Aplos Riverside

Moladion’s powerful, winding river...
Aplos River is a broad, slow-moving river originating from somewhere beneath the mountains of Spirane and feeding Iromar’s moors in the south. The northern parts of the river are known for their strong currents, with the water becoming slow moving in the south. The riverbanks vary along its course, ranging from soft hummock grasses to small groups of pine, and sometimes nothing but pebbles and sand. Crossing can be difficult at times, but it can be swam or bridged by fallen trees or boulders alike.

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last blues for blood knuckles
IP: 121.214.7.253
Posted on June 19, 2013 at 04:25:21 PM by ruvindra

restless: i found your weakness



It had been hard to see her son struggle so much with his words, his battered face contorting with emotion in an effort to understand, to put words to thought. It filled her with an endless remorse and an endless bitterness; she had tried, tried tirelessly to raise each child correctly and yet Vague had neglected all of them for two years. Not a single word, not a single... nothing, they had been given nothing. A few hares here and there but they had each been neglected of a voice, of a physical comfort - she'd never forgive him for such a thing even if she had tried for so long. She wondered if Vidar felt such a thing over their exodus but she dare not ask - she wished not to strain him any further. Besides, she was truly content to simply be beside him, her tired paws trudging onward though somewhere within her weary features was the hint of a smile.

She had been off guard, her body and mind too tired, too distracted to see the other - to smell him, to feel his anger in the air. But she was by no means tired enough to not feel the sudden shove against her, her own son's weight suddenly pummeled into her, shoving her aside as a dark shadow slammed into them. As a yelp filled the air, she snarled in retaliation, her frail legs finding their grounding beneath her as she whirled around to find their assailant. She had, honestly, expected it to be Caligula but instead, she found the form of Devil May Cry - oh yes, she remembered him. He had sought Vague's death and her own, perhaps, at some point but now his teeth were wedged into her son, the smell of blood one she found suddenly unpleasant. Her son's blood - not today.

It took her a moment to steady herself, and as she turned to face them entirely, she came to see the damage. Her son was fighting, or trying to at least, his ear firmly between the male's teeth - with a snarl, a shriek truly, she dove forward, her own teeth seeking the top of Devil's skull. She stood along side her son, her slender form suddenly alive and livid with anger - her hackles rose like knives, teeth baring down if they found flesh. She wanted to crush his skull, to feel the relief of her teeth cracking through the surface of the bone. Most of all, she wanted the bastard to release her son - did he not know who he chewed down on? His own pack mate? Scum.

She would not stop, would not rest until her son was free, was able to flee. If she could, she would begin to maul, to begin a savage assault of snapping teeth and snarls at the soft flesh of Devil's head - ears, muzzle, eyes, anything. It didn't matter. She would not allow her son to be maimed.



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