|
Kinged 24.12.20
@
Base: Saffron
Mane: Demonic
Slot 2: Fiery Belly (27%)
Slot 5: Ginger Rosette (1%)
Slot 6: Mottled Rosette (87%)
Slot 10: Noctis Heavy Rosette (94%)
|| APPS||
Relic of Bast - 24.12.20
MA (white undercoat S9 100%) 24.12.20
Sunset MA (Sunset Feralis S1 100%) 24.12.20
||KARMA||
I can reveal that your karma isssss 17.. 26.12.20
||STATS||
313 - 26.12.20
335 - 2.01.21
-----
The dawn slowly creeps across the dark night, sluggish and cold. Birds sing in every tree, gazelle take flight in the sudden chaos. Nature awakens with her usual drama. Whiplash rolls over and lovingly nibbles her newborn son's miniature ears; he is perfect. Within the madness of the wild, she is utterly at peace beside him. Moody purple and clinical white peek through his dizzy rosette patterning so much like her own. His eyes, a gentle storm of pink and violet, seem old and wise. She knows he is very special. But, doubt edges her bliss: he does not carry her valuable hybrid genes. He is, to his downfall, a healthy child. "I name you Nimue, my love. No matter where upon this endless plain you end up, carry that with you. It is the only gift I can leave you that cannot be robbed from you" she purrs. Nimue snuggles closer to her, turning the new title over in his mushy new mind like an interesting grub. He hates being so small; just hours before he was a majestic spirit lion. His mane- how it flowed! His paws the size of dinner plates, his roar as loud as silence. How quickly mortality takes your dignity. He shudders at the thought of the great journey before him.
Gold Knight thunders into the cave, abruptly ending Whiplash's farewells. "So, little miss. After all my expenses, what have you to show?". She holds Nimue close to her teats with a chubby, deformed paw. "Nought" she spits.
"Now, now. Hand over the results" he chuckles. She knows she stands no chance, and noses her son to his fate.
"Ah. Well, nice markings I suppose. But male. Well, best get him sold and try again nice and quickly". He clasps his jaws over Nimue's wrinkled scruff- from the humiliating position he hears his mother's sobs and knows he will never see her again.
The trading centre is bustling and deafening. He fights violently, but finds his new earthly form is in all ways pathetic. Before long he is napping in a small basket, while kings and queens of every shape and size pick him over extensively. Gold Knight seems proud of his stall, puffing out his wimpy chest and tossing his minimal mane at any opportunity. It must have been several hours before Nimue reawoke- at first he thought he was laying upon Proxima Centauri , a small star he favoured greatly when in his true form.. It was jarring to realise he was in fact on a wormy blanket in a smelly pit. Indeed, this world was not made by a poet.
Dusk falls on his first day in his new body. His scruff twinging with pain, his paws cold, his coat filthy. For a brief moment he sees the king he visited the spring before; he remembers how he seemed afraid of dying and leaving no heir. He must fulfill his promise and care for the pride. Otherwise, all this humiliation and suffering is for nill and he would return to the stars in shame. Gold Knight curled up beside his wares and snores loudly. Now it is time. Nimue stretches one leg at a time and finally manages to stand. This can’t be hard; it is only walking. Did he not gallop down here with adoring celestial lionesses at his side less then a day ago? He summons all his strength and escapes the basket. One step after another after another- across the endless desert and to his duty.
Nimue made it to the boarders of what he would inherit before falling upon the ancient sands and calling weakly for mercy. “Take me home, my own. I call Ursa and Canis and Polaris by name and demand they obey” he gasped. But the stars knew this was all part of the plan, and resisted the urge to respond to their beloved master.
“Honestly Sol, nobody has seen so much as a gecko on this side of the territory since our ancestors shat gold coins. This is pointless” Neto moans, trudging at the side of her closest friend.
“I just have a feeling we should check this out” Sol mutters. You see, she has pure stardust within her bloodline. She heard Nimue’s call deep in her subconscious, and is utterly engrossed in exploring this forgotten slab of desert.
“Oh my actual-” Neto gasps, as she trips over the half-dead star king. Sol suddenly snaps out of her trance and scoops up the cub.
“Come on! He’s only just breathing!” she cries, racing to the caves with unnatural speed.
It is many years later. Under the tender care of Sol, Neto and their other close friend Helios Nimue has grown tall and lean. He does not remember his spiritual self as clearly as he did when young, but he remembers his mother with painful clarity. And his father with burning indignity. He at last has regained dinner plate paws, a broad, glossy back and a mighty, regal head he can hold high. However, the trauma to his mortal body during his first few hours left a mark. Perhaps due to never properly nursing, perhaps due to some deformity brought about by his mutant mother, he will never grow a mane. Being full of the strength and endurance of the mighty galaxy he does not allow shame to edge his rule. He carries this quirk with pride and humer like a true royal.
|
