Misty Mountain is opposite of Rainbow Cliff. Mists hover year-round at this high altitude, mistaken by some to be thin clouds. Thin layers of snow cover the mountain, making some areas slippery and hazardous.

Some think it romantic, a place to bring their mates, while others come to play and romp. However, all must agree that there is some level of mystery and spookiness hovering about with the mists...

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imperfection
IP: 47.55.184.68
Posted on June 6, 2015 at 02:03:27 AM by ZERO


His awakenings for the past few months had been far from the gentle, peaceful ones of his youth. Rather, Zero awoke explosively. Growls ripped from his throat as he leapt to his feet, hackles bristling and lips writhing back in a snarl. The ebony wolf froze for several long seconds after this abrupt awakening, each well-defined muscle almost shaking in its tautness, his golden gaze sweeping about his resting place with a wary intensity. After a moment, he seemed to come back to himself, and, following that, allowed the tension to bleed out of his frame. His eyes lost their feral gleam and became simply weary, and his raised fur smoothed down. With a deep sigh, the inky warrior sank to the ground in a sit, allowing his haunches to take the weight of his tired body. His relaxation progressed slowly, but steadily, so within a minute his muscles were forcibly slackened until he was in a near boneless state. Slowly, the muscular general's tawny orbs closed, although he did not attempt to resume his rest.

Ghastly visions waited for him in the realm of dreams.

Ever since he had parted from his group of survivors, the boy's dreams were becoming progressively worse. Solitude beat upon the walled fortress of his psyche, and without intervention, the war-torn lad feared that the isolation would drive him mad. He had journeyed to Blossom Forest out of necessity, feeling that the lands of his youth would bolster his failing drive more than anything else could. There was nothing left for him in his birth land, after all. Only blood and bones and broken dreams remained of his pack, lands and family. He returned to Blossom Forest in hopes of something better than the life of a wandering ghost. In his memory, the only time he had ever been happy was in Blossom. True, there had been pockets of joy, lived out like stolen moments of another's life, for the jetty stallion, but for the most part, his time outside of the green lands had held nothing but pain. Even before the war he had not been happy. His parents, the alphas of one of the packs that ruled the area, had treated him like a fragile doll, not allowing him to socialize with the group of other alpha's pups or with any of the young ones in his own pack. He had been doted upon by them and served by their subordinates, but even then he had not been happy. After he had been torn from his pack by the war, he was transported to Blossom Forest with the other alpha pups, where his real life began. He had met Masquerade, he had learned to communicate at least somewhat effectively, and he had, for once, felt wanted and content in a group of his own peers. It would have been selfish to stay in paradise, though, too horribly selfish, so within half a year, after gaining enough strength and size to be considered teens, most of the group had returned, hoping to find their families safe and happy. That had not been the case. The war had been reduced to guerrilla tactics, but it was still active. The original packs had united to drive out the common foe, but the enemy was too big, and too well organized, to be defeated. The old alphas were dead, and within months on the battle-field, Zero had been promoted through the ranks. Constantly fearing ambush and fighting off raids, the defenders doggedly held on to the scraps of territory they had managed to maintain.

The final strike had been awful, and in the end, the remaining survivors from the once mighty packs had no choice but to flee. It was Zero himself who had given the order to retreat. He had been second in command, and the leader wished for every last wolf to fight for the death, but after his fall the tattered raven had realized that nothing, not even home, was worth the loss of even one more life. The small surviving group had run off to the barren lands to wander, injured, hungry and broken. Sometimes, he wondered if it would be better if they had all fallen in battle. It was better to go down fighting than die like a dog, after all. The wolves had scattered soon after, as there was not enough prey for a large group to subsist upon. Zero had been wandering quite aimlessly when he had stumbled upon the portal to this plane. The joy he had felt upon scenting the clean grass and prey-heavy forests had been overwhelming.

Some of that joy still clung to him, even a month later, but it was steadily being corrupted by guilt. His skeletal frame had filled out again with regular meals, and his ebony coat was growing glossy once more. He was not a large wolf, but rather a dainty creature, wiry out of necessity, but still naturally slender. As time passed in the forest, he improved physically, leading to the return of his almost androgynous beauty, but his mental health became a concern. Would he ever learn to lock away the agonizing guilt that gnawed at his chest when he thought of the wolves that had fought with him fought for him, only to be sent away, possibly to die?

He rose, stretched, and ran, hoping to rid his mind of all the pain by focusing purely on the day. In his subconscious paranoia, Zero had hidden his temporary den in a very unlikely spot. He was about half-way up the slope of Misty Mountain, tucked in a secluded and difficult to navigate area. This time of year, the summer sun had erased the snow from the lower slopes, leaving only a light, cold layer at the highest peak, so his den area was cool, but not frozen. He set out from his den quickly, ghosting up the mountain. He followed Hellene's trail when he came across it without thought, his desperation for some sort of company completely overriding his usual sense of hesitation when it came to interaction. He moved swiftly, making good time, and without much ado he neared the summit of the mount. The warlord slowed then, choosing to pick his way across the now-snowy terrain with care. Each fastidiously placed pawstep took him higher, and before long he was within sight of the female.

He halted then, full of his old insecruities, before moving forward. He was quiet over the snow, but the soft crunch of it would be enough to inform the wraith-hued lady of his approach. It would not do to startle someone laying close to the edge of a cliff, after all, as they could easily feel cornered. With that in mind, he drifted only marginally closer to the lass before halting, drinking in the sight of her with a sort of understated wistfulness that could be just barely read from his molten gold orbs. He had a sort of open vulnerability on his face, highlighted clearly by his hesitance to approach. Zero is healthier now, but he is wan, worn thin by the horrors that he has seen.

The silence after his appearance had stretched on just long enough to be called awkward when the boy allowed a soft smile to cross his face. His plume gave a short, soon aborted wag as he dipped his head formally to the lady. He spoke soon after, his voice a pleasant baritone.

“I hope I'm not bothering you. My name is Zero...” He trailed off before resuming his sentence once more. “I have been away from Blossom for quite some time, and had hoped to get to know some others here.”

Introduction done, he focused his attention entirely on the fea, hoping not to be driven off.












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