[identity profile] badgersandjam.livejournal.com
were a gestalt entity originally inspired by the Graeae, then combined the the MOrva witches from Lloyd Alexander's Prydein and a few other things.  They felt each other's pain, knew what the other's knew, and had lived four lifetimes each--150 years--as 150-year-olds.  They were slaughtered by a sylphim who thought, mistakenly, they were evil.  They were not.  They were just geniuses to the point of madness (or vice versa), with revolting habits.  I'm looking at retiring Rea and reworking the concept, as revolting is just so much fun...

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[identity profile] rebel-wulf.livejournal.com
Royce didn't remember a birth family. He remembered a burning fever, being alone in a gutter while his skin burned and his lungs filled with fluid. He remembered feeling that twitchy, uncontrollable rage fill his body. Those twitches never really stopped, a permenant reminder of his Birthing Plague. Now though, now he remembered all kinds of people who he'd never met before.
     He'd been sitting on top of the church for a good ten minutes now, and he was fucking freezing. Allways helped him focus, the cold. Dug straight through his clothes and chilled his bones in a way that he knew lesser men would die from. He was a survivor though, an avatar of rage and chaos made manifest in a world too full of the Weaver and the Wyrm. He looked at the thing in his hand - small and broken. A little christmas tree ornament, a rocking horse with a nutcracker missing both its arms and a loop of string coming out of its hat to hook over a branch. One of his colony was missing, and it was time to stop acting like a retard to freak out the wolves.
     He'd had one of those moments of lucid sanity that he was prone to have occasionally when serious shit needed to be done, when Roofdancer had passed on that message of hers. "One of your colony is missing". She wasnt from his colony, so how did she know? Fucking Tunnel Runners. Cryptic little shits they were sometimes, and about as far away from the Rat God's will as you could get compared to him. Why him, though? He wasnt some sort of investigative genius, last he remembered. Oh, no. Shit, he was, wasnt he? "God Fucking Damnit" he told the cold winter air.
     This was one of those Duty things that the others had kept telling him about. He hated obligations. He hadn't made a name for himself as one of the most dangerous rats around because of Duty. He was more the infamous kind, which honestly suited him down to the ground. He held up the ornament to his nose and breathed in. Smelled of Roofdancer, she was pretty, smelled good too in a only-a-rat-would-appreciate kind of way. Ooh that was dangerous ground, better put your thong back on, mental image. No mutant babies for Royce, no sir. Well, ok. Maybe one idle fantasy. Get your tits out, love.
     "Right, thats enough tom-shittery. Time to go find a missing Rat" He said eventually to himseld, and slid down a rainpipe to start his investigation.
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