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: 75.91.81.101
Posted on October 27, 2012 at 02:20:29 PM by Enigma
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I follow his lonely scent, sure that it's pulling me to some dark dank cavern where he'll try to corner me and....what? Force me to see reason? I've never really understood Marx's side of the equation. Of course I've never tried to. He hurt me and while I'll never admit it to him, I'm sure some part of him knows the core of my outer hatred for him. He lost my trust because I gave it to him willingly, something I never do, and he disappered off the face of the earth. And then he comes back and works his way up the ranks, works his magic with Kershov, but he has done nothing to earn forgiveness from me. Maybe he doesn't care. Maybe he's over me and he's ready for someone new on the radar. Maybe he doesn't care for my approval or my trust. Maybe he never cared at all. I can never try to read Marx's thoughts. He's too mysterious, too filled with secrets. And yet I'm a curious wolf. I crave secrets like a lung craves oxygen. I feed off of them, bloat with their darkness. And yet he doesn't give away anything. I think again on the look he gave Minaj after she asked about his family. He shut down like a power plant and gave her a look that could slit her throat if only it had hands. He doesn't like prying. He doesn't like others to know his dark secrets and it only makes me want to know more. This confrontation has been long coming and yet I dare to feel tiny tendrils of nerves scattering in my stomach. I never feel nervous. A soft growl rumbles in my chest at the very thought. And yet I quiet down as I get closer because I'm near the borders, not some dark dank cave as I first thought. Curious, I push forward, only to hear the sound of something rolling after a few minutes. Quirking a brow up, I head toward the sounds, stalking, my head low, ears pricked forward, paws cupping the earth silently. When I peek through the bushes, I see none other than the shadowy male rolling in the grass and biting at stems as if they were trying to push him out of his favorite spot. Even through my hurt, my lips still tug into an amused smirk, eyes glittering with humor. So this is the fierce warrior captain, huh? Coming forward, I sit down a few feet from him and tilt my head. Is that a new fight move or are you just doing your daily yoga? |
Replies:
- but its not too late its never too late - By Marx October 27, 2012 at 11:25:41 PM