Posts by MYSTICTALES

MYSTICPAW | SANCTUARY MEMBER | BIO

"Breaking what now?" He padded, ever-curious, drawn to such as if a shackle to animal intent. The little feline craned his head to meet Joshua, a face he had seen once before, though didn't truly recognize. A single crow, though still a sizable distance away, hopped over to trail him like a lost, brooding shadow.

MYSTICPAW | SANCTUARY MEMBER | BIO

Mystic was lured by a curiosity, iron vice upon the very bones and flesh, to the stranger he knew naught by name, such a fact was never revealed to him yet. Though, he had seen him around camp, that silver wolf like coat of gallium ocean. Despite being around the same age, he shared no kinship nor connection like threads, binding forth like twisted bramble, with the canine. At the scent of the dung, spirit of decay overpowering any other, he put one ebony paw to his nose, shielding his nose. He grimaced and grit his teeth, moon's ivory grin, at it, a scent he had only encountered in moments bound by time and yet, flit forth upon dainty feet. And yet, he still persisted forth, cutting through fog with blade of clarity. "Yeah..." He agreed with Marrok, the other another familiar face, though greyed as it was. Though, it held itself upon the attribute, like a weakening, butterfly-winged shred, of him not knowing Royalpaw. He wasn't aware of his status as a Worm, groveling like a child for approval, for the politics of the clan never weighted his interest, flying past like a creature unbound to earth. "... Well, at least you're doing something I could never." A sigh escaped his throat, steam, thinned yet roiling forth, from his lips. He tried to contribute to conversations, but sometimes, he fell short, as if grip extended just out of reach. Perhaps that was his own awkwardness at play, that spirit of wilderness clinging to his chords. His gaze perched backwards and saw no crows, none of those birds of those eyes, contained pockets of deep abyss. Perhaps they were repulsed by this sight as well, and had moved on to places far yet upon his path. After all, they were prim-plumed creatures of night's handiwork, ever ardent seamstress.

MYSTICPAW | SANCTUARY MEMBER | BIO

Mystic had grown up in a farmer's land, those hills lurching and mountains tipped with ashen snow harboring much land, bursting with fertility, grace of Mother Nature. He had even planted his own crops at times, as learned from those more greyed and worn than he. Though, it was still unsuccessful, since he was naught but a child, of brightened gaze and roseyed cheek. Still, he knew quite a lot about plants, as they had embraced him with tendril and stem, hands reaching through the terra firma. He studied them even before he came to the Sanctuary, upon books of writing scribbled and observation of eyes owl-keen. He had grown to appreciate the differing life, how such could harbor itself though without sentience biding in the mind. He stepped forth, gait of morning's slow, drawling yawn. He was dwarfed by both Grave and Astiar, the two larger creatures looming over, him existing as their shadow misguided upon sun's beam. Still, he caught upon no fear when with his fellow clanmates, a mutual agreement forged by affiliation like steel chain. "Uh... Do they taste good?" His voice came bubbling upon primed lips, turning to the dragon, of brimming insectoid feature. Interest bloomed forth in features rounded, unmarred by fate's cruelty. He had never met Astiar before this, and was entranced at how... interesting he looked. A singular crow approached forth, hobbling, not built for traversing on cold dirt. It plucked at a fallen seed, motion sharp as the hand of the clock. It ate it too, as if validating whatever Astiar was doing, mimicking the beast.

