+5 BWP Exp
(ticket) +1 - Make a BWP-related post
(ticket) +2 - Study one of the natural phenomena occurring
(ticket) +2 - Assess the impacts of the weather on herds and prey
(ticket) +2 - Analyze the changes being made to the land
(ticket) +5 - Complete a BWP-related thread (with 10+ posts)

A long shape swam through the field of golden grass, his usual neat appearance no more. Although the french man had done his best to fix his damp mane in an acceptable shape, the winds had other ideas about his hairstyle today. So be it, he had thought with an exhausted sigh. His looks were beyond repair, considering there was a literal mini ice age back at the Bluffs. He'd come to the plains to escape the freezing cold and constant danger of rockslides, only to find that there was a different kind of trouble here.

At spots, the ground had split open. Some cracks were bigger than others, and at places, trees had fallen through or tipped over, revealing their giant roots. On a good day, Celosia was bursting at the seams with prey. Now there were no herds in sight as if they'd sunk with the ground.

Suddenly, a tremor shook the ground. Apollinaire froze at his spot, his feet clutching the ground as it dangled him violently like a puppet. He grit his teeth, eyes scouring somewhere to hide, but seeing only the ground split in the distance, causing a cliff to rise above where there had been vertical land.

@Gauthier_{BG — ART — CODE}

Winter stretched its cold hand across the fields - and in its decimating force, pulled life with it. Trees upended, slopes ridged above peering cracks that sunk into once daisy-lined terraces full of prey and sunlight; in the bowing grasses Gauthier moved, a spectre yet, he of earthen clay and sand himself ruddied against the pallor. With snow-dust as thick as ash upon the ruin, there lay a sense of foreboding, the eerie trudge of strain rummaging through the heart of the hearth.

Above, his eye wandered a loom of dreary clouds dark and dismal, thick with the weight of impending storms. Below, the ground trembled and growled, moaning in its untouched quarters. Its gentle shifts turned to roughened quakes, and quakes to roars of otherworldly horrors - and as if nightmare living, a titan reared its head from the once heeled stretch of grasslands.

Gauthier steeled himself on flexing paws and digging talons, but the throe of the land shook him still - he lowered his body in the tumult, flesh rippling, tail ruddered for the imbalance. Ahead, the disheveled form of @Apollinaire followed suit. He moved forward, low and prowling still (but this time certainly not with the intent of aggression) to approach his pridemate, though tremors and rumblings made the work of it a greater challenge.

A vaulted O! announced himself over the growling might of unsteadied ground and all its volumed grief, and he made to press shoulder to shoulder with Apollo to anchor them both as the ground below tossed and shaped in violent judders.

+1 - Make a BWP-related post
+2 - Study one of the natural phenomena occurring
+2 - Assess the impacts of the weather on herds and prey
+2 - Analyze the changes being made to the land
+5 - Complete a BWP-related thread (with 10+ posts)_{BG — ART — CODE}

+5 BWP Exp
(ticket) +1 - Make a BWP-related post
(ticket) +2 - Study one of the natural phenomena occurring (2/2)
(ticket) +2 - Assess the impacts of the weather on herds and prey (1/2)
(ticket) +2 - Analyze the changes being made to the land (1/2)
(ticket) +5 - Complete a BWP-related thread (with 10+ posts)

Even a single step forward was going to make him lose balance, and so the Bluffs fighter stood frozen at his spot, the ground beneath his feet trembling like a scared kitten. He could only observe the tiny pebbles dance rhythmically amongst the grain of sand, while others fell through gaps that widened with every tremor.

Crimson eyes narrowed in on the ground beneath him, expecting it to split open any second and devour him like a hungry beast. A distant voice made his head swivel to the back only enough so he could peer at @Gauthier approaching from behind his shoulder. There was a sense of relief on seeing another of his pride mates here, a relief that Apollinaire was not accustomed to. Yet it was a moment of utter helplessness, a moment where he could not control his fate - such events brought out a different side of the french man. The athletic lion slipped beside Apollinaire, pressing their shoulders together. He used Gauthier as an anchor, a curt nod sent his way.

