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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The harsh, guttural sound woke Marx from his sleep, which he didn’t remember falling into. The ivory bandit sleeping peacefully next to him didn’t stir and Marx padded silently out of the den before stretching and shaking out his coat. Her scent was engrained in him and he enjoyed it every bit as much as her touch. The ebony and sliver robes stretched and rippled over his muscles as he pumped them to target his alphas call. It wasn’t calling anyone for anything, and yet Marx knew for some reason- he had to go. A deep desire had rooted within him to please Kershov and if Kershov wasn’t currently pleased- well that wouldn’t do, now would it? Grey eyes located their target and he honed in, slowing and waving his banner form side to side at Gamma height. He nodded to the group; an appreciation for Grey Wind being there already only furthered the proof the varg was committed to the pack’s cause.

No one had spoke a word and Marx’s analytical mind told him to stay standing. Kershov was a controlled beast, but every wolf had snapping point- something told Marx that today he was slightly closer to it than usual. Something had pushed him past the point of normal everyday Kershov and Marx suspected it had something to do with his non-existent chew toy. The chew to seemed to have a friend and said friend seemed to have to taken Kershov’s toy. Kershov wasn’t really the sharing kind, so Marx couldn’t but help and give a brief smile as his leathery lyrics graced the frigid air. It seemed clear to him what they would have to do. Rip his face off and watch him try to comprehend that I took it from him so easily. Marx

My king. To which pack did our little ragdoll run, might I ask?

It was spoken in a light, respectful, with a definite dark undertone. Fangs graced the air as he spoke, as if the white ivory couldn’t wait to unsheathe itself in defense of his king’s honor. Loyalty was everything to Marx and Kershov had earned his rather easily, however it would last a lifetime. The loyalty was simply a subsidiary of the discipline that had been drilled into him- however there was a deeper, darker place in Marx’s mind that shivered in sugary sweet delight at the thought of enacting revenge on his kings behalf. Marx wouldn’t do anything without orders from Kershov- but he could still dream. It had been so long since he had fought properly. Months had passed without proper bloodshed at his paws. The last true fight he had suffered was fighting on Sidorio’s behalf- a challenger from the mists. Marx had almost become alpha, but instead had chosen to leave and most wolves would not understand why he would much such a choice on the cusp of becoming both an adult and an alpha. Marx smiled as Kershov spoke of being insulted- although it wasn’t a comical smile, it was the results of the darkness creeping from the corners of his mind and into the center, taking control and ruling his thoughts.

Vladya needs to learn some manners. I’ll gladly show him correct etiquette.

Marx’s smile remained, the dark things he wanted to do echoing in his mind.





M A R X
High Commander of the Abendrot Soldiers


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