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.
IP: 107.209.70.37
Posted on January 6, 2015 at 08:41:31 AM by CARNIVAL
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"Give me a reason not to do it." She thrived in silence. In the utter absence of contact with other wolves, creatures, or other creepy crawlies of the night, she’d become quite crafty. Carn’d taken to loud walking, brushing her fur with crackling static against the vegetation, sweeping her tail against crumbling bark (that crashed to the ground in mini avalanches, beautiful crescendos of sound). She’d taken a fondness to the ravens, and could without shame snarl back at them the harsh cacophony they rained down on her. She thrived in silence; it made her the master of sound. The little Princess, Kira, deaf-brother-wolf, had deemed to acknowledge her existence. The only one to do so. Without malice, the multihued wolfess condemned her brethren who stayed stoic during her interruption. They were entitled to all the time they needed to collect themselves, to evaluate all it was that had been said by themselves and by others, but this was a fast paced world. Each morning the sunrise illuminated a young rabbit scurrying to its hole, diving with tiny paws outstretched towards its home as the laboring wolf skidded to defeat at its minute entrance. Each night the rabbit indulged in a successful day, a life lived, while the moon soared slowly, craftily beautiful in its dimpled madness, into the inky sky. The cycle would start again the next day, the ferris wheel constantly turning, round and round… This was a fast paced world, and Malignant Felicity was falling behind. Her madness was much like the moon’s: illuminating, complete only once a month, imperfect and misunderstood. It was in such a state that Carn hauled to the center of the territory that day. A sheen of perspiration dimpled the skin that wrinkled beneath her golden brows, a byproduct of the pent-up anticipation boiling her blood. A dark drape distanced her caramel eyes from their usually clarity, but to look at them was not to instantly perceive an insane person’s mania. Today, she bore the relatable look of a determined soldier, steadfast and loyal, plagued by a deeply buried unease and diminished by debilitating dread. At times the moral and emotional conquests of the mind fought. At times they were both bitter, strained, and acted out without regard to the interests of the host. These times created this face, so strained and taught that a mask was arranged in particular, desperate response. A mask of confidence, that shattered when Carn opened her mouth. Her howl was resonant, and she didn’t know, nor care, who heard her break that silence. She broke it. Hers to control. Hers to manipulate. Power over this domain had made her cocky and self-sure. “Wolves of Malignant Felicity, Queens, your family and your friends. I come as a pack member and a friend. I have come to challenge for the leadership of the pack, and any who think it wise to act otherwise should come forth now. I challenge only that Queens may allow me to revive her pack, in the hopeful and exhausting wait until her return.” She let her words dance between the trees, the relatively empty clearing, devoid of much but the rock on which she stood, reverberating with the sound of her voice. “Do not fight me, let me guide you. Let me build you. But if it should come to a fight, fight me honestly. I have stayed here, fallen in love with this pack, and died with it’s silence. Fight me honestly, because it is what I deserve.” Utter silence fell once again, and she sat, level headed and assured, gazing into the shadows housed by the territory. Her possession of stillness was passed on now to her pack mates, her superiors, her family. Let them do with it as they saw fit. She no longer had any need for it as her paws kneaded the stone at her feet. |
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- h e a r t . t h r o b - By k i r a s t a s i a January 11, 2015 at 02:14:53 PM
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