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...?

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..FALLING.. FOR.. YOU.. [ENIGMA ONLY]
IP: 121.74.111.186



It was more adept for an admission of one, the close confines of the earth bound space hugged Marx’s large form until it opened out to allow space for one wolf to stretch out. A smell of jasmine lingered on the air, as the vines outside smelt a great deal stronger at night. The sweet scent reminded Marx of a more innocent time when April Sixth still seemed to exist in this world- his brother had disappeared years ago and although Marx longed for some sort of fragile shell of a family, he didn’t miss his brother. He barely remembered what he looked like and that was as a mere pup. Who knows, perhaps he had met him on his travels and simply had ignored him. He couldn’t go throughout life thinking every brute of a certain type could possibly be his family, so thought it easier to assume the brute was dead…. although some dark, deep recess inside told him that wasn’t quite true.

He took an uncertain swipe at a bug on the wall and then let his frame collapse elegantly to the dirt, head rolled back and then a groan of discomfort at his neck wounds that were still trying to heal. He chose to roll onto his sternum and stretch out his limbs lengthways, making sure there was a clear spot next to him The Saw Tooth wolves were using her den, which was far more suited to birthing than this cramped space. His tail swept the floor in anticipation and his pulse quickened, the loud thud of his heart suddenly all that consumed his attentive ears. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry. He spoke up, all traces of nerves gone from his voice.

Enigma…

It wasn’t as if he were just calling her name, it was if her name rolled of his tongue like a wave off the rocks, breaking over him. Her scent brought any manner of emotions with it, relief, joy, and excitement and underneath it all, the dire to spend a night simply staring into those mismatched gems of hers. They got little time to spend together due to their ranks and what with the crazy weather situation lately. Marx had checked the western border, which was still a rotting swamp and probably would stay that way, maybe forever. The mud threatened to swallow anyone and hold him or her fast- fight and it swallowed you, stay still and you’d starve. He’d already found a couple of deer and a few stupid strays that had succumbed the flood wave his digging efforts provided. He pushed it from his mind as a certain shadow fell across the mouth of his den and couldn’t help but have a lingering thought that Kershov would have need of one, if not both, of them soon enough. Marx was unsure what price the Saw Tooth wolves would pay, or if they would keep to their side of the bargain.

Paw steps approached and Marx let his thoughts fly to the wind, slate eyes reflecting what little light there was from the mouth, he looked more than an injured sphinx, with his pricked ears and piercing gaze. The night shadow cloak he was wrapped in gleamed and the sliver highlights showed his form.





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