of more than they could have ever fathomed."
"How long... how long had you been stuck like this?" Echo struggled to say under the crushing weight of Inari's mana, the spiritual force he possessed feeling like the collapsing of stars, the pelting of meteors upon their very souls.
"We... weren't strong enough to protect our family, stuck in this cycle of limitation and weakness... how?" Aethel spoke out, seemingly more to the earth beneath their trembling feet than to Inari. "How can we possibly break free now?"
Inari took a breath, a deep inhale that seemed to pull some of the oppressive mana back, his power still present but no longer at the point of maddening their souls with its oppression.
"By not focusing on what separates us... but what unites us," Inari said, his voice returning to its calm, resonant tone as his wings cloaked around him once more. "It was this very loss that saw me to the Crown Jewel, where that sensation only grew when I got to see how much I truly was cheated out of. My life, my family, stolen from me. I knew our greatness a millennia ago when we still held respect amongst the nine, my crown is my bloodborne right and yet..." He paused, watching as the others began to stumble back to their feet, shaken but no longer crushed by the raw display of ancient sorrow.
"...It is not my power that makes me the one fit to lead the Myotis," he continued, stepping closer to them. "It is my understanding of that which plagues our kind. But it need not be an affliction. Passion, desire, fury can become that which drives us to push beyond our limits."
Inari offered his hand, not towards any specific person, but generally towards them all. Aethel, who had spoken of breaking free and felt her heart thump a beat faster at the mention of potential growth, found herself looking at his outstretched hand.
"I brought you all here not for you to flee from it, but to embrace it, cultivate it, and let it and the promise of tomorrow be what drives you to rid our adversaries from this world." Stoneflight helped Selene fully to her feet, the pair of them exchanging a look and a nod before turning their sharp gazes back onto Inari.
"But this cannot happen... if we do not learn to trust each other. I will be your pillar of strength, let me be the northern star that guides your thoughts when you feel inadequate. I shall become the wind beneath your wings and the rasp behind your wails of wrath. Let me not be your crown in name alone, let me be your symbol... make me your moon."
Inari's eyes glinted with a deep-rooted crimson now, a color born from the boldest red of his released mana, presenting what felt like the purest truth. His words were woven from an understanding of the many motes of trauma he had survived, the betrayals he'd lived through, both enacted upon him and those he had committed.
"Become my phases, and let me show you... the truth of it all." He said, extending both his hands out to them all this time, palms open in invitation.
The air hung heavy, no longer solely with Inari's grief, but with the weight of their collective history and the potential of a terrifying, exhilarating future. Would they be able to accept him and his vision? To place their hard-won trust not just in his overwhelming power, but in his newfound, brutally honest understanding of their qualms and his desire to lift this curse of stagnation and resentment by delivering them vindication? Vindication by seeing the cult of the Hand of the Fel Sovereign severed, for good. They looked at his hands, at the promise in his blood-red eyes, and at each other, the silent question hanging between them in the darkness.
Across the training clearing, Selene barked, her voice sharp as the lunar magic radiating from her staff. "Well, you keep running ahead of everyone else!" She brought the staff down like a hammer of retribution, a bolt of shimmering light aimed squarely at Inari. Its power was palpable, yet Inari met it not with a shield or counter-spell, but with his bare hand. A faint, dark charring spread across his skin where the magic impacted, but the attack was stalled, the immense force held effortlessly at bay.
"Impossible," Selene whispered in the surrounding darkness, her muscles straining as she struggled to maintain the offensive. Single-handedly, Inari was not only blocking her powerful strike but slowly, inexorably, pushing her back.
"Now, Stoneflight!" From Inari's right, a mass of muscle, fur, and wings – the Myotian behemoth known as Stoneflight – launched forward, his eyes glinting with fury and power. He delivered a bone-shattering kick aimed directly at Inari's rib cage.
Inari's eyes narrowed slightly. His other hand grew faintly, something resembling dark, viscous energy ,'naten' whipping outwardly. It formed a whip-like tendril that ensnared the Myotian's charging form mid-kick, altering his trajectory. Stoneflight's hulking body was redirected, sent hurtling not towards Inari, but crashing heavily into Selene instead. The pair crumpled into a nearby tree, discombobulated and stunned.
Inari sighed, a soft sound in the charged silence. This was going about as well as he expected. They were fumbling around each other, half-relying on the reckless individual power of the others. If they kept going on like this, their combined fangs would never reach him... let alone the jugular of the scarlet moon they were destined to confront. Still, he supposed he should offer some meager applause for the attempt at teamwork. It showed they at least shared some notion of kinship, however poorly executed.
"You'll never defeat me like this..." Inari said, his voice a silken whisper of provocation that carried clearly through the clearing. "At this rate, your flame will fizzle, your names forgotten as were the others of our families."
In that moment, Inari felt a sizzling dread permeate the area. It was palpable enough to have his ancient instinct of danger emerge. As if a twinkling ember of resentment had suddenly been doused with an ocean of lighter fluid, erupting into a swirling whirlpool of consuming flame. Perhaps he had struck a nerve... hopefully, it was the right one.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Selene's voice, though strained, was laced with venom as she struggled back to her feet, using Stoneflight, who groaned softly, as a prop. Her eyes, once focused on Inari's power, now simmered with a crimson rage directed at his words.
