HOME | DD

Description

Obnubilans rose, several hundred pounds of food motivated feathers with far too many sharp bits for Quentin's comfort, into the sky. He'd tried to convince her to jump, to leap off of the cliff, after bits of food and select treats tossed far out over the edge, but she had stubbornly refused, the dull look in her eyes giving him absolutely nothing. Obnubilans looked less intelligent than the Tokotas that brought them supplies they couldn't get themselves, her great long and terrible name belying an utter lack of curiosity, smarts, or even problem solving. And so, seated on her head, Quentin cajoled, praised, and dangled food above her beak'd her into rising into the air. Obnubilans herself saw no reason to be up so late, with the rising sun shining into her yellow eyes and blinding her further the higher it got, but the smell of some new kind of fish drove Obnubilans to rise, each wingbeat heavy and reluctant. Almost nothing could interfere with her usual schedule, her great bulk and incredibly dangerous hardware making Obnubilans impossible to interfere with and often deadly to even attempt to convince to go against her nature. So her continuing to be up was a feat that little in this world could equal, and Quentin was nervous on her head the whole time.
Obnubilans rose, and rose, her wings heavy and her body unwilling, still not sure what it was that was convincing her finally over that hump of energy that made her move, perhaps just being in motion was enough to continue her motion, but Ob knew it wasn't to last. No one was determined enough to make Obnubilans move when she didn't want to, and it was quickly coming to that point. However, at the crest of her rise, Daius smiled upon the poor rider who was trying so hard to convince her to move, and directly in front of Obnubilans' nose a bird dove; small and bright and most importantly, tasty. It was yellow in color, from feet to beak, the tail long and full of shimmering iridescence, a perfect target for even Obnubilans' light blinded eyes. For the first time since climbing atop her head, Quentin noticed Obnubilans' eyes open all the way and her pupils dilate, and he yelped aloud. Clutching to her head for dear life, his hands and taloned feet digging into the thinner feathers found on her crown and neck, seeking something solid to hold on to for what was ahead, when Obnubilans dove, her beak mere feet away from her quarry. Quentin could not stop her, not if he tried, not with all the bribes and cajoling in the world, but fortunately - this time - he did not need to: Obnubilans was streaming straight down the cliff and out of the light, into the cool darkness of the shadows of the mountains, away from the rookery and directly towards the race course that he knew he had to guide her through, and so Quention gripped tightly and prayed loudly. Mostly by screaming.
The dive leveled out just fine, with Obnubilans snapping her many-toothed jagged beak over and over behind the quick and bright little yellow bird, darting out of her way. She was in control of her flight, at least, her dull and sleep deprived mind not stopping her movements in the least, as she slammed her feet into broken trees sticking up from the minimal forest between them and the river, as Ob beat her wings nearly touching above and below her head, as her tails lashed and her beak snapped. Her rider would be amazed, if not for the fear coursing through his body and tightening his limbs on her head, because Obnubilans was truly a beast to be in awe of, if only she would stop turning that awe-inspiring power into terror-inspiring fury. Quentin made the mistake of looking up from her feathers, and immediately regretted it, seeing the twisted hoops of vine standing before them. The course was laid out before them like it had been to every other bird: over the river hung suspended from the ground many twisted hoops, stiff enough to stand on their own, but still light and flexible for most. A stryx had to dive, slip through the hoops - the rider usually grasping for the flags at the top - and the bird, in this case Ob, grabbing for the weights at the bottom, a concerted effort. And then, at the end, with weights in hand, the bird would rise to the top of the cliff, displaying their strength to the god of the day and the sun and the strong. Obnubilans, who was not going to participate correctly, and had absolutely no interest in the tribute course whatsoever, was however very interested in her quarry, and sped along with a power and speed that Quentin wished he could direct towards anything that anyone wanted. Obnubilans had her own ideas, however, and jerked her wings to task, her long tail whipping carelessly behind her and snapping this or that tree in half. Quentin tried to ignore the damage she was thoughtlessly doing to the surrounding area, and hoped Obnubilans would not scrape him off of her head. Fortunately, they were nearing the end of the small strip of forest that sprung up between their cliff and the course, and soon Ob would have to face the race. Not that that was any better for Quentin; he still feared she would knock her head and thus him against a ring and thereby off of her - and getting back onto Obnubilans was a task not easily done, and not done at all when she was seeking prey. Quentin could not keep up, could not catch up, and Obnubilans was not about to listen to him if he called: if she scraped him off of her head when running this course following this bird, it was the end of his riding of the great terror bird.
The first ring went, shockingly, well. The little bird darted through and Obnubilans folded her wings, knocking the ring askew but causing no other problems. Ob didn't seem to notice the ring she had just dove through, too intent on the bird, too intent on the chase, and Quentin prayed Obnubilans' hyperfocus would remain on her prey throughout the course. To his dismay, however, the next did not go so well. The bird, being many times smaller than the size of the ring, slipped through without even an idea of disturbing the twisted sides, but Ob was not so lucky. Without folding her wings, she dove for the ring, not understanding or not caring about the solid material that blocked her way, and both wings impacted the sides at the same time, knocking the whole thing onto her neck and dragging it onto of the ground, causing Obnubilans to squawk ungainly, tearing at the ring with her talons, sputtering in the air. Her hyperfocus, that he had been wishing for, had been her downfall: Obnubilans had not cared for the smear of brown and green on the sides of her vision, and had instead gone straight for the brilliant yellow quarry that darted before her, nearly spinning between Ob's toes. Quentin, meanwhile, held on for dear life, pinning his wings to her head, praying that she would not knock the remains of the challenge into him. The ring was shifting on Ob's neck mere feet behind him, and he kept his tail raised, a difficult thing when facing the wind streaming across her screaming head. Not that Obnubilans' screams were anything to be brushed off: the very tenor of her voice rung through his bones, echoing in his ears, and Ob didn't make it easier with the thrashing of her head back and forth, trying to grab the thing hanging on her neck. Her talons had made short work of the bottom, though, and before Obnubilans had covered the distance to her next challenge, the twisted vine slid off of one side and she was free. To Quentin, it felt like years, but in all reality Ob had let the vine hang on her neck for one a few moments.
