Nyx

(new) bio code name: umbral edges
this is purely a self indulgent creation because I hate the old one and found cool graphics that match her aesthetic

_.__._._..____.__._._..____NYX.__._._.._____._.__..__.___ L E A D E R • A R T E M I S I A E

Battered Book of Fables Dragonmade The terrible thing is that all your favorite characters die in the end. (Special thanks XenonZerrow.) 70 Ceremonial Scythe Trinkets A wickedly sharp reaping scythe, adorned with the wielder's own feathers. The blade is spotless and glints as it catches the light. 47

Misfits are a common thing in this world, but the Andromidae are more unusual than most. Many were cast out from their clans, others felt only at home while wandering, and yet others were born into the lifestyle. The Andromidae are typically secretive, and few are openly friendly, but all are accepting, provided you give them enough space. If you need a bed for the night, food for your journey, or anything else, they might just provide it. Though, it is very possibly you will be asked to play a game, to do a strange task, or for a certain trinket as payment. Hopefully, if you choose to join the Andromidae, you have a wayward soul or a quest for knowledge, because wandering and wondering about the world are two things that happen often here. ~ Nyx A L I G N M E N T S _____Artemisiae _____Nyx _____Cathair _____Tsillah _____Shatter _____Hesperos _____Dimas _____Akash _____Viduus _____Anhi _____Buccaneer _____Yomigami _____Anatole _____Avalon Sorcerai Acubens Thestral Mithradates Rebel Orpheus Virva Aurum Nadidah Ithel Aeron Feivel Icemark Trickerai Brilliance Mirkwood Penthesilea Nihilus Noctis Aether Rhythm Anzu Charming Glass Imera Cloud

Mate Best Friend Friend Friend

Code #4b Fallen Angel by nukagirl

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The whispers all around her circle and she moves through the static, alone.

What is it?
What's wrong with it?
What happened to it?

Her cries fall on empty ears. She is nothing, a no-one.


Louder now, the voices claw at her ears and her eyes. She bleeds gold. It hurts.

A monster!
A demon!
The devil!

She howls in rage but the air is torn from her lungs by defeat.


"Nyx, Nyx, wake up!" Claws dig into her shoulder and she jerks awake, lashing out blindly at whatever lies in front of her. Her talons dig into flesh and a litter-mate she doesn't remember yelps and jerks away.

Monster
Murderer!
What have you done?

She knows nothing. Is nothing. Remembers nothing.


There is ice in her back when she wakes, and the pads of her paws are numb with frost. She flexes her feet, wiggles her toes, and blood pumps from her chest to her extremities with the viscosity of honey. It hurts, but she's alive.

She doesn't know where she is. Or how she got there, or where she was going, or why. She doesn't even remember her own name, or the sound of her voice. So she tries it-- lets out a scream and flares her wings, digs her talons into the ice. The sound comes out so weak and broken, so small, against the winds raging in front of her. It dies in the air ten feet from her face, and she shivers, huddling into herself.

The way everything hurts, it feels like she must have crashed here. Fallen from the sky, landed wrong--landed hard. Something about the reason is niggling her at the back of her head, but she can't remember what it is--she can't remember anything.

For a moment, she's tempted to stay where she lay, hunker down in the snow and wait. If she was traveling with someone, surely they would notice her absence, surely they would come looking. But, even as she burrows her wings back in the snowdrift against her side, she knows she wasn't traveling with anyone. She doesn't know why or how she knows, but she does.

So, she has two options. Stay and wait for the storm to abide, wait until its safe to fly, or get up and keep moving and hope not to freeze to death or starve or fall through the ice before she finds someone.

She'll be the first to admit she doesn't like her odds either way. But going will always be better than staying, a little voice in the back of her head repeats like a mantra. Her subconscious knows better than to disagree with it.

She gets up, and walks.


Night falls, and with it, air made of ice creeps across the black sky, the snow silver around her like a landscape made from pure starlight. Worse than the cold is the darkness--it's absolute, swallows the distance between her and the horizon so the world seems to go on endlessly and stop a few feet in front of her face all at once.

Distantly, she wished she had the same power as such darkness--the power to shroud and hide, to mystify, but also to intimidate. To instill fear.

To protect those who live within it and play games with those unwelcome.

Maybe if she asked it, it would give her just a little bit. A little bit of strength.

There's power in a name, she realized, staring up at all the darkness between the stars. If it didn't give her power, maybe she could take it.

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