The air is heavy as you make your way through unknown territory, as you pause to sniff the air a drop of rain falls onto your nose. It is soon followed by another and another and soon the rain is pelting down in sheets, soaking you to the bone. The clouds are an angry purple and the menacing drumming of thunder rolls over the sky. Squinting your eyes against the blinding water you find yourself at the edge of a large, dark pine forest. You are too desperate for shelter to notice the scents that mark the border and plunge in, and nearly into the chilly stream that runs through the territory. You veer away and as you are shaking the water out of your fur you notice a large pair of icy blue shards gazing at you. The storm has passed now and beams of sunlight filter through the thick canopy of pines, illuminating a massive male wolf not three feet away from where you stand.

His pelt looks like a bad patchwork job of black and white and beneath them you see large, hard bands of steely muscle and you know this is a warrior for his torso is marred with many battle scars. His banner curls over his back and his lips are drawn, exposing sharp ivory daggers. When he speaks his voice is deep and dominant, like the thunder you so recently heard.

"Wolf, you have found yourself in the terra of the Andere Seite Pack. I am Eclipse, king of this land."

It is only then that you notice another pair of lanterns gleaming in the penumbra and a dark-pelted fae slinks out into the clearing to stand next to the king, her own banner waves and her green and blue eyes bore into you. She is the same size as most males and a crisscrossing pattern of scars show that she too can take care of herself. Her voice is cold and has a snake-like sound to it yet you can see they are both fair rulers.

"And I am Nephthys, queen of Andere. We don’t care much for strangers so you must make your choice, Submit to us now or flee our lands and never return. If you fail to do either you will have little time left to regret it."

The formidable pair pierces you with their gaze and you feel as if all your secrets spill out before them. You are left with a decision now. Will you submit and take refuge in this dark forest or will you flee and never know what secrets these trees hide? Make haste, you can see that the pair grow tired of waiting.

Refresh/Reload

a vampires life for me, yo ho....
IP: 69.29.77.27
Posted on December 4, 2012 at 10:52:43 PM by Darien Valentine

|| (Adult) || (Male) || (Vampire) || (Loveless) ||

DARIEN “I only want,”
VALENTINE “The best for me.”
Has it been that long since I’d romped through the moon lit forests of home, my paws clumsy and strides uneven? When was the last time I’d thrown playful teases at my darker siblings? Even as my legs grew longer, my step more confident, my fur lost its fluffy, childish feel and my eyes dimmed to their near black stage of adult hood, had I lost what I’d been then? Or was it still in me, somewhere? Past the rivers of blood I’d consumed, winding between mountainous ranges of aggressive silence and iron mines built on mindless violence, ingrown by the weeds of tea time sex. It was hard to believe, remembering my last words to anyone being my sensual encounter with Night Blood, her voice spinning delicate tales of gore and passion. I knew, even deeper than my fond childhood memories, and those I’d soon make, that anywhere the smell of death came; she’d neither be far behind, nor ahead. Clearing a log, parasitic mosses and ferns growing amongst its moist, darkly shaded bark, I was again reminded to where my journey would bring me; Andere Seite; my home, and the home of my family, as well. I hadn’t even known of their existence until recently, and I felt the call of kin as strong as the need to stray from sunlight. Never had I done it consciously, but lately, I’ve been checking myself. The way I instinctively shied from the bright of day, and favored shadows and night, the threatening sheen of the sun burning away at my conscious, and I couldn’t help but wonder, were they the same? The familiar draw of liquid wet my throat, salivary glands twitching when the smell of blood entered my nostrils, and as if stepping into a second dimension as its metallic scent washed over me, I knew my own face had transformed to that of rapid hunger- the only self-preservation I had, I’d drawn from the spoors accompanying it. Vorkuta, Damon, Sakari Dashi, Onyx, Prussia, and Sovie’s and the scattered scents of various brethren all engulf my own, affirming our relation by the similarity of our odor, and for a few moments of star-struck reminisce, images of laughter, bloodied children’s tongues lolling about and the teachings of early life danced briefly through my complicated thoughts, each gnarling themselves up so one couldn’t be told from the next, and, somehow, that was like family; different, but part of one; part of me. Taking a few minutes to rub my own scent over theirs, feeding my almost obsessive glee at locating my litter mates, I eased myself over the border. But how could I not- when we all shared the thing most precious to me? Blood.

*”I only want the best for me”*

If you opened Blossom Forest, like, per say, a book- don’t get ahead of yourself, this is only a metaphorical term, but, say that you did. Each page would be written with words of wolves, each sentence dotted with the period of a specific landmark or an especially spectacular death, and the main characters would wind their plots as packs and territories, their fates determined by decisions that the literature printed in ink, permanently. What would happen if you tore a few pages out? If you would reduce the number of words to fitting a few, if one letter, maybe, decided to become something else, when the rest of the phrase didn’t agree? Would that singular piece of the pie just, well, give up? Or would it, perchance, start a thing on the side, a perverted conspiracy, a much more sinister prequel to what’s already written? Well, that letter can be described as a wolf, a clever one, with fur like crow’s feathers, eyes as big as marbles- as black as night, and with a craving for something that, in order to get, would mean erasing whole pieces of a book, but without it, he would lose himself. Why? Because he loves it more than he loves himself. Darien Valentine, I believe his name is, and if you look closely at his disconcerted expression, you’ll see how much it pains him to be so close to what he wants, and still a few steps behind. He’s late, fashionably, of course, but late all the same- and being an organized wolf himself, that wouldn’t sit well. Already across a milestone of sorts, we’ll call it a border if you will, he weaves through heavily shaded trees and growths so abnormal words would not do them justice, not so much in a hurry as determined to get there, and not so much as walking as slithering, his pelt seeming to reach into the shadows themselves and take some of their deathly camouflage, dipping in and dipping out, a spoon, and like a ravening child he fervently laps it up.






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