Obnubilans was prepared for the next ring; the little yellow bird had taken a rest, and so she arrowed for the ring with feet extended, claws shining wickedly, closing both feet around the top of the ring as the little bird fell backwards off, spreading its wings to dart away. The spot that it had just occupied was now empty, grasped in razor claws that sought blood and tiny yellow feathers. Screeching in fury, Obnubilans tore the top of the ring to shreds, her claws making easy work of something that smaller birds might have found an insurmountable obstacle, or at least a difficult target. Unfortunately, that was the last ring on the course, and Quentin had a momentary thought that they would have to replace every one but the first. No one else would be doing this tribute for a few weeks. However, the only thing that was left was the final rise, and the bird - her quarry - was dancing and flitting around in the just post dawn sun, back and forth in front of the great cliff that stood at the end. It seemed unphased by the great, angry, large black bird that twisted in fury before it, slamming wings down with a fury that seemed unsummonable at the beginning of the day, but now that Obnubilans was awake, Ob was truly awake, and nothing could stop her. Quentin knew that stryx were supposed to grab heavy weights and then fly to the top, demonstrating their strength to the great Daius, but he also knew that Obnubilans was going to have none of that. She flung herself towards the bird, the bottom of the cliff, and Quentin shut his eyes tightly: half afraid that she was going to catch her prey and the entire effort would have been for nothing, half afraid that Ob was going to miss and jam them both into the solid rocky cliff face. And not even Obnubilans could arge with stone that had risen from the ground a millennia ago.
The yellow smear of feathers had other ideas, and rose more quickly than Obnubilans could follow, dancing around her head infuriatingly, her snapping beak and shearing claws no match for the tiny size and speed of the little bird, and as she powered her way up the side of the cliff, occasionally kicking against the stone and leaving great gouges in the rock, Quentin thrown off of and slamming back into her head in an accompanying beat to the snapping of her jaw. It wasn't comfortable, but he hadn't broken any bones yet either, and so Quentin clung to Obnubilans and prayed that she could just finish the final piece of this tribute, just be over and done with it, so he could please the god and never, ever have to do this again.
With a final heave of effort in her wings, with a final snap of her feathers together below her belly, Obnubilans rose over the cragged edge of the cliff, seeking her yellow friend with her deadly beak. However, she was still to be foiled, because as Ob snapped her jagged beak shut on the small yellow bird, it closed on a beam of light that fell from the sun, which burst into flame. It warmed her tongue and set her mouth briefly aflame, an interesting feeling but no harm to Obnubilans (for her fire breathing cousins felt none, why should she?) but no glee either. The bird was nowhere to be found when she shut her beak and placed her feet on the ground. Obnubilans has marked the tribute finished, but her ability to care had diminished as quickly as her quarry had, the frustrating needling her brain turning her back on the sun, making her want only to return home. Quentin sighed with relief, and marked all complains at Ob down for some later time, when she was less likely to shear him in half with her beak.
:: AP ::
Fullbody: 1AP
Shaded: 1AP
Background: 2AP
Rider Bonus: 2AP
Personal Bonus: 1AP
Tribute Bonus: 2AP
+
2000-2199w: 10AP
Rider Bonus: 2AP
Personal Bonus: 1AP
=
Total ;; 22AP

Quentin was not looking forward to this night; while the first tribute had gone shockingly well thanks to the help of what could be nothing other than the bemused god himself, there was no hope of the dark mother sending a bright yellow bird to distract Obnubilans through this tribute. It was pitch black, the middle of the night, the moon hidden from them by the shadows of the mountains stretching before them; this tribute too had a special place where it must be completed, but instead of flinging himself off of a cliff, he was sailing toward what could be certain doom. He was half afraid Obnubilans was not actually below him for the darkness of her coat, the white on her face obscured from him even by the angle of his position, his own black feet and wingtips melding neatly into her coat. He was even more nervous that she would disappear entirely upon reaching their destination, obliterated into a smoky smear that would filter away on the wind.
Because Obnubilans had come from this very place, the beautiful basin that was hidden by the sharp curve of the mountains laid out just before them, although Quentin doubted that she at this moment remembered nor cared for it. Obnubilans showed very little in the way of cognitive memory and less in the way of motivation, the only thing less defined than either of those being her emotions: rarely straying from the pissed off grumble that emerged from her beak upon waking. Her willingness to fly right now was likely due solely to the fact that it was the proper time of day for that: she would usually be out now, scanning the world for things to brutally kill and eat. A regular day for her, only Obnubilans had been prodded into this direction today, and not one of her own choosing. It was extremely likely that Obnubilans did not remember being carried out of the basin below her, did not remember being a terror fledgling clinging with beak and teeth and talons to Tocho, borne out of a sacred and dark forest to the living world dozens if not hundreds of meters above. Maybe, Quentin mused, Ob remembered being a terror fledgling, because that personality trait seemed to have developed entirely into her personality, but he hoped she didn't remember ought else. Everyone in the rookery, including himself and several other birds, feared that Obnubilans would see this place, this area, this forest, and flee the real world to return to her Mother, whom they could all only assume was the lady Nokt, and leave them all birdless. Even with Obnubilans' attitude, even with her terror and her sharp and punishing beak, she had become a gem for the rookery. When convinced, Ob's strength was almost unmatchable, and certainly greater than any other Harpia; when she was full and happy, the prey she brought back alone could feed the others for a week; Obnubilans was a part of the rookery that they valued, even if that value was equal parts fear. No one wanted to lose her.
Suddenly, they crested the rise; Quentin was blinded by the sudden assault of moonlight spilling across Ob's back, illuminating all of her markings and his legs cutting sharply across her blue brindle. Even the crescent moon that spilled over her beak and face, that painted a dainty circle around her unfocused eye, even that was brilliant in the light on Obnubilans' form. Her brindle seemed to glow the closer they came, scattered across her head and neck, ranging back and forth all over her shoulders and back, spilling silently onto her sides and flanks far behind him. He even knew that the brindle continued onto Obnubilans' tail, stripping around the limb in a delicate dance of a broken pattern, but he couldn't see any of that: focused now entirely on the space stretching out before them. Everything was sketched out in a delicate black and white, the untouched snow and the glistening waterfalls slithering through a shocking contrast to the visible stone and invisible forest dark and deep below. What would Ob do for that forest? Would she somehow be led to dance and perform, to spin in the moonlight, as this tribute demanded for her mother? Would she merely wheel in slow and lazy circles around the perimeter, unable to be motivated into anything more, barely meeting the minimum requirements of the tribute? Or would Obnubilans dive far below, stripping Quentin off of her back as she sought her birthplace in the forbidden black woods?
As it turned out, none of the above: Obnubilans drifted slowly down towards the eternal snow that covered the entire playing field, from edge to edge to edge of the circle, spilling down over the forest both right up to the edge of the shelf as well as in the form of the waterfalls feeding into the air. She did not move, her wings spread out wide and unflinching against the frigid air that pushed against Quentin on her back, the spray from a nearby waterfall joining the wind to spread ice across her feathers. Obnubilans had staunchly refused to allow anyone to touch her with the silver paint and feathers and bells, and so she had shown up here dark and unedited, unlike every other Stryx that made this place their momentary home for the tribute. The spray that cascaded across Ob's back made a poor facsimile of the paint, crystallizing into sparks and glitter of frozen snow and ice fracturing across her feathers where they moved in the light wind. Obnubilans remained still, her wings spread stiffly, as if soaking in the moonlight and the ice, even when her feet hit the snow and dragged. Two long marrs in the snow behind her marked her like two more tails, her own stiffly between them, her legs finally stopping her, some instinct in her brain telling her to open her feet and stand. The snow only came up to Ob's ankles, though it usually reached to the bellies of the stryx that dared to land here, her stature and the stiff pose that she had struck proving out her height more than anything else. Quentin didn't move, uncertain of what the huge black bird was doing, and uncertain even more of what he should do in response to Obnubilans' decision to stop still. He couldn't move her if he wanted to, he couldn't tell her what to do: and so Quentin remained still, waiting for Ob's cue on what he should do.
