aurora borealis- noun plural: An aurora that occurs in northern regions of the earth. Also called northern lights.
In the middle of a dense forest of coniferous trees lies the Aurora Borealis pack, its name coming from its location. At certain times of the year, the northern lights appear, dancing almost magically in the sky. A narrow trail leads you through the close evergreens. Giving into temptation, you begin moving your paws. By venturing into this territory, you are venturing into a land belonging to a pair of feared leaders. You have heard rumors of them...but you decide to take your chances and hope that the tales of blood and death are merely fabricated stories to scare wolves.
You have walked nearly five minutes before you realize the sound of paws stepping somewhere from behind. Deciding that you've made a mistake, you quickly turn around, but find that you cannot go any further. Standing before you is one of the mighty kings you've heard of. His blood red pelt clings over perfectly toned bands of muscle. But that isn't what causes such fear in your veins. One of his amber eyes has a horrid, bleeding scar across it, and his good eye seems to stare right through you. His face is expressionless, giving off none of his intentions. You cower away as his jaws part.
"I'm Hell Demon."
His voice was deep and cut through the air like a hot knife through butter. Right where he left off, another voice picks up from behind you. You whirl around and find yourself facing another male with steely muscles beneath his pelt, which seems to consist of every shade of brown. He had startled you, and you're amazed how you hadn't at all detected his approach.
"And I am Ghost...we're the alphas of Aurora Borealis."
His deep voice was laced thickly with a Native American accent. His own golden eyes are directing a harsh glare your way. Now you're caught in the middle...your breathing has become heavy in your panic and you're not sure which to face.
"You've foolishly trespassed into our territory. You face the one called Hell Demon's whose voice is once more addressing you. Get out, or become a corpse along our border."
It's obvious they mean business. So now it's up to you...take your chances and stay, or heed their warning and waste no time getting out with your life.
IP: 107.72.164.21
Posted on October 2, 2016 at 09:36:50 PM by Hurricane of Mexico
Hurricane of Mexico Table
You can't break me _______________________________ Hurricane's vision swam before him. Bright lights and sharp colors spinning out of control within his minds eye, the deep rumbling of voices, suddenly so loud and piercing that the gladiator cried out. His voice harsh and strained as he howled, his throat constricting, agony tearing through his body. Every centimeter of his being ached so deeply, so thoroughly, that the obsidian titan did not think it possible to even move. And so he lay impossibly still, his breaths coming short and shallow, and each one sending a burning through his body, a fire burning so brightly that every stifled breath he attempted to suck in was as if someone added hot coals to his spine. Hurricane's lightning optics suddenly split apart as his entire massive being goes completely rigid, and the gladiator heaves... or is it a cough? Suddenly the coughing spasm takes over completely, and though each hacked breath chokes out, it is not without a fierce battle between his lungs gasping for air, and simultaneously attempting to push all of it out, for every time the midnight dragon trembles with the motion, for the agony sweeping through his body is so great, there is a brief moment when the color void eagle wishes death upon himself, and then, suddenly, blood, crimson red, thick and coppery spills out of his mouth and he collapses again, the entire world going dark. . . . If it is minutes, or days, or hours that go by, Hurricane of Mexico is blissfully unaware. It is within this deathlike state that the midnight warrior dreams of Losa. Of her velvet, espresso fur, and of her darkly painted stilts and her mismatched eyes. It is her laughter that makes his heart swell, and her gentle touches that make it skip beats. It is Losa that consumes his entire world, which is balanced so precariously at this moment, though Hurricane is unaware of the glass house he lays down upon. It is the image of her curled delicately within his embrace that warms his spirit, until something rips her away, sending agony tearing through his body. It is that same fierce pain that ricochets through his massive physique and causes him to pry open his citrine gazers. The world is fuzzy around him, and the gladiator smells only blood and death surrounding him. Vaguely he is aware of a shadow... or is it four? The shapes morph around him, the barren ground of winter hard below him, and the browns from the dead earth spreading upward until they meet the cold grey skies. It is not until that second, the second when he knows that the sky is grey, that he realizes he is cold and begins trembling fiercely, incapable of becoming warm. Perhaps his blood is thin, perhaps it is pouring out of him, perhaps he is dying. Hurricane's eyes fall closed again, and again more time passes. It is only pain and blood that flash before him this time, the monsters of his past replaying scenes of death and gore. Replaying Losa screaming in agony. Replaying Hurricane hurting innocent girls. Crimson flashes behind his eyelids and the warrior twitches and whines, is it the pain of his dreams or the pain of his reality that elicits such a pitiful noise from such a daunting creature? Externally the vicious dragon is not aware of the bustling of Hellene, or the defensive, protective stance that Kalglath has taken before them both. Hurricane is not conscious of the members of his pack pulling for his survival, or even of the memory of the bull moose laying beside him. Hurricane of Mexico can not feel the broken bones and fractures from his collisions with the earth or the pain radiating through his body caused by the hard slam into a tree. Hurricane's breathing has returned to short, shallow breaths as his heart beats wildly attempting to keep him alive. It is with a soft groan and a shuddered breath that his eyes crack open once again, hazy colors and lights meeting his retinas and causing the beast to wince. Faint scents of Kalgalath and Hellene waft into his nose, and the warrior can only moan in agony, even the deep breath that noise requires sending pain shuddering through him. "what.... the hell" _______________________________ Hurricane of Mexico Can you? |
Replies:
- Loyal Til Death - By Kalgalath October 16, 2016 at 06:36:44 PM
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