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: 154.5.63.177
Posted on April 24, 2014 at 06:43:41 AM by ELI
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& the scream was never heard ______________________ Stars shattered the sky’s black expanse; through innumerable fractures, silvery light spills onto the jagged treetops. It was the kind of night when ghosts walked in the shadows, shadows that were only there because of the midnight gleam. Down on the earthen floor, eerie shapes are born out of nothing - just the hanging bark of a massacred tree trunk, or an illusion playing off the bones on the ground. Ah, but there… that one is moving - that one is REAL. It’s so dark, so quiet but still, he is there - as solid as the trees and as immense as the darkness itself, yet invisible as if he were part of the night alone. So be it: in between the massive trunks there stands a wolf. The black patterns on his grey coat are intricate war paintings; they will have to do as warnings now, for only in the light are the real ones clear. A sculpture of the kind that one pleads with one’s own imagination to be false, the creature finally moves - not a moment later a stray gust of wind hurls itself through even the low forest floor. It’s begging him to move on - do not linger here do not linger here murderer, it sighs. This is no place for a lone spirit to stray. However, the lupine moves onwards, heedless. Pillars made of broad stone carry him forward on massive clawed feet. He moves with placid objectivity which seems absolutely mal suited for… Graveyard. It’s in the demon’s cool grey eyes as they scan panoramically; this, where branches law strewn on the terrain - limbs stripped of their bodies - and great gashes lay preserved in the trunks, is a memento - a symbol of war and a contest of strength. Its discernible from the canine’s eyes. He’s seen it before: once, twice, a thousand times it doesn’t matter. There are no bodies but this is a graveyard. And he doesn’t care, he is not surprised nor awed, in fact, with eyes so faintly grey that they blend away into his mask, there is no feeling at all. Here, at home in darkness and fluent in death, there walks a soldier. Every glance is purposeful but omniscient; betraying nothing but calculation and unyielding purpose. His scent is strange and foreign which leads the conclusion that he has come from afar. After a moment of stony stillness, the beast finally strides forward to meet a shaft of moonlight breaking through the canopy. He is huge - deftly muscled with long, solidly skeletal limbs. Grey eyes turn, facing downwind - one might assume he has positioned himself strategically, as a soldier would. And he has been looking for something. In a smooth, ominous motion, the beast raises his silver muzzle to the sky; deep notes rise into the air, reverberating as if encased in crystal. Standing on the border, one might conclude he is calling for someone. His see-through grey eyes are dead and unstrained; he is no stranger to the night and apparently neither is what he has come for. She will know, she will feel it even before the cry. A mercenary has come - out of bloody ashes and certain death the unearthly wolf has returned. A soldier? Perhaps, but the title is too tame, to benign for the shaded varg with the expressionless eyes. His menacing gaze is void of emotion but once again, the description is too little. It must be understood: while it is surely and utterly unreachable, down at the bottom of those grey pits there is something substantial, but something no fool would ever want to find. |
 ELI .::. Titan .::. Devoted .::. Packless .::. Soare |
Replies:
- EVERY SOUND YOU MAKE every breath you take - By Scarlet Nights April 24, 2014 at 10:34:30 PM
& THE SCREAM WAS NEVER HEARD - By ELI April 25, 2014 at 08:32:10 PM