A peace had spread over Obnubilans the second she had crested that rise, the second she had seen that snow, and as she drifted down her eyes drifted shut, landing softly in the snow at the perfect edge of the bowl that the world fell into. Everything was soft and quiet and Ob was soft and quiet, her body relaxed despite the stiffness that her bones were hooked into, despite the perfect bird shaped dark splotch that she made on the immaculate white snow below her. The forest below the two of them was deep, dark, inviting, it soaked in the moonlight just as Obnubilans took it in, her wings and back and tail dark and black and a sink for all the light in the world. Her tail and wings stayed balanced perfectly above the snow, nothing changing or marring the perfect crust on the spotless white. Eventually, Ob felt like a stain washed clear of the world, like something was changed, like something was new, clean, clear. Like the snow all about her.
When Obnubilans opened her eyes for the first time at the great white world before her, everything was clear. Unlike every time she had opened her eyes before, the world leapt out in sharp relief, the great physical plane spread out before her for her taking - every needle and spike on every leafless tree below her was arranged in sharp detail, every curve and glitter of the snow that laid around her as breathtaking as it was distracting, even her own feathered limbs no longer dark smears in the corners of her vision. The ice and snow and cracks that spread across both on top of her feathers was all there, was all visible, intelligible, understandable, not out of her reach, her existence finally matching what she felt it as from within: a fog that she had never known was laid on her mind had finally been lifted, and the world was clear before her.
With a distressingly sharp noise, the ice around her cracked and snapped, the solid footing beneath her disappearing, the very edge of the shelf of ice and snow falling suddenly down into the dark and black pit below, and Obnubilans with it. Her wings drifted from their sharp extended position upwards, until nothing could be seen of her rider and then nothing could be seen of her at all by any of the judges hidden quietly around the edges of the space. A tense moment passed and passed, and then Obnubilans sailed free of the darkness, rising up from the deep black forest with a lack of obvious motion that belied the effort contained within her ascension. Upon clearing the level of the white snow shelf, she spun, like a corkscrew, Ob's wings leading the way as her body twisted and twisted with something encroaching upon happiness. Quentin found her no longer had to cling terrified to her head, but merely stayed seated firmly on her neck and shoulders, sliding back from the precarious position on top of her head to one more commonly taken by those who rode birds. They spun, over and over, and Obnubilans inserted tail and wing and wings and tail fans between each judge and the great heavy full moon, casting artful shadows on each and every hiding place that was carefully concealed in the snow around them, a subtle indication that she could now see every single one.
Ob continued in this way for some minutes, spinning and casting shadows that meant nothing to the judges but everything to the sky above, to the moon that was watching her, to the mother that maybe she knew she had. Quentin didn't know what was going on, what had infected her, what was making Obnubilans suddenly the most graceful version of herself that he had ever had the good luck to sit upon. Obnubilans continued to rise, up and up until she could see far out over the corners of the world, until she could see past the mountains that cradled this place like a caring and concerned mother, past the barriers and past the fog she didn't know she was suffering under for her entire life.
With beautiful and deft movements, Obnubilans turned her spins into one specific movement, and Ob spun Quentin off from his seat on top of her, twisting and turning and spinning until he faced her. Quentin's wings sprung out from his sides, growing in size until they were the proper length to hold him aloft, and Obnubilans held him delicately between her wing claws, the white splotches that delicately decorated the tips of those digits a beautiful white, the tips of her claws not touching the tips of his wings, but still supporting him, but still disturbing the air around him, but still there. They held like that, for moments, heartbeats, suspended in the moonlight in the air, the perfect stillness in nothingness thousands of feet from the ground and Quentin met the eyes of the great black beast that had terrorized the rookery for nearly years now with nothing but fear. But far from the dull eyed, gaping beak'd creature that he expected to be confronting, hungry and tired of this charade that she was made to put on, Quentin found an Obnubilans that surprised him. A soft creature turned its face towards him, the crescent moon framing her eye like half of a pair of spectacles, the other half lost in the relief of shadow on the other side of her face, her golden eyes open and bright, sparkling in the glow of the moonlight of the night, her face soft, her hungry beak closed in what could almost be mistaken for a smile.
:: AP ::
Fullbody: 1AP
Shaded: 1AP
Background: 2AP
Biorhythm Bonus: 1AP
Rider Bonus: 2AP
Personal Bonus: 1AP
Tribute Bonus: 2AP
+
2000-2199w: 10AP
Rider Bonus: 2AP
Personal Bonus: 1AP
=
Total ;; 23AP

The difference in Obnubilans, despite the change only having been around for a few days, was shocking to everyone involved. Quentin was floored, but no more than anyone else in the rookery, and no more than Obnubilans herself at the difference that it had made in her life. Everything was different, the reactions of each and every individual that she interacted with had changed nearly overnight (although in the following weeks it would come that not everyone had completely erased the reactionary fear when Obnubilans cast her shadow upon them, and she would spend much time trying to make up for that). The harpia had gone from terror to caretaker; Obnubilans returned from the tribute to the great lady Nokt with grace and poise that everyone thought was faked. No one believed that she could develop or even imitate that kind of kindness, and so when it proved out over the next few days, they all felt the same: like a sheet had been whisked off of a golden statue, and her obscured blocky form had been revealed as a beautiful one. Obnubilans confirmed it with every waking moment, every kind action, every motion she made to make the lives of those around her easier. It was like a dream.
And when the time finally came for her final tribute, when the last thing she had to do to earn the opening of Galyx' eye upon her life, she was even more ready than Quentin was. Standing on the edge of the cliff face at the peak of the night, the crescent of her mother rising slowly above the edge of the world, illuminating the trees in a fine and sharp detail that she could now see and could spend hours just looking at. The world was beautiful for Obnubilans, now, and when Quentin walked up next to her and patted her extended wing, she didn't look away from it to dip low enough to let him climb on. He no longer feared her back, but relished it, feeling that he had been blessed with the ability, the time, the allowance to ride with Obnubilans, even though every other time before these sparse weeks had been a terrible experience, even though every other time had come with the danger of snapping jagged beak and rending sharp claws, with the danger of her snapping some limb off of him for a snack.
