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 August 24, 2012 at 02:34:41 PM by KERSHOV
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Kershov wasn’t surprised to see the Army Faction’s second-in-command rush forward, charcoal hackles raised and a furious snarl on his lips. Scorpio was loyal to a fault; from the time Ker had accepted the dark brute into Abendrot’s ranks, Scorpio had trained obsessively, first earning his place as a true soldier and then climbing the ranks as Captain and Zeta. At times, the white-splashed warrior’s zealous dedication almost grated on the nerves of some other packmembers—Enigma, for example, who clearly didn’t appreciate being treated like a lesser fighter; however, there could be no denying where Scorpio’s devotion lied. With proper guidance, this zealot would surely bring the army into greatness. “Let this ‘worm’ squirm for a while, Scorpio,” Kershov answered his captain smoothly, a thunderous growl resonating in his chest. “I don’t think she’s quite through realizing the danger she’s in.” At Deadly Mamba’s suggestion Kershov barked out a laugh. The sound flew from his tattered maw like a dagger and embedded itself in the chest of the pale scrap pinned beneath his massive paws. “Still working hard even after she gets a job done,” chuckled the Snow Czar appreciatively, playing out Mamba’s suggestions in his predatory mind. “I’m not sure which of those possibilities I prefer, Deadly Mamba. I’m tempted to take the second . . . you of course would know what’s best for the assassins you train.” The green-eyed vipress had been Kershov’s first choice to lead the Assassin Faction of Abendrot: Mamba knew her trade well, and possessed a delectable shred of personality that made her perfect for interacting with and leading trainees. Fatality, on the other hand, while an invaluable asset and prized killer, was more suited to solo missions—that was why she’d been blessed with a position outside of ranks, to answer to no one but Kershov or Enigma, when Kershov was not present. Ker grinned down at Starship again, obsidian stare spearing into her bright cyan pools. “With all these grand future prospects ahead of you, I can barely understand why you aren’t more excited.” Another whiff of blood had Kershov glancing quickly around the clearing, trying to discern the victim. His eyes found a red-stained Taylor cowering on the edges of the meeting. The cold King flicked his tail, irritated. Surely the little brat had earned whatever injuries she’d sustained by running that foolish mouth of hers. Where was her newest babysitter, Arsinoe? Kershov had plans for the crimson minx . . . if only she’d show her face. Ithilwen took care of the aggression the frost-formed phantom wanted to spend on Taylor; the sneaky young spy leapt from the trees (how the hell had she gotten up there, anyway?) to bark at Abendrot’s most troublesome prisoner. Ker refused to spend any more of his attention on the pair and focused instead with simmering laser precision on Starship’s downy throat. A massive snowshoe forepaw lifted lazily from the ground and suddenly smashed against the fae’s pulse, constricting her trachea and squeezing the beat of her blood between the Ice King’s casually splayed toes. Now that he had her pinned, the bone-colored warlord could inspect the reactions of his pack at his leisure. The wolves he’d required submissions from had all paid their dues. Wonderful. As if he’d forgotten where he’d placed his massive foot, Kershov reclined into an easy sitting position, falsely oblivious to Starship gasping beneath his weight. His gaze slithered toward one male soaked in the stench of wolf blood—Autumn Leaf or something—and a quiet femora hiding behind Enigma. Another prisoner? Kershov proffered her a starving smile before raising his subzero voice. “Apparently we’re all comfortable with our decisions to stay, since none of you are turning tail to escape over the border. That’s promising.” A chuckle, dark and dripping, escaped from the slashed side of his maw, leaking through rows of exquisite exposed teeth. “It is nice to know that real wolves still walk this land.” Abruptly: a tremor. Kershov felt the glacial press of calculating eyes on the back of his neck and his cunning thoughts paused, all at once intrigued and suspicious. For almost every wolf that crept up the plateau, the alabaster Alpha had assumed that each carried something that could be melded with the army—some quality or other that he could utilize to his advantage. And they had all seemed to him perfect subjects, not a hopelessly mad or absurdly evil heart in the throng. Kershov did not appreciate madness in his subalterns, as mad wolves were hard to control and posed a rather unfortunate risk to their fellow packmates. A few new soldiers stood among the old that Ker would never consider altogether sane . . . yet those off-kilter beasts he did tolerate were still able to be ruled and provide a service to their pack. But this feeling . . . Kershov turned his skull nonchalantly to meet the icicle stare of Abendrot’s newest guest: a dark-eyed monster that held himself like a perfect predator. With a glimmer of interest, Ker realized what had inspired this odd needling emotion. Recognition. The moonwhite Monarch did not know anything specific about this stranger—how could he?—but the devious, clever intelligence writhing behind those eyes nearly mirrored Kershov’s own. This brute was a true beast. “Sir Darien Valentine,” murmured the arctic demon. His winter-breeze voice carried an almost conversational lilt. “Abendrot has a delightful little tradition where potential recruits submit before their potential Alpha.” | |
Replies:
- low expectations - By Darien Valentine August 24, 2012 at 10:56:03 PM
Watch Me Come Undone - By Enigma August 26, 2012 at 03:58:57 AM
we're two steps from hell. - By Arsinoe August 28, 2012 at 04:25:59 AM
When The Night Bleeds, The World Shall Fall.. - By Night Blood September 1, 2012 at 02:44:15 PM