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...?

Refresh/Reload

ICE KING [part one]
IP: 76.243.46.249
Posted on July 27, 2012 at 10:53:56 PM by KERSHOV


“Sir Wolverine . . . you’re looking cheerful, as usual.” Kershov greeted the first soldier to arrive with an ironic smirk before settling himself into a comfortable sitting position, plume curled around his paws and cranium held loftily in the air. After the mud-eyed male had submitted properly at the borders, the tundra dragon decided he could rely on Wolverine’s loyalty—or, at least, keep the bitter-spirited brute around for entertainment purposes. This new recruit didn’t disappoint. Ker silently laughed at the hateful misery dripping off Wolverine’s off-white pelt like sludge. Let’s see how desperate this creature is for a purpose after I run him into the ground . . .

Another hessian arrived not long after Wolverine hauled his wretched ass up the plateau: a dark-hued prince with an unmistakable swagger of arrogance in his stride. Kershov narrowed his black-scythe eyes at the stranger. Suspicious. The cold King dipped his head in acknowledgement, fathomless stare never leaving the dirt-born knight. “Greetings, Loki. If you’re here to offer your service, show some throat.” A subtly wicked glance at Wolverine. “It’s the proper way to earn the Alpha’s acceptance.”

Kershov sensed Fallacy before he saw the pastel bird, a delicious chill stroking his spine that warned of his Novacula’s presence. Fallacy had always fascinated the ice-carved Regal with the perfect emptiness of her heart. He turned to meet his prize murderess, hardly caring about the damp mess of her pallid coat. “Fallacy.” A vague flick of his tail followed the quietly spoken name as Kershov beckoned his pet to sit closer. The winter demon hardly needed a body guard—yet the additional haunting presence of the dead-eyed girl would surely cause any thoughts of unrest to die in the throats of some of Abendrot’s newer, less polite guests.

“Lore . . . and Crimson. Glad to see you’ve stayed.” Kershov’s obsidian mirrors cut across the faces of two other males: the robotic Lore and the restless brute Crimson. The Czar honestly had no idea what sort of madness ruled Lore’s mind; the black-striped wolf was clearly brilliant, but a haze hung over his motives, forcing Ker to question the boy’s value as a packmember. Crimson, on the other hand, burned with potential; Kershov could foresee the red-washed monster excelling as an assassin or a soldier.

And then . . . Enigma. Second-in-command of Abendrot, a she-wolf that had earned her rank and the sultry riddle of her name over and over again. She strode unhurried into the meeting, taking stock of those already gathered, her face that of a queen at a masquerade ball. Kershov didn’t bother to hide his pleasure as the ivory minx wrapped herself around him like a pythoness. He leaned into her embrace and lightly rested his chin upon her back as she walked away, the last thing to caress his face the voluminous plush of her tail.

Ker looked up just in time to meet the unassuming yellow glare of a different stranger. The ink-stained steed had stalked up to the gathering with a carefully neutral posture and a humble bow. Kershov instantly liked this gentleman; he took the manners of the male as a sign that this stranger had enough sense to proffer respect to an Alpha, rather than marching in like an ill-bred moron. “Welcome, Lucifer. All I ask is to see your throat, and you may consider yourself in our ranks.”

Marx entered as if he were a ghost: quiet, dark, made of mist. The fatal phantom dipped his frame before his frostbitten Monarch and kept his molten chrome eyes fixed at Kershov’s paws. Ker flicked an ear pensively. Still behaving . . . “Marx,” the alabaster gangster replied smoothly. A dull flicker in his midnight windows indicated that the King had something more to impart upon his subject . . . but it would wait until the right moment.

Scorpio came bounding in—a faithful soldier as always. Kershov only felt slightly angry that he hadn’t seen more of the army’s Captain, the Zeta of the pack. Scorpio had been loyal to Abendrot for a while and put every ounce of his passion into everything Kershov asked him to do. Ker nodded at Scorpio in greeting, unable to accomplish anything more as the lithe lady known as Firecrest trotted in.

A crisp mint perfume entwined itself with the signature of her russet-painted fur. It meshed sweetly with the Pharaoh’s own glacial cologne as Firecrest brushed by him, a shy hello tripping from her lips. “Hello, my pet,” Kershov returned in a low voice, hints of amusement at the novelty of this meeting curving the corner of his maw. “Still as bold as ever.” He lowered his muzzle closer to her ear so that she would be the only creature to hear his next words. “Sit near those new males and keep an eye on them . . . there’s a good girl.” With that, he dismissed her. Firecrest had touched her King before; however, this encounter held something more fragile, something Kershov had not expected from the normally saucy lass. He let the slip of traditional etiquette pass and resolved to speak with Firecrest later, to sound the purpose behind her advances.

Kershov barely caught of Enigma’s righteous fury. He shrugged his shoulders in an “what can you do?” sort of way, dark humor shadowing his visage.

Humor which nearly escaped in the form of a bellowing laugh after a third femme made the decision to drape herself over the Alpha, as well. Ker recognized the snowflake wolfess as a recently acquired prisoner. He made no effort to spare her feelings. “Oh, darling, I plan on having ‘fun’ with you. Why not roll over on your spine like a polite little whore and have fun enjoying your rightful place in the dirt?” His jaws clamped around her silken ruff as he dragged her roughly away from him, a vicious starving gleam behind his eyes. “You’re adorable, really. Which one of my subjects fished you out of the cesspool, dearie?”


[OOC: we're still doing a powerthread, but there was NO WAY I could react to all ya'lls awesomeness in one post. Be patient--UPDATED RANKS ARE ON THERE WAY as soon as we figure out what to do with Starship XD]




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