Apollinaire peered around as the ground began to calm, the tremors dying out as quick as they had arrived. Steeling his beating heart, the Dieudonne straightened up, sanguine eyes falling back onto his comrade's face. Merci, mon ami, he nodded to emphasize his thankfulness. Seems like zhe whole world is going upside down, eh? Dark lips pulled in a sneer._{BG — ART — CODE}

Steadied shoulder to shoulder, they evened the quivering ground beneath by balancing weight, flexing paw to paw as the earth possessed of itself an awful might. In his mind's eye, a great serpent rippled through the underworld beneath their feet, furious and writhing for matters he could not touch the understanding of. The absurdity rendered it ephemeral, though brief shines of the thought remained even as the terra stilled, malformed. Merci, mon ami, Gauthier heard from beside him, a weight lifted.

Oui, he returned gruffly, though the word felt odd on the roll of his tongue. Seems the whole world is going upside down, eh? This charmed a choked laugh from the hound, a breath chasing the tension out of his body, though he cast a careful glance across the scrape of the Fields - once bountiful, now wreaked in snow and chaos. The torn shrubbery, the toppled trees, and --

The eerie silence.

Where often one would catch the sight of dots in the distance if not the distinguishable whole of a prey's silhouette, there was only the dusting of snow and a scape as desolate as the badlands. Da... a response drawled, breathless for an entranced moment, he gaze traced the ruts and rolls of the frozen meadows, depraved of hoof or claw. No bird trilled overhead, no bugs heralded the coming spring. He looked to @Apollinaire, brow lined in trepidation. Where has everything gone?

+1 - Make a BWP-related post
+2 - Study one of the natural phenomena occurring
+2 - Assess the impacts of the weather on herds and prey
+2 - Analyze the changes being made to the land_{BG — ART — CODE}

+5 BWP Exp
(ticket) +1 - Make a BWP-related post
(ticket) +2 - Study one of the natural phenomena occurring (2/2)
(ticket) +2 - Assess the impacts of the weather on herds and prey (2/2)
(ticket) +2 - Analyze the changes being made to the land (1/2)
(ticket) +5 - Complete a BWP-related thread (with 10+ posts)

@Gauthier responded in an unfamiliar language, but Apollinaire could read that it was an agreement to his statement nonetheless. His toes shifted against the cold, cracked ground, wondering if at any moment there will be nothing there and both men will fly down into earth's gaping jaws. Wasn't this going to be a strange death? He could've imagined far more exciting ways to die. Ways with a big audience to witness his last few moments instead of the nothingness that Celosia offered.

His sanguine eyes cast out to the empty distance where the wind picked up snow and dust, swirling it around the open air. Where has everything gone? It was a good question. "Ran away," he said. "-- Or was swallowed by zhe ground." There was not a single herd in sight, not a single creature wandering aimlessly. They had most likely run at the first sign of the grass dying beneath the uncharacteristic freezing cold. And those who didn't run and dared stay were met with a much more terrifying death than starvation._{BG — ART — CODE}

Ran away. His eyes passed over the abandoned watering hole, the shifted stretch of hills broken and tossed, ledges wagered from the flat of the grasslands. The wind, frigid, unnervingly so, passed with a scraping clutch of snow, shimmering like diamonds as the skies above paraded grey and swollen. Or swallowed by the ground.

Gauthier grunted a nervous grumble at that - it should have been laughter, it meant to be laughter, but peeled away more as an unsure groan. The ground beneath him, he realized, had never felt so unsteady, so uncertain, so moldable and tenacious. Would it swallow them at any moment? Would they be folded into a tomb of snow and dirt and the hot expellence of that bellied starlight that rested beneath their feet?

Swallowed by the ground... Into their grave, choking soot, breathing clay. He dazed for a moment, imagining the horror of it, having never considered that means of an end once before. Should we-- the ground shook once more, though a smaller tremor, mighty still enough; he dug his claws into the earth, braced the weight of his body as it ran its course.

