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 25, 2012 at 09:40:37 PM by KERSHOV
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To any other wolf not of Kershov’s grade, to any creature that did not eat and sleep and breathe battle, the Alpha’s ebony mirrors were dead and emotionless. They merely saw the muscled stranger rise to his paws and nothing more. They watched, unaffected. Only . . . nothing could be farther from the truth. Ker never simply saw anybody: he observed. He absorbed every movement, every minute little idiosyncratic twitch and flex with cunning, calculating black raptor eyes. The physical strength and prowess of the crimson male were soaked up by shadowy pools and memorized in a crystal clear mind for later. Kershov did not need this blood-colored brute to demonstrate his fighting skills; the frost-born Pharaoh already had a pretty accurate idea of just what this killer could do—and by that hardened mask, the red gentleman was probably starving for another chance to exercise. “Good to meet you, Sir Crimson,” Kershov replied smoothly, blinking as his thoughts finished their categorization of the new soldier. “Consider yourself a pack member.” The ice dragon casually turned, ushering Arsinoe and Crimson toward the inside of Abendrot’s walls. “Correct me if I am mistaken, Crimson, but you look like assassin material.” Ker tilted his head, feathered banner flicking the air. “Enough brawn to climb ranks as a soldier, but I sense a tad more independence in your spirit. How much experience do you have with the world of war, Crimson?” | |
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