MYSTICPAW | SANCTUARY MEMBER | BIO

"Hello." Came a voice, so primed with youth, glorious sun's brilliance. It belonged to the boy who approached next, pocket of the night's deep maw, the abyss' grimace. Mysticpaw's curious eyes of crystalline sky followed the two, perching upon each of their features. He stepped forth, gait rushing yet steadied upon the feet, a gale rolling forwards. He greeted the clouded leopard with a nod of his head, crown of ivy coil and youthful ambrosia dipping forth. It seemed almost every creature towered over him, forest of tall bastions of trees. "Session? What's that?" A question then bubbled forth from his maw, a froth of sea foam. He was ever-curious, prodding at every transgression the world made within his vicinity. After all, to him, the world simply existed for him, unravel all of its secrets like tangled ribbon. A crow followed behind him, hopping forth in movements in hushed clockwork. Eyes of night's meager shine glazed over Maruki, studying him with a gaze of scrutiny. Almost nobody escaped the glare of the birds that trailed him, as if the stare of the shadow of man, the mirror self. Many more peppered themselves within the distance, masked with greys of the past. They were unwilling to follow, as if stuck within the landscape of the scenery, mere background strokes.

MYSTICPAW | SANCTUARY MEMBER | BIO

Mysticpaw was a boy so raptured by organic life, tendrils of nature blessed, all of his moments waking upon auburn dawn. He grew used to seeing life sprout from earth, bearing only flesh and bone to the name. Thus, he had never laid his eyes so convinced they had rested upon every sight the world had to offer on... someone so metallic. He knew of weaponry and armor, with steel dusted in ruddy rust. Never creature that seemed to be made of the very substance, as if melded unto a full-metal coat. Questions erupted forth in his mind, racing buzz of the static, perhaps of life as he knew it. He approached the other, welcoming as morning's arrival. His eyes glittered as if caught upon cut gemstones of sapphire and tanzanite. Naive as he was, he would go to investigate the newcomer. "Wow... Is your pelt made of steel? Were you, like, born that way?" His eyes glistened over GR1M's pelt, as if touching upon each feature trimmed and perfected. He was enraptured by curiosity, as he always was. Such was a vice that bound him and drove him to perform. "Oh - wait a second, my bad. This is the Sanctuary. What's your name?" His head cocked to the side, crown of night's thistle and ivy bind. Much like a crow would - perhaps he had started to emulate his companions' habits, rubbing off on him as he did them.

MYSTICPAW | SANCTUARY MEMBER | BIO

( MARROK A. R. ! )

He had been promoted to Healing Disciple a day or so ago, the time melding together like pages of the dusted tome, fluttering about like frantic creature of the sky. He had made it a point to study what herbs there were, their intricacies hidden within writing straggling about, greying in smears at the edges. He had read many books before, literacy was no problem for him, and he blazed through sentences as if eyes a chariot of gold aflame, molten. Though, this was nothing like summer's observation and casual experiment conducted on a whim, spun from cotton candy daydream and adorned with satin thread. Instead, the sheer amount of knowledge had dampened his mind, as if weighed down by a pooling feeling uneased, settling dread. Such drivel proved detrimental to the mind of possibility bounding and scraping empyrean, as if meant to continue moving pace with the secondhand. Still, he persisted forth in his studies, breaking through as if untangling vines like ribbons, with a handiwork careful yet prone to breakage. That included getting to know other members of the medical team, of whom names bore only an inkling of recognition, sparks of familiarity. To be honest, he was hesitant on greeting any of them, due to being a creature, mystery clinging upon his coat, of night's fleeting hand. And yet, he figured now was the time to at least try, resting his hindquarters next to Marrok. He had approached moments before, wandering with spirit of wanderlust through the territory. He sat upon a field of clover and wildgrass, the thought almost sending him back to the Wind Haven. "... Sorry for intruding on whatever you were doing. I just couldn't help but be reminded of my old home... Speaking of which, I heard you came from another place, far away from here." He said, his voice of rosied youth, fingers of morning grace, prodding through the other's cold walls of cobbled iron. Though, his tone danced in off-beat tune to awkwardness, a revelation familiar to him. Curiosity overpowered all, he figured, and it would then vice him now, a chain of adamantine.

