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...?

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ICE KING
IP: 76.243.46.249


Kershov had not expected the scent he found on the border. That wasn’t to say he was surprised—he kept his guard up and his mind too open for petty things like shock. Ruhani’s perfume on Abendrot’s fence merely alerted the glacial gladiator to something new and he reacted accordingly. By feeling annoyed.

Ruhani hadn’t shown her face around the packlands for a while, now. Kershov had come to believe that the budding assassin had grown bored of Abendrot, or else she thought her place elsewhere. Honestly, the Ice King felt rather disappointed: he allowed Ithilwen and Ruhani to join his army because he saw the potential under their vaguely irritating arrogance. Ithilwen possessed the true makings of a spy, if she practiced controlling her behavior a little more; Ruhani possessed the classic assassin’s bloodlust, albeit unrefined by careful training. Kershov held no doubts now where Ithilwen’s loyalty lay—but what about Ruhani? He couldn’t have wolves wandering in and out of the territory whenever they felt like it. Marx served as a prime example of what happened to deserters (although the silver male admittedly paid his dues, which is why he now ran the army beside Scorpio). Did Ruhani not realize what her AWOL behavior entailed?

Frowning slightly, the white warrior quietly began to follow Ruhani and Ithilwen’s trail deeper into Abendrot. It didn’t take him long to find the girls resting by a copse of young trees—apparently enjoying the day. Ruhani looked alert and alive as ever. Good. Perhaps she had matured during her absence.

Massive white paws crushed a carpet of leaves with a strangely quiet sound, completely at odds with the sheer bulk of the monster they carried. Darkness helped to soften the ragged scars etched into the right half of Kershov’s face. It did nothing to soften the growl in his voice.

“Why wouldn’t he be okay with you coming back?” Kershov coldly replied in answer to Ruhani’s hopeful quip. “I hear the Alpha is always pleased to see his property return.”




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