Susil Crags

Disaster has struck!
The Crags are a series of rocky formations with small caves and crevices throughout. Many of the lower-lying areas of the Crags have been flooded, however, with water pouring in from the Northern stretches of Moladion. Some paths have been completely submerged, and some are nothing more than a few rocky peaks sticking out of the water. The water is fairly slow moving but begins to pick speed up towards the Grotto, becoming a series of intense rapids and waterfalls as it nears the Grotto's entrance.

The area itself is still traversible. However, it can be risky. Large amounts of debris can enter the waterway, creating bridges at times but also creating dams that break and cause ocassional flash-flooding. Be careful, travelers! One wrong step and you could end up finding out where the water goes.

Note: Susil Crags will return to normal once 25 posts have been completed (or at Staff discretion). During this time, new threads will receive a 'Surprise','Disaster', and prizes.

Return to Lunar Children

dance with the devil tonight
IP: 63.148.145.11

save your breath

His life had fallen back into the regimented structure of pack life. Awake, eat, patrol the borders, sleep, repeat. Some may find it boring or mundane but it was in this structured life that he thrived. He walked the borders of the marshland with purpose, tail high and his emerald eyes watching for any to make entrance into the packlands that did not already call it home. He had not mingled much with his new found packmates after his original meeting with Aithne where she had placed this yolk upon his broad shoulders. His job did not require niceties and small talk with those already amongst the population of the marshes, concerning himself only with newcomers and where exactly they belonged within the packs structure. Perhaps there were things of interest they could tell him but that scantly piqued his interest. A job, that is what had been requested of him and that is what he would give.

On this day, a few weeks in to his assignment, he finds himself thinking as he paces the eastern border of the land where the swampy marsh turns to the rock-strewn crags. The time was fast approaching where he would meet again with Aithne and hear her evaluation of his job as Minos so far, and with his time as captive complete he would be left to decide if his future did in fact lay with herself and Iromar. Suddenly he stops dead in his tracks, instincts taking over where his mind had been too preoccupied to notices. His crimson-stained muzzle rises in the air, inhaling deeply as he picks up on the scent that had triggered the basest of reactions in his body. The scent of bear was carried heavily on the winds that had shifted his direction from the crags.

With spring having just begun the behemoth predators were waking he knew, practically starving from their long slumber and some with cubs. It was odd to find them amongst the dense population of wolves that call this land home, but not uncommon in this season as their hunger drove them to desperate lengths. He almost shrugs it off, not his problem seeing as the threat was not to Iromar itself, and he is about to turn away when the roar of the beast rolled like thunder over the land and immediately caused the snowy hairs over his shoulders to stand on end. He jerked around, yellow green eyes searching, calculating despite the racing of his heart until he spots the bear now standing on hind legs and towering over what appeared to be a black and cream wolf.

He snorted, unsure of what foolish wolf would disrupt a bear in their distemperment, but the raging creature needed to be quelled at least and it undoubtedly be quite the fight. That idea is what sent his senses into overdrive and saw him sprinting across the borders of Iromar and around the myriad of rocks with his eyes focused on the bear. It took mere moments for his large paws to cover the distance between them and he wasted no time in diving into the fray for the simply joy of the fight. In a millisecond he assess the scene, arriving just in time to see what he now knew was a wolfess dodge the knife-sized claws of the beast.

A glutteral snarl rips from his chest, teeth gnashing as spittle flies and like a demon he races forward, the bears back to him now as it follows the woman. His body tenses as he nears, every muscle in his body tightening like a spring while he gathers himself and suddenly he is leaping, his behemoth form flying improbably through the air to land upon the back of the beast. He lands on the bears right shoulder blade, his jaws gaping as he lashes out at its ear and neck, the area too thick for him to do more than flesh damage but it would undoubtedly turn the attention of the predator to himself. He does not tarry long in this precarious position, having achieved his goal as the beast roared in pain and made to stand beneath him. He leaps once more, pushing off the bear’s back and landing with little grace beside the black painted she-wolf as he turns to face the enraged animal once more. “Do you often make a point of pissing off bears?” he growls loud enough for her to hear him but never taking his eyes off the beast that had recollected itself and focused its murderous eyes on them, lips pulling back in a guttural roar before beginning to charge.

Never one to turn away from a challenge he raced at the beast, black lips pulled back across dagger-like teeth. They neared and as he made ready to leap at its face the bear swiped again. He danced out of the way as best he could, but his large form did not find it so easy to change directions quickly and the tip of a claw caught him just above his shoulder, lacerating the flesh there with ease. He roared with the pain, red flashing before his eyes and despite the blood that began to seep down his leg he gave no pause for the bear would give none either. All of his training had led him to ignore pain until the fight was done, stopping to cry over torn flesh would kill you as surely as anything. He was not dead yet and that meant he kept fighting. The bear, content with its blow to himself, still made for the woman and with a growl against the pain of his shoulder he dover for its legs, jaws gaping as he attempted to rend ligament from bone.

you'll need it for when i tear you limb from limb
male - 40in - 170lbs - eight - no heart - no soul - prisoner of iromar
image and html © riley


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