MYSTICPAW | SANCTUARY MEMBER | BIO

Mystic was much in the same boat as Heavensdoor, despite the two never sharing much drawn out conversation or kinship like woven thread. They were the same in the shared collective that a flock of birds, all bearing to their name the same hue, trailed them around like sparks to the fire, following shadows of the long day. It seemed for no apparent reason, at least at the glance paled by surface intention. Those geese had butterfly-wing bones, hollowed, and youth of newborn morning. Like he, Mystic harbored a murder of crows, their plumes of charcoal night. They followed him so, never too far behind like little pockets of moonless umber, dusted naught in the stars. Unlike those baby birds, the birds of pitched ink were all adults (or so he assumed, he never knew their intent behind visage of mystery and shade). His crows never strayed too close to civilization and its touch blessed yet ruinous. Not even to his own, as if existing a separate system, microcosm of their own handiwork. He padded forth, with gait of rolling summer's day, lazy fog of the afternoon. His brows furrowed in confusion, light breeze to an otherwise unmarred face, unmarked by tragedy and blasphemy. He knew naught of the bloodied history of Heaven and the goose, but he did still appreciate the babies of pattering song and downy plumage. "Aw, they're adorable." His words flowed like river of dark water, though flat as the planed surface. Despite that, he held a smile on his face, though no snowy ivory so poked through the soot.

MYSTICPAW | SANCTUARY MEMBER | BIO

He didn't recognize the man at first, a creature of differing statuesque and now wings of justice's fair name to bear. Mystic assumed him to be just another joiner at the border, another nameless face, unmarked by threads deft and woven into the ribs, to grow into the crowd of shifting visage. He figured Roman was looking for something - solace of dawn's forgiveness, refuge of nature's mercy, perhaps the animal intent of all beasts. Though, it seemed that his crows sought something he could not see, with eyes of abyssal sight, their mysticism so lost from this world's touch. For they all glared at Roman, a wordless stare, a blank canvas of emotion. They peppered about in the scenery picturesque, painted upon homely tone, from distance of oblivion's aftermath, almost unnoticeable amongst the noise. He knew those au burns of fiery dawn's orange, those same hues of sunrise blossoming forth. They belonged to Roman, he wouldn't forget someone so easy. Yet, he couldn't connect the dots, not in an act of un-cleverness. "Hello. This is the Sanctuary. Do you need anything?" His head cocked to one side, a bird's movement leering, curiosity oozing into pores and features. The boy of night's speckled ink, moonless splendor, uttered those same words he learned so many times before, a motif repeated in the spoken tome, ancient prayer. He was learning, learning how to survive in a society of people. He glanced backwards to see if anyone trailed him, as if a shackle's shadow lingering back into shade. Sentient or not, he would expec another face to mold from the muted hues.

MYSTICPAW | SANCTUARY NEOPHYTE | BIO

"Could I have one?" He asked, cocking his head in a track post.

MYSTICPAW | SANCTUARY NEOPHYTE | BIO

Mystic couldn't see spirits, his vision blurred, left to its own vices, by the binds of truth, a reality spoken and seen. He had always heard about them, those ghastly entities whispering willowed wills. The ghosts of ancient time walking upon present day, breathing though not living amongst the Sanctuarians. The Sanctuary was known for being home to them after all, a place for the wandering, afflicted with a curse to never set their feet down for too long, to hum their howling, melancholy song. In the heart of the group lie the Gaia, such an ethereal landmark, raveled with spirits and ghosts. Never had Mystic encountered such a religious place, so bound to faith's promise. He stepped forth, gait hesitant, slow as the springtide. He placed one paw in the paint, the bright hues, vibrant morning's tone, tarnishing his coat of moonless night's oblivion. He winced at the new sensation, noting how cold it was, how it stuck to the crevices of his pawpads. "U-Uhm... I... promise that I'll stay with the clan." He stammered, his tone fumbling in its fluttered flight, a young boy's naïveté like butterfly wing. He wasn't entirely sure what to say, the correct string of words eluding his grasp now. He figured Grave's declaration of faith, with loyalty as the connection, seemed a good start, but he wished naught to exist in her shadow. He placed a paw on the bark, the rough bark, snarled as if fraught yet bearing no hostility, beneath his touch of downy eider feather. He watched the print glow, as if a wound of the flesh glowing upon ichor' stain. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a wisp, silvery as if a steel-borne sword, floating next to him, as if encapsulated within its own tempo, though at a distance. Like his crows, it would not stray too close.