Stretching back up into her full height, she took two heavy steps to the edge of the cliff and fell. She did not bother with exercising her wings to rise up into the air, merely falling off the edge of the rookery's cliff into a dead drop that would have been terrifying, but this new personality felt reasonable felt safe and so when Ob leveled out into a glide and slow rise across the valley at such a speed that not even the hawks could compare, Quentin was merely stuck wordless, and not gutless. Obnubilans appeared almost to be smiling, gliding just above the trees and plains and river like it was the ocean, with purpose and care, her long tail no longer wildly snapping trees in half as she passed just because she could. Quentin did not have to direct her towards their prey: Ob had been out more than enough times to know both the area and where every type of quarry hid, as well as where she was going tonight. With the new command over her mind and the new clarity in her eyes, she made quick time to the swamps where the biggest and baddest things on the land hid.
This worried their Rookery Master, of course, being that his own bird's final tribute had been done in these very swaps, with these very beasts, and the danger was well known. Ark was less concerned; while she was stronger than most harpia in the rookery, Obnubilans had proven herself again and again in the weeks of clarity that her strength was greater, her reflexes now faster, and her mind now capable. And for all the pressure of Zivo and all the worry, Quentin had climbed onto Ob's back without the slightest addition of tack. Her beak and talons were all that they needed to handle this night.
Where the plains rolled into trees, Ob continued. Where the forest thickened, reaching up to where she could brush the tops of the trees with her outstretched claws, she continued. But where the woods thinned, where the trees grew different and the distance between them greater, Obnubilans slowed, casting her eyes around those dark woods and around the ground between and below them, seeking the dark shape that would stand out from the dark woods like a shot. She'd never had trouble finding prey before - she merely crashed into the parts of the world that seemed most likely to divulge secret stashes of mobile meat, and then chased after whatever spilled out. But now, with her sight and her mind and her sharpness remade, she was better. She would be better. It took predictably little effort for her to find the dark shape of the great stag moose hidden among the trees at the edge of a swamp that filtered out into a saltwater sea, still twisted within the parts of the woods that she could not comfortably land in. So Obnubilans getting it out of the trees would be more difficult than finding it, but she had chosen the place she was scanning with more than a bit of thought, as here the trees thinned in patches, and here there were spaces where a bird of her bulk could land. Obnubilans merely knocked one of the trees out of the way, snapping it in half with her bulk and her talons and landing straddled between it and others, spread across the tall and spindly things to prevent herself from falling into the dangerous tangle of bushes below. It didn't take much more than that, added to a directed vicious screech, to set their quarry running, the big dark shape brushing the bushes out of the way much as Obnubilans had just forced the trees out of her own way. The stag moose turned, away from her, towards the open space, and ran, bellowing loudly, not wanting to face anything of her size today. Her great wings, spread and decorated with eyes upon eyes, her tail slashing a darker path through the dark woods, the single great eye upon its fluke making her appear even larger than she was; all of this fed into her appearance, and, pleased, Obnubilans took towards the sky again, hopping into the air with a crack that hurt Quentin's ears. Whether that crack was from the snapping of branches and trunks beneath her weight as she jumped, or the very sky cracking open to accept her blackness as she rose into the air. Her wings made short work of the lead that the stag moose had, hopping across the treetops with almost no beats, and she fell upon the herbivore with very little effort.
Quentin closed his eyes, something in the back of his head still fearing the dead eyed Obnubilans that he thought he still knew, the unfortunate and extensive gore that accompanied every single one of her previous hunts until her endless hunger was satiated, and so he was still somehow shocked when it did not come. Peeking out from behind his hands around at the back of the bird before him, her dark feathers interspersed with blue brindle striping across her form, that was all that he saw. Ob's dark neck stretched out before him, her head and the shoulders of her wings hiding and protecting the scene from his view, her body heaving quietly in the dark of the night with uneven breaths. Despite all of her time spent between the two tributes, the days that passed as the moon lost her openness and weight, Obnubilans had not left the rookery to hunt or pursue prey, so this was the first time that she had really hunted since the snow and dark and forest and night and moon had changed her entire world. Quentin, nervous, jumped into the air and spread his wings further and further and wider and wider until they could carry him up, away, and across the clearing to a relatively safe distance from the still and heaving Obnubilans.
Curled over the quarry, now resting finally silent on the ground, Ob's beak was stained staunchly different in the moonlight sliding in from between the trees. The color of the moon washed out all of the red, leaving it just dark against the bright parts of her crescent and shiny against the dull dark parts of her beak. The tree that she had felled left a space that framed her head, the moon rising from the edge of the world into the sliver of openness between the stand of trees that shaded everything and striped everything around Quentin and over Ob's back. Quentin crept slowly closer, edging nearer to the shadows that stretched across the ground towards him, the moon framing the horns of the stag moose and casting their shadows across the earth, sliding across the grass and mud and dirt like claws, gouging out the soil for the darkness that obliterated everything below. Obnubilans was panting, her eyes wide but not dull, and so although Quentin's heart was in his gut, dropped far below where it belonged even though it also thundered in his ears, he didn't quite feel like she was lost to them yet. And so: he swallowed his fear, stiffened his back and tried to fold away his feathers, and strode out towards her. He reached out, hesitating at the last moment, before pushing forward and placing his hand on the part of her wing that was reachable; somewhere on her forearm if he understood her anatomy correctly. Obnubilans startled, flinching at the smallest pressure of a human shaped hand on her arm, a movement far in excess of what was deserved, and then turned her head from her kill towards him, mouth still agape, pupils small. There was something like fear scrawled across Obnubilans' expression, written in her eyes and in her mouth, in the expression that she - being a bird - likely should not have. Quentin was sure, now, with that turned face and that scrawled look, that they had not lost her to her mind again, and so he spoke quietly to her. The moon on her far side, his bright legs and his bright wing shoulders on the other, both equal in relative size to one another, to her eyes. Quentin spoke, softly, calmly, trying to return her to a calmness that he knew couldn't be far away, trying to being Ob back to the present, grounded.
This was not easy. This was not always hard, but for being essentially the first time she had killed, the first time she had tasted it, felt it, done it, this was hard. The heat steaming from her victim, and the horror now slipping from her face, these things were mitigated by the honor of the time, the place, and the tribute. The care that was made, that was done, for this, and the need: the need of mouths to feed, of a world to support, lives to continue. One to the other and eventually the other to the one; the bodies of all feeding all in the cycle that she had to come to respect, instead of merely participating in it. This body would be used, this tribute would be completed, her horror would soften over time and over life and over maturity, knowing that this was something had had to happen and would happen with or without her at times that felt more and less difficult. And so ever onward would march the cycle; and so ever onward would they all grow, together, apart, learning, moving on, and so eventually, perhaps now, Obnubilans was enough for the Eye of Galyx to open upon her.
:: AP ::
Fullbody: 1AP
Shaded: 1AP
Background: 2AP
Biorhythm Bonus: 1AP
Rider Bonus: 2AP
Personal Bonus: 1AP
Tribute Bonus: 2AP
+
2000-2199w: 10AP
Rider Bonus: 2AP
Personal Bonus: 1AP
=
Total ;; 23AP

MY QUEEN HAS DONE IT!