"You... you have no idea what it was like living in that hell space..." Erebus emerged from behind a thick tree trunk where he'd been positioning himself for an ambush. Inari's words had utterly compromised his plan, his bloodlust now too great to stuff down.
"Watching our loved ones grovel beneath the desert sand.... dying.... suffering." Echo added her voice, raw with remembered pain.
"You think because some crown contest deemed you our leader that you can criticize us? You were not there to suffer with us, you don't know what it's like to wield this rage, you who has all this power, what could you possibly know about the loss we've endured." Cinderwing bellowed, the challenge ringing through the trees. Normally the peacekeeper among them, even he could not stomach Inari's blatant dismissal of their shared bond, of what they had to face just to survive.
Inari did not respond right away. No, he let their emotion stew, their collective rage marinating the forest like well-seasoned meat. A cool smirk etched across his face as he inwardly pondered their projections, their assumptions.
"I have lived well over a thousand years..." he finally said, his voice dropping slightly, losing none of its silkiness but gaining an undercurrent of something vast and ancient. "...and in that time I have known loss in ways you could not even imagine. Trust me... I know rage."
He closed his eyes, sighing deeply, the sound carrying an unexpected weight of weariness. "You wish to see it then? The depths of my anguish?"
Inari's massive wingspan, over six feet of dark, powerful membrane, blossomed from his back, stretching far beyond his physical form. The very air grew incredibly dense, vibrating with anticipation as his mana, the Primordial Red, manifested around him. It didn't swirl or flow like typical magic; it scratched, it clawed against the very seams of reality, pressing down on them like the tonnage of mountains. Hundreds of years of pain, wallowing, festering guilt, and fury cascading down upon them like that of a flash flood.
It was crippling, nearly forcing them all to their knees. Inari's own eyes, previously calm, became bloodshot red, thick with the resonant screams, the terrors, the memories of the cursed existence he once clung to.
"Such... overwhelming grief." Whisperwind, the one most tethered to the unseen, the one who could interpret the subtle energies and spiritual forces, struggled to speak. She could interpret the sulking cries of Inari's mana, the lamentation drenching each and every note. "He mourns," Whisperwind realized, "he mourns the loss of more than they could have ever fathomed."
"How long... how long had you been stuck like this?" Echo struggled to say under the crushing weight of Inari's mana, the spiritual force he possessed feeling like the collapsing of stars, the pelting of meteors upon their very souls.
"We... weren't strong enough to protect our family, stuck in this cycle of limitation and weakness... how?" Aethel spoke out, seemingly more to the earth beneath their trembling feet than to Inari. "How can we possibly break free now?"
Inari took a breath, a deep inhale that seemed to pull some of the oppressive mana back, his power still present but no longer at the point of maddening their souls with its oppression.
"By not focusing on what separates us... but what unites us," Inari said, his voice returning to its calm, resonant tone as his wings cloaked around him once more. "It was this very loss that saw me to the Crown Jewel, where that sensation only grew when I got to see how much I truly was cheated out of. My life, my family, stolen from me. I knew our greatness a millennia ago when we still held respect amongst the nine, my crown is my bloodborne right and yet..." He paused, watching as the others began to stumble back to their feet, shaken but no longer crushed by the raw display of ancient sorrow.
"...It is not my power that makes me the one fit to lead the Myotis," he continued, stepping closer to them. "It is my understanding of that which plagues our kind. But it need not be an affliction. Passion, desire, fury can become that which drives us to push beyond our limits."
Inari offered his hand, not towards any specific person, but generally towards them all. Aethel, who had spoken of breaking free and felt her heart thump a beat faster at the mention of potential growth, found herself looking at his outstretched hand.
"I brought you all here not for you to flee from it, but to embrace it, cultivate it, and let it and the promise of tomorrow be what drives you to rid our adversaries from this world." Stoneflight helped Selene fully to her feet, the pair of them exchanging a look and a nod before turning their sharp gazes back onto Inari.
"But this cannot happen... if we do not learn to trust each other. I will be your pillar of strength, let me be the northern star that guides your thoughts when you feel inadequate. I shall become the wind beneath your wings and the rasp behind your wails of wrath. Let me not be your crown in name alone, let me be your symbol... make me your moon."
Inari's eyes glinted with a deep-rooted crimson now, a color born from the boldest red of his released mana, presenting what felt like the purest truth. His words were woven from an understanding of the many motes of trauma he had survived, the betrayals he'd lived through, both enacted upon him and those he had committed.
"Become my phases, and let me show you... the truth of it all." He said, extending both his hands out to them all this time, palms open in invitation.
The air hung heavy, no longer solely with Inari's grief, but with the weight of their collective history and the potential of a terrifying, exhilarating future. Would they be able to accept him and his vision? To place their hard-won trust not just in his overwhelming power, but in his newfound, brutally honest understanding of their qualms and his desire to lift this curse of stagnation and resentment by delivering them vindication? Vindication by seeing the cult of the Hand of the Fel Sovereign severed, for good. They looked at his hands, at the promise in his blood-red eyes, and at each other, the silent question hanging between them in the darkness.