MYSTICPAW | SANCTUARY NEOPHYTE | BIO

Mystic had never had tea before, such a privilege of ruled's regality had never crossed his mind, torturing it with jaded claw. But he did know of that scent, the aroma presiding upon subconscious memory, poking at the nostrils as if rustling through branch and foliage. He was used to using his sense of smell, keen as the dagger's tip. The farmers in Wind Haven grew everything, their tired hands, baked from sun's blessing, so eager to tend to Nature's coat, their prime hours spent upon her glory. From crops to herbs to... other things, he was well accustomed to plants, as acquaintances of the world they bore together. Despite this, he had never thought of consuming them, for his diet lie in small prey, scurrying across rolling floor. The dawn only rose now, a magnificent beast rising from auburn-leaf summer. And he would be awake, though still groggy, a fog persisting, as per the jurisdiction of the waking child of the new morning. He usually woke up at this time, the hour of golden horizon. He padded over, his gait of fluttering leaf caught upon gentle breath. The scent drew him, a leash of bated breath, curiosity spawning. Inquisitiveness would be the death of him someday, that animal instinct so driving him forth. "Oh... Could I have some? I've never had tea." He mewed, his tone uncertain, wavering like broken wing's staccato. Eyes, of curious empyrean and steely blues, surveyed the crowd. Though, they returned and beckoned to Roman, and the fire that blazed, crackling and gossiping next to them. His crows lingered far in the distance, the lost shadow of pine limb. Their eyes, whites of the distant stars, still pierced through the persisting night as if bullets to the canvas. But it seemed they were adverse to the light, as if they would melt like waxen candle if they were to wander too close.

MYSTICPAW | SANCTUARY NEOPHYTE | BIO

Mystic padded over to the stranger, his gait of lazy summer's garden, the intermittent yawn of the seasonal flower. He noted their strange scent, one not of this land, of saccharine prosperity bleeding through acrid desert. So many different aromas he had encountered in his time, though brimming with youth's ephemera as he was. The Solaris Kingdom was a place he had only heard of in the body of a name, carried upon whispers amongst his people. He remembered it being announced, with voice of bell's sound clarity. Thus was the status of most of the Agrelos clans, as merely points, not marred by points nor tears, on his map, browned with the tatters of age. "Hi." He stated, a simple statement, cut upon its curt tongue, yet one bearing no hostility upon its shoulders. He dipped his crown of oblivion's utensil, as he had seen so many do before. Courtesy was a forming creation, and one he was building on to this day, as if a neverending tower. Most of his crows strayed back, as if shadowy ember, a lost monotone unto vibrant hue. There was one that persisted forth, stringing itself upon a swagger, boasting. The bird glanced at the mute child with a curious glint, light flooding its glare of marble. Mystic wasn't sure what he wanted, the jurisdiction of the crow bore hardened yet flexible, flesh burdened of bone. But, he made sure to keep his eye on the bird, in case its intents were mischievous.

