In a small clearing near the edge of Blossom Forest there are several large stones scattered around, each towering over the height of three wolves on top of one another. The stones are stable in the hard, unfertile earth and no amount of pushing or pulling can knock them down, or even budge them.
The area is unsettling and spooky, rumoured to house the spirits of evil wolves who may have once roamed Blossom Forest. Will you be the one to uncover the secret?
the darkest places in hell are reserved for those who __________________________________________ Gentle, soft caressing touches of wind blew out across the lakes surface bringing all of Blossom Forest’s scents to the perched ladies nares. Her eyelids were draped over stormy violets, but a simple inhale of the air swirling around her bodice would tell the Queen all she needed to know. And as she sat there one might think she was a statue - untouched, immoveable. The wind seemed unable to touch her. Her cropped feathers did not sway like the prairie grass at her paws and the starlight reflected away from her petite figure giving her a haloed appearance as she sat on the shoreline of her home. It had been a long while since she had found herself on the lakeside. Dante hadn’t left Bright Moon since they had taken it from the ursidae. A subtle lift of shoulders hinted at the small laugh that escaped her maw, everything had started on this same beach some seasons ago. The silt of the ground felt so familiar to her paws and she couldn’t help but reminisce on that fact. These’s shores had been witness to the ignition of her ruling and would continue to be. They would bear testimony to the trials and trivialities she might face in her sovereignty of Bright Moon, just as the grounds she had long traveled before arriving in Blossom Forest had. Though this was the Ethiopian lady’s first appeal to leading, she was no stranger to having a grip on power. By occupation she was a Seeker, the eternal wanderer whose sole life was to find and know everything of life. And with this knowledge came unimaginable power in her old homeland. In her travels from the blistering plains of a far away land, to the icy depths of the tundra she had met all walks of life. The lowliest of wolves to the King of Kings. This is after all what she had been called to do, she was hunter-gatherer of information. It was a duty she had taken dearly to, so much so, that it cost her everything. Without warning it all but dissipated and what had been the young girl’s home was no longer a home for her. It became her prison and in the end it would have been her death sentence. Dante lost everything in one fail swoop. And all it had taken was a succinct murderous plot. Without so much as a thought they ripped away her mother and father, the Queen and King respectively. They had been the only two wolves who understood her through and through. And alongside their deaths the young girl lost the last thing that held her sanity – the task of understanding the trivialities and treasures of life. And before death arrived at her doorstep, Dante vanished. Never to be seen again. That was how her journey had started those many moons ago. Her sights were set on frivolous ideas that she had conjured within the abyss of information she embodied. For months at a time the little lady would wind her way through unknown lands searching for the unfathomable and as seasons reached their end she would retire into a cycle of mutterings. Dante knew that her dreams were mere wisps that she would never catch hold of. Her void of intelligence told her so, because for all the fantasies she could see there were more black holes waiting to swallow them whole. Knowledge had granted her freedom, but had simultaneously chained her within the bounds of reality. But she dreamed on. Dante would forever dream of a day that would never come to fruition. It was in light of this realization that Dante had retired herself to writing of her adventures from long, long ago. It was these musings that set her free, if only for a fleeting second. And in that moment she had found her impetus to rise above and rescue the dilapidated terra of Bright Moon… Slowly and deliberately, lids lifted to reveal the swirling storm of violet and ash that were the Queen’s irises. She scanned the pristine surface of the lake before her. The wind’s gentle push and pull and had stopped, letting the liquid surface settle into an eerily still mirror of blackness. Dante pulled her limbs underneath her bodice, rising up. Her reflection stared back, and a sense of lonesome settled over the fire crowned woman. This would not be the second night she would call Nimueh to her side, the Iberian mistress to heal. Her suffering was due to last much longer than Dante’s own. The gash that broken through the top of her cranium was finally healed over and in its place was freshly stitched flesh, pink and babyish. She would have to make a visit to Hellene and Aurora Borealis to thank the Shaman. And more than that she desperately craved to see her sister Seraphina, but that would not be now. It was the dead of night and so the Ethiopian lady would do what she had always done – wander. And like the last flicker of a flame, the Queen dissipated from the lands she called home. In a blur the lands rolled by, the Seeker had no destination in mind. Her limbs only propelled her forward and into the far reaches of the magnificent land that she resided in. And under the cover of night she was disturbed by no one. The only sound outside of her steady breathing, pounding steps, and quickening heartbeat was the screech of the night owls and rustling undergrowth. Dante knew naught of what truly lived in this land, but she knew there existed darkness in every corner of the earth. There was no escaping its jaws, for in time it would catch up with its victims and make them pay for their crimes. And there were some who believed that they would reincarnate to atone for their sins, but the wanderer had never taken to any belief. She merely made it her job to understand them, just as she would the stones that suddenly loomed in her vision. With little effort the petite flame changed course, dancing around the stones. Her bodice twirled round and round, her gaze taken wholly with the monoliths, so much so it was only the trace whisper of another that the fiery figurine slid to a stop realizing she was no longer alone. The lyrical sound held a feminine quality, and it’s questioning had been directed to another lumbering figure that Dante’s stony violet orbs now focused upon. Enticing the restless, are we? She mused aloud. The mastiff laying upon the ground, looked to be asleep but the Queen knew all too well the signs of restlessness. And this male seemed as restless as any, but the white mistress at his head seemed not to notice or care. Dante showed very little care herself, she was content to find herself in company. __________________________________________ maintain their neutrality in time of moral crisis;; | Child of the Inferno | Shadow of Alesana | |