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

Equality is what i stand for. but I didn't say you'd survive [KERSHOV PLEASE/OPEN]
IP: 101.98.129.249




An ebony mass lays curled into a tight ball under a red rose bush. The roses were brown and looked dead, but just underneath the lifeless façade was green, supple twig bursting with life. Marx enjoyed the rose bush, only once a year did it blossom and show its true, red blood colors to the outside world. It reminded him of himself, only very rarely exposing to others what he truly was. Could he be a fraud? This cold, hearted killer that never showed anything more than a cold front enveloped with a warning to bite. Sure, he was a complete and utter gentleman, but there was a reason wolves didn’t socialize with Marx. He was not found gallivanting with others, he was almost an assassin of the daylight, stealthily creeping through his own territory, watching the other members, watching their loyalty and seeing how far it would hold. Abendrot was everything to him and few wolves would understand how his life felt tied to the land.

He had been dreaming about his brother. Sixth was the reason he still lived and yet he knew nothing of his brother- he never mentioned him, never spoke of him. Marx hadn’t ever even said his name allowed for years. Was it fear or was it loathing? Marx had figured out the two weren’t actually that far from each other on the bandwidth of his emotions. His ear flickered and his left eyes twitch, a slight growl rumbling in his throat. The dream was so real, it was like the day he and his brother stumbled into Abendrot, blind with weakness and mad with hunger. They knew of borders and their rules- they simply cared little for the consequences at that point.

Krutch. The big ivory male who had taken them in, Kershov reminded him a lot of Krutch, except Kershov had the ragged, damn determined way of getting exactly what he wanted out of his pack and he did whatever was needed to get it. He doubted Kershov would have taken two pups under his wing, fed them up and protected them and taught them…trained them. Then he had disappeared. Marx felt little when Krutch left…or died, he knew either was likely and didn’t bother to search for the male- however he didn’t leave the pack either. He felt a strange sense of commitment…something he couldn’t place. On the last day he saw his brother, when they were over a year old, he asked his brother if he felt the same way about the territory they were raised on. Marx, you’re the most loyal killer I know was his answer.

A loyal killer. He hadn’t quite understood at first what his frosty sibling had meant, he took it as a joke. Now he understood that April Sixth knew Marx better than he knew himself even at that young age. He knew Marx had the fiercest loyalty to the land he loved and he knew it like a mate knows his lover. The land provided for him, sheltered him, and protected him. He felt a debt was owed and now another debt was stacked on top. Enigma. The sly fae that had seemed to steal a piece of him, but he wasn’t sure what she’d stolen yet. That bitch. How dare she? He had betrayed what little trust her heart or head had allowed her to place in him and Marx wouldn’t rest (figuratively speaking) until the debt was repaid and her trust was won once more. Marx smiled in his sleep; his dreams turning from April to Enigma and his heartbeat slowed and muscles went from contracting to relaxing. Her ivory coat filled his sleeping vision and her mismatched gaze seemed to encircle him, trap him in her gaze. One blue gem, one green. Marx smiled as he opened is eyes, the view of dawn setting upon Abendrot. He rose, stretched and called to the alpha. It was time.

Kershov, the white whale of an alpha was never far away; but would he come to his commander’s call?

He knew now what he had to do. Abendrot would rise.






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