Description

Obnubilans rose, several hundred pounds of food motivated feathers with far too many sharp bits for Quentin's comfort, into the sky. He'd tried to convince her to jump, to leap off of the cliff, after bits of food and select treats tossed far out over the edge, but she had stubbornly refused, the dull look in her eyes giving him absolutely nothing. Obnubilans looked less intelligent than the Tokotas that brought them supplies they couldn't get themselves, her great long and terrible name belying an utter lack of curiosity, smarts, or even problem solving. And so, seated on her head, Quentin cajoled, praised, and dangled food above her beak'd her into rising into the air. Obnubilans herself saw no reason to be up so late, with the rising sun shining into her yellow eyes and blinding her further the higher it got, but the smell of some new kind of fish drove Obnubilans to rise, each wingbeat heavy and reluctant. Almost nothing could interfere with her usual schedule, her great bulk and incredibly dangerous hardware making Obnubilans impossible to interfere with and often deadly to even attempt to convince to go against her nature. So her continuing to be up was a feat that little in this world could equal, and Quentin was nervous on her head the whole time.
Obnubilans rose, and rose, her wings heavy and her body unwilling, still not sure what it was that was convincing her finally over that hump of energy that made her move, perhaps just being in motion was enough to continue her motion, but Ob knew it wasn't to last. No one was determined enough to make Obnubilans move when she didn't want to, and it was quickly coming to that point. However, at the crest of her rise, Daius smiled upon the poor rider who was trying so hard to convince her to move, and directly in front of Obnubilans' nose a bird dove; small and bright and most importantly, tasty. It was yellow in color, from feet to beak, the tail long and full of shimmering iridescence, a perfect target for even Obnubilans' light blinded eyes. For the first time since climbing atop her head, Quentin noticed Obnubilans' eyes open all the way and her pupils dilate, and he yelped aloud. Clutching to her head for dear life, his hands and taloned feet digging into the thinner feathers found on her crown and neck, seeking something solid to hold on to for what was ahead, when Obnubilans dove, her beak mere feet away from her quarry. Quentin could not stop her, not if he tried, not with all the bribes and cajoling in the world, but fortunately - this time - he did not need to: Obnubilans was streaming straight down the cliff and out of the light, into the cool darkness of the shadows of the mountains, away from the rookery and directly towards the race course that he knew he had to guide her through, and so Quention gripped tightly and prayed loudly. Mostly by screaming.
The dive leveled out just fine, with Obnubilans snapping her many-toothed jagged beak over and over behind the quick and bright little yellow bird, darting out of her way. She was in control of her flight, at least, her dull and sleep deprived mind not stopping her movements in the least, as she slammed her feet into broken trees sticking up from the minimal forest between them and the river, as Ob beat her wings nearly touching above and below her head, as her tails lashed and her beak snapped. Her rider would be amazed, if not for the fear coursing through his body and tightening his limbs on her head, because Obnubilans was truly a beast to be in awe of, if only she would stop turning that awe-inspiring power into terror-inspiring fury. Quentin made the mistake of looking up from her feathers, and immediately regretted it, seeing the twisted hoops of vine standing before them. The course was laid out before them like it had been to every other bird: over the river hung suspended from the ground many twisted hoops, stiff enough to stand on their own, but still light and flexible for most. A stryx had to dive, slip through the hoops - the rider usually grasping for the flags at the top - and the bird, in this case Ob, grabbing for the weights at the bottom, a concerted effort. And then, at the end, with weights in hand, the bird would rise to the top of the cliff, displaying their strength to the god of the day and the sun and the strong. Obnubilans, who was not going to participate correctly, and had absolutely no interest in the tribute course whatsoever, was however very interested in her quarry, and sped along with a power and speed that Quentin wished he could direct towards anything that anyone wanted. Obnubilans had her own ideas, however, and jerked her wings to task, her long tail whipping carelessly behind her and snapping this or that tree in half. Quentin tried to ignore the damage she was thoughtlessly doing to the surrounding area, and hoped Obnubilans would not scrape him off of her head. Fortunately, they were nearing the end of the small strip of forest that sprung up between their cliff and the course, and soon Ob would have to face the race. Not that that was any better for Quentin; he still feared she would knock her head and thus him against a ring and thereby off of her - and getting back onto Obnubilans was a task not easily done, and not done at all when she was seeking prey. Quentin could not keep up, could not catch up, and Obnubilans was not about to listen to him if he called: if she scraped him off of her head when running this course following this bird, it was the end of his riding of the great terror bird.
The first ring went, shockingly, well. The little bird darted through and Obnubilans folded her wings, knocking the ring askew but causing no other problems. Ob didn't seem to notice the ring she had just dove through, too intent on the bird, too intent on the chase, and Quentin prayed Obnubilans' hyperfocus would remain on her prey throughout the course. To his dismay, however, the next did not go so well. The bird, being many times smaller than the size of the ring, slipped through without even an idea of disturbing the twisted sides, but Ob was not so lucky. Without folding her wings, she dove for the ring, not understanding or not caring about the solid material that blocked her way, and both wings impacted the sides at the same time, knocking the whole thing onto her neck and dragging it onto of the ground, causing Obnubilans to squawk ungainly, tearing at the ring with her talons, sputtering in the air. Her hyperfocus, that he had been wishing for, had been her downfall: Obnubilans had not cared for the smear of brown and green on the sides of her vision, and had instead gone straight for the brilliant yellow quarry that darted before her, nearly spinning between Ob's toes. Quentin, meanwhile, held on for dear life, pinning his wings to her head, praying that she would not knock the remains of the challenge into him. The ring was shifting on Ob's neck mere feet behind him, and he kept his tail raised, a difficult thing when facing the wind streaming across her screaming head. Not that Obnubilans' screams were anything to be brushed off: the very tenor of her voice rung through his bones, echoing in his ears, and Ob didn't make it easier with the thrashing of her head back and forth, trying to grab the thing hanging on her neck. Her talons had made short work of the bottom, though, and before Obnubilans had covered the distance to her next challenge, the twisted vine slid off of one side and she was free. To Quentin, it felt like years, but in all reality Ob had let the vine hang on her neck for one a few moments.
Obnubilans was prepared for the next ring; the little yellow bird had taken a rest, and so she arrowed for the ring with feet extended, claws shining wickedly, closing both feet around the top of the ring as the little bird fell backwards off, spreading its wings to dart away. The spot that it had just occupied was now empty, grasped in razor claws that sought blood and tiny yellow feathers. Screeching in fury, Obnubilans tore the top of the ring to shreds, her claws making easy work of something that smaller birds might have found an insurmountable obstacle, or at least a difficult target. Unfortunately, that was the last ring on the course, and Quentin had a momentary thought that they would have to replace every one but the first. No one else would be doing this tribute for a few weeks. However, the only thing that was left was the final rise, and the bird - her quarry - was dancing and flitting around in the just post dawn sun, back and forth in front of the great cliff that stood at the end. It seemed unphased by the great, angry, large black bird that twisted in fury before it, slamming wings down with a fury that seemed unsummonable at the beginning of the day, but now that Obnubilans was awake, Ob was truly awake, and nothing could stop her. Quentin knew that stryx were supposed to grab heavy weights and then fly to the top, demonstrating their strength to the great Daius, but he also knew that Obnubilans was going to have none of that. She flung herself towards the bird, the bottom of the cliff, and Quentin shut his eyes tightly: half afraid that she was going to catch her prey and the entire effort would have been for nothing, half afraid that Ob was going to miss and jam them both into the solid rocky cliff face. And not even Obnubilans could arge with stone that had risen from the ground a millennia ago.
