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

Watch Me Come Undone
IP: 12.231.36.2
Posted on February 22, 2013 at 04:17:51 AM by Enigma


The alpha's call reaches my ever alert ears as I lie outside the entrance of my den. Raising my head, I snap it toward the source, nostrils wrinkling up as I analyze the thick musky cologne of Kershov. He always smells of snow and hardship, blizzards and that ever inkling sense of death. This time, there's a mixture of fresh blood and aching joints to add to that equation. He must be back from his challenge then and I'd say there's a victory party to plan, though he might not be so up for it, at least for the next few weeks. King's gotta get his swing back and all. Porcelain lips slowly curl back into an amused grin as I get up, stretching and popping my own joints, satisfied crackling sending jitters up my spine as I curl up on my back legs and then bolt forward, taking off toward the meeting place.

I knew I wouldn't be first. I took my time, savoring the fresh feeling of running through Abendrot, something I don't get to do too often now a days. I've taken the past few days to relax and refresh myself, take a breather from the constant border patrol. After all, with everyone leaving all the time, what's the use of putting names to faces anymore?

The first scent to reach me besides that of my king is Fallacy. A killer at heart, she knows nothing else. She's like a dagger with a hairdo and a mind to control itself. I like her, really, I do. She's what I could have been with a few more years on the tundra, what I could easily have become if I was trained to kill. Tundra wolves were worried about survival, not murder. We killed to show mercy, pretty much the only emotion we ever showed. It was our way of pitying the poor dying fool, leaving them to feel the slash of our teeth over the numbing bite of the cold. Perhaps it would have been more peaceful for them, leaving them to their fates instead of taking that choice from them, but it was what we were taught to do. I respect Fallacy for what she has become. She is a true asset to Abendrot and to Kershov. I know she will never do wrong by him. She's just not built that way.

Another scent finds me. This one is Truffle. I've never really had the honor of meeting her but from what I hear, she's really become something else. I hear she likes to torture. I'd like to see that sometime. I can just make out voices up ahead by this time. It's the sound of Truffle's voice, or at least how I'd imagine her sounding, something to Kershov about continuing their last conversation. My own ears prick at attention. Could this be of interest to me or is it just more idle gossip and games?

Next comes the voice of my king, talking to Fallacy first, his weapon. He tells her that he has a mission for her. When he turns his attention to Truffle, I scent slight shock in the air before he speaks, laughter in his voice before he tells her that his plans with her might align with those of Fallacy. Oh, this is starting to sound juicy. My rough tongue lolls out of my snowy lips, caressing their outer lining as intrigue lights up my two toned eyes of green and blue. I continue to listen in even as my soundless approach takes me ever closer to the clearing where the three wolves talk. Kershov jumps right into the mission. The queen is absent. I would say so, since I have yet to see hair or hide of her. He wants them to find a replacement, a puppet with strings, so to speak, strings that Fallcy and Truffle will help him in pulling the girl into shape. I would be angry at this new development, having to bow to a simpleton, but nothing says I can't feign respect with a torturous gleam in my eye. Don't think I won't have some fun with this.

Another scent reaches me and this time, my heart hammers in my chest, a betrayal of my emotionless mask. Marx. My ears flatten, uncertainty flaring in my eyes before I push it backwith a hint of stubbornness. I won't succumb to this weakness, not for him, not for anyone. If he wants to know how I feel, he knows where to find me. My eyes harden in determination as I gather my strength and my wits, putting on one last burst of speed before I reach the clearing. I overhear his voice, something about meeting at the western border after the meeting. Are the trials about to start? Oh, goody.

Another scent follows and this one offers a simple distraction from the other that makes my barriers fall like sand. Ivev, the healer. She never seemed like the type to fit in here and something tells me she's starting to think the same thing. I don't know how Kershov would feel about someone dismissing themselves from the pack. I don't think that's ever happened. Usually they just desert the pack and never come back. They probably think it smarter to just disappear rather than be so polite to say good bye. With a pack as unstable as this one can become, it would probably be more wise to disappear. Even though we can hunt you down, quite easily. None the less, I look forward to any news this meeting could bring. I come up from behind Ivev, being so daring as to gently brush my hip against hers as I move on by. Marx is in front of her but the mask is already in place, the sinister smirk reeking of mystery plastered across my doll like features as I brush my side against his, teasing him with the flesh on flesh contact as I slide by with the grace of a killer.

My ears are forward, at full attention as my eyes meet those of my king, lowering their gaze for a moment to show my respect as I move up beside him, brushing my shoulder then my hip against his own massive form, though gently, minding the wounds I can see and the bruises I can't. I ease my way around the back side of his figure, coming back around on his right side where I then sit down, putting a little distance between us but not much, just enough to offer temptation. My gaze lingers on his ruggedly handsome features, even the lopsided grin that he'll always wear before my eyes sweep sublty over to the sultry features of Marx. I look over them as if memorizing them, as if this could be the last time I ever see them. My gaze meets his, a sense of longing and then finality hitting him before I tear my gaze away, sweeping it over the rest of the wolves present with the usual amused flare. I can't help it; I'm just too good at wearing a mask, especially to all the special occasions.



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