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Post by Tryavna on Sept 25, 2009 18:56:29 GMT -5
(Carnage.) She glanced at the low sun, her thin face set against its bright light in a way that might have seemed religious or thoughtful. But her flinty amber eyes said otherwise: she stared out with bitter rage, her tail curled in defiance. 'I should not have left you, my brothers, my sisters,' she thought with a soft growl. 'This wild land is not my home. I am a fool to think it could be.' She glanced away and her eyes now followed the thin brown path that stretched from her paws down into the tree line. Her aim was simple. She would find her nomadic family once again, reunite with them if she could, and live out her days as a proud member of the pack. She dreaded to think of being alone for much longer, but it was a pain she was willing to endure if it meant she could return home. 'I will be there soon, I promise.'She resumed her swift trek downhill, thinking of the ones she missed most. She missed Kipka, her best friend and adopted little sister. The small brown and black pup was nearly a year old, and Tryavna wondered why she left her. Her sweet, chubby face and baby blue eyes were treasures the silver she-wolf held dear. Then there was Braf, a swarthy young wolf with all the makings of a true Dragga. He was kindly and brave, and always looked after the pack. He especially cared for Harla, the spindly gray storyteller. Tryavna suddenly felt a pang of guilt stab her heart, and her eyes flashed with sadness. Harla was like a mother to her. The old drappa had taken her in when she was merely a whelp, and had kept her safe from the teases and recklessness of the other wolves until she'd grown big enough to take care of herself. It was Harla who saw her off. Harla who sang goodbye to her as she hastily left the woods. And it was Harla who she'd hurt the most when she told everyone of her intention to leave the pack. She could remember her old face, white with age, looking at her with such profound sadness that she could not meet the storyteller's eyes. She knew Harla was barren, but she never thought about how it affected their relationship. 'Not until I left the pack.'Then, Tryavna entered the trees, and her thoughts turned to other things - she noticed immediately how beautiful the mountain woods looked. The green boughs were tangled; there was a religious, hazy light that imbued a sense of warmth into the cold mountain air; the blue sky and gold-ribbed clouds overhead were clear and picturesque; she could spy purple mountain peaks towering in the distance, capped with milky white snow. Her hasty pace slowed until it seemed almost lethargic. Birds tittered to one another in the tree tops, squirrels chased each other through the brush. A small grin, brief and melancholic, drifted across her face like an aimless boat at sea. "Maybe it's not all bad I left," she said softly to herself as she walked into a small clearing where the warm sunlight just barely lit her face. "I may never have found this place if I'd stayed."
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Post by Carnage on Sept 29, 2009 1:25:37 GMT -5
Let me know if you'd like anything changed. I hope you enjoy my misuse of semicolons and my overall rustiness c:
After what seemed like an eternity, Fenris had finally showered the land below with mercy from his devastating rays. The crippling heat of summer had mostly left the forest, the days being reduced to comfortably sunny and warm. Creatures with dark pelts were no longer forced into hiding; they could now emerge into the open, foraging where they pleased, stepping freely from the protection of the shade. Billowing clouds with edges aglow drifted lazily by, casting soft shadows over the sun from time to time before exposing its light once more. The day was beautiful in every meaning of the word, though not all souls were out to admire the crisp autumn air or the gently lilting breeze.
Stepping none too carefully over the earth moved a colossal figure; his stride was seemingly lazy and perhaps even blundering with the way his thick legs moved methodically back and forth. Though there was no set heading in his mind, each movement was carefully calculated. All his life he had known that when you possessed such great stature and power beneath your pelt, it didn't matter where or how you traveled. Great muscles rippled beneath his dual-hued coat with every step, though his thick fur concealed much of his toned figure while at the same time adding substantially to his mass. His fur was of a most peculiar hue, the topcoat was a coarse obsidian, as deep as a scorched forest beneath a moonless sky, while his face, underbelly and forelegs, along with an odd patch on his back, consisted of a searing flame. Altogether he appeared as a monster out of a dream; a minion of Wolfbane, or perhaps some god in his own right, left unmentioned in traditional pup's tales.