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Inariel Myotis
- Drifter
- Posts: 160
- Joined: Mon Jan 21, 2019 7:57 pm
Re: The Eight Phases Of Moonfang
Whisperwind, usually the most withdrawn, the one who moved through the fringes of their group like mist through trees, stepped forward. Her boldness baffled the others. Yet, Inari knew, she held an intrinsic understanding of his intentions, for she could feel and decipher the fluctuations in his energy. She felt the grief he carried, yes, but also the profound serenity, the warmth like a flaring star that resided beneath the veil of his anguish, a peace reminiscent of ancient entities like Bako and Kirin.
Whisperwind’s voice, typically soft, resonated with a quiet power. "For years," she began, looking at the faces of her kin, faces etched with the lines of unseen pain, "I have been forced to sift through the unspoken suffering of my kin. The trauma they hid, the tears they shed in silence when they thought no one was watching. Stoneflight, Erebus... even you, Cragclaw." Her gaze lingered on each of them. "I have been holding your lamentation alongside you this entire time."
A heavy silence fell. They knew of her gifts, her ability to perceive the invisible currents of emotion and truth. She never spoke lies, nor half-truths. If Whisperwind said it, it was so. Accustomed to their shared silence, they waited.
"I wish to know," she continued, her eyes now fixed on Inari, a flicker of hopeful fire mirroring the energy she perceived in him. "I wish to know what can be forged from this fire that burns within me so. This reflection of the warmth I sense in him."
A rustle of blazing fur broke the stillness. Cinderwing, his fiery pelt seeming to waft in the passing gales, stepped slightly forward. "I... I too want to see." His voice, usually gruff, held a tremor of vulnerability. "I wish to see what the Myotis are like, post anguish, post suffering. What it is like... to smile at the moon once more, to dance beneath them again."
Erebus, who had been leaning shyly against a ancient tree, pushed himself away from its bark. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet, hesitant. "Will you show us?" He paused, searching Inari's face. "Will you show us..." his voice trailed off, filled with trepidation and hope.
"How..." Aethel finished, her voice firm despite the tremor. "How to... to move forward?"
"What... what must we do?" Cinderwing asked, his bluster briefly forgotten in the face of this possibility.
Inari offered them a candid smile, a rare sight that eased some of the tension. Then, with a deliberate, almost ritualistic movement, he raised a hand and bared his fangs. He bit deeply into his own flesh. Crimson seeped from the wound not like a violent gush, but a lazy river, yet not a single drop fell to the ground. Instead, it pooled in the air before him, forming itself into a perfect sphere. It remained liquid, yet held its shape purely from his will.
They looked on in a mixture of awe and caution. Whispers of ancient Myotian lore surfaced in their minds – tales of their Crowns, leaders long lost, possessing the ability to manipulate their own blood, and that of their thralls. This felt different, though. It felt… offered.
"Drink from me..." Inari's voice was low, inviting.
Selene, ever the pragmatist, voiced the question hanging in the air. "What will become of us?"
Inari's smile deepened, his eyes flashing with an ancient, knowing light. "Transcendence, evolution... revival."
Cragclaw, whose face usually bore the weight of endured hardship, clenched a fist. The rage of complacency, of stagnation, was a familiar companion. Here, presented before him, was a chance for growth, to become something other than a victim, a bystander of circumstance. An opportunity to finally maneuver, to move rather than simply be moved by the tides of fate. He stepped forward, his gait resolute. "Well... here goes."
"Wait," Selene said, also stepping forward, placing a hand on Cragclaw's arm. Her gaze swept over the group, her voice resonating with unity. "We do this... together, all of us."
Stoneflight, whose rugged face seemed carved from the earth itself, nodded, his expression hardening with resolve. He stepped forward, his movements deliberate like the grinding of old stone. Aethel followed, then Cinderwing, Erebus. One by one, they gathered before the floating sphere of blood.
As they approached, the orb subtly shifted, sectioning itself into eight smaller, distinct spheres of Inari's crimson, one for each of them. Inari's eyes flashed with anticipation; the first step in his grand ambitions was underway.
"For the Myotis then?" Stoneflight's voice was like the grinding of old stone, yet it resonated deep within their hearts, a call to their shared heritage.
"For the Myotis," Inari echoed, his voice joining theirs, strengthening their resolve. "For the Glory of A New Moon."
It was then, simultaneously, that they all drank. The moment the warm, metallic liquid touched their tongues, their consciousnesses were snatched away all at once. They were not in the physical world anymore, but transported to a place of overwhelming red – Akai Kizu, The Red Wound.
Whisperwind’s voice, typically soft, resonated with a quiet power. "For years," she began, looking at the faces of her kin, faces etched with the lines of unseen pain, "I have been forced to sift through the unspoken suffering of my kin. The trauma they hid, the tears they shed in silence when they thought no one was watching. Stoneflight, Erebus... even you, Cragclaw." Her gaze lingered on each of them. "I have been holding your lamentation alongside you this entire time."
A heavy silence fell. They knew of her gifts, her ability to perceive the invisible currents of emotion and truth. She never spoke lies, nor half-truths. If Whisperwind said it, it was so. Accustomed to their shared silence, they waited.
"I wish to know," she continued, her eyes now fixed on Inari, a flicker of hopeful fire mirroring the energy she perceived in him. "I wish to know what can be forged from this fire that burns within me so. This reflection of the warmth I sense in him."
