At one point in time, Misty Mountain stood opposite of Rainbow Cliff, and these rose to the sky as the only peaks in Blossom Forest. Since the magical change of the land, an entire chain of peaks rose from the bowels of the earth to become the Culter Unlaeddod - the Teeth of the Gods. Misty Mountain is still of the peaks, but many others exist as well. They run from north to south, from east to west. Atop some of the peaks, snow covers them year round, making the paths slippery and hazardous. Others are lower in altitude and are extremely humid, covered in thick, dense forests with mists swirling between each of the trunks. Others still are bare - naked boulders rising and falling haphazardly.

These chains of peaks do connect many of the packs, and they hold many things to explore - forbidden forests, deep and mysterious caves, beautiful scenic cliffs. However, one must have care - if you fall, it is a long, long, long way down...

Due to the varying terrains, many prey options are available. For those scared of injury, you may find ptarmigans, ravens, crows, squirrels, dormice, or rabbits. The adults hunting alone can find mountain goats... but for those hunting in a pack, there are elk, moose, and Bighorn Sheep.



cause they know, i know

The glacial scales glimmered and shifted with ease as the dragon moved towards the lithe, shadow crowned woman. His singular obsidian glowered over her, studying her with practiced ease. And she, likewise, canvassed his musculature scanning from the length of his tail to the tips of his pale auds. And in a quick succession she would scavenge the stretch of scars that marked his façade. She would wonder how the knives and swords of long ago contenders had fared against the ravage of the ice dragon’s machinery. The tapestry of blood and gore that had been painted across the battle field, would have been magnificent. That she could not deny. A history of majesty contained in a single exchanged gaze between his singular obsidian and her sylvan optics. The gentle fall of flakes the only sound to compensate for their relative silence. And it was as she stared into the abyss of his gaze that she saw the change of intent. Her skin crawled with anticipation, but like the mist atop the mountain the darkness evaporated leaving behind the clear obsidian gaze that she had observed only seconds before.

This alabaster dragon was the mark of a true Regale. His mask of scars were bore proudly for all to see and for those given permission they would see he remained as handsome as ever. He revealed his ivories in a gesture that could have easily been taken for friendship, but the tundress knew better than to assume such trivialities. Most assumptions are always mistaken, a soft, singular laugh escaped her lips. If only the world could have understood as much as this alabaster dragon had in a matter in moments. For instance: I assumed you were in danger so near to that precipice. Now I realize I am in the company of a varg who knows these cliffs better than the stones themselves. Alaska noted the dry wit, a form of conversation she had entertained many a time before. The glacial lady had yet to grasp the internal workings of the dragon, but as she delved into their colloquy the arctic King dared to dance closer to her precipice. The glint of sharp ivories revealed her smile had grown, he was taking a step closer towards death. A step closer towards her.

Jaded pools watched with cooled and collected interest, all her thoughts conglomerating into stories and fallacies that might have befallen this tundran basilisk. Alaska watched as his gaze fell over the mindless souls that wondered below their gaze. And as she watched him Alaska noted the stature of which he held, the constant composure, each piece of his semblance so intricately placed. And held together by what? But before her mind could amass taller tales his baritone lyrics broke through her steely concentration, Acute observation, m’lady. The vague smirk that tilted his kissers still evading her understanding. Tundra wolves tend to recognize fellow survivors. It’s a rather exclusive club. Allow me to make another mistaken assumption: do you find yourself up here because it feels so much like home? Her sylvan optics shifted, her gaze set intently upon his own. No pain, no fear, no emotion. Only obliterating coldness, and a settled heartbeat after he proffered his name, Darign to undermine the fatality of the Tundra, Kershov? The taste of his name across her tongue was exquisite. She only dared to test it once, her voice soft and velveteen. But one cannot not merely call the Tundra their home. And might I mistakenly assume that you and I only dare to apply such endearing terms because we once had the heart to endure its pernicious wiles. She teased lightly, her smile sliding into the tilted smirk. A façade she had donned for most of her life.

Alaska, she proffered. Her emerald gaze surveyed his ivory mask, the woven intricacies of his marred façade once more becoming the pinnacle of her manufactured fallacies.

that they don’t look like me

~ Alaska ~ Adult ~ Femme ~ Mate ~ Offspring ~ Pack ~ Rank ~ Alesana~


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