Life in the Balkan lands had grown dull, as it was prone to do more often than one unfamiliar with the territory might imagine. Moons ago he had stolen into enemy territory with his superior, the only Varg on earth at present who could command his respect, and together they had robbed the Koranian Dragga of his life. The fallen Dragga's blood still coated his rank breath, though it would not be found anyhere on his conscience. The thrill of that escapade had faded shortly after they had crossed back over the border, and while retaliation from the weaker pack was expected, he pined for something to catch his interest in the meantime. Hard telling how long it would be before the pack across the river would be able to rally troops sufficient enough to even dare to set foot in the Dark Lands.
So he had turned his attention to the mountains that bordered his territory. With a steady amble he had made his way to the base of the mountain, taking no time to survey the land's beauty or thriving creatures. He would wander to the peaks if something compelled him to do so, though through a somewhat fortunate turn of events, it appeared as though he would not have to wander far at all. Pointed auds twitched as they caught the soft singsong voice of someone nearby. Moving slowly towards the source of the sound, he stepped lightly for the first time that day, yellow eyes ablaze with excitement. Peering through a row of trees he spotted a lone fae, twittering to herself in the center of a clearing, sounding not unlike the chattering birds around her. A wicked grin spread deliberately over his face as the gears in his mind turned ever-faster. With little preparation or rehearsal he broke from the trees, his steps remained easy, his scowl barely concealed behind his grin. In a sickly-sweet voice not fully rid of malice, he cooed, "And I may never have found you."
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Post by Tryavna on Sept 29, 2009 22:24:31 GMT -5
(nah, I liked it a lot, rustiness and all ;) new av?) Her heart stopped. The murmuring voice was sticky and sweet. It clung to her skin like warm honey, sending shivers up and down her spine. But there was a secret chord beneath his candied words that made her grind her teeth with fear, and she knew that his words were as loving as poison to a babe. She quickly realized that her sudden terror was well-placed, for his voice seemed to reverberate like an ominous drum throughout the small clearing and the surrounding woods, sending the peaceful mountain creatures into an eerie hush as if they all knew the meaning behind such a dangerous sound. She felt her skin prickle, she felt a tremor shiver down her spine, and she felt utterly helpless and alone. A flash of inspiration told her to at least turn around and look. It said, 'You can run away when the time comes, for you are fast and swift and strong. You will escape this place, this mountain, this accursed forest, and you will make it home. All you need to do is look.' So she did. Slowly and purposefully, Tryavna turned to meet her executioner. He was an astounding giant, rippling with brutal muscle; and he was not an elegant or sleek creature by any means, for he looked too wild and too utterly unpredictable, as if the demon lurking within was only just beneath his bristling fur. His eyes glowed like the summer sun, and they seemed to melt into the coppery fur that covered his strong face - a face that was blackened on his muzzle, on his forehead, as if the molten color beneath had cooled to a hard, obsidian crust on top. She noticed that his entire body seemed to follow such a pattern, and she wondered if he was a creature born from fire and ash - a true demon from the lowest tier of Wolfbane's hell. Her pointed ears cocked forward, her sharp face lifted, and she looked unflinching into the devil's eyes. His appearance alone had laid bare her secret, wishful plans of escape and brought them crashing down with a cruel finality. She knew the outcome of this meeting as if it had played itself out before. There was a heavy sadness in her heart as she struggled to accept her grim fate, and her grief welled up in her throat until she knew she could not speak. 'Kipka?' If only her thoughts could transcend the endless miles and mountainous barriers that separated them. 'I am sorry I left you. I am sorry for saying goodbye, and that I... I must break my promise for I will never see you again.' Tryavna was trembling, overcome with grief as she stared into the soulless eyes of death. 'Oh Braf...' she continued with a dry swallow. 'Oh Braf. How I'll miss you, my love... If... If I could tell you how I feel... I am sorry you will not know me as I wish you could have.'She inhaled deeply, and closed her eyes for a moment. 'I am sorry... Mother. For leaving you, for burdening you with this grief. Mother, I am sorry for everything!' She wrenched her eyes open, and braced herself against the coming onslaught. A desperate determination woke within her, and she found the strength to at least stand against her demise, against this foul demon for as long as she could. She would do her best to bring his dark kingdom crashing down around him, although she already knew in her secret heart that her stand would be in vain, and her life and death would come and go like the passing of a spring storm, and forgotten just as quickly. "Fate is only so cruel," she replied to him at last, hoping that his talkative nature would prolong the inevitable - if he was a talkative creature. No one wants to die; the best they can do is accept it. "At least you've found me in a beautiful land. It is a good place to meet you, Addonexus, though, I am a bit surprised to find you here."
