The forest stands tall and lush here; ancient trees reach weather-twisted arms to the sky, fighting monster-like storm clouds back with their interlacing fingers. Shadow seems to lurk everywhere you look, but it spills calmly, coolly, inspiring a sense of stealthy calm or protection rather than unease. That is, if you've forgotten what kind of creature might be stalking just out of sight...Abendrot is a land cradled by the dark woods on all sides; in the center, some of the larger trees stay behind to reveal a small plateau - a citadel where this pack can gather and defend itself from invaders. There are, of course, softer sides to the land. Clearings here and there allow the sun to throw down its rays in incongruously resplendent gold showers. Ignore the lingering scents of blood spattered here and there along the borders: those do not concern you. The river on one edge of the territory is playful enough when it hasn't been gorged by violent rain. You can choose to note the ragged claw marks raked down tree trunks and the forest floor as friendly "Home Sweet Home" signs, if you wish.

All who treasure loyalty, order, victory, and the occasional indulgence of raw visceral pleasure are welcome, once they've been approved by the ever-watchful eyes of Abendrot's Alpha. But keep one thing in mind: no matter what your motive, this is not a fool's Paradise. This is the land of soldiers, assassins, and spies. This is ABENDROT.

Make up your mind quickly and prepare to prove your worth. You wouldn't want to add to those blood spatters, would you...?

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Why WONT you die?
IP: 119.224.60.211



It would be sickening to most wolves to watch what she was doing- but to Nights, it was a level of joy that was long overdue. Crimson oozed from Draven's fresh wounds as she shakily tried to regain his footing, which Scarlet made impossible, her jaws swung downwards and glanced off his soldier thick shoulder leaving an eight centimeter laceration that was a clean, perfectly straight cut. It would heal, if kept clean, but scar very well. Draven suddenly lost his confidence in how much pain a wolf could be put through and tears escaped his eyes/ Scarlet circled him, observing the injuries her beloved had already caused and a delicious rumble escaped her maws, as if she were enjoying the sight of a fresh wound just a little bit too much. Amber hues locked on to Draven with surgical precision and she lowered her skull a bit, but not close enough for him to easily strike out, without fair warning. He suddenly asked if Halina was alive and the queen couldn't help but laugh in his face.

On your feet, you pathetic failure.

Everything he asked was suddenly answered, Halina was alive, and he already knew Kershov was alive. Seriously, how had he not figured this out beforehand? Draven had asked who she was and she had ignored him completely, more intent in driving him to the ground the next time he tried. It was a lovely game, urging them to stand, then watching them fall. In no time at all, he would refuse to stand, knowing what was coming. Every. Single. Time. Scarlet waited for him to hesitate to stand in the slightest after knocking him back a peg or two. Concussion was likely soon.

You asked who I was, dear puppet. You did not ask why I was doing this to you. Its usually the first question to come out of a victims mouth. Why are you doing this? Who are you? What did I do to deserve this?

The questions rolled off her tongue in a mocking fashion, mimicking a helpless pup who had been tortured. Scarlet Nights had tortured them all, young, old, weak, strong. Demonica was not a fluffy play land of rainbows and puppies, but rather a hell where the demons liked to thrive. If Draven tried to speak, Scarlet struck out with a forelimb, dragging blunt claws across his maw, more likely to bruise and give a good smack than cut anything. She 'tsk tsked' with her tongue and giggled, furthermore went back to circling and observing. She spoke as she circled, about a meter from his too-warm corpse, introducing herself formally.

My name is Scarlet Nights....and I'm the one who you will truly fear.

She swung in, graceful like a ballerina, and clamped down on the fleshy thigh of his left hind, canines sinking deeply, she did not tear, but rather shook enough to disconnect nerves that grew there. Meaning a very painful, long recovery and the inability to move faster than a limp. If he didn't fall, she dragged downwards with her body weight until he collapsed. Then she as atop him like a lover, only her maw was already soaked in his blooded and one of her fore paws currently stomped down on his windpipe, sealing off precious oxygen. She pressed down hard until his muscles contorted for air and then she released, only to slam her paw back down, choking him again and again. She lean't in and whispered in his ear, almost seductively.

Aren't you going to ask me what I want from you?


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