<small> azure sky darkens; ashen clouds roll in </small>

Bright Moon - a land sullied by mystery and the ravaging scars of a terrible fire. Abandoned as a pack land for years, the terra has been used as a gathering place for the brazen and bloodthirsty drawn there by the lingering pall of death. Yet from the ashes there comes an unordained phoenix, the rainbow hues of hope glinting in her mismatched globes. Through the obsidian drapes obscuring the scenery, she alone was able to catch the perfumed aroma of new life on the breeze and hear the sluggish streams flowing ever swifter into the morning.

Thus, with a purpose, she set out to map the incognita, discovering daily the extent of the reawakening and unearthing within herself a desire to return the landscape to its former glory. Now she stands tall as privileged Alpha of the lands, lording over the rock-strewn prairie and bountiful forests with a firm but gentle paw.

Having finally realized her deepest longing to be a queen, Satowra is focused solely on the revival and maintenance of the Bright Moon Pack. Her question to each prospective warrior that comes to the border is simple:

"Do you have what it takes?"

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azure sky darkens; ashen clouds roll in
IP: 156.34.158.208
Posted on November 5, 2011 at 11:28:04 PM by tamlin.

The glint in Tamlin's eyes was a frightening one. His facial expression was utterly composed, a frozen mask of chilling indifference. The striking alpha male was as a grim reaper, ready to silently hand out death to those whose time had come. His stance was that of one, at least. One of the greatest phenomenons of nature is the beauty of death, the absolute majesty of a beast suited for killing as he went forward to battle. In that way, perhaps he was not a reaper at all. He may have been more suited to the title angel. His pelt was gorgeous and seemed to float about him as he soared over a fallen log that lay in his path, clearing it with effortless grace. Of all the kinds of angels, the question remained of which sort he would be. A guardian angel, one to defend the innocent wolves of his pack from the idiot who would likely lead them into death, as tough times needed a strong alpha? Or was he an avenging angel, glorious yet deadly all at once, ready to smote down the snivelling coward who challenged him due to sheer indignation at the arrogance of the challenge? The question came to down to a simple problem. Was he fighting valiantly for the sake of his pack, or was he fighting for his own honor and pride? As his limber legs had caused him to slip silently and athletically through the tangled forests between Bright Moon and the Prey Plateau, he had managed to harness the dominant, primordial beast that raged inside of his chest, roaring soundlessly and angrily at the thought of being defied. In the place of the heated tendrils of boiling, angry passion, a new mood had come. A frozen, cruel sense of utter control was the personality brought about by the change that had been wrought upon him as he ran. The heat had faded utterly, but in the calculating, glacial cold that had replaced it was more than twice as terrifying. It was unlike the wise king to be filled with a lust for blood. For the most part, Tamlin was a gentle ruler, a stoic and quiet one, but an understanding wolf who would rarely impale any varg with his ivories, save if they deserved it, and then only sparingly. His voice occasionally got a stern, but he was not the sort to partake in heedless violence. But in this case, he was different, scarier than before with a harshness that he had never experienced almost manifesting into solid ropes of aura that flowed about him. The alpha male of Bright Moon pack wanted nothing so much as to sink his teeth into the indolent challenger and rip him to shreds. The ghostly brutus didn't care about the fact that the challenger was fighting 'for his Evaporation and his unborn pups.' If the other demon actually cared about his pregnant lover and soon-to-be midgets, he would go back to them right now instead of giving them a huge job of licking off the multiple wounds that the alpha's teeth were surely going to make. Losing was not an option. If the cream male failed to come back victorious, he would either be dead or resting up so he could come back to pound the new alpha as soon as the customary month was up.

The fact that stood out so heavily to Tamlin was that the wolf who was challengin him had so little to lose. The challenge for alphaship failed, the brute would be able to run home to his family for reassurance. On the other hand, Tamlin had everything to lose. His whole life was centred around his pack, losing it would be like losing a leg, or perhaps even two. He could hardly imagine the emotional agony that losing contact with each of his wolves would bring to him. As his pistons brought him effortlessly across the rusty-orange pine needles that were the debris that carpeted a vast percentage of the forest floor's litter, each of their faces flashed across his mind. Raylen's teal orbs and golden face... Ambrosia's serious yet shy charcoal muzzle, curved with those last words that she had offered him as she left... Chrno's slightly hazy but still sparkling topaz gems... Rainwhisper, the sensitive grey girl he had welcomed last meeting... Ateri, who was preganant with Tarous' children... Tarous himself, who had proved all before supposed things about him wrong... Koa, the aloof white maiden who was slowly warming up to her comrades... Sunshine... Skyscraper... Omni Cader... Rio... and all the rest, they were so amazing. Diverse in personality, mighty physically. His wolves were his life, his pack was his life. An image of Satowra finally submerged all of this other thoughts, rendering them less important than he would have thought. Her face transcended his mind fully until all he could think about was the semi-transparent apparition of his lady that his mind had managed to summon up. Her slender form had been stored in his memory in pristine detail, so much that it seemed impossible that she had gone so many moons ago. Tamlin wasn't hallucinating. For one statement in his defence, he was not insane, and for another, he was the one controlling his mind and essentially using his imagination to create the facsimile of his departed queen. The picture faded as he neared his borders, but it did not leave him untouched, as if he had never thought of her. A feeling of duty swelled in his chest, causing the cruelty to come out of the cold edge to his thoughts. Now, instead of sadistic, he was more businesslike.

He was finally a guardian instead of a weaker spirit of war and anger. When his reasons for fighting became just, he himself because different. If he fought for the reason of power, he would not have the necessary strength to withstand whatever pain he needed to withstand. But if he fought for his warriors, fought for each individual in Bright Moon, he would be able to take each and every bite and rip proudly, as if each painful, bloody and raw patch ripped in his skin and flesh was a sign of his devotion to his lands and the wolves within them.

He was yet to be tired or even winded in the slightest when his paws brought him to a position from which he could observe the wolf that he would be fighting. Tamlin stepped boldly out of the shadows behind the wolf, appearing as if he had popped out of no where, as he had been stealthy enough to approach quite close. The standing alpha's face held no hint of any expression, instead it was painted with the mask of a serious nonchalance. His eyes held no kind glimmer, instead his twin pools were hard and determined, shining like beacons of hope. His tail was held in a scorpion-like stinger position over his back, curled dominantly over the silken fur there. He was the alpha, and would be until his death. The hessian's eyes bored into the occulars of his enemy, drilling deeply into them. Tamlin took one oiled step closer, then another, stretching out his slender limbs again and again until he was a provocative five feet of the green Blue Fang. His lips writhed slightly, revealing his curved canines. As the leader of Bright Moon, he was no mangy cur. He was a warrior, a fighter, a hunter, a wolf. The snowy varg did not waste time with insults and petty words, instead just staring at the other wolf and standing tall for a moment. After allowing his stare to persist long enough to make the other uncomfortable, he wheeled on his haunches and began his silent tread to Quarrels Clearing, all the while watching his back in case his opponent had no qualms about attacking out of terms.

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ooc - By Minnie November 6, 2011 at 08:25:34 PM

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