Welcome to Canis Major

a wolf and animal rpg (role-playing game)

Canis is a writing community for play-by-post (forum-based), freeform roleplay set in a fictional dream world in the intrusion fantasy genre. Most characters on Canis are wolves; many play elements are focused around wolves and canids, but the world makes room for a large variety of other animal characters such as dogs, horses, cats, bears, deer, and many, many more.

Our community is focused on flexibility, creativity, and collaboration. That boils down to a few important features:

  • There is no set activity requirement to write
  • The setting and plot are member-created and staff-supported
  • The game is continuously improved to increase fun and decrease stress

Learn more in our Rulebook!

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it wasn't about me, it was only a stone in my shoe

#1
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Content Warning
09-04-2022, 01:56 AM (This post was last modified: 09-07-2022, 03:21 AM by Daighre. Edited 2 times in total.)
Content Warning
This post contains content that may be unsettling to some readers, including:
  • Graphic description of a decaying corpse
Several days after New Moon. Permission to find the body gained.


The heat and warmth of a late summer day.

The cold and chill of an early fall night.

Repeated, over and over, throughout the days, throughout the nights.

Her body heated, then cooled, and heated again.

Rigor mortis had already set in, come, and then gone. Her body set. Her neck, her spine, broken. Her head twisted backwards, at odds with her legs. Ribs broken. Lungs punctured.

Trampled, and then gored.

The maggots and flies found home in the holes of her broken skin.

Stomach distended.

The gases built.

From her mouth, it oozed, it spilled. Leaked, from her nose. Dark fluid. Frothed and foamed. In the grass, around her muzzle, around her head.



It stunk.

It smelled.

It reeked.

He found her there, in the field. A body hidden in the grass. The flies and maggots swarmed.

A crow took off.

Startled flight.



Her eye sockets were empty.

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#2
Visionary
09-04-2022, 05:20 PM (This post was last modified: 09-04-2022, 05:21 PM by Madmortigan.)
 They were together, as was their preference.

 Daighre found the body. Madmortigan's head bowed, nose hovered over the undulating, milky worms of decay. His eyes shut. Deus es, et Deus iterum eris..

 The Harbinger sighed, visibly drawn, eyes downcast. “We must bury them.”

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#3
09-05-2022, 05:35 PM
He loitered.

Lingered.

Further behind than the old man. His hackles raised. His shoulders hunched and slouched. Curled, towards his ears. His head carried low.

The smell and stench of decay.

His quiet, reverent words.

‘We must bury them.’

“How.”

She was soft, and swollen, and slipping.

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#4
Misc Skill
09-05-2022, 05:48 PM (This post was last modified: 09-07-2022, 02:07 PM by Madmortigan. Edited 1 time in total.)
 “Carefully.”

 Without touching the sun-worn corpse, he started digging. Long limbs yanked at the reluctant earth, churning it as loose bits of debris plinked into the undergrowth behind. 

 He started panting.


gravedigger skill

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#5
09-05-2022, 05:58 PM (This post was last modified: 09-07-2022, 03:22 AM by Daighre. Edited 1 time in total.)
‘Carefully.’

He snorted.

Huffed.

Nervous. His right ear trailed back. He licked his lips. Watched, as the old man really did start fucking digging.



He helped.

Quiet, stronger, younger.

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#6
Misc Skill
09-05-2022, 09:58 PM (This post was last modified: 09-07-2022, 02:08 PM by Madmortigan. Edited 1 time in total.)
 He didn't stop at shallow. Saliva dripped gracelessly down his lolling tongue, side curled and limp. 

 When the hole deepened, the Harbinger relented at last. Bunching exhausted muscles, he faced the taunting, vertical shears of soil they'd so desperately carved. He sprang and didn't make it, hooking onto the side, scrabbling with flattened ears.


gravedigger skill

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#7
09-05-2022, 11:36 PM (This post was last modified: 09-07-2022, 05:20 AM by Daighre. Edited 8 times in total.)
The grave at its depth.

The old man in his peripheral. His fervour slowed at last.

He stopped.

Stumbled, when he stepped back, the grave wall at his back knocking at his hocks. Tired, with stiff, sore muscles. He panted. His chest heaved. His rib cage expanded, contracted, with every laboured breath. Perspiration, his tongue lolled, off coloured and dark.

He jumped.

And he made it.



The old man did not.



He stumbled in the sun. His back paw clipping, hitting, and sending a spray of dirt back down.

It was brighter, outside the hole. The late summer sun high overhead. He continued to pant. His chest continued to heave. He squinted, against the sun. And he stumbled back towards the hole. His front paws at its edge.

He bent.

Braced.

And grabbed and pulled him by the scruff.

Thick white fur and overheated skin, warm against his muzzle, his nose, his mouth.

He smelled like sweat, and body heat, and something warm and worn.

His breath, his heaving tongue, ghosted his ear, his neck, his jaw, the cross section where his shoulder met his chest.



She continued to rot.

A dead, dying, already dead girl, underneath the sun. Her grave at her side. Her pallbearers already there.

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#8
Content Warning
Misc Skill
09-07-2022, 02:22 PM
Content Warning
This post contains content that may be unsettling to some readers, including:
  • general grossness
 Daighre pulled him up. He rose from the soil heaving, borne from that earthen womb. Madmortigan shook himself. 

 Composure was a trait drilled in from his first burning baptism, a thick, rusted nail of equilibrium that welded the many jagged, wandering parts of his heart. 

 Inhaling slow, he took a deep drink of mildly putrid air before burrowing his muzzle in the rotted flesh and latching on. 

