The air is heavy as you make your way through unknown territory, as you pause to sniff the air a drop of rain falls onto your nose. It is soon followed by another and another and soon the rain is pelting down in sheets, soaking you to the bone. The clouds are an angry purple and the menacing drumming of thunder rolls over the sky. Squinting your eyes against the blinding water you find yourself at the edge of a large, dark pine forest. You are too desperate for shelter to notice the scents that mark the border and plunge in, and nearly into the chilly stream that runs through the territory. You veer away and as you are shaking the water out of your fur you notice a large pair of icy blue shards gazing at you. The storm has passed now and beams of sunlight filter through the thick canopy of pines, illuminating a massive male wolf not three feet away from where you stand.
His pelt looks like a bad patchwork job of black and white and beneath them you see large, hard bands of steely muscle and you know this is a warrior for his torso is marred with many battle scars. His banner curls over his back and his lips are drawn, exposing sharp ivory daggers. When he speaks his voice is deep and dominant, like the thunder you so recently heard.
"Wolf, you have found yourself in the terra of the Andere Seite Pack. I am Eclipse, king of this land."
It is only then that you notice another pair of lanterns gleaming in the penumbra and a dark-pelted fae slinks out into the clearing to stand next to the king, her own banner waves and her green and blue eyes bore into you. She is the same size as most males and a crisscrossing pattern of scars show that she too can take care of herself. Her voice is cold and has a snake-like sound to it yet you can see they are both fair rulers.
"And I am Nephthys, queen of Andere. We don’t care much for strangers so you must make your choice, Submit to us now or flee our lands and never return. If you fail to do either you will have little time left to regret it."
The formidable pair pierces you with their gaze and you feel as if all your secrets spill out before them. You are left with a decision now. Will you submit and take refuge in this dark forest or will you flee and never know what secrets these trees hide? Make haste, you can see that the pair grow tired of waiting.
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Posted on June 27, 2014 at 09:27:53 PM by NeMO
 If there is such a thing as 'wealth' in this world, it is only perceived. For money holds no actual value, as it is tradeable for things that we deem to be important. Things we need to survive. We must pay to live. It is as simple as that. The gossamer shook as NeMO opened his russet portals and exhaled slowly. He watched with impassive pools as the spider sitting upon it's dew-covered strings held on tightly while it did so. How strange to have ones whole entire world shaken so easily. If he so wished to, NeMO could effortlessly drop a stilt into the mess and swipe it away. As forementioned-- nothing is permanent and nothing holds value. Life on this forsaken planet is fleeting and meaningless. The vampire's crown tilted upwards as he debated heaving himself to his walkers and making something of this day... night. It was night. Or at least, it was becoming night. The sky was filled with tints of violet, broken only by a dark sea of navy waves just above as the dark settled upon the soil. But NeMO was not interested in the idea of moving himself only to lay down once more sometime soon. He had been unable to find Eric, and as much as this irked him, he found strange solace in the solitude he was being allowed. He was able to think of things more clearly, defining just who he was and what he was to become if he kept this way of life that he had so suddenly carved out. Silence was something he was beginning to appreciate. The demon no longer yearned for company. Instead he craved its absence. Just as he craved the sweet taste of the gales on nights such as these, where it was not chilly enough to feel comfortable within ones own pelt. Instead the heat stuck to the clock, only dropping single digits to the point where it was questionable whether or not the temperature had changed at all. Being one of the male gender, NeMO had no shame in admitting that he thought nights were of the romantic sort, with the only love he had ever had hanging in the sky by a thin and invisible wire. It is a well known fact that vargs treasure the moon. They praise its beauty and release songs of adoration to her majesty despite her being too far away to tune into the sweet melodys. NeMO did not sing. He did not make noise when he admired the queen. Whereas others viewed lunar calendars as a simple change of pace in their lives (as hardly any ever looked up to give tribute to the woman), NeMO viewed them as a being. A thing that had a soul living within it. Perhaps this was because of his earlier years as a youngling with none other but himself, his shadow and the moon to share his thoughts with without being punished for even having words in his brain. Gazers softened at the thought of those nights where he thought that it would be better if he could just disappear into a river and sleep with the stones underneath. The moon was a thing of beauty, and a silent reminder of his horrendous past. Not that the scars didn't already remind him of those times anyway, but the moon was like saltwater. It was good for the wounds inside that he would never let surface, but it also stung him. His mind, however, knew that in the long run the salt was good, and so he thanked the moon for her presence that reminded him that things will change even if they do not seem to do so very often. And boy was he an example of things changing. The bastard lowered his head back down to his paws and closed his lookers, welcoming sleep, if it would come to his side. But such was not to happen. For as he did this, a gust of wind hurtled itself in his direction, nearly sweeping him off his feet as soon as he registered the perfume that it brought with it. At first he found it to be a trick of his mental processor. That such an event would have happened like the one that did the night before last. NeMO's reels flung open, eyelashes peeling back away from his windows as he stumbled and swayed to stand. The hessain did not wait for time to allow him the luxury of confidence in his stride, nor did he have patience to clear the sudden head rush and temporary blindness that slowed him down mere moments. He shot off as one would if escaping hell with all its demons at one's back. Why he reacted so suddenly, so quickly and without hesitation was a good question, but it was one that could not be answered, especially not by the boy himself. He had not conclusion to draw for it, save the fact that he wanted this doe as far away from him as possible, for he feared that he was one of the most dangerous creatures that roamed the earth. Legs pounded into the terra firma, grappling for a hold each and every time claw met dirt. Trees slapped his palette, drawing thin lines of blood as he rushed past them, but he could care less. He just had to close the distance. For he was focused on one thing and on one thing only. Her. Whoever she was. An angel most likely. A bird. NeMO, remarkably, listened for sounds of turmoil with pricked eaves. But he found none. Why was she here, of all places? The look on her face earlier gave clear leeway to the fact that she disliked him. Disliked his stench. Hated his existence. Perhaps it was a mistake that she was here. That she had happened to come to the exact same place that the banished brujo himself kept sanctuary in. When he arrived at the borders, he was short of breathe and covered in a thin layer of sweat and dirt with traces of blood. It was only then that he asked himself why he was always covered in blood. The question surprised him and he took it with a grain of salt, distinguishing it to be an effect that the girl's being there had on him. She was a beautiful creature that only served as a distraction from progress. That and nothing more. He found her form after seconds of looking for it. Lying in the grass. His heart lurched at the thought of her being dead and he chastised himself for being so worked up over someone he didn't even know. Someone he had taken an interest in, had saved, and had run away from. NeMO swallowed. And with that dry lump in his throat, he digested any words that might have come up. He didn't want to speak to her. What would he ask her? Then verbal throwup forced its way through his gritted teeth. Breathless. Husky with sleep. And in every way, masculine. Intruiging with a tinge of curiosity. Why are you here? .... |
Replies:
- broken innocence; - By lihli July 25, 2014 at 11:05:18 PM