Somewhere in the terra there released a terrible groan, the sound of splintering rock and crackle as a tree pulled its roots.

@Apollinaire_{BG — ART — CODE}

+5 BWP Exp
(ticket) +1 - Make a BWP-related post
(ticket) +2 - Study one of the natural phenomena occurring (2/2)
(ticket) +2 - Assess the impacts of the weather on herds and prey (2/2)
(ticket) +2 - Analyze the changes being made to the land (2/2)
(ticket) +5 - Complete a BWP-related thread (with 10+ posts)

Apollinaire was unsure how long this uncertainty will last. Will the storms ever stop? Will the ground shaking ever cease? It was impossible to miss the large changes that the valley was acquiring. Hell, they were standing in front of Celosia was completely upside down. Where the had been tall, yellowed grass now there was snow and cracked ground, trees had been uprooted and holes had been dug as if by giant molerats.

He wondered if some prides will crumble under the pressure. And who will it be? Certainly not Wolfbron. They could feed off the Oasis livestock and survive, while the weak-bellied men & women of the other prides will perish. If not by the Dieudonne's claw, then from starvation.

And still, he hoped he won't have to eat meals that were such... low quality. He always hand-picked his meat to appease his finely tuned taste buds. Hopefully, famine won't arrive at their doorstep.

The neat man gazed back at his scarred pride mate, watching him assimilate the information. A graceless death, he could sense that @Gauthier didn't like the idea of falling into the darkness to his death.

Then the ground shook again.

In unison, both men shifted in their spots, spreading feet to grab at the ground below. Apollinaire felt his heartbeat rush, his hackles raising in response. His teeth grit together, and then he saw in the distance a tree topple over, roots turning upside down._{BG — ART — CODE}

The massive baobab ripped, long roots sprawled in the grey air, ground overturned with the upheaval. About it cracks the surface, mud and snow and deadened grass fractured in rows, a cloud of sighing loam. The tremor subsided, and with it the great earthly groan that rumbled beneath - those aching quarters of the hellish deep, ancient and straining with waking titans.

Satisfied by the stillness that resides, and too concerned with another promise of unsteady ground, Gauthier moved to that old downed tree and examined its size, the severed length of its broad, tangled roots. Rocks pulled in their grasp - and the earth yielded beneath it showed dark, fecund and soft. Its burrowed insects writhed against the cold that pervaded, this ground crawling in the aftermath.

As below, so above.

He shivered with the cold that settled in his bones, stung against his flesh - the snow melted into the shadowed length of his spine, and his paws flexed the tilled sod, numbed and prickling. High in the shelf of split roots and rock, squirming insects, the darkness of fertile soil, a frail greyed, pocketed socket of a skull looked on, its few-tooth smile too loaded with clay to grin on.

When I left my home, they had been already fraught with the coming days of a drought, and famine follows. he mused, an eye flicking to @Apollinaire, the handsome tidiness despite its recent dishevelment. As a cub, the elders said it occurred when their god was upset - I assumed their god was bored. Their god - their god. He denied it still, even as he had seen its auroric presence in the northern stretches of amaryllis tundra.

A bellied thunder erupted from beneath them once more - but with it only a slight tremble, the frayed roots of the tree hobbling with the gentle motion. As if a warning, a reminder. They also said they sated their hunger on their fellows, when there was little prey to be had. A wry grin pulled across his features, buckled the scar along his cheek with devilish delight. Rabbit and goat meat could only go so far, so long - and he had seen the Dieudonne at work with their bloodshed. He could entertain himself with devouring lion meat, but the salt and iron tinge of blood was satisfying enough - kudu was king.

Don't end up eating me. You'll find I'm a sharp chew. he chuckled, unsheathing the claws of a paw with a slick flick and digging them into the meat of the tree. The husk of his claws pulled with the hard exterior, driving their points into finer tips. The bark would not pull up so willingly - so he dug deeper, pulled harder, ripping its grey flesh from ruddy slats beneath. Alive and well - a wonder that it could be pulled off its feet so easily, as if it had been sickly._{BG — ART — CODE}

The roots of the baobab reached from the ground with crooked, dirty fingers caked in mud. The land was desolate, almost as if the dead were trying to crawl out of their clay graves and reclaim the fields for themselves. When the shaking ceased, @Gauthier pushed onward to investigate, and Apollinaire followed him suit, his own curiosity piqued.