 Maggots squirmed into his mouth, delighted by a new, wet warmth. His eyes watered, every muscle screaming to wrench away, the sweltering, fuming body soiled and slick and pulling apart as he dragged. 

 He did not ask his companion for assistance. Not in this. He simply worked, taking her piece by piece when it was clear the body would not come whole.


gravedigger skill

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#9
Content Warning
09-07-2022, 04:34 PM
Content Warning
This post contains content that may be unsettling to some readers, including:
  • Graphic description of a decaying body being moved
He was in his personal space, for a moment.

His movements awkward when he walked backwards while he walked forward, out from the dirt. His face buried in his fur. Their heads and necks and jaws brushing. Accidental contact. Their front paws and forelegs and chests tangled together.

Space between them.

He shook his fur.

And he licked, once, at the corner of his mouth, where the pink turned to black, the cross section of his cheek and his lip.

He watched him go.



It was slow, grisly work on a hot summer day.



His stomach twisted and churned.

The familiar, sharp, cramping pull of his diaphragm.

Saliva pooled in the back of his mouth.

His tongue was thick, between his teeth, inside his throat.

The prelude to gagging.

The prelude to vomiting.

He swallowed, and he picked her up. The old man already ahead of him. The old man already winning.

She was bitter and acrid and sour on his tongue. Soft and hard and all at once. Squishing, and squelching. Something wiggling, squirming, crawled from her and dropped between his teeth, onto his tongue, into his mouth. They stuck to his lips. Clung to fur of his muzzle.

She spilled, and she leaked.



Piece by piece, she went into the grave.

A dark stain, the impression of her, left tacky on the grass.

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#10
09-16-2022, 11:14 PM
 When the bile came, bubbling and acidic, he let it fizz against his teeth before swallowing the hot spit down. He would not dishonor her by being sick on her grave. 

 He trembled, wizened limbs shaking, prayers an inescapable echo in his head. 

 For a long while he was silent, standing there with a dumb and distant gaze. Then, at last. “Thank you, Daighre.”

 The Harbinger turned to him and moved, eating the distance until his nose brushed through the ruffled fur along his nape. 

 Aching to scorch the sickness, the flavor of death in his throat, he breathed in and ran his tongue along the blonde male's shoulders, tasting him instead.

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#11
Content Warning
09-18-2022, 08:09 AM (This post was last modified: 09-18-2022, 04:29 PM by Daighre. Edited 2 times in total.)
Content Warning
This post contains content that may be unsettling to some readers, including:
  • Sensuality
His shoulder blades.

His rasping tongue.

He leaned into him. His weight against his. His ears pinned back. His head against his shoulder and his chest. Hot warm breath against his back, grave dirt and maggots and rot and decay.

Fervent, and fervour.

Gentle, and persistent.

With all the patience of a god.

He licked, lapped, once at the dark fur of his neck, his chest, his closest shoulder blade.

His eyes dark.

His pupils blown.



He shouldered him away.

A few steps ahead.

His back towards him. His head to the side.

He couldn’t look at him.

He couldn’t face him.

Upturned grave dirt, a few feet away. Her body buried below. The impression of her. A toxic oil spill. Leaked and spilled and dashed across the grass.

He licked his lips.

He widened his stance.

Minute detail.

His hips placed further apart.

His head carried low.

A dark drying wet patch, cold along his back.

More of him, all of him, on display.

“Let’s go back.” He asked.

Quiet, and rough.

Soft, and demure.

His ears pressed back on either side of his head.

His tail still, between his back legs.

The beginning slow submissive sway.

He wanted his tongue between his teeth.

He wanted his tongue inside his mouth, pressed against his gums, pressed against his soft, hard, pink fleshy palate.

His breath hot against his mouth.

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#12
09-18-2022, 03:46 PM
 Madmortigan took all of him in without flinching, his violet eyes bright, his gaze consuming.

 The space between them was no longer negative, it hummed, occupied and electric. 

 “Let's go home. He corrected gently, his gaze lowering before he stepped forward. “Join the order and stay with me.”

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#13
09-18-2022, 04:40 PM
He huffed.

His ears splayed back.

The outline and form of him, in his peripheral.

"Why."

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#14
09-18-2022, 04:43 PM
 “Because I want you to.” He replied, his voice rolling low, the last word a rumble. “Because I don't want you to leave.”

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#15
09-18-2022, 05:11 PM
He licked his lips.

Stared, forward, outward, at the horizon. The setting sun. Blue sky overturned and tinged with orange around its edges. A picture framed. The bottom bordered with the reaching outlines of trees, black against yellow, black against orange.

Branches all reaching for the sky.

His shoulders curled and furrowed.

“Whatever.”

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#16
09-18-2022, 07:39 PM
 It was not within his nature to be insecure - the divine often had a healthy confidence. So, he took Daighre's vague, monosyllabic answer for what he wanted it to mean. 

 Arching his head, he reached to tug playfully at one of those back-swiveled ears, urging it to unflatten with his tongue. Brushing him full-body as he passed, Madmortigan turned away from the impromptu graveyard towards home.

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#17
09-19-2022, 02:15 AM
He huffed.

Pulled and shook his ear away from his mouth and pressed his head against the bottom of his jaw, the curve and line of his throat, and against the black-white fur of his closest shoulder blade. His body dragged against his.

He nipped at his hip.

The beginning jut of his thigh.

Stood, while he walked past.

And he butted his head against the back of his thigh. His white fur thick and coarse against the side of his face. The side of his tail against the side of his face. His nose cold and damp against the jut of his hock.

The two of them stinking, reeking, of upturned dirt and rot and decay. The scent of the sun on their backs. The scent of fading sunlight woven through their fur.

They smelled like each other.



He followed him home.

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