A rustle of blazing fur broke the stillness. Cinderwing, his fiery pelt seeming to waft in the passing gales, stepped slightly forward. "I... I too want to see." His voice, usually gruff, held a tremor of vulnerability. "I wish to see what the Myotis are like, post anguish, post suffering. What it is like... to smile at the moon once more, to dance beneath them again."
Erebus, who had been leaning shyly against a ancient tree, pushed himself away from its bark. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet, hesitant. "Will you show us?" He paused, searching Inari's face. "Will you show us..." his voice trailed off, filled with trepidation and hope.
"How..." Aethel finished, her voice firm despite the tremor. "How to... to move forward?"
"What... what must we do?" Cinderwing asked, his bluster briefly forgotten in the face of this possibility.
Inari offered them a candid smile, a rare sight that eased some of the tension. Then, with a deliberate, almost ritualistic movement, he raised a hand and bared his fangs. He bit deeply into his own flesh. Crimson seeped from the wound not like a violent gush, but a lazy river, yet not a single drop fell to the ground. Instead, it pooled in the air before him, forming itself into a perfect sphere. It remained liquid, yet held its shape purely from his will.
They looked on in a mixture of awe and caution. Whispers of ancient Myotian lore surfaced in their minds – tales of their Crowns, leaders long lost, possessing the ability to manipulate their own blood, and that of their thralls. This felt different, though. It felt… offered.
"Drink from me..." Inari's voice was low, inviting.
Selene, ever the pragmatist, voiced the question hanging in the air. "What will become of us?"
Inari's smile deepened, his eyes flashing with an ancient, knowing light. "Transcendence, evolution... revival."
Cragclaw, whose face usually bore the weight of endured hardship, clenched a fist. The rage of complacency, of stagnation, was a familiar companion. Here, presented before him, was a chance for growth, to become something other than a victim, a bystander of circumstance. An opportunity to finally maneuver, to move rather than simply be moved by the tides of fate. He stepped forward, his gait resolute. "Well... here goes."
"Wait," Selene said, also stepping forward, placing a hand on Cragclaw's arm. Her gaze swept over the group, her voice resonating with unity. "We do this... together, all of us."
Stoneflight, whose rugged face seemed carved from the earth itself, nodded, his expression hardening with resolve. He stepped forward, his movements deliberate like the grinding of old stone. Aethel followed, then Cinderwing, Erebus. One by one, they gathered before the floating sphere of blood.
As they approached, the orb subtly shifted, sectioning itself into eight smaller, distinct spheres of Inari's crimson, one for each of them. Inari's eyes flashed with anticipation; the first step in his grand ambitions was underway.
"For the Myotis then?" Stoneflight's voice was like the grinding of old stone, yet it resonated deep within their hearts, a call to their shared heritage.
"For the Myotis," Inari echoed, his voice joining theirs, strengthening their resolve. "For the Glory of A New Moon."
It was then, simultaneously, that they all drank. The moment the warm, metallic liquid touched their tongues, their consciousnesses were snatched away all at once. They were not in the physical world anymore, but transported to a place of overwhelming red – Akai Kizu, The Red Wound.
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Inariel Myotis
- Drifter
- Posts: 160
- Joined: Mon Jan 21, 2019 7:57 pm
Re: The Eight Phases Of Moonfang
The air hummed, thick with the scent of dust and something ancient and potent, a stark departure from the stale, shadowed confines that had been their existence. Around them, the world shifted, colours bleeding into a canvas of deep, pulsing crimson. It wasn't the oppressive blackness of their past, the void they had scuttled through like forgotten things. This was vibrant, overwhelming, yet held a strange, undeniable beauty.
They stood not on solid ground, but on something that felt like condensed mist, the very atmosphere saturated with the color of Inari's sacrifice. High above, a celestial body pulsed – not the familiar, silver disc of the night sky, but a colossal, weeping moon of pure, incandescent red. It dominated the horizon, bleeding its light downwards in thick, slow-moving rivers of crimson essence that pooled and flowed without adhering to earthly laws of gravity.
"What is this place?" Selene's voice was a hushed question, her usually silver-grey fur now stained with the pervasive ruby glow. Her senses, so tied to the rhythms of the true moon, reeled from the sheer intensity of this blood-soaked satellite.
Beside her, Whisperwind, still holding the quiet understanding she'd gleaned from Inari's energy, spoke softly. "It... it is his soul, well, where it resides."
Selene looked up at the impossible moon, her eyes wide. "You mean that moon up there is...?"
"Indeed," Inari's voice resonated, not from a single source, but seemed to vibrate through the very crimson air around them, within them. "It is my core."
As he spoke, the flowing crimson vapour above them began to coalesce, thickening, taking form. It swirled and solidified into a colossal figure, seated serenely in the sky, legs crossed, one arm outstretched, hand pointing towards the east. It was vast beyond comprehension, an outline of pure, contained power against the backdrop of the blood-moon. It was Inari, not as they knew him, but as an aspect of the primal energy they now swam within.
And where he pointed, the air shimmered. Not with crimson, but with light. Golden threads, impossibly fine and bright, began to weave themselves into existence, forming a vast, shimmering curtain that stretched across the horizon like a cosmic tapestry. It pulsed with an inner luminescence, secrets held within its glowing weave.
