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: 12.231.36.2
Posted on January 12, 2013 at 03:25:28 PM by Enigma
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Kershov glances over at me, his ice cold stare glowing. I know there's always been that electric spark between us, that sense of attraction of things that could be but aren't, but it's never bothered me. I have a thing for Marx, a deep thing, I know that. I'm in over my head with that wolf and I don't know where to go. With him, it's all butterflies and what to say but with Kershov, everything is easy and it's like slicing through butter. I am his General and I would never ask to be more. I respect my place in his pack and I respect that he has someone else to take that place at his side. I never eyed that place nor do I now. I like giving orders and being domineering, but I like being second place. I'm comfortable with that. Kershov is the king and I like it that way. I've never even met his queen but I'll make sure I do the first minute she pops her head in, you'd better believe that. I have to make sure she's worthy of him, after all. Can't have a strong throne when you have a weak queen. I trust Kershov's decision though and I'm sure she'll be a fine queen for Abendrot, when she's around. Doesn't mean that I can't have a little fun with words and wit when I'm around her mate though. He's just too fun to talk to. He matches my sarcasm word for word, his ice cold stare only strengthening his position in the conversation. Maybe I'm not mate material but that's okay too. I can just torment Marx for the rest of my life, teasing his heart as he did mine until we're both wasted and ready to kick the bucket. I'll still have Kershov to curb my appetite for spice in the meantime, the wolf I can always turn to for a little quarrel of wits and those electrifying eyes to boot. He knows nothing about my time in the tundra just as I don't know of his besides what he's told. He was leader of a pack of gangsters, the rogues of the tundra. My pack was taught to kill them on sight if we couldn't avoid them because they're more trouble left alive. I never ran into Kershov's gang or I'm sure I would have recognized him. The tundra is too big for that. We come from different worlds but the same all at the same time. The tundra is a cold habitat, a place for survival, no room for love or devotion. If your mate goes down, staying by her will only result in a slow death for both. True love dies young in such a cold place. It rips the heart right out of you unless you're lucky enough to be born without one. I perk up at the king's half hearted response, almost sounding like an apology. I tilt my head, amusement in my two toned eyes. Does he think he hurt my feelings by asking for a rabbit or by bringing up death of the pregnant girl? It's hard to tell with Kershov sometimes what he's thinking. Scratch that, all of the time. He focuses around my eyes and I try not to squirm too much under the pressure of his gaze but finally he speaks again and I can't help but laugh lightly. The more mouths, the merrier, isn't that what an alpha should be thinking? Maybe a pack hunt is in order if you're so scared of our ability to feed them... I quirk a brow, my eyes glowing teasingly. I can see that he's slightly irritated, as if some of the wolves are falling under his standards. No wonder he's letting Marx do as he will with the soldiers who aren't up to par. Finally he turns his attention back to the female sleeping in the den. I shake my head softly at his words. You're not really in a place to be calling anyone a bastard, you know. Just how well do you plan on bonding with your children from Minaj? Does your queen know about her? Kershov changes the subject though. I tilt my head, eyeing him with curiosity. Always thinking of justice. Whatever happened to the leader of the rogue gang? I thought injustice was more your thing. My lips curve into a teasing smirk. |
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