The yellow smear of feathers had other ideas, and rose more quickly than Obnubilans could follow, dancing around her head infuriatingly, her snapping beak and shearing claws no match for the tiny size and speed of the little bird, and as she powered her way up the side of the cliff, occasionally kicking against the stone and leaving great gouges in the rock, Quentin thrown off of and slamming back into her head in an accompanying beat to the snapping of her jaw. It wasn't comfortable, but he hadn't broken any bones yet either, and so Quentin clung to Obnubilans and prayed that she could just finish the final piece of this tribute, just be over and done with it, so he could please the god and never, ever have to do this again.
With a final heave of effort in her wings, with a final snap of her feathers together below her belly, Obnubilans rose over the cragged edge of the cliff, seeking her yellow friend with her deadly beak. However, she was still to be foiled, because as Ob snapped her jagged beak shut on the small yellow bird, it closed on a beam of light that fell from the sun, which burst into flame. It warmed her tongue and set her mouth briefly aflame, an interesting feeling but no harm to Obnubilans (for her fire breathing cousins felt none, why should she?) but no glee either. The bird was nowhere to be found when she shut her beak and placed her feet on the ground. Obnubilans has marked the tribute finished, but her ability to care had diminished as quickly as her quarry had, the frustrating needling her brain turning her back on the sun, making her want only to return home. Quentin sighed with relief, and marked all complains at Ob down for some later time, when she was less likely to shear him in half with her beak.
:: AP ::
Fullbody: 1AP
Shaded: 1AP
Background: 2AP
Rider Bonus: 2AP
Personal Bonus: 1AP
Tribute Bonus: 2AP
+
2000-2199w: 10AP
Rider Bonus: 2AP
Personal Bonus: 1AP
=
Total ;; 22AP

Quentin was not looking forward to this night; while the first tribute had gone shockingly well thanks to the help of what could be nothing other than the bemused god himself, there was no hope of the dark mother sending a bright yellow bird to distract Obnubilans through this tribute. It was pitch black, the middle of the night, the moon hidden from them by the shadows of the mountains stretching before them; this tribute too had a special place where it must be completed, but instead of flinging himself off of a cliff, he was sailing toward what could be certain doom. He was half afraid Obnubilans was not actually below him for the darkness of her coat, the white on her face obscured from him even by the angle of his position, his own black feet and wingtips melding neatly into her coat. He was even more nervous that she would disappear entirely upon reaching their destination, obliterated into a smoky smear that would filter away on the wind.
Because Obnubilans had come from this very place, the beautiful basin that was hidden by the sharp curve of the mountains laid out just before them, although Quentin doubted that she at this moment remembered nor cared for it. Obnubilans showed very little in the way of cognitive memory and less in the way of motivation, the only thing less defined than either of those being her emotions: rarely straying from the pissed off grumble that emerged from her beak upon waking. Her willingness to fly right now was likely due solely to the fact that it was the proper time of day for that: she would usually be out now, scanning the world for things to brutally kill and eat. A regular day for her, only Obnubilans had been prodded into this direction today, and not one of her own choosing. It was extremely likely that Obnubilans did not remember being carried out of the basin below her, did not remember being a terror fledgling clinging with beak and teeth and talons to Tocho, borne out of a sacred and dark forest to the living world dozens if not hundreds of meters above. Maybe, Quentin mused, Ob remembered being a terror fledgling, because that personality trait seemed to have developed entirely into her personality, but he hoped she didn't remember ought else. Everyone in the rookery, including himself and several other birds, feared that Obnubilans would see this place, this area, this forest, and flee the real world to return to her Mother, whom they could all only assume was the lady Nokt, and leave them all birdless. Even with Obnubilans' attitude, even with her terror and her sharp and punishing beak, she had become a gem for the rookery. When convinced, Ob's strength was almost unmatchable, and certainly greater than any other Harpia; when she was full and happy, the prey she brought back alone could feed the others for a week; Obnubilans was a part of the rookery that they valued, even if that value was equal parts fear. No one wanted to lose her.
Suddenly, they crested the rise; Quentin was blinded by the sudden assault of moonlight spilling across Ob's back, illuminating all of her markings and his legs cutting sharply across her blue brindle. Even the crescent moon that spilled over her beak and face, that painted a dainty circle around her unfocused eye, even that was brilliant in the light on Obnubilans' form. Her brindle seemed to glow the closer they came, scattered across her head and neck, ranging back and forth all over her shoulders and back, spilling silently onto her sides and flanks far behind him. He even knew that the brindle continued onto Obnubilans' tail, stripping around the limb in a delicate dance of a broken pattern, but he couldn't see any of that: focused now entirely on the space stretching out before them. Everything was sketched out in a delicate black and white, the untouched snow and the glistening waterfalls slithering through a shocking contrast to the visible stone and invisible forest dark and deep below. What would Ob do for that forest? Would she somehow be led to dance and perform, to spin in the moonlight, as this tribute demanded for her mother? Would she merely wheel in slow and lazy circles around the perimeter, unable to be motivated into anything more, barely meeting the minimum requirements of the tribute? Or would Obnubilans dive far below, stripping Quentin off of her back as she sought her birthplace in the forbidden black woods?
As it turned out, none of the above: Obnubilans drifted slowly down towards the eternal snow that covered the entire playing field, from edge to edge to edge of the circle, spilling down over the forest both right up to the edge of the shelf as well as in the form of the waterfalls feeding into the air. She did not move, her wings spread out wide and unflinching against the frigid air that pushed against Quentin on her back, the spray from a nearby waterfall joining the wind to spread ice across her feathers. Obnubilans had staunchly refused to allow anyone to touch her with the silver paint and feathers and bells, and so she had shown up here dark and unedited, unlike every other Stryx that made this place their momentary home for the tribute. The spray that cascaded across Ob's back made a poor facsimile of the paint, crystallizing into sparks and glitter of frozen snow and ice fracturing across her feathers where they moved in the light wind. Obnubilans remained still, her wings spread stiffly, as if soaking in the moonlight and the ice, even when her feet hit the snow and dragged. Two long marrs in the snow behind her marked her like two more tails, her own stiffly between them, her legs finally stopping her, some instinct in her brain telling her to open her feet and stand. The snow only came up to Ob's ankles, though it usually reached to the bellies of the stryx that dared to land here, her stature and the stiff pose that she had struck proving out her height more than anything else. Quentin didn't move, uncertain of what the huge black bird was doing, and uncertain even more of what he should do in response to Obnubilans' decision to stop still. He couldn't move her if he wanted to, he couldn't tell her what to do: and so Quentin remained still, waiting for Ob's cue on what he should do.
