When solid ground grows soft with emerald moss and rivulets of black mud, and coffee-colored water pours slowly around the trunks of densely carpeted trees, this marks the beginning of Laod Mor: the swamp of Blossom Forest. Time itself seems to slow to a soporific crawl . . . the humid jungle air grows stagnant, thick with the scent of rich flooded earth and an abundance of green things that can be found nowhere else—except perhaps Caidir Olc. In some areas of the swamp, water rises so high the only way to cross it is to crawl across fallen logs or massive roots arching from their liquid beds; in other places a wolf might wade easily through the mire—or find a fortunate stretch of mostly dry earth. Pieces of the great river, Glaesfaet Sceawere, also slice through from time to time: small falls that feed into surprisingly clear pools, only to terminate into tar-like pits. Of course, Laod Mor’s beauty shines brightest at night. Here, fireflies gather at all times of the year . . . suffusing the shadowy place with millions of twinkling lights.

Those looking to hunt here of course find a myriad of water prey, including caiman, turtles, fish, crayfish, otters, and toads.

Refresh/Reload

d e m o n s
IP: 76.5.117.18

[OOC: RoeVy is a synesthete; he sees sound as color. Just a note in case he's confusing!]

r o e V y

they plan and they plan . . . they search and they search . . .


Roe had never felt this cold in his entire life. Each breeze slithered over his skinny body and sent shaking agony throughout his frame, driving him to the point of madness. Every time he drew a breath it was like swallowing ice, frost crackling down his throat and making him cough. He hated winter. He HATED winter! He could scream it at the top of his lungs from a mountaintop until he died. This was the absolute worst season of them all. The young dog would take languishing in the summer heat beneath the sun’s fiery rays over this frigid hell any day. At least in summer he could go for a swim. By the time snow fell from the heavens, all the good watering holes were frozen over. Of COURSE. How CONVENIENT.

A low growl rumbled deep in RoeVy’s throat, accompanied by the ruffling of raven-black hackles along his spine. The whippet-thin boy hailed from a kingdom where winter was a short lived affair; he’d been built for warm days fishing in streams until the stars came out. His gorgeous sooty coat was short and silky, not nearly thick enough to protect him from this freezing weather. True, his aerodynamic frame made him swifter than most, but being fast didn’t help you when there wasn’t much prey to chase in the first place. It had been a while since Roe had eaten a good meal. And like hell would he join a pack, where a bunch of strangers would just bug him all day . . .

Lifting his muzzle, RoeVy tried again to locate the scent of food. His ears smashed flat against his skull in frustration when he came up empty. Except . . . wait a minute. The black demon took another long drag, this time detecting the perfume of a she-wolf. Immediately his mood lifted, as if he’d never been annoyed in the first place. RoeVy loved the ladies—so much so that he would gladly forget how much he despised feeling like his tail was about to crack off. A bright grin curved his foxy muzzle. Pumpkin orange eyes gazed forward as he loped toward the source of the scent, steps all springy and excited as a pup about to play with a new friend.

It didn’t take him long to find her. The normal music of the waterfalls had been muffled by layers of silver ice (obviously, stupid winter); that way, he could easily pinpoint her soft, rhythmic breathing. She was a lovely creature, as pale as Roe was dark. Like a unicorn. He saw her soft exhalations as faded rose-pink blooms that shimmered at the edges of his messed-up vision. RoeVy saw his own voice as an exalted gold (the best color of all) but he quite enjoyed the color he heard from this lass. Why was she sleeping, though? All out in the open?

One delicate paw nudged her shoulder, careful not to press too hard. “Uh, excuse me, miss?” The question curled into a metallic curly-cue that only RoeVy could see.
.:. youngling .:. lover to none .:. no allegiance .:. no family .:.




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