Malignant Felicity is a paradisaical abode to the faithful remains of a mighty pack. Once ruled by the magnificent wolf Genocide, now the wolves of this pack follow the laws of the Alpha Lance, son of Sorna, Beta and Genocide's best friend...
The sounds of crashing water fill your auds as you enter this tropical paradise. The tall trunks tower above you. The treetop canopy's seem to shade the beautiful land from the sun's rays. What a paradise this place seems. This place dubbed Malignant Felicity. As you draw closer to the boarders a stench slowly devours the air around you. The stench of death.
"Beware..." scream the birds from above you. "She kills for games. She kills for fun." Something deep inside tells you to listen. Your body tells you not to go no further. Do you listen or do you dare move into the pack borders. This could be a life or death decision...
Follow the Queen, or become a corpse that lines her border. The choice lies with you.
IP: 68.3.73.91
Posted on July 31, 2010 at 04:23:56 AM by Celtic Cross
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A perpetual view of Blossom Forest was first given to him through a dream. The many landmarks, tall, small, beautiful, ugly, all were viewed. Today, he had found it. Rolling hills, cedars spiking on them, studded with blue flowers. A calmer place then the rocky reaches of his birth place. Dreary. Not many fancied the life of a nomad. It was a mentally nerve-racking for Cross, who needed the structure and slight chaos of group living. The drama had been missing from the male's life, the impudent love triangles, messy and sickening. Hopefully that particular point would be missing here. Life came with its ups and downs, and love was one of them. Soft pads tread the thick undergrowth. They brushed quietly, as if the wind itself touched their feathery spines. Cross kept his skull down, an easier position to trap aroma in his nares. They twitched. His brain picked up the smells of wolf. A pack. Living space. Grass. And the faintest hint of foxglove. Moving forward, he reached a hill that slightly sloped down into shrouds of misted paradise. Magnificent as this land was, blood seemed to coat the sky, wrapped in the territory's souls as they screamed out for their murder and rich crimson to fall like rain. How strange. It would contrast deeply against the ivory stratus cloud. And here, the clouds had no silver lining. Celtic bet that here, canine carried dark pelts to envelop themselves in the shade to help hunt down both prey and predetor. His pelt, however, lacked pigment. It's stark whiteness shouted themselves to be lifted to become whitewater in the rivers. Celtic sighed, his black orbits darting around at the base of the hill. A gulch intervened the paradise, providing walking space. As he commanded his tread to start marching, he noticed the land was different. It was... untouched. There was no hint of wolf ever passing here, although the aromas of the creatures were trying to strangle themselves with each other. Strange. The wolves had talent, the stalkers. The male picked up speed, nearing the gulch. Pawprints were carved down into the earth, and his own slipped into theirs. The tracks made him walk faster so his gait could put their sneakers into the holders. The scent of lavender faded from the hills and were replaced with the sickly sweet smells of nightshade, paintbrush, and poisen ivy. More over, the plant foxglove taunted him. Oh, he so desperately wanted to sink his ivories into that delicious flower, feeling its neurotoxins lace down into the mind, caressing and cooing as it did its deadly work. Not at all unlike the Queen, A magpie crowed from above. Hollyhock brushed the wolf's coat, a tender warning. Was this right? Was this place right? Celtic rushed, starting to have second thoughts. No. No, face it. Death or life was the name of the game here. And he wanted to play. He walked forward, and stopped. A roach scuttled under sneaker, and Cross watched it, auds perked with a pup's curiousity. It fled back down the way he came. An omen. As much misgivings one could have, this was not enough. Another step. And another. Forward, toward his fate. Life or death, it was all a game and he wanted to play it. The nose was slightly misplaced as it heralded the sky in a diagonal position. It was already a sign of passiveness, instead of sticking it up like an idiot would have done. Lips parted, teeth bare in a subtle guesture. Nothing came out for a moment as he ribs squeezed like bellows to push air up from his diapgragm. The result was an enormous bass, wavering low. The soft notes sprinkled here in there from the lone call before it dramatically pitched up ward, angry and demanding. That part was the summons of the Alphess. The rest, a quiet tremor, was his submissiveness. To do it right, he ended with a sharp cut off and rolled onto his back, exposing soft belly and a white surrender flag. This game will be interesting. Celtic Cross .::. Male .::. Adult .::. Nomad .::. Mateless |
Replies:
- get used to the feeling - By Devil May Cry July 31, 2010 at 06:12:02 AM
Hard to,When Your Here - By Celtic Cross July 31, 2010 at 02:45:22 PM
i could be worse than lonliness - By Devil May Cry August 2, 2010 at 04:47:17 PM
A Good Day - By Celtic Cross August 29, 2010 at 04:38:19 PM
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