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Post by Carnage on Oct 6, 2009 10:59:11 GMT -5
(Nah, I made it a long time ago and just put it back up :P)
As the echoes of his heavy words faded, the clearing grew deathly quiet as though the fae before him had expired upon all four paws. His gaze remained fixed on the spindly female's form as he waited for her to turn, so he might gauge her expression for the panic and fear that fueled his evil deeds. He was not disappointed as hesitantly she turned, her bright eyes wide but reluctant to resign her life completely. He did not mind a challenge, if that was what this fae intended to confront him with, for the knowledge that she was an ant in the presence of a demi-god was enough to set his heart aflame with adrenaline. Let her fight, the fact that she was a female only made it all the more sweet, as the intense hatred of the gender had been infused into his mind long before the Balkan standards had fallen upon him.
"What is it, sweetness?" he cooed, his voice still oozing that fatal sweetness like a molasses stream in winter. "You look as though you've seen a ghost," his Cheshire grin grew larger; it was evident he was enjoying the fae's dilemma, though he did not intend to harm her just yet. his decision to draw out her terror would not work to her advantage; even if she plotted escape at this very moment, her flight would be in vain. Though he was large for a wolf and there were many a Varg swifter than he, he had the advantage of persistence. His primeval drive would grant him the stamina to hound whatever prey he sought, until eventually, wearing the victim to the point of desperate exhaustion, he would claim his prize with his steel jaws.
The tussled fae merely stood and gawked, though he was not at all surprised that his terrible stature intimidated and astonished her. Along with his sheer power, he had been blessed (or perhaps cursed) with an ego larger than his massive frame. A life of never being bested or outdone had the unfortunate side effect of creating and nurturing a swollen sense of pride.
As the words had filtered from his maw, he had continued his deliberate swagger towards the frozen female. He moved like an artist encircling a fresh block of marble, seeing not the dull, expressionless form before him, but the lustrous potential of what he could make of it. Silently he vowed to break the fae of her spell, he would make her scream and enjoy hearing the tremulous pitch of her wavering shrieks and pleas.
Finally, a voice to go with that sharp face. He savored her calm tone; a pleasing precursor to the darker events to follow. His reply came as a deep rumble, a foil to her soft voice, "Addonexus," he repeated, the name feeling foreign but well-placed on his tongue. "It is I who am surprised to find you here, so close to the Devil's Realm. Fenris has tricked you, shining his light so close to the shadows. You have stumbled into a trap." His bright eyes flickered like dancing flames as he spoke the last word, trap. He would drag this out as long as he could stand, keep her guessing until her bravery began to fade. He could not stand to let her keep her tranquil facade for the duration; Females didn't possess the strength to die with any semblance of honor.
