Malignant Felicity is a paradisaical abode to the faithful remains of a mighty pack. Once ruled by the magnificent wolf Genocide, now the wolves of this pack follow the laws of the Alpha Lance, son of Sorna, Beta and Genocide's best friend...

The sounds of crashing water fill your auds as you enter this tropical paradise. The tall trunks tower above you. The treetop canopy's seem to shade the beautiful land from the sun's rays. What a paradise this place seems. This place dubbed Malignant Felicity. As you draw closer to the boarders a stench slowly devours the air around you. The stench of death.

"Beware..." scream the birds from above you. "She kills for games. She kills for fun." Something deep inside tells you to listen. Your body tells you not to go no further. Do you listen or do you dare move into the pack borders. This could be a life or death decision...

Follow the Queen, or become a corpse that lines her border. The choice lies with you.

Refresh/Reload

BATTLE IS THE MOST MAGNIFICENT COMPETITION
IP: 74.199.21.5
Posted on November 16, 2017 at 01:40:03 PM by ROGAN

When Rogan’s forward-pointing jades noticed a flash of red light dancing through the swamp, his attention instantly fixated upon it, head tilted in a comical manner as he attempted to decide just what kind of insect could create such a glow. He’d seen fireflies in his lifetime. Truth be told, he grew bored of their endless blinking after a while . . . they were pretty, sure, but so were real stars, and plenty of other things. Rogan could not for the life of him figure out why people grew so moony and romantic about such silly, trivial things. With a stubborn huff of breath, the auburn prince prepared to direct his eyes back to their previous position—but the irritating scarlet lightning bugs did not flutter away. Instead, their shimmer grew brighter . . . brighter . . . until Rogan at last realized that these weren’t bugs at all. They were eyes! A pair of lurid, burning rubies glaring from a queen’s onyx mask, impossibly bright. These magical gems mesmerized him. Rogan discovered himself leaning slightly forward, entranced, a thrill of something hovering between anxiety and curiosity shivering through him. His pack did not tell pointless tales and ridiculous legends. Rogan had never heard of vampires, or demons, or any of that dark ilk. Thus, he had absolutely no idea what to make of the fearsome wolfess charging toward him. Terror was the last thing to cross his mind. Once the black alphess skidded to a stop mere inches from the border, Rogan straightened his spine and dipped his head as if meeting a varg with literally glowing eyes was nothing out of the ordinary.

Her words . . . well, those were certainly bizarre. Calling him a “dove” honestly disturbed Rogan more than her impossible pits of hellfire. He was a strong, large boulder of a lad, shaped more like a tank than a small defenseless bird. “Er . . . I traveled here on purpose, ma’am. This territory intrigued me. I figured calling for an audience was better than just marching in, even though this doesn’t smell like a pack . . .” Indeed, as Rogan sat there, breathing in the scent of damp loam and soft moss and spongy rot, he still detected zero wolf-scent. He raised his crown slightly, sniffing rather obviously, and snorted when he could not pull a perfume off the weird onyx mistress. His deep green eyes surely saw her powerful body. He even sensed the heat of her fur, the shape she made in the space around her. Yet, no matter how deeply he drew air into his nares, he could not decipher her scent. All his other senses told him a fae crouched before him, but his nose lied. Another puppy-like tilt of his head betrayed his perplexity. Her title of “Vampire Queen” only served to puzzle him more. What on earth was a “vampire”? Was that just a fancy title these Blossom Forest wolves sometimes took? And what was this about getting eaten? Were there . . . bears in the territory?

Determination steeled Rogan’s back. Either this woman was thoroughly insane, or her pack desperately needed help to defend it from other predators. He sensed an opportunity to show his greatness—and potentially make something of himself here. “Pleasure to meet you, Vampire Queen Lucaya. I am Rogan, son of Rothgar. I humbly request to join your pack. Please.”

Rogan’s countenance was the picture of seriousness: hard verdant eyes with ears thrown forward and not a trace of a grin on his broad muzzle. His steadfast expression only wavered when he captured the sound of leaves stirring under paws directly behind him. Without turning his body away from the kooky alphess, Rogan craned his neck around to peer at the swamp behind him. Yet another she-wolf with bizarrely luminous eyes approached him, her fur dark as freshly brewed coffee and a smile identical to the queen’s playing on her lips. His gaze widened slightly. Holy shit—the alphess AND her heiress? Did they not have lower-ranked guards to patrol their borders? This made Rogan’s desire to join and help them ever more concrete. He nodded to Diosa as well, tail thumping the ground in a quick wag to show his respect. “I don’t play games, Miss Diosa. I came here to find a faction to join and help with my strengths. If you’ll please explain what you’re searching for in a recruit, I am obliged to explain why I would make the best candidate.” He swiveled his stare to meet Lucaya again, chin raised in preparation for what she decreed.


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