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: 76.243.46.249
Posted on February 27, 2013 at 00:25:44 AM by VLADYA
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He wasn’t patrolling the border. That wasn’t his job. In fact, Vladya didn’t have any jobs, because he was technically a worthless prisoner that should be dead right now, smeared into the floor of a dungeon cave by Kershov’s merciless fangs. The arctic brute was worth less than nothing in Abendrot—not even the healers that Kershov had sent seemed to care about him; they’d bickered and snipped about the proper methods for bringing him back from the dead and appeared more concerned about their practice than who they were practicing on. A derisive snort blew from Vladya’s nose as he remembered their holier-than-thou voices—as if they actually knew what the hell they were doing. After that session of madness, the white warrior had never seen their faces again. It’s not as if he needed them . . . young Kobato did more than enough work on her own bringing him food and company. He halted. Thinking of Kobato caused more emotion to writhe in his chest than the thoughts of all the useless healers combined. And he wasn’t even sure what those emotions were. With another snort and an aggressive flick of his tail, Vladya marched forward once more on his pointless trek around Abendrot’s border. As previously stated, he wasn’t patrolling. Vlad was truly just trying to test the soldiers, seeing if they’d notice his scent on the wind and come running to drag him back into the territory’s heart. So far, a few hours had passes and no bloodthirsty muzzles had shown themselves among the shadows . . . but that may have meant that the army just felt confident in Vladya not having the balls to run away. They were right. Vlad knew very well that the instant he tried to escape, someone’s fangs would be buried in his neck. His life was shitty—yet it was still live. He preferred not dying for now. “What the fuck?” Those gruff words rumbled from Vlad’s scarred maw a moment after he first heard a chorus ringing past the trees. His ears pinned themselves to his skull in annoyance. Who the hell was singing?! Did this place look like some kind of amphitheatre? Driven by pure tundra-carved hostility Vladya trotted quickly to the source of the ungodly noise until he came upon a group of young males, belting their guts out right beside Abendrot’s wall. Any female probably would have swooned herself silly listening to their glowing romantic lyrics . . . but Vladya wasn’t female. Their racket was quickly pissing him off. He shouldered roughly around thick undergrowth so that his battle-marked body stood in full view of the band. Each ice-pale hackle on his pelt spiked toward the sky. A snarl warped his muzzle. “Shut the FUCK up!” Vlad barked. “What do you assholes think you’re doing? Do you know where you are?” Vladya had been raised in a gang on the most unforgiving environment on earth. He was not familiar with the concept of “manners” or “dignity”; if he was angry, he let everybody know. And these dudes had made him extremely angry. In a way, the glacial gladiator was doing these boys a favor. Kershov would probably tear their heads off the moment he heard them. “I’m not even a freaking packmember and I know you’re in the wrong place.” |
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