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 July 10, 2012 at 06:50:40 PM by KERSHOV
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Enigma played along beautifully, her mysteriously malicious nature complementing Kershov’s frostbitten humor with delicious harmony. How exactly had this outside male not succumbed to her deadly charms? Wolverine appeared to have a heart harder than stone—and a skull even harder than that—but surely he felt even the slightest warm fuzzy twinge at the Beta’s attention? Evidently not. The brown-eyed brute must have really screwed up to tempt Enigma’s razor-edged personality . . . and that had Kershov torn somewhat, because he couldn’t decide whether this odd immunity to the masked dame should piss him off or inspire respect. Perhaps resistance to feminine wiles would prove useful; if Wolverine didn’t feel like playing nice with Enigma, he certainly wouldn’t bend like a pliable little twig should another enemy fatale try to pump him for information. At least it meant Ker wouldn’t face competition for his General’s attention. A certain possessiveness had the Ice King coveting Enigma’s free time. The less sex-crazed males polluting his army, the better. Soulless onyx windows studied Wolverine’s scowling face with interest—only to narrow like black daggers when the off-white warrior scowled impossibly more. Ker tilted his cranium in an Oh, did I offend you? sort of way, attempting to discern what the hell had provoked this stranger to become ridiculously more pissed off. Then Wolverine did something that wolves should never, ever do. He back-talked the ruling Alpha. Kershov didn’t like back-talk. A smart mouth irritated the monstrous male enough when it yammered in his own pack. The saucy Aviias had been pretty much infamous for the constant wagging of her barbed tongue. Two new young recruits also had respect issues—yet these soldiers had named their loyalty to Abendrot, and were willing to pour their blood, sweat, and tears into everything for the army. Wolverine had not. Wolverine was a nobody brute waiting on the fence. “Cut the crap?” Kershov repeated mock-quizzically, forming the words clumsily in his mouth as though they were foreign. His winter words still breezed out with cold, calm clarity—but a low growl grated subtly from the back of his throat, thunder still concealed in clouds. “You must not know much about me, Sir Wolverine. I do not think you are amazing at all. I think you’re a worthless whelp of a washed-up soldier that just so happens to have some talent buried underneath all of your extraneous bullshit. And I don’t want to demand an apology for those awful insults you threw at my Beta. I AM demanding one.” Un-ripped velvets peeled back to unveil row upon row of fatal knives in a haunting, starving smile. The slightest hint of a snarl creased the scar-sewn bridge of Kershov’s muzzle. Wow. This strange Wolverine fellow had quite the mouth on him. Ker idly wondered what that mouth would look like slit from ear to ear, with the tongue torn loose and those teeth broken in . . . “Actually, boy, there is a reason for you to show off your guts.” Kershov took a leisurely step across the border . . . and another . . . and another . . . He paused when he stood right next to Wolverine’s side, not bothering to complete the revolution. His eyes silently contemplated the outsider’s tawny ribcage, as though inspecting a slab of meat. Wolverine had started crouching down, sturdy pillars lowering him to the earth, but still he stubbornly held his ground. Sigh. “Submitting means you’re joining. It means you’re a soldier ready for orders. Defying me, on the other hand, is something a prisoner would do. Which one are you? Did you come to join the army as a fighter, or as a slave?” Kershov craned his neck around to growl into Wolverine’s ear, fangs scraping together like daggers hungry for blood. “I didn’t peg you as somebody who likes being dragged kicking and screaming toward torture. I’m not usually wrong. Flip onto your spine now, because you’re submitting to me even if I have to break your legs first.” | |
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