Aplos Riverside

Moladion’s powerful, winding river...
Aplos River is a broad, slow-moving river originating from somewhere beneath the mountains of Spirane and feeding Iromar’s moors in the south. The northern parts of the river are known for their strong currents, with the water becoming slow moving in the south. The riverbanks vary along its course, ranging from soft hummock grasses to small groups of pine, and sometimes nothing but pebbles and sand. Crossing can be difficult at times, but it can be swam or bridged by fallen trees or boulders alike.

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Dance for me my little devil [Blackthorne]
IP: 174.59.211.44
Posted on January 20, 2018 at 04:06:41 AM by Gazmala

Whispers and rumors, oh how she loved the combination. There was so much to be gleaned from idle gossip. So much to covet and keep. A girl could never gather too many seemingly useless tidbits of information. In fact, if a girl was clever enough, and oh was she clever enough, they could weave the threads of gossip, strands of whispers and strings of rumors together into a beautiful, glittering web of leverage and advantage.

Since spring had sprung, Gazmala had been soaking in all the bits and pieces she could. Hushed whispers about a black devil overthrowing Iromar. Delicious rumors about kidnap and blackmail. Every time she would encounter a group of loners or even a pack wolf, she'd gauge her audience and more often than note instigate a conversation about that horrible thing that had happened in Iromar. All the while the lovely drifter would hoard whatever new bit of information she could glean like a miser grasping coins.

Over the days and weeks that she ghosted through Moladion, a plan formed, spurred on by her fondness for deviousness and manipulation. The more she heard about this Darkbringer, the more she confirmed her need to cross paths with him. This Blackthorne sounded as though he might be just the man to bring deviousness and excitement to her sometimes rather mundane existence. She could really only tease and torment lone males for so long before she grew bored of it.

Now if she could weasel her way into the good graces of a beast like Blackthorne...well then the scope of all she could do, the games that she could play...well that would expand exponentially. Gaz did love her some games. Particularly the ones that ended in violence and bloodshed with her as a spectator. From all the little juicy bits she'd gathered, Iromar was the place to be for a gal like her.

Gazmala had spent two days planning and preparing her plan to lure the Darkbringer out of his hole. Then she'd spent another three days implementing it. At first she would skirt the borders of Iromar, black paws light as she picked her way through the marshlands and moors, dipping onto the packlands briefly here or there. The following day she'd ventured further in strategic places on the western border, leaving a mangled and fed on carcass of a muskrat several yards beyond the border. The third day she picked several trees near what was obviously a patrol route and rubbed herself against them, the rough bark catching her golden fur and leaving tufts of stubborn winter undercoat here and there.

On the sixth day, she waited. She'd found herself a delightful little spot near the lake below the mountains. A carefully selected location that not only displayed her striking figure to her advantage but one that would also allow her to see the Darkbringer as he approached as there was little to use as cover. aside from a few stray boulders and a bit of sparse vegetation. Approaching one of the boulder, Gaz jumped up and settled herself onto her belly, her blacked front paws crossing daintily before her, her head held aloft and looking to all the world to be some black and gold beauty basking in the light of the sun, eyes half closed. He will come. He'd be a fool not to come.

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