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 [joining]
IP: 140.254.77.163
Posted on November 3, 2017 at 01:43:10 PM by R o g a n

Rogan’s pack had claimed the mountains as their home—so it was the mountains that the broad-shouldered boy looked to when he first arrived in this new and bizarre land. Blossom Forest . . . a name that did not fit a place with such diverse patchwork scenery. Yes, he had encountered vast fields rippling with colorful blossoms, but Rogan had also walked the pathways of dense forests and a wide open tundra. Now that winter lay across the earth, most flowers had withered away and disappeared, leaving the only color painted across those stony teeth cutting jaggedly into the sky. These mountains, Rogan had learned, were Culter Unlaeddod. Their beauty enraptured him. Along one horizon, their high peaks glistened with alabaster snow against dark black rock; sweeping along the other direction, these same mountains flashed with riots of red and orange and sandy tan, showing off the veins of their rich ore. Their foothills were pelted with dense green conifers and the bare white bones of naked aspens. They called to Rogan, every mile of them, and so the russet prince set his course directly toward their massive majesty—jade green eyes fixed stubbornly ahead and his pace unfaltering.

It took days to reach the first section of Culter Unlaeddod. In his typical bull-headed fashion, Rogan chose to most direct route to the top. He scented a few trails here and there; wolves that had either hunted these foothills or climbed farther up to seek their fortune. Surely a pack nestled somewhere in these incredible peaks . . . and eventually, after so much travel his muscles ached and the pads of his paws cracked, the red soldier finally found the signs he searched for. Smooth walkways worn into the stone . . . a stray paw print pressed into dirt . . . the old bones of prey stacked in such a way he knew a pack had torn the carcass apart. He lifted his dark muzzle to the sky, tasting the air for signs of life. Faintly, Rogan captured a few threads of wolf-musk on the air . . . but even stronger than these traces was a surprising note of greenery and humidity, of plants not found anywhere else in the areas he’d explored so far. Some varg might pause to wonder at the oddness of this discovery. At the very least, they might be suspicious of a potential oasis where there should be none. But not Rogan. He nodded to himself once, silently making his decision, and plodded onward until pine trees became few and far between and taller deciduous sentinels with moss carpeting their bodies replaced them. The rock under his feet gave way to soft mud and creeping vines. Cold air disintegrated into balmy stillness. He drank the atmosphere once more, tasting for wolves—yet although his acute verdant vision could detect signs of a border, his nose could not distinguish a strong “pack smell.”

“Better to ask before entering . . .” Rogan muttered gruffly to himself, peering about before settling to his haunches and tossing his head back in a pleading howl. Come find me. Tell me I’ve reached a new home. Then he fixed his stare unwaveringly forward, content to repose like a rust-colored statue until someone either welcomed him or turned him away.


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