Bright Moon - a land sullied by mystery and the ravaging scars of a terrible fire. Abandoned as a pack land for years, the terra has been used as a gathering place for the brazen and bloodthirsty drawn there by the lingering pall of death. Yet from the ashes there comes an unordained phoenix, the rainbow hues of hope glinting in her mismatched globes. Through the obsidian drapes obscuring the scenery, she alone was able to catch the perfumed aroma of new life on the breeze and hear the sluggish streams flowing ever swifter into the morning.

Thus, with a purpose, she set out to map the incognita, discovering daily the extent of the reawakening and unearthing within herself a desire to return the landscape to its former glory. Now she stands tall as privileged Alpha of the lands, lording over the rock-strewn prairie and bountiful forests with a firm but gentle paw.

Having finally realized her deepest longing to be a queen, Satowra is focused solely on the revival and maintenance of the Bright Moon Pack. Her question to each prospective warrior that comes to the border is simple:

"Do you have what it takes?"

Refresh/Reload

black.widow.spider
IP: 69.58.126.118
Posted on September 8, 2017 at 01:15:50 PM by Macaria

Macaria stood up on the precipice, looking down over the rocky cliff. She had found many ways to go down to the water, but it was something she had never been fond of. She had nearly drowned once, and had no desire to repeat it. Bus here she stood, admiring the dark waters below from afar. They swirled and frothed with their torment, their tied carrying with it a dangerous undertow that was murderous and mischievous seeking to haul any unsuspecting soul under to their watery grave. With the night sky above, the waters were nearly black, and carried none of the beautiful colors that they did during the daylight-blues, white, and even the delicate rainbow of a sunrise or sunset. But they did reflect upon their surface both the moon and the twinkle of starlight. The surface was never tranquil, and thus it provided a delicate dance, A wondrous show of art as they jumped and flitted about like fireflies or fairies. It was nearly hypnotic, especially when Macaria had so recently ingested more of her delicious and dangerous poppy. Her twin pumpkins stared down upon the canvas, and they had been four hours-she had been sitting here since before sunset and dusk. And all the while, a smile have been firmly planted upon her kissers.

This was never supposed to be her home. This was not Abendrot, It was not the place where she had rediscovered herself. If she had found within her a new strength, one that allowed her to expunge the week pathetic fool that had so long been the definition of Macaria. And how dearly the new hated the old, and yet she also cherished her. The innocent had been carefree, without a worry in her naïve view of the world. She had been self sacrificing, And had cared for all of those around her. Except of course for her own mother-and perhaps that was where the new stemmed from. That anger, that dark boiling lava had slowly spread like wild fire through the veins, until it had finally reached her soul. Of course, her addiction to poppy, and the resulting distortion of reality had helped. So, too, had the forced murder and cannibalism of her own brother. But she regretted nothing, for her transformation from the old to the new had brought her happiness.

And her happiness, her mate, had brought her to this pack from the old. It was not that she had not wanted to serve under Kershov the ice king, she did. She wanted to show him how different she was from the timid little wolf he had once scorned. But there a reason for coming here had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with her relationship with her mate. He had been rather unhappy with her extravagant tastes, with her hunger for the blood of other walls and the hunger for sexual fulfillment. It was not that gray wind did not fulfill her carnal needs, but all too often she wished to combine her to hungers, and she had no desire to be the black widow that ate her mate. Argument and discussion had led to the final agreement between the two of them, which so far seemed to be suiting everyone just fine. Macaria was not allowed to bring any of her prey back to their den, nor was she allowed to involve herself with any of their pack mates. Grey Wind would abdicate the throne so he could spend more time with her, and finally Macaria would not feel for any of her other play things. Macaria had no trouble accepting her restrictions - she did only care for Grey, and it made no difference to her who she fed upon. But now that she had Grey she had no desire to lose him.

Speaking of which, where was he? The femme fatale tour her days from the swirling waters of her soul and turned, her paws leading her once again deeper into the territory of Uyaraut and away from its border. She wanted to find him, especially since she had not been in their den all of the day. She was hungry, but she could not tell which sense of the word she meant. Macaria East into a gentle trot, the Rocky floor having no Illinois fact upon her. She could feel the uneven ground, her tactile senses in tact, but she would feel no pain. Her abuse of poppy made sure of that. Still, she had made sure to watch her step-even though she cannot feel pain, if she could still get infection from any open wound on her pads. And so with careful tread she made her way back toward their den until finally she picked up on his scent, and changed her direction ever so slightly. After a few hours during which the night deepened, she found him, and her pace quickened so she could hurry to his side. Her pelt mingled with his and a soft whine pulled from her maw. "Hello, my dear. I was watching the waves... it is odd, is it not, to be by an ocean now?"

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