Aethel gasped, her eyes fixed on the spectacle. She had always sought knowledge, poring over scraps of faded lore, but nothing had prepared her for this.
"What... is that?" Stoneflight inquired, his deep, rumbling voice stripping away some of the ethereal silence.
Inari's resonant voice answered, filled with an ancient sorrow and a profound hope. "All that we were, everything that we are, and all that we shall ever become. It is the intersection of All that is Myotis, the past, present and future woven in the light. It contains the unfretted truth of our people, our history... the source of our strength, buried beneath generations of fear and silence."
He paused, allowing the weight of his words and the sheer scale of the Gilden Tapestry to settle over them.
"Each of you will decipher from it," Inari continued, his voice now laced with anticipation, "the truth of your nature. Once this is done, your awakening will be complete, and your self, as you see it, will be forged anew. Your place... as a Phase of the Moonfang."
One by one, they stepped into the Gilden Tapestry, drawn by the pull of their individual spheres.
They stood not on solid ground, but on something that felt like condensed mist, the very atmosphere saturated with the color of Inari's sacrifice. High above, a celestial body pulsed – not the familiar, silver disc of the night sky, but a colossal, weeping moon of pure, incandescent red. It dominated the horizon, bleeding its light downwards in thick, slow-moving rivers of crimson essence that pooled and flowed without adhering to earthly laws of gravity.
"What is this place?" Selene's voice was a hushed question, her usually silver-grey fur now stained with the pervasive ruby glow. Her senses, so tied to the rhythms of the true moon, reeled from the sheer intensity of this blood-soaked satellite.
Beside her, Whisperwind, still holding the quiet understanding she'd gleaned from Inari's energy, spoke softly. "It... it is his soul, well, where it resides."
Selene looked up at the impossible moon, her eyes wide. "You mean that moon up there is...?"
"Indeed," Inari's voice resonated, not from a single source, but seemed to vibrate through the very crimson air around them, within them. "It is my core."
As he spoke, the flowing crimson vapour above them began to coalesce, thickening, taking form. It swirled and solidified into a colossal figure, seated serenely in the sky, legs crossed, one arm outstretched, hand pointing towards the east. It was vast beyond comprehension, an outline of pure, contained power against the backdrop of the blood-moon. It was Inari, not as they knew him, but as an aspect of the primal energy they now swam within.
And where he pointed, the air shimmered. Not with crimson, but with light. Golden threads, impossibly fine and bright, began to weave themselves into existence, forming a vast, shimmering curtain that stretched across the horizon like a cosmic tapestry. It pulsed with an inner luminescence, secrets held within its glowing weave.
Aethel gasped, her eyes fixed on the spectacle. She had always sought knowledge, poring over scraps of faded lore, but nothing had prepared her for this.
"What... is that?" Stoneflight inquired, his deep, rumbling voice stripping away some of the ethereal silence.
Inari's resonant voice answered, filled with an ancient sorrow and a profound hope. "All that we were, everything that we are, and all that we shall ever become. It is the intersection of All that is Myotis, the past, present and future woven in the light. It contains the unfretted truth of our people, our history... the source of our strength, buried beneath generations of fear and silence."
He paused, allowing the weight of his words and the sheer scale of the Gilden Tapestry to settle over them.
"Each of you will decipher from it," Inari continued, his voice now laced with anticipation, "the truth of your nature. Once this is done, your awakening will be complete, and your self, as you see it, will be forged anew. Your place... as a Phase of the Moonfang."
One by one, they stepped into the Gilden Tapestry, drawn by the pull of their individual spheres.
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Inariel Myotis
- Drifter
- Posts: 160
- Joined: Mon Jan 21, 2019 7:57 pm
Re: The Eight Phases Of Moonfang
Echo, her speckled grey and white fur blending into the complex textures of the glowing weave, landed with the quiet assurance of long experience. Her deep yellow eyes, weighted with knowledge, observed the surroundings with analytical calm. The tapestry unfolded around her, revealing visions of ancient archivists and those who interpreted the songs of the stars. She witnessed embodiments of wisdom, knowledge, and the sharing of understanding, absorbing an encyclopedic knowledge of lunar lore, ancient prophecies, and forgotten magic. The wisdom she held was a counterpoint to the raw fury beneath her surface, a fury born of seeing cycles of stagnation repeat, but within the tapestry, she found the tools to break them.
As Stoneflight passed through, the world around him dissolved into a torrent of light and knowledge. He saw images flicker – ancient Myotis crowns manipulating shadows like solid rock, warriors whose claws could shatter mountains, engineers who built cities hidden in the highest peaks. He felt the weight of generations, the resilience forged in darkness, the strength inherent in their very marrow. He saw, too, the failures, the moments fear had won, but the tapestry didn't linger on the pain; it showed the lesson, the potential for growth beyond it. He felt his bones shift, hardening with an intrinsic connection to the earth his ancestors had mastered, his rage and frustration sublimated into a raw, physical power tied to the very structure of reality. He was no longer just Cragclaw, the one who endured; he was the bedrock, the unyielding foundation.