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Post by Tryavna on Oct 6, 2009 14:03:22 GMT -5
(well, its very nice! definitely halloween-esque) Her body was rigid and taut, her keen senses were amplified by the cruel inevitability of her demise, and yet his sickly sweet words fell upon deaf ears. She was lost in the confusing tides of her thoughts, like the rip and pull of the sea in an overwhelming storm, and she could only watch him in numb terror as he sauntered closer, his muscles bulging with every step like a finely chiseled statue, albeit one that moved. She was collected, but not because she truly was; she felt as if she stood in a lucid nightmare, where she could no more scream in horror than she could become a bear and chase this beastly creature away. She was paralyzed, yet her heartbeat wildly like a fly caught in a web, watching as the spider meticulously tiptoed toward it. Her fate was sealed, and though she knew that any rebellion would be quickly laid to rest, she knew she would rather fight this demon than lay down like a lowly dog and die. She decided, if it was her time to die, she would not let this volcanic beast have an easy victory. There was no doubt he could kill her - it was an undisputed, undeniable fact - and she imagined that he would relish every moment of her death, finding amusement and pleasure in his dark work. Her flesh would become his clay, and he would toil about, sculpting and sculpting and sculpting, until the job was done; and she would lay, mutilated and perhaps not quite dead, at his paws. But though she knew, more or less, what lay in store for her - she was at the mercy of this Picasso of death - a tiny bead of hope welled up in her heart. She would leave him a small mark in turn: a tiny, livid scar as a token to remember her by. She would be just one more soul etched onto his hellion hide - another eternal mark of sin against him. When he spoke next, she'd managed to organize her mind into more coherent thoughts, freeing her from her momentary paralysis to hear his dark and heavy words. She cringed at first, for his voice was no longer imbued with sickly-sweet honey. Instead, he sounded like muted thunder, and his words resounded in his chest and in her ears like the ominous rumble of a mountain. Somehow, her best efforts to remain calm were rewarded: she stood straight and her face remained stoic - carefully composed. It was, of course, a monumental struggle to keep herself from trembling - she shivered on his every word despite her will against it - but she was able to hold her dignity and waning courage in place. For now. "Has he?" She asked softly, her eyes flickering with profuse sadness. She did not believe him; Fenris, though not a god of complete mercy and compassion, would not betray his daughter and send her deliberately into this devil's trap. She held resolutely to her faith, for it was something she'd never questioned, even through the countless trials in which her religion had been tested: as a whelp, she'd been suckled hearing stories of the gods, and when she became lost, she relied on those stories for comfort; when she'd first met her new nomadic family, she kept her religion in her heart to give her courage; and when she'd first learned how to steal, she prayed to Tor - and even Fenris - to keep her and her family safe from harm. Through it all, they had never betrayed her - why do so now? "If by the will of the gods, there must be a reason for why I am here." She argued, her voice growing a little in strength. "Or do you think it is only coincidence that you stumbled upon me at this very hour, on this very day, on this very mountain? If you'd been a day late, or I had taken a different path, we may never have met. There is a reason - and it is not for the mere enjoyment of Fenris, for He does not kill his children to sate his fancy." She spoke boldly, though her heavy tongue tripped over countless words and she seemed to quaver as her voice left her. 'But that reason,' she thought sadly, finally dropping her head as if her courage had left her vulnerable, like a ragdoll on a string, 'that reason is lost to me.Why should I meet this cruel devil, if no good will come of it? Even my death will go unnoticed by all, save for just us three - the demon, the god, and me.'
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Post by Carnage on Nov 2, 2009 0:50:23 GMT -5
He had succeeded in breaking her from her spell, animating her rigid form once more, though not by much. Her pose did not majestically shift to one of strength or valor, if anything she deflated a little at his mention of Fenris' cruel trick. He had no faith in the gods, believed not in Fenris or Tor any more than he might believe in a wolf-sized rabbit. they were mere fairy tales to him, and any merit placed in their existence by others was viewed as a sign of extreme weakness and stupidity. By making her faith known to him, Tryavna had given him so much more than if she would have been but a simple-minded, lost sheep. She now had her sex and her religion to blame for the male's growing hatred; the time bomb was ticking louder and faster.
As her meek voice broke the silence like the preliminary whimpers of a new-born cub, his weighted features took on a solemn expression as though he hated to be the one to admit to her the truth. He almost resembled a father figure, albeit a dark and twisted one, revealing long-kept secrets to his daughter and waiting in short bursts of silence as his words were absorbed, before once more shaking her world. His impulsive rambles could be as cutting as the most premeditated blows, as devastating as the most hurtful secrets finally come to light, and he reveled in the fact that he possessed such control. It was recently that he changed the life of one individual whose similar misfortune it had been hobbling into the Dark Lands. He wondered if the old mann Silvanus had lived to survive the night after he left him, and knew that even if he had, his new life of doubt and pain would be more a curse than his death would have been.