To see a tree so old ( much, much older than any of them ) brought down so easily was almost humbling. Almost, because the neat french man knew nothing of humbleness aside from putting on a humble act for any of his superiors. Pale, soft snowflakes touched the curved roots, slowly but certainly building a layer of snow against the dark brown mud. The heathen stood quietly in observation, deep red eyes studying the strange work of art.

He stared and death stared back.

The skull adorning one of the roots peered at him with hollow eyes, wearing clay lipstick & bone. Apollinaire's dark lips pulled in a smile, a sort of greeting towards the long-dead creature.

Gauthier's home. Weren't lions just splendid creatures? How they rationalize nature's wrath? How they explain it by naming it a strange god and serving their make-believe so obediently? He thought them blind fools, but the world needs those fools. How would the superior class prevail otherwise? If I was a god, I would certainly amuse myself with destruction, Apollinaire mused, gazing back at his pride mate. And his loyal pawns' reactions.

The ground vibrated, and the air trembled. He steeled his beating heart. Zhey sound like a practical bunch. Dieudonne blood & flesh is sacred, therefore he'd never even think of laying a claw on one of his kin. Everyone else, though? If starvation knocked on his door, he wouldn't hesitate. Survival was a top priority, and he doubted his finely tuned taste buds would protest at that point. However, he'd rather not devour lions who had proven themselves loyal to the Dieudonne.

Not yet, anyway.

There was plenty of enemy flesh that could come in handy. No offense, mon ami, but you don't look particularly zhasty, either, his mouth split into a toothy grin._{BG — ART — CODE}

Practical. Practicality had its way sunken into the roots of the Devorre just as it preyed upon the insects at the core of the baobab. Such things were as they were. The sky, the ground, the air, the mountains crowned in their old snows, the tundra rutted with its desert dryness. Gauthier sighed, sinking his claws deeper into the amber flesh that came up splintered and stringy between lathed rows. Practicality bore their barbarism, and it was satisfying enough.

To be a god - another dream, another spindling root unfurled from the dust. Godliness came before cleanliness; ungraceful death indeed, what followed was uncertain and cruelly blissful, or a cowardly nothing. Momentary dreaming... the reflecting god sifted through the what-ifs of the afterlife - would he shake the ground and bite at them with his icy fangs? Rip their homes with flame and drown them with sea?

Certainly. Why not? They would crow to him - beg for forgiveness, for bounty. He knew that now. Would he grant it?

He grinned, feigned some half-hearted scowl of conjecture for the assumption that he was not tasty. The scars did not prove much otherwise - most had been cut into him more than bored or gnawed, and he ended up shrugging. He gave his claws a last good flex and peeled them from the now dying monarch of the savanna trees. A shame, dreaming of how long it had taken it to gain its girth and the depth of which its roots stretched - seemingly on, on, infinitesimal as they were still cut into the earth beyond what they could see, their frayed ends at a loss.

Looking out over the rest of the fields, their face had shifted with new facets: more upended monsters, a sledge driven into the grasslands shirked small plateaus, out grit the heel of new rolling hills. And, burying all, winter prevailed its onslaught, blanketing heavy snow. Nothing tastier here. he noted, scanning over the desolate, frosted scape. Suppose we could do better where it is warmer. Turning west, his face battered by the frigid wind, he made to the direction of desert. Though, the more he considered it, the less he doubted there, too, could be buried beneath the full bore of winter's merciless chokehold.

@Apollinaire

exit.

+1 - Make a BWP-related post
+2 - Study one of the natural phenomena occurring
+2 - Assess the impacts of the weather on herds and prey
+2 - Diffuse someone else's panic or worry
+2 - Analyze the changes being made to the land
+5 - Complete a BWP-related thread (with 10+ posts)_{BG — ART — CODE}