The forest stands tall and lush here; ancient trees reach weather-twisted arms to the sky, fighting monster-like storm clouds back with their interlacing fingers. Shadow seems to lurk everywhere you look, but it spills calmly, coolly, inspiring a sense of stealthy calm or protection rather than unease. That is, if you've forgotten what kind of creature might be stalking just out of sight...Abendrot is a land cradled by the dark woods on all sides; in the center, some of the larger trees stay behind to reveal a small plateau - a citadel where this pack can gather and defend itself from invaders. There are, of course, softer sides to the land. Clearings here and there allow the sun to throw down its rays in incongruously resplendent gold showers. Ignore the lingering scents of blood spattered here and there along the borders: those do not concern you. The river on one edge of the territory is playful enough when it hasn't been gorged by violent rain. You can choose to note the ragged claw marks raked down tree trunks and the forest floor as friendly "Home Sweet Home" signs, if you wish.
All who treasure loyalty, order, victory, and the occasional indulgence of raw visceral pleasure are welcome, once they've been approved by the ever-watchful eyes of Abendrot's Alpha. But keep one thing in mind: no matter what your motive, this is not a fool's Paradise. This is the land of soldiers, assassins, and spies. This is ABENDROT.
Make up your mind quickly and prepare to prove your worth. You wouldn't want to add to those blood spatters, would you...?
IP: 76.243.46.249
Posted on June 3, 2012 at 02:08:57 PM by KERSHOV
 | |
Kershov did not know much about Madame Arsinoe, the crimson-stained lass that he’d welcomed into the army a few moons ago. The Sheila had coasted comfortably under his radar, causing no trouble, quietly serving her king, keeping her mouth shut and bright eyes open with intelligent observation. The cold King was aware, from his frequent border patrols, that Arsinoe had more than once greeted outsiders on Abendrot’s fence without having to be ordered to do so. She had started no useless drama with any of her packmates; she had not challenged Kershov with disobedient words or actions; she had not come crawling along on her belly begging for a rank or mission or a meal. Arsinoe was a silent soldier, running through the territory the way a stream runs through the earth: inconspicuous yet constantly carving an impression. And a good impression, too. Kershov did so love when his subjects were efficient . . . The white warrior couldn’t possibly understand the depths of Arsinoe’s soul without ever having deeply conversed with her one-on-one, but he’d watched her with the same cunning curiosity he’d watched every other pack wolf with. Ker suffered from chronic inquisitiveness. He possessed no distracting emotions of tenderness or compassionate life in his frost-full chest, and found wolves that held such warm inner candles sources of never-ending interest. What made these animals of passion tick? How did they work? Kershov wasn’t sure if Madame Arsinoe was a kind wolfess; however, those mismatched windows burned with a passion that only feeling creatures had. That gave her dimension. Depth. Intrigue. Only the current tense situation with those Bright Moon fools and the recent acquirement of new prisoners had prevented Kershov from seeking Arsinoe out. It was a shame, really. Such a reliable fighter deserved a few minutes with her Ruler. At the howl of a newcomer drew Kershov’s attention away from his musings and toward more pack business . . . but Arsinoe’s perfume, fresh on the wind, snagged his focus back again, forcing the Czar to wonder where the she-wolf had been lurking. Had he given her a place in the army? Surely she would make an amazing spy. Or an assassin. Mustn’t let that wondrous secretive charm go to waste. Enormous paws crafted for sprinting silently over snow pounded soundlessly against the earth as Kershov cantered toward the border, eager to see Arsinoe in action and to greet the owner of the joining howl. Ker was always searching for more brutes to fill the ranks; females were fatal in their own right, but not many of the deadly ladies in Abendrot gripped the raw brutish power that only males could be born with. Abendrot needed muscle wolves, beasts of brawn. Hopefully the gentleman currently waiting for acceptance fit the bill. Upon ripping his pristine ivory form from the thick forest shadows, Kershov immediately saw that the stranger might be Abendrot material. A rusted male—clearly a warrior—was in front of the lovely Arsinoe, flipped over on his spine like a good boy. A smirk quirked Kershov’s ravaged maw. He never understood why some wolves refused to submit before pack wolves. It was almost as if they wanted to die. But cooperation was the first step toward inclusion: it signified that this male was smart enough to know his place. Kershov calmly approached the pair, feather banner waving high over his back and ears perked alertly forward. He nodded his approval to Arsinoe and her keen handling of the situation and stared down at the prone soldier with deep black pools. “Welcome to Abendrot. Unfortunately, I will have to ask you to repeat your title, so that I may greet you properly. And feel free to stand: your submission is duly noted.” Ker stood back a little so that the scarlet dragon might get to his paws easier. “What brings you to Abendrot?” | |
Replies:
- see my love asleep on the floor { done } - By Arsinoe June 5, 2012 at 00:02:39 AM
Red as a Crimson King's Leaf - By Crimson June 14, 2012 at 04:11:06 AM
ICE KING - By KERSHOV June 25, 2012 at 09:40:37 PM