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It would seem that inheriting Bright Moon was also a surefire sign to inherit all the troubles that came along with it, although those troubles weren't exactly within his own pack. Instead, they were neighbor issues, the worst kind. Days earlier Danger had intercepted a stranger at their borders... and the way that the newcomer had mvoed himself, the scents upon his cloak... they all pointed to 'harmless.' But this was not the case. His eyes and the stench lingering beneath that of the river-water he had bathed in was what gave him away. Grey Joy, as he called himself, was a soldier from Abendrot. Not that Darcia minded being paid a visit, he just would have liked a more appropriate gesture of curiosity than that of tricks and lies. There was no problem with Danger being the one to first communicate with the fellow. The mismatched gazers of the regal here now saw no trouble with it. If Danger had survived this long without his sight, then there was nothing to worry about-- the monarch would only acknowledge weakness if Danger himself complained of it. And so far, not a word of self pity had come out of the brute's mouth... therefore, nothing remotely close to pity, sympathy, or empathy of any kind came from Darcia's tongue either. This was all a part of how Darcia ruled, and he deemed it to be appropriate. He would not bother his non-blood-related family with the idea that they must share every secret they had ever kept to themselves in their lives. That was not right. Of course, sometimes Darcia was curious-- and he would share bits and pieces of his own struggle through the obstacles he had been faced with (just as he had with Summer) and he would gently nudge, in return, a fleck of fact from their own mouths. But never would he poison them with guilt or the idea that he did not want them if they did not share. Darcia was no such man.
Since Grey Joy's arrival, the ebon-cloaked hessain had taken to circling his borders ever the more often. Although his pack was growing (little by little), and he knew that his kin was more than capable of doing the job themselves, Darcia was consumed by wanderlust... and-- seeing as leaving the pack was not appropriate when his oh-so-trustworthy Beta was not present... he had to make do with what he could, taking to the territory lines seemed the best option. Perhaps he would be learning to traverse through trees by next week. And that was another problem. He had not seen Iason since... well for a long while. Wherever the gargoyle had gone, he had left his friend, his King and his brother alone. Darcia, although not easily angered, was more than hurt at this. The two had managed to escape a literal living hell together by a quick decision that had been made with a mere glance of the eye. Before Bright Moon, Darcia had not been as regal. In fact, he had never been able to even think of being anywhere above a foot soldier. Someone who was used as a pawn in chess. Someone who was thrown away the first chance. In that pack, only male toddlers were allowed to live past infancy. The girls, he soon learned later on in life, were 'sacrificed' for good luck in battle. God knows why they needed it. That pack could rake through an army three times their size in a good two minutes. Once weaned, the boys were paired up with one another. They were to be brothers. They would face obstacles together, fight alongside their companion and learn how to work as a team with them. But as soon as their teenage years came to their peak, those brothers were pitted against one another. For some sick reason the pack believed that power to overcome ones own heart was the best kind of power. To be able to kill someone you love and trust... that deemed you worthy of approval. And so when Darcia and Iason were set against one another, it was just another battle. Blood spilled in liters across the dusted arena, and everytime they fell, they would get right back up and lunge again, powered by the screeching and screaming of onlookers who cared naught who came out victorious.
The problem was that both the boys, Iason white and Darcia black, were in equal strength with one another. They always had been, which is partially why the made one of the unbeatable teams against other groups. At some point in time, they were both on the ground, breathing dirt and blood with hurried lungs that could barely catch a break. He supposed it was lucky that Iason turned his way when he was looking. Because as soon as he did, they both stood up and took off running side by side. The elders had never been faced with this. Two brothers thinking the same thought. Of course they had had misfits before who had tried to run off like a coward with their tails tucked beneath their stomachs, willing to give up if it meant they could keep their lives... but Iason and Darcia were not running away. They were running with a vengeance. Honestly Darcia couldn't remember how many males they took down in their miniature stampede. It hadn't been an easy escape, or an easy fight, as they were already so wounded. But once they reached the plains, the open ground... the lead in their legs was lifted from them. All the horrible deeds that their pack had done and had forced them to take part in were suddenly erased from their minds. Blossom Forest was not a thought at first. They refused to go to a pack, for fear that all packs may be the same as the one they had been born into. For months, perhaps even a year, the duet stayed together, making sure to keep the other alive even if it meant getting hurt or learning lessons they had never learned before. It was hard, to say the least, but once a decision was made to become leaders... nothing could turn them around. Why Bright Moon? Iason didn't know the reason why Darcia had been so pumped to challenge the current alphess, Ambrosia. And Iason had not been able to take part in a fight with her. It had been all Darcia.