MYSTICPAW | SANCTUARY NEOPHYTE | BIO

It had been mere passages of days, yawning slow upon misty morning, since he had accepted his Healing Disciple rank. He felt as if a weight, mercury pooling unto his veins like ichor, had been deposited onto his soul, fracturing at his ribs, the throne of ivory thorn and splinter. Responsibility loomed over Mystic, the dawn to the lands of death's pallid shadows below. The boy once harbored the life of no attached strings upon his bones, enjoyed no puppet master's diction. And now, he faced the path of a doctor, straightforward yet heaving upon its impact, heavy did the healer's heart sigh. The jurisdiction of life and death was in his hands so unscarred from youth's blessing. He could be seen upon a summer's day, bathing him in beams of warmth. An ancient tome rested in his grasp soft and firm, as if bird's plume, the spine nestled and readied against the ground. He sat in a field of clover, blooming with verdant as if formed from Mother Nature's very flesh - to that extent, it was. He had savored many books before, reading from cover to cover, from stories of ancient will to dreams of future reverie. But this one bore words more puzzling than the rest, the scrawl drawling onwards upon his brain like static song. He was used to studying for fun, to allow his mind to break away, tumble upon the floor of glass shard, from reality's vice, gripping upon heavy hand. Yet, he worried his head of feathery ink right from its fixation, just about this newly added stress. "Ugh - if only you guys could help me. But you can't! You're just dumb birds. I mean, you're not dumb, sorry for saying that. But it's just... how do they expect me to become a healer? Why are they... depending on me? I don't know if I can, like... remember everything. There's just so much." He relayed his thoughts, as if new creatures bursting forth from primordial water, to his murder of crows. They gathered about him, like peppers of embers, drifting the land, lost in their desolation. A sigh, prolonged gust of the oncoming storm, escaped him - those avians accompanied him, but did they truly listen?

ART;

PAST LIVES;

CURRENT LIFE;

MYSTICPAW | SANCTUARY NEOPHYTE | BIO

( AAHHH sorry for the wait Legrandite R.K.H. )

So, this is Volary Flights?

Mysticpaw had heard from many others, through whispers strained upon the air's transmission. This was the jungle that they inhabited, with greens blooming and shouting verdancy, and bird's cries cascading and crashing to the forest floor. It made him somewhat claustrophobic, what with all of the roots and vines that gnarled with marred face, eager to latch and twist the limb. After all, he was used to fields, expansive and rolling forth to meet the horizon. And then he moved to the forest, though dotted with lakes, as if a speckled beast's coat. But even then, there was space to breathe, a comfort between the entities, solace hanging upon the silence between words. Here, he just felt oppressed, as if caught between the smoke's feathery dance. Despite this, he managed to traverse the land relatively easy, an animal displaying forth bones masqueraded light upon flesh, of starless night's bounding expedition. The feline surveyed the land, senses twitching at each new stimuli, sensitive upon each spring or lick of the land. He walked, with a gait of uncaring youth that bound forth upon plains of naïveté. Through the paths that snarled, as if a visage contorting into madness, to the will of Nature... And completely cutting straight through the border, despite detecting the new scent at the zenith of the territory's start. He was naive, with a busting headspace of inquisitiveness, as if even his own mind could not shackle his own wanderlust. He knew he had to wait at the boundaries, at the fringes of civilization, as if rimmed with dust. That's only for diplomatic stuff, right? And the creatures here probably wouldn't notice, their attentions turned upon grander hunts, with wind combing their backs, unaware of the details and laces of this world. He was just going to poke around for a while, revel in what the grace of the world had to owe him as if discovering a new steadfast for himself. It wasn't like he was destroying anything, he was a creature so fraught upon the balance of the world, the cycle of life so maintained by his step tuned upon the ground. Only a few of his crows actually followed him, those little modicums of oblivion's candor, soot prints upon the canvas. As if they refused to tangle in the limbs of humidity, those creatures so drunk upon the murky and yet, abstaining from it now.