Selene was flooded with patterns, symbols, forgotten languages. She saw Myotis scholars charting the lunar cycles, deciphering celestial alignments, weaving spells from moonlight and starlight. The tapestry unfolded before her like the ultimate archive, revealing the intricate dance between their people and the cosmos. She understood, with a clarity that transcended mere learning, the principles of Lunar magic, how to draw power from the moons – both seen and unseen. She felt her mind expand, her perceptions sharpen, allowing her to grasp the complex architecture of arcane forces. She was no longer just Selene, the initial questioner; she was the conduit, the interpreter of cosmic will.
Cinderwing experienced a symphony of sound and fury. The tapestry showed him Myotian bards whose songs could mend broken spirits or shatter solid stone, warriors who moved with the speed of fire driven by sound waves, hunters who used echolocation not just to see, but to manipulate. He felt the vibrations of their history resonate within him, the primal howls and the soothing hums. He understood the power of sound sorcery, how to bend reality with vocalizations, how to manifest the passionate fire within his soul as tangible force modulated by his voice. He was no longer just Cinderwing, the bright and quick; he was the anthem, the roaring heart of their defiance.
Aethel found herself steeped in empathy and connection. She saw Myotis healers mending wounds with touch and intention, leaders who united disparate clans through shared vulnerability, individuals whose presence alone brought comfort and serenity. She felt the collective sorrow and the shared moments of joy of every Myotis etched into the light. The tapestry revealed the deep, empathic bonds that could tie their people together, a network of feeling and understanding amplified by the moon's influence. She understood the true meaning of the Anthem – not just a song, but a state of being, a resonant frequency that could unite Myotis minds and channel collective power, especially when linked to Inari's blood. She was no longer just Aethel, the gasping seeker; she was the chorus, the empathy that bound them.
Within the luminous veil, Erebus watched visions of stealth and shadow manipulation, of Myotis moving unseen through the deepest night, drawing power from the absence of light. He felt the cool, potent touch of the void made manifest, not as a prison, but as a tool for concealment and strategic strike.
Whisperwind saw the emotional landscape of generations, the hidden currents of feeling, the silent burdens carried by her kin. The tapestry translated these whispers of the heart into visible currents, showing her the patterns of fear and hope, grief and resilience woven through their history. She understood, truly, that her gift was not a curse, but a profound insight meant to guide and heal, to translate the unspoken truths that lay beneath the surface.
As they emerged from the Gilden Tapestry, they did not simply return to standing on the crimson mist. They stood taller, their forms subtly altered, shimmering with an inner light that seemed to draw power directly from the Crimson Moon above. The spheres of Inari's blood essence, now fully absorbed, hummed within them, an echoing connection to his core. They felt different, stronger, their senses heightened, their understanding of themselves and their people fundamentally reforged.
The echoes of Lunar magic, sound sorcery, and the Anthem vibrated in their very beings. They were not just individuals who had drunk sacred blood; they were links in a chain, extensions of Inari's vision, imbued with aspects of Myotis potential that had lain dormant for ages.
They looked at each other, not just seeing familiar faces, but seeing the emergent 'Phases of the Moonfang'
Inari's form in the sky remained, a silent, powerful presence. His gamble had paid off. He had not just given them power; he had reminded them of who they were, who they could be. They were no longer just survivors scuttling in the dark, burdened by unspoken anguish. They were the vanguard, shimmering with lunar power, ready to face the black shadows of the Fel Sovereign and its cult, not in fear, but with the rediscovered glory of the Myotis, reborn beneath the watchful eye of the Crimson Moon. The journey through suffering was over. The path of revival had just begun. The realm dissolved and they were back amongst the foliage of the Maaluuki Woods once more.
"Speak to me now...let the moons Kirin, Bako and the Mother Vescrutia herself know your names!"
As Stoneflight passed through, the world around him dissolved into a torrent of light and knowledge. He saw images flicker – ancient Myotis crowns manipulating shadows like solid rock, warriors whose claws could shatter mountains, engineers who built cities hidden in the highest peaks. He felt the weight of generations, the resilience forged in darkness, the strength inherent in their very marrow. He saw, too, the failures, the moments fear had won, but the tapestry didn't linger on the pain; it showed the lesson, the potential for growth beyond it. He felt his bones shift, hardening with an intrinsic connection to the earth his ancestors had mastered, his rage and frustration sublimated into a raw, physical power tied to the very structure of reality. He was no longer just Cragclaw, the one who endured; he was the bedrock, the unyielding foundation.
Selene was flooded with patterns, symbols, forgotten languages. She saw Myotis scholars charting the lunar cycles, deciphering celestial alignments, weaving spells from moonlight and starlight. The tapestry unfolded before her like the ultimate archive, revealing the intricate dance between their people and the cosmos. She understood, with a clarity that transcended mere learning, the principles of Lunar magic, how to draw power from the moons – both seen and unseen. She felt her mind expand, her perceptions sharpen, allowing her to grasp the complex architecture of arcane forces. She was no longer just Selene, the initial questioner; she was the conduit, the interpreter of cosmic will.
Cinderwing experienced a symphony of sound and fury. The tapestry showed him Myotian bards whose songs could mend broken spirits or shatter solid stone, warriors who moved with the speed of fire driven by sound waves, hunters who used echolocation not just to see, but to manipulate. He felt the vibrations of their history resonate within him, the primal howls and the soothing hums. He understood the power of sound sorcery, how to bend reality with vocalizations, how to manifest the passionate fire within his soul as tangible force modulated by his voice. He was no longer just Cinderwing, the bright and quick; he was the anthem, the roaring heart of their defiance.
