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: 174.45.195.53
Posted on March 8, 2012 at 02:01:04 AM by Samus Aran
 | Log: 0246891_ Clearance Level: Classified_ ::: It wasn’t odd for males to look at her with a look of distant longing, as if gazing upon a beast whom they dreamed of taming but never risked their throats against its claws. Even if one had the balls to approach her, she’d be gone within a breath, slipping into her beloved shadows. Of course she adored that aching darkness; she had made a pact with the shadows after all, to conceal her and help her on missions, the perfect friend of any sort of hunter. They took her in, cradled her in ebon velvet, masked her scent with that of the pines and allowed her the perfect spots to stalk her prey. What more could she have asked for? But now, as much as the russet femora wanted to slip away from this cocky excuse for a wolf, Samus knew she couldn’t. She was part of this pack now, the superior pack, and this was part of her duties as a member. Especially since she was aiming for a rank, although she guessed all wolves were. Still, she kept her sage portals steely, charcoal tipped tassel stiff, crimson shoulders tense in case this asshole decided to try something. Despite her preparations, he made no attempt to cross the border, but released a string of innuendos. Samus snorted, a sarcastic grin adorning her russet features. This stupid brute thought he could get any piece of her? No vampire had been allowed that privilege; this stupid brute would be no different. Raising her muzzle and flicking her plume, the huntress smirked out a reply. “Oh no sweetheart, you’ve got it all wrong. The boys are sterile when they crawl away from my tail.” Eyeing the hessian, she caught the tip of his skull, exposing his the side of this throat, but soon he was back to showing her his façade, the scars visible along his cheek. He snarls at her and Samus raises an eyebrow, amused at his futile attempts to look threatening. But it was true, not everyone could be as fortunate as her. Returning her attention to the newcomer, she looked on absently as he began to ramble on again, something about his failed attempts at suicide. Poor thing. Still, if he could back sass her like that, he might be able to last here long enough, until he was finally able to bite the bullet or whatever else he had in mind. The demoness could feel the brute tense up, ready for her if she decided he was jamming her mojo. But not today, the demonic maiden was in a pretty good mood and had no reason to turn this stranger into target practice. That might not bide so well for her chances of a rank, but the other fact of the matter was that she really didn’t feel like soiling her daggers today, turning those pearly white curves into red syringes. Still, something was bugging the fae. That was that the male had never really submitted, the flash of his nape was nowhere near enough, and it left her in a bit of a sour mood. Queens would not be happy to find that she had not even been able to force this male onto his spine. Deciding on her plan of action, Sammy rolled her toes in the loam, relaxing and tensing her muscles subtly. Stepping forward so that she was uncomfortably close, the russet fatale flashed a devious grin and turned to her side, padding around his stationary frame, banner kicking up and sweeping across the bottom of his chin. “Now now, as much as I’d love to let you slip inside these borders and slit whatever you like…” she purred, glancing at his marred face once again as she uttered the last few words. “But that half-assed show of your jugular just won’t cut it here. You better roll over and play dead and show me that scrawny little belly of yours.” As she came back around the front of his silhouette Samus stared him directly in the eye, her own lookers hard as ice, all sense of playfulness gone from her façade. She was serious about this. He was the first misfit she was greeting at the borders and she was determined to not mess this up. Her muscles were ready, toned and pulsing beneath her shiny coat. No one could blame her for being such a bitch; that was Samus Aran, sarcasm and all. Photo Credits: HeWhoWalksWithTigers@deviantart.com kaukassus@deviantart.com ::: Warning: Data Corrupted_ Initiating System Shutdown_ |
Replies:
- IF I SURVIVE THEN I'LL SEE YOU TOMORROW, YEAH I'LL SEE YOU TOMORROW. - By DA KURLZZ March 28, 2012 at 01:38:28 AM
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