This female clearly had more fight than that pathetic cripple, and he was counting on it now. He wanted her insults, her claws in his flesh as she dared to think she might stand a chance. Already he had struck a chord by bringing her deities into the fight, though he could see it would take more coaxing to unleash the boldness she had tucked away; he would be better off tricking her into making a rash and idiotic decision than relying on her bravery. "Perhaps your god does not take such dark delight in torturing his children, but I do." He breathed, his dark baritones replacing the surrounding ambiance. "Perhaps your reason for being here has more to do with my happiness and less to do with you proving yourself." His tone was grave, his expression stoic as he gave the fae a short moment to ponder the big reveal. "I think that perhaps your god is rewarding me, offering a sacrifice to his better in hopes that I don't tear his whole sky down. I think he's worried, scared even. And why shouldn't he tremble?" Suddenly his maw split open, and steam seemed to rise out from between his teeth, issued forth from the smoldering core within. Deep laughter erupted from his throat, bubbling furiously like magma in the center of the earth as he stood and took delight in the fae's foolish creed.
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Post by Tryavna on Nov 4, 2009 18:08:16 GMT -5
"No," she growled, her voice suddenly rising in caliber. Who was this wolf to assume an authority greater than Fenris? To think himself of a greater quantity than the wolf god who had created the earth and the heavens, life and death, joy and sorrow? No, this foul creature that towered over her was nothing more than flesh and blood, stench and hunger. He could no more devour the sun than he could grow wings and fly. He might be a demon, but even demons are subject to the decree of gods. She lifted her tail slightly, quavering with boldness and fear, a deadly combination. He had assumed too much, and if she were to die anyway, she would do it proudly, defending her faith. Or with as much pride as a ragdoll could assume. Beneath his teeth and rippling muscles, she would be nothing more than a plaything. But she was still a plaything with teeth and claws. And she intended to use them furiously.
"He does not tremble. Even from the idle warnings of a little demon. You hold no sway over him, nor over the moon. Your threats are as feeble as a trembling breeze, and gone just as quickly." She snapped, gaining confidence. His words had indeed sown the seeds of discord, and now he would be reaping the benefits. She was growing impudent, aggressive even. Fury blazed in her heart. "I may not be the moral of the story here," she continued, throwing caution to the wind. "This may not be the hour in which I am to redeem myself, prove myself, or devote myself. But this meeting was certainly not arranged for your petty amusement. While it may seem that way now, Reaper, it is only because you will fail to see the consequences later."
'Noli timere mortem,' she thought with a scowl. 'Don't fear death.' Her last passionate outburst still reverberated through the trees and evening wood, though it was quickly replaced by lasting, eerie silence. She was still frightened, more so by the deathly quiet now than the prospect of torture. Where were all the Lera? The breath of the wind? The ringing mountains? Where was the song of her brothers and the yip of her sisters? 'Lost,' she thought, eyes clouded. 'And so am I, here at the end. A pathetic waste...' Her last thought was matter-of-fact, and trailed off. Her young life had culminated to nothing but her senseless death. She growled. "So, what is this? Why do you waste our time on talk of gods and fate? Are you so concerned, or are you too afraid to do more than spit idle threats and waste my time?"
She feinted a lunge, made more in jest and anger than as an actual attack, and grinned. Her nose wrinkled, her brows pinched together, her ears slicked back. She snarled, "If you do nothing else, Addonexus, then leave me in peace! But if you wish to kill me, then you'll have to fight me."