Aethel found herself steeped in empathy and connection. She saw Myotis healers mending wounds with touch and intention, leaders who united disparate clans through shared vulnerability, individuals whose presence alone brought comfort and serenity. She felt the collective sorrow and the shared moments of joy of every Myotis etched into the light. The tapestry revealed the deep, empathic bonds that could tie their people together, a network of feeling and understanding amplified by the moon's influence. She understood the true meaning of the Anthem – not just a song, but a state of being, a resonant frequency that could unite Myotis minds and channel collective power, especially when linked to Inari's blood. She was no longer just Aethel, the gasping seeker; she was the chorus, the empathy that bound them.
Within the luminous veil, Erebus watched visions of stealth and shadow manipulation, of Myotis moving unseen through the deepest night, drawing power from the absence of light. He felt the cool, potent touch of the void made manifest, not as a prison, but as a tool for concealment and strategic strike.
Whisperwind saw the emotional landscape of generations, the hidden currents of feeling, the silent burdens carried by her kin. The tapestry translated these whispers of the heart into visible currents, showing her the patterns of fear and hope, grief and resilience woven through their history. She understood, truly, that her gift was not a curse, but a profound insight meant to guide and heal, to translate the unspoken truths that lay beneath the surface.
As they emerged from the Gilden Tapestry, they did not simply return to standing on the crimson mist. They stood taller, their forms subtly altered, shimmering with an inner light that seemed to draw power directly from the Crimson Moon above. The spheres of Inari's blood essence, now fully absorbed, hummed within them, an echoing connection to his core. They felt different, stronger, their senses heightened, their understanding of themselves and their people fundamentally reforged.
The echoes of Lunar magic, sound sorcery, and the Anthem vibrated in their very beings. They were not just individuals who had drunk sacred blood; they were links in a chain, extensions of Inari's vision, imbued with aspects of Myotis potential that had lain dormant for ages.
They looked at each other, not just seeing familiar faces, but seeing the emergent 'Phases of the Moonfang'
Inari's form in the sky remained, a silent, powerful presence. His gamble had paid off. He had not just given them power; he had reminded them of who they were, who they could be. They were no longer just survivors scuttling in the dark, burdened by unspoken anguish. They were the vanguard, shimmering with lunar power, ready to face the black shadows of the Fel Sovereign and its cult, not in fear, but with the rediscovered glory of the Myotis, reborn beneath the watchful eye of the Crimson Moon. The journey through suffering was over. The path of revival had just begun. The realm dissolved and they were back amongst the foliage of the Maaluuki Woods once more.
"Speak to me now...let the moons Kirin, Bako and the Mother Vescrutia herself know your names!"
-
Inariel Myotis
- Drifter
- Posts: 160
- Joined: Mon Jan 21, 2019 7:57 pm
Re: The Eight Phases Of Moonfang
In the deepest shadows, where light dared not linger, dwelled the first. The air around him whisked, oscillating like rotating streams of pure night. He was lean and agile, his fur the deepest obsidian, absorbing light entirely. Only his eyes, piercing silver, offered a stark contrast. He moved like thought, adorned in dark, flowing silks that became one with the surrounding gloom. He carried crescent daggers, reflecting the hidden curve within the moon he served. "I... am Erebus," a whisper seemed to peel from the darkness he commanded. "The Shadow of the Veil, Phase of the New Moon, The Dark Moon, Conjunction." Erebus commanded the void itself, manipulating shadows to weave illusions, grant invisibility, or step through darkness as easily as one might step through a door.
Following the void came potential, heralded not by sight, but by feeling. Light came first, then a palpable warmth, like the drum of a heartbeat, incandescent and full of inspiration. "Cinderwing, The Ember of Hope, the spirit of the Waxing Crescent, of Emergence." His power flowed as "Radiance", a soothing, guiding light that healed the soul and body, dispelled illusions, and cut through confusion, illuminating pathways where only darkness had been.
As the crescent grew, so did resolve. The earth yawned under his pressure, raising pillars adhering to his voice. " Stoneflight, The Steadfast Resolve, embodiment of the First Quarter, of Decision" His power was Lunar Bastion, creating shields of shimmering light resilient against any attack, and the Crescendo Strike, a focused blow of lunar energy that gathered irresistible force, shattering obstacles and defenses.
Growth followed resolve, vibrant and abundant. Hundreds of moths created from her nature and song manifested around her, fluttering with gentle light. " Aethel - The Silversong, I represent the Waxing Gibbous, I stand for Abundance, for growth." Her power was Lunar Amplification, channeling the moon's energy to enhance strength, speed, magic, and healing, and the Empowering Tide, a surge granting temporary bursts of incredible power and resilience.
Then came the peak, the zenith of power and culmination. The moon saturated her fur with its silver gleam, her form luminescent and bold as the moon's beauty, yet her aura menacing like its tenacity. "I ,Selene, am - The Full Moon Guardian, Howling Sphere, I am Culmination, I am Unity" Her power was "Moon's Fury", granting immense strength and speed, culminating in a Primal Transformation into a bestial form, unleashing raw, untamed magic.