When he won, he did not cut her down. But she did not provide him with the necessary information he needed to know before taking Bright Moon as his gold. He did know, though, that the way he ruled a pack would be much different than that of the hell he and his brother had escaped from. There would be no tyranny here. No sacrifices or sexism that might put others in danger. No hatred would spill from his mouth, and if it spilled from his soldiers, he would be quick to correct it. But most of all, he would make sure to protect the pack. Even when circumstances seemed to be at their worst, Darcia would not back down until his last dying breath. When his first challenge came into play, he couldn't have been more glad or any less amused. He was pissed, yet struggling to contain his joy at being able to stretch those muscles he hadn't been able to use for months. Turning out victorious put a new light on his power, and even though he was able to contain it, he struggled to keep to his promises. There is good and bad in every one of us, he knew that. Sometimes it is hard to contain either side, as they are both fighting for dominance. Evil deeds are more easy to give into, which is why Darcia had a small speck of admirance for himself for being able to change his ways so quickly. Bright Moon had become a sort of haven for him, and he wanted it to be that way for the ones who came to it's borders as well. He knew that without a pack, he was nothing... and therefore a deep appreciation and respect was devoted to every single pack member.
Weaving through the trees that kept the sun from burning into his darkened flesh too strongly, the raven lifted his nape, twisting his cranial a bit to the side as he took in what he eventually found to be a scent that he did not recognize. A pitter patter of panic pounded at the walls of his arteries, pulling his veins tight as he walked briskly in the direction of the cologne. This speed slowed, however, when it was clear that whoever it was had not yet passed over the border line. Still, the thought of another being from Abendrot had his muscles rolling underneath his well-groomed cloak. The wounds from his challenger had healed, though the one on his sternum was still a bit sore-- though it would not be fun to take a healthy varg straight on, Darcia would be ready to do what he could to keep those with ill intentions out of the paradise he had created and claimed for his to control. The newcomer was not from Abendrot. Though his shoulders were hunched too high for him to be comfortable. Pausing for a moment before he showed himself, Darcia twisted his skull around, his portals swiveling this way and that to look for possible trouble. From the way the brute was standing, he seemed to be in a breed of pre or post-panic. Was something wrong? Picking up no other signs of life, Darcia turned back to the male and continued forward. Unlike other alphas, the present monarch kept his plummage steady and low to his body. He never lifted it unless there was a need to intimidate a possible threat. Other than his cologne, which spotted the borders eagerly now, there was no way that a varg not in Bright Moon would be able to recognize Darcia as the alpha. He kept to himself, having never met another leader save for a quick congratulations to Striker of Moondown Shadows, and he had never given off any vibe of competition to neighboring packlands. Quiet, compassionate and gentle with his pack members, but a force to be reckoned with for enemies. There was one thing, though. The way he spoke was still being worked on. Though soaked in kindness, there was a tinge to Darcia's words that carried no warmth in them. His lyrics were somewhat cold... frigid if you will, but never, ever, unkind.
As he approached the stranger, he made no motion to take in his appearance or make a suggestion for the other tsar to move his back to the ground so that he may see his weak spots. He did, however, notice that the brujo's muscles tightened even more so, as if he was expecting to be hit. Or worse. Anxiety sparked in Darcia's mismatched pools, though he quickly bottled it, not wanting to allow his own discomfort to spread into the atmosphere sot hat it may react with this one's. He lowered his volume so that the lyrics would, hopefully, not seem as harsh as they normally would. Do not lower your eyes to the ground, stranger. You should always look to see where you're going so that you do not accidentally step onto a path that looks smooth as it may actually lead to a place you do not wish to go. A huff that hinted at slight amusement touched his next words. If it would make you relax, I will close my own eyes so that you will not fear raising your gaze. Tell me when I can open them. Though I am sure that your eyes are a sight to see. ahaha...get it. A sight-- to... was he really making jokes in his head now? The actual fuck. Darcia did indeed close his eyes, and would only open them if and when the stranger said so. Unconciously, Darcia had allowed the jester a sort of power over him. Not that he minded after he realized it. If it made the man any more comfortable, perhaps it was for the best. What is your name?
darcia
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