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Post by Carnage on Dec 3, 2009 4:33:46 GMT -5
Wasn't sure if you wanted another turn or not, if you do it would probably be another wait on my next post, though if you don't mind so much about that, let me know and I'll edit the ending for you! Hope you like it, and sorry again for the wait :[
The sudden hint of malice in her voice surprised him, though his features did not show it. Evidently the frustration his mind games caused had finally bubbled over into mild aggression, and this pleased him greatly. A smug smile rested on his dark lips as he sat in silence, watching her practically shake as she rattled off idle threats that her imaginary guardian could never carry out on him. On the ground his tail thumped quietly in the dirt, as though he were tapping it impatiently, waiting for her show to be over so that he could take his turn once more. The gods were credited with the creation of the entire world and its inhabitants, as well as the entire spectrum of emotions that came with being alive, though what proof was there that some deity had crafted such intricacies? He on the other hand had solid proof of the startling feats of which he was capable. He had left numerous carcasses to rot beneath the moon, so that when Fenris finally cast his gaze upon the fallen they were already riddled with flies and the marks of scavengers. If the sun god did exist, then he already knew of the terrors that the hellion was capable of.
"You are certainly the mortal of the story," he chided, reminding her again of her frailty as his face momentarily took on a more serious look. "Clearly, you are unafraid of death, for you have been staring him in the face for some time, scolding him as though you might force a change of heart upon him and escape with your life." Her fear had disappeared, making way for a new boldness that he hoped was superficial. Leaning in close he leered down at her, craning his neck to peer into her orbs that seemed dull to him even with their recent spark. "He has no heart, he does not hear your words", the sentence slid sharply past his tongue in a dangerous whisper. Her pending rage excited something awful inside of him, it drove him to push her until she snapped. "The stench of your rotting flesh will be carried on the breeze much sooner than my idle threats," he roared with a snap of his jaws, fiery eyes glaring into her tense features.
The empowered fae concluded with the promise that his wicked deeds would not go unpunished in the end, before making the mistake of egging him on. Unexpectedly, she lunged at him. Whether or not she intended to actually hit him, she succeeded as he was leaned in close, in tearing a gash in the skin of his cheek. He did not flinch or jolt, though he moved with surprising speed and proceeded to bowl her over with his immense weight, pinning her to the ground beneath him. One paw on her throat, he glowered down at her as his temper escalated, pressing down harder on her windpipe as each moment passed. "Are you afraid?" he growled, ramming his nose against hers. What his tactics lacked in grace, they made up for with force. Had he not grown so agitated he might have drawn out their game a little longer, though seeing the female portray such strength of character sickened him, and he felt the need to end it now. Besides, she had been right about one thing, why waste time?
Drawing his ears back, he had grown tired of her banter. "Your drivel bores me, you've wasted enough of my time with it." Not caring what else she had to say, he parted his maw, wrapping it around hers in a flash, effectively trapping her. With her entire muzzle engulfed in his own, she could no longer babble, the most she could do was whimper and moan. He held the position for a moment, and looked once more into her eyes, searching them one last time for a desperate entreaty. With one movement, he forced his jaw shut with a sickening crunch as his steel mandible demolished the female's muzzle, shattering the entire front half of her skull. Disfigurement was the least of her worries, as the extreme pain would probably lead to unconsciousness, if she was lucky. Content that she was no longer able to trouble him with her words, he peered down at her while slowly licking her blood from his muzzle, as though wanting to savor every ounce of her misery. Disgust found its way onto his face as he found the taste of her blood to be unpleasant, tainted with the independence and pride that had run through it. "Even in death you're a bitter bitch," he spat as he frowned down at her writhing frame, as though she could help the way her blood tasted. Reluctant to experience the sour taste again, he refrained from tearing out her throat as he otherwise might have done. Instead, he resolved to leave her jerking like a crumpled insect until she died, though not before he gently took one of her hind legs in his maw. Without breaking the skin enough to cause profuse bleeding, he thrashed his head around until her limb had been rendered useless. Giving her a final look-over as an artist would admire his finished masterpiece, a familiar smile returned to his face. Padding up to where her head lay limp on the ground, he whispered something indiscernible to even the surrounding trees, before taking his leave of her broken frame.
"Give my regards to Fenris."
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