A peace had spread over Obnubilans the second she had crested that rise, the second she had seen that snow, and as she drifted down her eyes drifted shut, landing softly in the snow at the perfect edge of the bowl that the world fell into. Everything was soft and quiet and Ob was soft and quiet, her body relaxed despite the stiffness that her bones were hooked into, despite the perfect bird shaped dark splotch that she made on the immaculate white snow below her. The forest below the two of them was deep, dark, inviting, it soaked in the moonlight just as Obnubilans took it in, her wings and back and tail dark and black and a sink for all the light in the world. Her tail and wings stayed balanced perfectly above the snow, nothing changing or marring the perfect crust on the spotless white. Eventually, Ob felt like a stain washed clear of the world, like something was changed, like something was new, clean, clear. Like the snow all about her.
When Obnubilans opened her eyes for the first time at the great white world before her, everything was clear. Unlike every time she had opened her eyes before, the world leapt out in sharp relief, the great physical plane spread out before her for her taking - every needle and spike on every leafless tree below her was arranged in sharp detail, every curve and glitter of the snow that laid around her as breathtaking as it was distracting, even her own feathered limbs no longer dark smears in the corners of her vision. The ice and snow and cracks that spread across both on top of her feathers was all there, was all visible, intelligible, understandable, not out of her reach, her existence finally matching what she felt it as from within: a fog that she had never known was laid on her mind had finally been lifted, and the world was clear before her.
With a distressingly sharp noise, the ice around her cracked and snapped, the solid footing beneath her disappearing, the very edge of the shelf of ice and snow falling suddenly down into the dark and black pit below, and Obnubilans with it. Her wings drifted from their sharp extended position upwards, until nothing could be seen of her rider and then nothing could be seen of her at all by any of the judges hidden quietly around the edges of the space. A tense moment passed and passed, and then Obnubilans sailed free of the darkness, rising up from the deep black forest with a lack of obvious motion that belied the effort contained within her ascension. Upon clearing the level of the white snow shelf, she spun, like a corkscrew, Ob's wings leading the way as her body twisted and twisted with something encroaching upon happiness. Quentin found her no longer had to cling terrified to her head, but merely stayed seated firmly on her neck and shoulders, sliding back from the precarious position on top of her head to one more commonly taken by those who rode birds. They spun, over and over, and Obnubilans inserted tail and wing and wings and tail fans between each judge and the great heavy full moon, casting artful shadows on each and every hiding place that was carefully concealed in the snow around them, a subtle indication that she could now see every single one.
Ob continued in this way for some minutes, spinning and casting shadows that meant nothing to the judges but everything to the sky above, to the moon that was watching her, to the mother that maybe she knew she had. Quentin didn't know what was going on, what had infected her, what was making Obnubilans suddenly the most graceful version of herself that he had ever had the good luck to sit upon. Obnubilans continued to rise, up and up until she could see far out over the corners of the world, until she could see past the mountains that cradled this place like a caring and concerned mother, past the barriers and past the fog she didn't know she was suffering under for her entire life.
With beautiful and deft movements, Obnubilans turned her spins into one specific movement, and Ob spun Quentin off from his seat on top of her, twisting and turning and spinning until he faced her. Quentin's wings sprung out from his sides, growing in size until they were the proper length to hold him aloft, and Obnubilans held him delicately between her wing claws, the white splotches that delicately decorated the tips of those digits a beautiful white, the tips of her claws not touching the tips of his wings, but still supporting him, but still disturbing the air around him, but still there. They held like that, for moments, heartbeats, suspended in the moonlight in the air, the perfect stillness in nothingness thousands of feet from the ground and Quentin met the eyes of the great black beast that had terrorized the rookery for nearly years now with nothing but fear. But far from the dull eyed, gaping beak'd creature that he expected to be confronting, hungry and tired of this charade that she was made to put on, Quentin found an Obnubilans that surprised him. A soft creature turned its face towards him, the crescent moon framing her eye like half of a pair of spectacles, the other half lost in the relief of shadow on the other side of her face, her golden eyes open and bright, sparkling in the glow of the moonlight of the night, her face soft, her hungry beak closed in what could almost be mistaken for a smile.
:: AP ::
Fullbody: 1AP
Shaded: 1AP
Background: 2AP
Biorhythm Bonus: 1AP
Rider Bonus: 2AP
Personal Bonus: 1AP
Tribute Bonus: 2AP
+
2000-2199w: 10AP
Rider Bonus: 2AP
Personal Bonus: 1AP
=
Total ;; 23AP

The difference in Obnubilans, despite the change only having been around for a few days, was shocking to everyone involved. Quentin was floored, but no more than anyone else in the rookery, and no more than Obnubilans herself at the difference that it had made in her life. Everything was different, the reactions of each and every individual that she interacted with had changed nearly overnight (although in the following weeks it would come that not everyone had completely erased the reactionary fear when Obnubilans cast her shadow upon them, and she would spend much time trying to make up for that). The harpia had gone from terror to caretaker; Obnubilans returned from the tribute to the great lady Nokt with grace and poise that everyone thought was faked. No one believed that she could develop or even imitate that kind of kindness, and so when it proved out over the next few days, they all felt the same: like a sheet had been whisked off of a golden statue, and her obscured blocky form had been revealed as a beautiful one. Obnubilans confirmed it with every waking moment, every kind action, every motion she made to make the lives of those around her easier. It was like a dream.
And when the time finally came for her final tribute, when the last thing she had to do to earn the opening of Galyx' eye upon her life, she was even more ready than Quentin was. Standing on the edge of the cliff face at the peak of the night, the crescent of her mother rising slowly above the edge of the world, illuminating the trees in a fine and sharp detail that she could now see and could spend hours just looking at. The world was beautiful for Obnubilans, now, and when Quentin walked up next to her and patted her extended wing, she didn't look away from it to dip low enough to let him climb on. He no longer feared her back, but relished it, feeling that he had been blessed with the ability, the time, the allowance to ride with Obnubilans, even though every other time before these sparse weeks had been a terrible experience, even though every other time had come with the danger of snapping jagged beak and rending sharp claws, with the danger of her snapping some limb off of him for a snack.