MYSTICPAW | SANCTUARY NEOPHYTE | BIO

He heard Naim's voice first, one of roiling venom, spittling fire. It was one he didn't recognize at all, but newcomers slipped through his own grasp, evading his as if silver fish upon the stream's quick draw. Diligence to the crowds shifting, marbled upon the garden of coats of his peers, needed naught by him, of a boy so lost in his muse, thoughts bubbling like sea foam. He turned to the serval, gazing upon the other's coat of golden day's tawny smile, reflected upon the flaxen wheat field. He seemed more intent on breaking him down than encouraging him, as if discipline posed more of a threat than any kind of positivity, the dark bode more fruit than the light ever did. Though he was selfish, he would agree with clarity bright as suns, though he saw naught the negative connotation. "Well, I would, but who would even want to hear me complain?" He sighed, a breezed breath laden with the weight of mist. He, looking for signs between the silent gasp between words, expected a caw in retaliation, the raucous tone of his companions bouncing about the shudder of noise. But the birds said nothing, as if in agreement, a quiet pact fulfilled by the sword and not the pen. Then Arlo, a face more dotted with familiarity as if pollution that marred the visage, though slighted as it came, approached. Mystic was relieved to know that at least the other domestic feline was nicer, perhaps it was the kinship like intertwining threads of yarn together. Or perhaps it was his personality of his own makings, crafted with artist's touch, as all personas were. "...Really? Thanks!" He purred, the low hum of incoming thunder. As if his problems had melted away, wilting weed upon asphalt, as if it truly were so easy, borne upon a life brimming with reverie. It stood more as naïveté than true optimism, the perspective of a boy so forgiving, upon a prison of down feather and laced moss. "I wonder... if I'll be able to save everyone. I mean, I hope I don't let anyone die. I think I could do it, if I tried..." He babbled on, his sentences running forth as if a brook babbling to itself. A goal, unrealistic, simply out of the grasp of anyone chained to earth - but he was not.

MYSTICPAW | SANCTUARY NEOPHYTE | BIO

Mysticpaw wasn't acquainted with other languages, those dialects like rust-spotted scribbles of ancient tome's muse. He was only used to English, from his words brimming to become his first to his very last - or so he would think, lost upon golden clouds of daydream. Living in a bubble, fragile upon its shelter, walls of glass and splintered bone, proved sane at the moment, a peace flooding his movement - but he couldn't the cruel reality forever, to avoid its heed. He didn't see the need for French, at least for his own quiet life, a fulfilled adventurer's one, paws laced with wanderlust' stardust. It would be too confusing, sentences lost within a rough sea's whirlpool. Besides, everyone here already spoke English, and the only creatures he had met who said naught were cursed with a feral bondage, a chain of wretched silence. Yet, his curiosity drove him to the spot, a leash insistent upon its driving force. He rested his hindquarters, drawing almost no attention to himself. In the daylight rimmed with a broad smile, it was easy to see him, the pelt of tar's obsidian stare, and yet he made no fuss of it. "Bonjo... Bonju... Sal - No, wait - Bienvenue!" He chimed in, a bell ringing its due toll. A few crows speckled the ground behind him, as if dustings of pepper, not too close yet never too far.

MYSTICPAW | SANCTUARY NEOPHYTE | BIO

Mystic didn't know much of the cycle of life, how it pressed onwards with groaning breath, a mechanical process without an end in its gaze. He knew that nature's glow, with a grin of verdant garden, would always be present. But never that it would cease to exist, fading as the ephemeral states of the day did, choked under blankets, buried under the curses of ashen soot. And yet, here it was, hands of limbs reaching forth, grasping for heaven's solace. They returned, they returned to break free, a glory without word. Although meager at best, straggled and lost upon their way, it was still a victory worth celebrating. After the Sanctuary's territory burned down, he didn't know if nature herself would recuperate from these wounds, recovering from burnt flesh that polluted even the brightest star. He had seen nothing but the ground, tarred with the aftermath of the blaze. Though now, it seemed apt to change, a dogged persistence. "Green..." He repeated the words of his peers, the syllable undaunted and refusing to lie down like a sickened dog. He allowed it to roll off of his tongue, as if a waterfall humming. He had seen green all of his life, and yet never thought to let the hue dwell upon his mind for more than errant glances that passed by the heartbeat. A singular crow came, a speckle of night sky, though without its glimmering gaze. It stood not too close, its distance built upon a wall of intangible wire. It focused upon the spot where Marrok crouched, marble-bead eyes appreciative upon the art.