aurora borealis- noun plural: An aurora that occurs in northern regions of the earth. Also called northern lights.
In the middle of a dense forest of coniferous trees lies the Aurora Borealis pack, its name coming from its location. At certain times of the year, the northern lights appear, dancing almost magically in the sky. A narrow trail leads you through the close evergreens. Giving into temptation, you begin moving your paws. By venturing into this territory, you are venturing into a land belonging to a pair of feared leaders. You have heard rumors of them...but you decide to take your chances and hope that the tales of blood and death are merely fabricated stories to scare wolves.
You have walked nearly five minutes before you realize the sound of paws stepping somewhere from behind. Deciding that you've made a mistake, you quickly turn around, but find that you cannot go any further. Standing before you is one of the mighty kings you've heard of. His blood red pelt clings over perfectly toned bands of muscle. But that isn't what causes such fear in your veins. One of his amber eyes has a horrid, bleeding scar across it, and his good eye seems to stare right through you. His face is expressionless, giving off none of his intentions. You cower away as his jaws part.
"I'm Hell Demon."
His voice was deep and cut through the air like a hot knife through butter. Right where he left off, another voice picks up from behind you. You whirl around and find yourself facing another male with steely muscles beneath his pelt, which seems to consist of every shade of brown. He had startled you, and you're amazed how you hadn't at all detected his approach.
"And I am Ghost...we're the alphas of Aurora Borealis."
His deep voice was laced thickly with a Native American accent. His own golden eyes are directing a harsh glare your way. Now you're caught in the middle...your breathing has become heavy in your panic and you're not sure which to face.
"You've foolishly trespassed into our territory. You face the one called Hell Demon's whose voice is once more addressing you. Get out, or become a corpse along our border."
It's obvious they mean business. So now it's up to you...take your chances and stay, or heed their warning and waste no time getting out with your life.
IP: 70.56.226.26
Posted on April 29, 2014 at 02:02:32 AM by BELOVED
word count: 1114 Limbs creaked dangerously under the hellion as he trudged forward, completely unaware of his predicament. Blood trailed in pools after him, soaking into the moist ground just recently hit by a storm. The skies were set ablaze with lightning then—and teeth had clashed together at that time. At the crest of each of his shoulder blades was an incision that slit from his blades to about halfway down his back. They were at a slight angle, to make an almost unrecognizable inverted “v” shape. Glazed sage watchers flickered from east to west, and stopping became an action that was least desired. A cough wracked through the beast, sending blood up his throat, where he wretched the contents of his mouth onto the ground, desperate to get the bile taste out of his mouth. Night was falling—if he didn’t get inside a sanctuary soon, he would be at their mercy. Just this alone was enough to push the beaten dog onward, though exhaustion was starting to play a role in his ability to see correctly. His crown swiveled back and forth, eyes shutting for long enough to be considered unusual when blinking. The charred half of his palette was cursed to have needles prick into the flesh at every second, allowing him no rest as he pushed himself further, knocking one of his shoulders into a tree. He bit his scream back, lest he give away his location any more than need be. Not that they hadn’t already caught up to him with just the scent of his blood filtering through the electric atmosphere. The traitor’s talons sunk into the mud as he moved, pulling himself forward. Just one more step, he told himself, one more. And then one more after that. And so on. If he had been on a battleground instead of a mere forest filled with nothing (at least to be seen with a quick glance) but coniferous pines… perhaps this would have been a bit more glorious and moving. But there was nothing glorious about Beloved’s trek now. It was Hell, and that was all. The sun was falling ever the more quickly as he reached the stench of some man’s borders whom he had no idea the name of. What if, in this area, there was no such thing as sanctuary? Perhaps the vargs here were more cruel and heartless than where he himself had come from… then again, why would his own trusted ‘friends’ throw him to the night walkers if he was anything to them? One slip up and Beloved has suddenly been an outcast, exiled for eternity from their order. He was given his “after-title,” Beloved, and sent off by the very woman who had first brought him in. It wasn’t her fault. He knew that. Her tears were not allowed to show based on tradition… but nevertheless, the creature had known that they lingered behind glass walls. They threatened to break that glass and surge through, just as the rain had the night he had been removed from their rankings. His power had been stripped from him—every title that he had ever held dear to his heart… it was no longer his to own. Some other soul would be given his true name, and he would be unable to return to his life. From a land so far away… who was he to petition for sanctuary among vargs he knew not the history of? Beloved. What a fitting name considering his crimes. After all, he had sunk his incisors into her throat. It had been an act of loyalty; but according to the faith his family followed, there was no such thing as this ‘accident.’ There was merely inevitability that was tied to creatures such as him. It had been inevitable for evil to sneak in with him when he had first entered their pack as an outsider with no royal blood to speak of. It had been fate for he, the cursed one, to be chosen as a suitable mate for the princess. It had been inevitable for the monster himself to be the cause of death for his own bride. But they knew not the true story. Of why Katja had been killed. Of why she was smiling when he rested his teeth in her larynx, yanking the very life right out of her. They were ignorant. And ignorance was bliss. They would stay happy, and he would bear the burden of having killed their precious goddess. For having killed his ‘beloved.’ He had bowed his head when his name was taken from him. When the angel’s lashings were given to him, one on each shoulder, he had not cried out. He announced no complaints as he was forced into the darkness beyond the pack’s territory. He did not look back as he raced off into the night then. There was no chance the heavenly vargs who followed a different religion than was ever practiced by any other known to this world would call him back to their rankings. There was no such thing as pity or mercy for a wolf who ended a life of one of their god’s beloved children. But now as he scrambled to the border line, unable to utter a single word, Beloved felt tears sting his raw flesh. Katja had been his dream. She had been everything he had ever wanted, everything he never deserved. And as she was held by those who would kill her unless he gave them her willingly, there wasn’t really a choice save her death. Beloved could have tried to murder them, but then both of them would’ve gotten killed. She had revealed her neck for him to end her, and he had honored her choice. It was the only thing he could do for her. And he had almost killed himself doing it. And here he was, coughing up blood on some strangers doorstep, with the mark of the ‘fallen’ on his back, his face charred by a fire he had been driven into by the night walkers, and his heart stabbed with a hot knife. As the sky darkened, the varg stopped and looked up briefly, his one sage portal that was working at the moment desperately trying to focus on something—anything. But double vision had taken over… and as the seconds passed by, the charcoal, ashen and ivory warrior covered in blood, fell to the terra, the impact rendering him unconscious. If fate truly was real… then he did not appreciate its cunning, deceitful ways. He did not appreciate the hand he’d been dealt. So now he was laying down all his cards on the table. ...  |
Replies:
- Abysmal Loneliness - By Hellene May 1, 2014 at 04:35:06 AM
you know no secrets of this angel in Hell. - By BELOVED May 3, 2014 at 06:35:04 PM
Abysmal Loneliness - By Hellene May 4, 2014 at 09:10:01 PM
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