As the light began to recede, wisdom emerged. Her voice reverberated not upon the air but within their minds; what she knew, they would know – the eyes, the ears, the heart. " Echo- Wisdom's Weaver, The Waning Gibbous, Sharing, Imparting." Her power was "Luminaria's Lore", accessing vast knowledge of the past and present, offering strategic insight, and Guiding Wisdom, communicating telepathically, acting as a living command center.
Change came next, disruptive yet necessary. From him ebbed the very essence of cacophony, sound waves like that of an eerie orchestra, a haunted night, yet burned with a light blue eminence. "Cragclaw- The Shifting. The Last Quarter, Bringer of Release agent of change, disruption." His power was "Bako's Disruption", weakening barriers, disrupting order, and Shattering Shore, a wave of destruction eroding defenses and leaving chaos in its wake.
"And I, Whisperwind The Veiled Oracle am of the Waning Crescent, Serenity, Reflection."
Her eye grew bright with a violet light the gold upon her wrist gleaming brightly under it's lux. From her would steam that which had been yet to be revealed the untwisting of curses and deceptions her power, Lunar Tranquility & Purifying Aura: Whisperwind embodies peace, reflection, and purification. She can emit an aura of "Lunar Tranquility," capable of calming emotions, dispelling fear and aggression, and creating zones of serenity even in the midst of chaos. Her "Purifying Aura" cleanses corruption, dispels negative energies, and heals spiritual ailments, restoring balance and harmony to both body and mind.
Inariel their leader expanded his large bat wings.
"My Phases, I welcome you to the Maaluuki Woods, here we shall make our home...here we will defend the Astral even on her outskirts. For we have family still on the inside, never forget that which burns within, let it continue to guide you...just as I shall. Now follow me..."
With a powerful beat of his wings did he and the others take off into the night. The Phases following their crown towards the next step of their journey. Born anew and eager to taste the blood of their enemies.
Following the void came potential, heralded not by sight, but by feeling. Light came first, then a palpable warmth, like the drum of a heartbeat, incandescent and full of inspiration. "Cinderwing, The Ember of Hope, the spirit of the Waxing Crescent, of Emergence." His power flowed as "Radiance", a soothing, guiding light that healed the soul and body, dispelled illusions, and cut through confusion, illuminating pathways where only darkness had been.
As the crescent grew, so did resolve. The earth yawned under his pressure, raising pillars adhering to his voice. " Stoneflight, The Steadfast Resolve, embodiment of the First Quarter, of Decision" His power was Lunar Bastion, creating shields of shimmering light resilient against any attack, and the Crescendo Strike, a focused blow of lunar energy that gathered irresistible force, shattering obstacles and defenses.
Growth followed resolve, vibrant and abundant. Hundreds of moths created from her nature and song manifested around her, fluttering with gentle light. " Aethel - The Silversong, I represent the Waxing Gibbous, I stand for Abundance, for growth." Her power was Lunar Amplification, channeling the moon's energy to enhance strength, speed, magic, and healing, and the Empowering Tide, a surge granting temporary bursts of incredible power and resilience.
Then came the peak, the zenith of power and culmination. The moon saturated her fur with its silver gleam, her form luminescent and bold as the moon's beauty, yet her aura menacing like its tenacity. "I ,Selene, am - The Full Moon Guardian, Howling Sphere, I am Culmination, I am Unity" Her power was "Moon's Fury", granting immense strength and speed, culminating in a Primal Transformation into a bestial form, unleashing raw, untamed magic.
As the light began to recede, wisdom emerged. Her voice reverberated not upon the air but within their minds; what she knew, they would know – the eyes, the ears, the heart. " Echo- Wisdom's Weaver, The Waning Gibbous, Sharing, Imparting." Her power was "Luminaria's Lore", accessing vast knowledge of the past and present, offering strategic insight, and Guiding Wisdom, communicating telepathically, acting as a living command center.
Change came next, disruptive yet necessary. From him ebbed the very essence of cacophony, sound waves like that of an eerie orchestra, a haunted night, yet burned with a light blue eminence. "Cragclaw- The Shifting. The Last Quarter, Bringer of Release agent of change, disruption." His power was "Bako's Disruption", weakening barriers, disrupting order, and Shattering Shore, a wave of destruction eroding defenses and leaving chaos in its wake.
"And I, Whisperwind The Veiled Oracle am of the Waning Crescent, Serenity, Reflection."
Her eye grew bright with a violet light the gold upon her wrist gleaming brightly under it's lux. From her would steam that which had been yet to be revealed the untwisting of curses and deceptions her power, Lunar Tranquility & Purifying Aura: Whisperwind embodies peace, reflection, and purification. She can emit an aura of "Lunar Tranquility," capable of calming emotions, dispelling fear and aggression, and creating zones of serenity even in the midst of chaos. Her "Purifying Aura" cleanses corruption, dispels negative energies, and heals spiritual ailments, restoring balance and harmony to both body and mind.
Inariel their leader expanded his large bat wings.
"My Phases, I welcome you to the Maaluuki Woods, here we shall make our home...here we will defend the Astral even on her outskirts. For we have family still on the inside, never forget that which burns within, let it continue to guide you...just as I shall. Now follow me..."
With a powerful beat of his wings did he and the others take off into the night. The Phases following their crown towards the next step of their journey. Born anew and eager to taste the blood of their enemies.
The team