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: 68.109.3.152
Posted on August 13, 2013 at 08:40:00 PM by verity
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this is her first conscious thought as the once pristinely colored lady awakens, surrounded by darkness on all signs, far, far from her home, and very, very confused. there is no scent of kershov on the wind. no perfume of enigma against the undergrowth that surrounded her. hell, this doesn’t even look like her home! that’s when the panic finally starts to set in. she’s alone. she doesn’t know where is is. she’s in extreme pain. and god is she terrified. she wants kershov. she wants enigma. hell, she’d even take marx right now. she just wants home. she wants familiarity. she wants to be surrounded by the comforting scents of her pack mates, she wants to have the herbs staining her coat, not the... oh god. blood. her blood... she wants to turn into that cool, confident healer who is a miracle worker but...she’s afraid. she’s beyond afraid. she’s terrified. she’s that hopeless little girl she was when she came to the pack all those months ago. she’s that pitiful scrap of a wolf who fell into a pack meeting and tumbled right into the alpha beta and pronounced quite loudly that she thought that enigma was pretty. and god, she hates it. she wants to be that wolf she’s struggled to become. the peaceful ess who knew every herb like the back of her paw, who could face a terrified wolf and sooth them with just her actions. but she can’t be that wolf. not right now. and maybe not ever. she doesn’t like this. she doesn’t like being helpless. so, she has to not be helpless. only, that’s a whole lot easier said than done. because the first time she tries to stand, she ends up soaking wet, her own blood clogging her once lovely white coat. it gets in her mouth and her stomach churns and she heaves, a thin stream of bile dripping out of her mouth. all she wants to do is curl up into a tight little ball in the safety of the pack lands, surrounded by the heavy musk of her leader, who’s scent infiltrates everything, everywhere. but she can’t. and not just because she can hardly stand. because all of a sudden a trio of massive white wolves stalk forward, each scared, almost as badly as kershov. the leader’s, who’s slightly smaller than the alpha in question, torn mouth curls into a evil grin as he stares at her. “now now verity, can’t have our little doll running away, now can we?” verity’s stained muzzle, torn into ribbons by lord knows how many wolves, opens, despite the searing pain that rips across her face as does and she just manages to whisper, ”please” before she can’t talk anymore because it feels like shards of glass are being shoved down her throat; they’ve even taken her voice from her. she can faintly remember screaming filling her ears and she distantly recalls that it’s her voice in the memory, her voice forming that awful, twisting sound. the leader crouches closer towards her. “now now doll, we have to ask for what we want.” but he doesn’t give her a chance to respond before he turns, stalking into the shadows. “grab her; we’re taking our lovely little doll home. let’s see how kershov feels; maybe next time he’ll leave what isn’t his alone.” verity curls in on herself, whimpering inaudibly, not daring to twitch a muscle as the first male, stocky with only one ear, the other torn beyond repair and a trio of scars marring his left shoulder to his collar bone, lungs forward, teeth connecting with her right shoulder. a shriek rings out and she recognizes it as hers. a chuckle rumbles through the male’s chest, muffled by the torn flesh of her shoulder. the other male glares at the stockier of the two, icy orbs piercing the dark ones of the sadistic male before he moves closer, grabbing a unharmed piece of flesh to jerk her up, his snowy shoulder sliding under hers. and then they begin to move. and the burning agony has her out like a light, her mind trying to protect her from the cruel reality that she’s currently facing. when she awakes, they’re close to home. she can almost smell it on the wind. so close....and yet so far, separated by the arrogant leader ahead of her. so she does what any good healer does. she took stock of her wounds. the damage inflicted must’ve begun months ago. with a bitter chuckle that makes her chest ache and blood leak out of her mouth and for a moment she’s reminded of vladya, who she helped care for so long ago. and she can’t even ask for him because she has nothing. she has herself and this pain, this searing agony. her white pelt is a mess of bruises, blood, welts, gashes. any form of torture possible was inflicted on the poor girl, who’s only sin was of trusting too much. this could have gone on months, and it has in her mind, though in reality it’s been just a week and a half. a long, awful week and a half. and in that week and a half, she’s been starved and bitten and scraped and beaten and whatever else fell into her captor’s minds. and now, finally, she is home. she is safe. except. they’re still here. the leader leans down, his foul breath hot in her torn, twisted ear and he whispers, “tell darling kershie that i’m back.” and then they’re gone, leaving a heartbroken mess of a girl. her wings are broken and mangled. her hope has vanished. she’s close to giving up. but there’s this little thought at the back of her head, urging her not to give up. she is safe. safe here on the edge of abendrot’s lands, her blood spilling onto the surface. safe here on the edge of death. safe here in kershov’s lap. she is safe. finally. [ooc.] DON’T EVEN ASK I DON’T KNOW. BUT SOMEHOW IT HAPPENED SO I WENT WITH IT. HEY KERSHIE. |
Replies:
- FROZEN MASS GRAVE - By KERSHOV August 21, 2013 at 04:22:40 PM
twisted - By verity August 22, 2013 at 08:38:51 PM
FROZEN MASS GRAVE - By KERSHOV September 5, 2013 at 02:02:37 AM