IIIXKitsuneXIII

The corpse was sprawled out across the pavement. An akadri, their fur dyed a brilliant pink, blue eyes fixed sightlessly on the sky, mouth open in a silent scream or a rictus grin. It was hard to tell. Right now, that wasn’t what interested the toa perched above the scene in the fire escape of Restaurant Noire, surveying the scene. A ginger heldyr with mismatched horns carefully unraveled white string around the body. A knife (horrifically beautiful, made of a bleached kill claw if the ketucari guessed right) was embedded in the corpse’s belly, not yet touched or removed. “We’ll need to fingerprint that.” the heldyr--Deryl if the toa remembered correctly?--said. “You think a human did this?” the toa asked, shifting himself on his perch. The fire escape creaked under his weight. Another voice interrupted. “Might’ve.” a large ryno currently colored in green fur, Conan, carefully inched into the narrow ally. “Human or a ketucari wearing human skin.” There wasn’t any human scent in

“Boss.” Merhab’s voice cut over the whir of the drill in Kestrel’s paw, and he slowed and stopped the machine, lifting his face shield to look back at the slender fantail waiting at the door to his den. Merhab waited, paws vibrating and frill twitching, for permission to speak. Amethyst eyes gleamed back at him, illuminated by the light behind the fantail. Bright. Urgent. Angry. “What’s up?” Kestrel asked, uncertainty crawling up his spine. “Urgent news from sources in Obsidian Bluffs. Antikutan’s barrier has dimmed.” Merhab spoke as quickly as ever, as any of the strange serpentine fantails Kestrel knew ever spoke, like every moment of breath needed to be used with perfect precision. “Land’s dead.” The uncertainty turned white hot. Into anger. The scars across Kestrel’s body burned, and he set his drill down to stand. “Has the barrier broken?” he asked, careful to enunciate each word to keep himself from snarling. Merhab didn’t deserve his misplaced anger. His excitement. Antikutan

Kitsu The earth was dry. It seemed obvious, really that the earth should be so dry, yet this sort of dry was worse than the toa had ever experienced before. The toxic air of Antikutan was already more than he and His could bear, and now it was so dry that it threatened to drain the very life from him. Every step cracked the surface of the chapped earth and threatened to swallow him whole into its recesses. The air burned at his lungs, his tongue cracked so that it hurt to speak, his nostrils aflame with every breath. Lancelot du Lac had been warned that Antikutan was hell. His previous visits had him well convinced of it. However, his previous visits to the cursed land had had life in them. The cracked earth did not crumble under his paws. The local monsters--boil babies, cleavers, and their ilk--had wandered the Zone. Raktaphages had clung to the barrier. Now, even the morban was wilted and withered, sanguine stems and vines now black with decay and breaking with the slightest

"Greetings, your grace." a charcoal toa, his sides banded with glowing green, cautiously steps away from his travelling group. He holds himself stiffly, like he's not quite certain where his feet are, and his scar-marked eyes are fixed rather determinedly on the center of Igyera's chest. His tail is held in the air in a friendly manner, and he is offering a winning smile. As soon as he's able, he flops his haunches down to mask his shaky movements, and his eyes actually focused properly on the massive birds, though they remain cloudy and squinty. "Your lands are stunning, thank you for allowing us into them." Olive eyes dart to the massive eye the two halves of the guardian share. "Your eyes... do you simply assume our Zone is stunning?" asks Yera, lowering their head to inspect the toa, as though their head truly had eyed with which to see. The toa sighs, ears flat against his skull, lips twitching. It's simple well meaning observation, he knows. His ailment is hardly a mystery to

Sharp raucous cries filled the air over the swamp, a swarm of black bodies that swelled and shrunk around a single point, like flies on a corpse. Ducking and weaving, a clear signal that Something had happened. A splash split the crows and the ravens and the flock parted, revealing a ketucari the color of the marsh itself on an island in the bog. Before her, leering down, cold and cruel and hungry, was a massive vulpine figure. The ketucari met Halicaecus's gaze, her tail curled over her back--not that the dominance display meant much to the god--laughing and scratching at her ears with a hind paw. "Awe, Hali, ya know I'm not gonna do that!" she called up, her voice clear over the swell of the ravens. "Can't I jus live my life in peace up in Bridgetown? I don't bother ya none, do I?" The god's reply was a quiet thrum of power in the marsh, constricting it. The water level dropped. Branwen didn't know fear. She wasn't on speaking terms with the concept, but she knew self

The ryno was clearly working on… something with their mortar and pestle. She wouldn’t pretend to understand it, as the shimmery red insects were nothing she knew of for poison. She, of course, being Scolopendra. The creature hung from a low branch of a massive kapok, head twisted to watch the ryno work. He hadn’t noticed her yet, her vibrant coat blending surprisingly well with the colorful canopy of the Viridian Tangle, allowing her to watch the harpy toa at her leisure. He was a handsome one, she’d rapidly decided. His pelt reminded her of an oil spill or the painted cliffs of Shalekesh when she dared surface on Darsha, and his wild eyes were fixed on the tools in his paws. He was one of the wanderers, she was pretty certain. Took the mantel with Furaha. Yes, she recalled that. Down the tree, hanging sideways now, and his ears flicked back to her. She froze, one paw lifted mid step, not daring to breathe. His voice was startlingly light when he spoke. “I can hear you skittering. Who