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: 124.197.36.252
Posted on August 19, 2013 at 11:28:55 PM by Marx
Tell me, who are our enemies?
After declaring herself a soldier, Marx perked a single ear to her question, other than that his façade remained unbroken and perceivably cold. Who were our enemies? Other packs? Loners? Raiders? Stupid wolves that decided to crap out a bunch of pups on their border? Marx considered who his personal enemies were- the wolves that raised him? Beat him? Tortured him and his brother until both were so use to pain it became a task, not a grievance. Marx was silent for a few moments before his leathery, gentleman lyrics clicked into play.
In my experience, a wolf can be its own worst enemy.
It answered and somehow didn’t answer her question, but that’s what she got for asking random questions- equally random answers. Marx cocked his head and his slate orbs connected with her overcast ones. She was rather stunning, but he felt nothing in the way of attraction for this fae. The thought of Enigma slipped into his mind and the picture of his beloved white zorro was enough to make him crack a smile. He caught himself and shook out his coat, fine debris and dust settling off and on him. Ebony and sliver velvets shifted over steely bands of muscle as he sat and posed a question of his own to the beautiful she wolf.
Where are you from?
He liked to know his soldiers, he knew what made them tick and like to think he could somehow estimate how they’d react. Autumnleafs shameful return and guilty tantrum did not surprise him- the brute was loyal, but not disciplined. He now had a nice reminder of his shoulder of why discipline was important, although if Kershov found him in the wrong mood, he might think the brute deserved two lessons, not one. Marx waited for her reply, and after she gave it, posed another question.
Will you be dedicated to your post as solider?
Replies:
- {pain is beauty} - By C'LERIA August 24, 2013 at 02:05:53 PM