Stretching back up into her full height, she took two heavy steps to the edge of the cliff and fell. She did not bother with exercising her wings to rise up into the air, merely falling off the edge of the rookery's cliff into a dead drop that would have been terrifying, but this new personality felt reasonable felt safe and so when Ob leveled out into a glide and slow rise across the valley at such a speed that not even the hawks could compare, Quentin was merely stuck wordless, and not gutless. Obnubilans appeared almost to be smiling, gliding just above the trees and plains and river like it was the ocean, with purpose and care, her long tail no longer wildly snapping trees in half as she passed just because she could. Quentin did not have to direct her towards their prey: Ob had been out more than enough times to know both the area and where every type of quarry hid, as well as where she was going tonight. With the new command over her mind and the new clarity in her eyes, she made quick time to the swamps where the biggest and baddest things on the land hid.
This worried their Rookery Master, of course, being that his own bird's final tribute had been done in these very swaps, with these very beasts, and the danger was well known. Ark was less concerned; while she was stronger than most harpia in the rookery, Obnubilans had proven herself again and again in the weeks of clarity that her strength was greater, her reflexes now faster, and her mind now capable. And for all the pressure of Zivo and all the worry, Quentin had climbed onto Ob's back without the slightest addition of tack. Her beak and talons were all that they needed to handle this night.
Where the plains rolled into trees, Ob continued. Where the forest thickened, reaching up to where she could brush the tops of the trees with her outstretched claws, she continued. But where the woods thinned, where the trees grew different and the distance between them greater, Obnubilans slowed, casting her eyes around those dark woods and around the ground between and below them, seeking the dark shape that would stand out from the dark woods like a shot. She'd never had trouble finding prey before - she merely crashed into the parts of the world that seemed most likely to divulge secret stashes of mobile meat, and then chased after whatever spilled out. But now, with her sight and her mind and her sharpness remade, she was better. She would be better. It took predictably little effort for her to find the dark shape of the great stag moose hidden among the trees at the edge of a swamp that filtered out into a saltwater sea, still twisted within the parts of the woods that she could not comfortably land in. So Obnubilans getting it out of the trees would be more difficult than finding it, but she had chosen the place she was scanning with more than a bit of thought, as here the trees thinned in patches, and here there were spaces where a bird of her bulk could land. Obnubilans merely knocked one of the trees out of the way, snapping it in half with her bulk and her talons and landing straddled between it and others, spread across the tall and spindly things to prevent herself from falling into the dangerous tangle of bushes below. It didn't take much more than that, added to a directed vicious screech, to set their quarry running, the big dark shape brushing the bushes out of the way much as Obnubilans had just forced the trees out of her own way. The stag moose turned, away from her, towards the open space, and ran, bellowing loudly, not wanting to face anything of her size today. Her great wings, spread and decorated with eyes upon eyes, her tail slashing a darker path through the dark woods, the single great eye upon its fluke making her appear even larger than she was; all of this fed into her appearance, and, pleased, Obnubilans took towards the sky again, hopping into the air with a crack that hurt Quentin's ears. Whether that crack was from the snapping of branches and trunks beneath her weight as she jumped, or the very sky cracking open to accept her blackness as she rose into the air. Her wings made short work of the lead that the stag moose had, hopping across the treetops with almost no beats, and she fell upon the herbivore with very little effort.
Quentin closed his eyes, something in the back of his head still fearing the dead eyed Obnubilans that he thought he still knew, the unfortunate and extensive gore that accompanied every single one of her previous hunts until her endless hunger was satiated, and so he was still somehow shocked when it did not come. Peeking out from behind his hands around at the back of the bird before him, her dark feathers interspersed with blue brindle striping across her form, that was all that he saw. Ob's dark neck stretched out before him, her head and the shoulders of her wings hiding and protecting the scene from his view, her body heaving quietly in the dark of the night with uneven breaths. Despite all of her time spent between the two tributes, the days that passed as the moon lost her openness and weight, Obnubilans had not left the rookery to hunt or pursue prey, so this was the first time that she had really hunted since the snow and dark and forest and night and moon had changed her entire world. Quentin, nervous, jumped into the air and spread his wings further and further and wider and wider until they could carry him up, away, and across the clearing to a relatively safe distance from the still and heaving Obnubilans.
Curled over the quarry, now resting finally silent on the ground, Ob's beak was stained staunchly different in the moonlight sliding in from between the trees. The color of the moon washed out all of the red, leaving it just dark against the bright parts of her crescent and shiny against the dull dark parts of her beak. The tree that she had felled left a space that framed her head, the moon rising from the edge of the world into the sliver of openness between the stand of trees that shaded everything and striped everything around Quentin and over Ob's back. Quentin crept slowly closer, edging nearer to the shadows that stretched across the ground towards him, the moon framing the horns of the stag moose and casting their shadows across the earth, sliding across the grass and mud and dirt like claws, gouging out the soil for the darkness that obliterated everything below. Obnubilans was panting, her eyes wide but not dull, and so although Quentin's heart was in his gut, dropped far below where it belonged even though it also thundered in his ears, he didn't quite feel like she was lost to them yet. And so: he swallowed his fear, stiffened his back and tried to fold away his feathers, and strode out towards her. He reached out, hesitating at the last moment, before pushing forward and placing his hand on the part of her wing that was reachable; somewhere on her forearm if he understood her anatomy correctly. Obnubilans startled, flinching at the smallest pressure of a human shaped hand on her arm, a movement far in excess of what was deserved, and then turned her head from her kill towards him, mouth still agape, pupils small. There was something like fear scrawled across Obnubilans' expression, written in her eyes and in her mouth, in the expression that she - being a bird - likely should not have. Quentin was sure, now, with that turned face and that scrawled look, that they had not lost her to her mind again, and so he spoke quietly to her. The moon on her far side, his bright legs and his bright wing shoulders on the other, both equal in relative size to one another, to her eyes. Quentin spoke, softly, calmly, trying to return her to a calmness that he knew couldn't be far away, trying to being Ob back to the present, grounded.
This was not easy. This was not always hard, but for being essentially the first time she had killed, the first time she had tasted it, felt it, done it, this was hard. The heat steaming from her victim, and the horror now slipping from her face, these things were mitigated by the honor of the time, the place, and the tribute. The care that was made, that was done, for this, and the need: the need of mouths to feed, of a world to support, lives to continue. One to the other and eventually the other to the one; the bodies of all feeding all in the cycle that she had to come to respect, instead of merely participating in it. This body would be used, this tribute would be completed, her horror would soften over time and over life and over maturity, knowing that this was something had had to happen and would happen with or without her at times that felt more and less difficult. And so ever onward would march the cycle; and so ever onward would they all grow, together, apart, learning, moving on, and so eventually, perhaps now, Obnubilans was enough for the Eye of Galyx to open upon her.
:: AP ::
Fullbody: 1AP
Shaded: 1AP
Background: 2AP
Biorhythm Bonus: 1AP
Rider Bonus: 2AP
Personal Bonus: 1AP
Tribute Bonus: 2AP
+
2000-2199w: 10AP
Rider Bonus: 2AP
Personal Bonus: 1AP
=
Total ;; 23AP

MY QUEEN HAS DONE IT!