Malignant Felicity is a paradisaical abode to the faithful remains of a mighty pack. Once ruled by the magnificent wolf Genocide, now the wolves of this pack follow the laws of the Alpha Lance, son of Sorna, Beta and Genocide's best friend...

The sounds of crashing water fill your auds as you enter this tropical paradise. The tall trunks tower above you. The treetop canopy's seem to shade the beautiful land from the sun's rays. What a paradise this place seems. This place dubbed Malignant Felicity. As you draw closer to the boarders a stench slowly devours the air around you. The stench of death.

"Beware..." scream the birds from above you. "She kills for games. She kills for fun." Something deep inside tells you to listen. Your body tells you not to go no further. Do you listen or do you dare move into the pack borders. This could be a life or death decision...

Follow the Queen, or become a corpse that lines her border. The choice lies with you.

Refresh/Reload

A STORMY, STORMY NIGHT
IP: 107.209.70.37
Posted on April 30, 2014 at 01:44:03 AM by CARNIVAL





She will take something else tonight. She’s a lover of risk, and she’s enamored with the darkness, but she will take her old paths tonight. She will take a life.

It prowls in front of her, enticing even in the casualness of the lope. Is it his ears, the way the stand so erect while the body flows so serenely, that eggs her on? or the tension that builds between each paw step, each powerful flex of his muscles? He looks dark tonight, but that’s not what interests her. He feels dark, as if oozing from that silky mind is a poisonous sludge of emotion that he sheds at his borders. As a warning? This is one thing that she will not take. She floats closer, and feels the breath hiss from her lungs at the insistence of her exhilarated heart.

He doesn’t take breaks, but he will find out about his shadow soon enough. He’ll find out how ignorant she has been to the workings of the pack, and how easily she dismisses their apparent importance. Carnival does not care for love; it burns like a brand, and hisses like her breath, and she expels both the emotion and oxygen with each minute that passes on this earth.

The soil is dark. His pelt is black and the night is young, not quite ready to cloak it’s young princess in her denial of the queen. With her messy pelt she doesn’t look young, she looks crafty, an indeterminable look that lends danger in its unpredictability. Will she pounce on you next? are you her victim, the devil incarnate, who will be staring down your own flames with a look not of terror, no not of surprise either, but of vindication? You knew all along of her potential. You have waited to see her come to life.

Now here she springs, and she’s barreling up his side—your side—and as she falls into step she’s not the jokester you may remember. This barren land has burnt it out of her, and she greets now with the cool familiarity of one who no longer needs to show him her stomach to get his attention. “It has been long,” she says, “I have committed to a land of ghosts and wanderers, who leave no shadows and live without breathing.” She allows the smile; it’s reminiscent, “I thought I was alone.”

C A R N I V A L
i am hell bound





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