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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I will raise you up my devil
IP: 174.59.211.44

In terms of stories, Gazmala was no meek maiden or imperiled princess to be rescued by some daft do-gooder. She was not a pawn in a grander scheme but the shadowed figure lurking behind the throne, moving the pieces without anyone being the wiser.Her schemes and plots were well thought out and took time to implement, but then all the best plans took time. Instant gratification only went so far. Though, if she were to be honest, drawing a growl out of the Darkbringer was rather satisfying. It strengthened her already firm resolve to wriggle her way into his pack and made her want to see what other reactions she could evoke in him.

Initiative was certainly a defining quality amongst wolves. Though they served their purpose, far too many wolves simply did as they were told, filled their roles. Very few possessed true initiative, the power to think beyond what was to what could be, to grab at the future and refuse to let it go. Very few had a vision or purpose in life. Gaz considered herself one of the few, seeing the world as a grand contraption filled with moving parts, parts to be manipulated and rearranged to suit her desires. It was Blackthorne’s apparent aggressive ambition that had drawn her out of the shadows; she wanted to know what his vision was, what future he held clasped in his teeth.

A thrill went through her, flashing in her eyes briefly before her expression went slack; neutral. The instant switch from darkly playful and slightly overbearing to aggressively dominant almost made her giggle like an untried young pup at her first compliment. As he squared his shoulders and pushed into her, his head held high, Gazmala stumbled to the side and slowly turned to face him. A dark brow rose once more and black and green eyes met with burning silver. She did not shake or cower as she was sure lesser creatures did when they invoked the wrath of the Darkbringer. This was what she had sought out, this was what she craved; darkness and violence, a game to play.

Stepping forward slowly, eyes still fixed on his, Gaz’s lips curled into that coy little smirk that would soon become familiar. Her tail hung still behind her, not tucked like some cowering fool. Her posture was calm and confident, her own chin high, though not enough to be considered a challenge. Eyes still locked with his, she stopped well within range for him to rip her face off. ”Not all birds need be caged to sing, Darkbringer.” Her voice was low and she tucked her chin slightly and turned her head a fraction to the side, still watching him from the corner of her eye. The show of subtle deference was all well and good but she wouldn’t sit idly by his his rage got the better of him.


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