|
Post by Captain Z on May 7, 2007 16:01:45 GMT -5
//Right, bit of change to the original plan. I'm going to start this now, because i've promised to start it for awhile, and people have begun to wait on me, and things are really getting slowed down. So yeah, this is now the war thread. I'm picking up where Ge-Rad left off, as Ge-Rad has assembled outside the dens, and Shayla is being escorted for attention. For flow, i think its best if Ge-Rad Posts first, followed quickly by the Balkar and Sarnes as they please. I know this post really could be better. Sorry\\
Darkness reigned the lands, thick storm clouds stole the light from the plains. The wind grew ferocious, nearly tearing the limbs and crests straight from the woods, their excessive groaning stressed across the pond, whistling through the onyx coat of the dragon, his crimson tipped ears resting beneath the flailing tips of the tall grass. Rolling through the distant plains was the great hammering of the thunder. Ripping through the darkness was the fierce radiant flash of lightning, burning into the cold sapphiric gaze of the dragon, his onyx knives bathing in the blood of his own heart.
The conscious behind the icy gaze was sweltering in oppressed rage, having such a sweet opportunity to pierce the heart of Ge-rad, yet losing it to the fierce roar and blinding light of the lightning striking only a breaths distance from his form. Annoyingly more lucky then clever as they were, she did manage to make a break to her beloved daddy. Though not too sweet for her, she dragged her shredded light hued bodice through her homeland, her blood draining away into the paws of her father. A malicious grin grew along the dragons dangerous jaws. If he was to lead the spear into the heart of another, he would never finish where his purpose ended. No, he was better than that. He was better then where what he was taught ended. He took initiative. He made sure that that spear caused as much god damn pain as possible. From start to finish.
The blood lust from his own surface wounds became intertwined with the deeper wounds of the hot-footed fae, suppressing the natural scent in which he would give chase to finish picking the bones he had clinched earlier. No she was lucky indeed. She'd escape with only the wounds he had inflicted, but the message was delivered. The tell-tale flesh now kissed with the crimson love of the First alerted Ge-rad that the sweet times of peace and harmony has disappeared along with the beauty of their beloved daughter. Their sum of all fears lined the fading sun on the horizon.
Despite slight tears in his muscles, his fully functional fours led him into the heart of their haven, his crimson tipped auds stood tall, stealing away the voices of worry and the orders of consternation aimlessly being directed among a group of racing hearts. The Dragon smirked. His breath chanted the pleas of wolfbane for the souls of the innocent, his frigid glare danced with fighter's flight. There was no time for this better than now. Lifting his maw, the crimson canaled through his chest, as the bone chilling alarm froze the hearts of the land, and stalled the minds of the enemy. His howls echoed across the plains and forest, and tunneled through the dens, ringing out to the edges of the territory. They repeated. Once, and Again. as all fell silent. A black cloud of crows tore away from the tree tops, screaming out that the greater putnar have claimed the lands to themselves, promising a sweet, shredded meal later.
Smirking, the onyx dragon, slipped back, allowing the sense of the battlefield abyss to sink in all around their home. They knew who, what, and why. Where and When was left for them to test their bravery. The First knew that each of the Night Hunters stalking the shadows knew exactly where to catch them weak, which left each and every Nihtgenge and Lacan free from their shackles and leading the spear, followed closely by the knives and daggers of Sarnes. The First sank back into nothingness, masked by the fear of not knowing what to expect.
For the onyx beast, his role as leading the attack was now in the hands of those raised under the name Sarnes and Balkar. Leadership was no longer needed, only the ruthless and brutal tooth and claw of wolfbane was called for. Here the First sleeps, and the Dragon awakes.
|
|
|
Post by Shakó on May 8, 2007 18:35:55 GMT -5
Heavy paws thumped against the ground, quietly as they could. This proved difficult, for the mann was neither light nor lean, he was heavy and built. His silver paws hit the ground with power behind them, as his chest worked in succession with his pumping bundle of muscles lying in the middle of his chest cavity. Pumping not only blood through the mann’s thick veins, but adrenal and instinct as well. Round ivory and silver auds constantly kept in check with the thunder of the paws around him, the paws of his pack mates. There were eight of them all together, and while numbers may not match up, is was going to have to work. They may have the element of surprise, but these vargs, this pack, had home land advantage. It was easy, fighting to protect something.
Emotions swirled inside the warrior’s ivory cranium, emotions so mixed and tangles it would take nearly a lifetime to sort out. A lifetime, that Shakó didn’t have, at least not now. His pain, his confusion, his worry, his fear, his anger; all had to wait, just for now. The man needed to think clearly, to be able to rationalize his thoughts and Tor forbid he evaded a loss of impulse control. After all, a mongoose doesn’t win a battle against a cobra with a hazed mind. But needing, even wanting, was different than achieving.
Hackles pricked upon the beta’s ivory back, as his silver lips curled as a rigid snarl escaped his vocals. He couldn’t smell them, he never could - even though he heard how their coats reeked of death and decay. He couldn’t see them, not yet, he was too far and the foliage was thick in this parts of the woods. He couldn’t hear them, even with his auds strained, he could only hear the harsh sharp breaths and heavy paws of his fellow pack members, and the pumping of his own heart that seemed to lodge itself in his eardrums. However, he could feel them, he could sense there were near. Well, maybe not them, but danger. The instinct to sense danger, it was practically encoded in every puntar’s DNA. “we’re close,” Shakó quietly snarled unnecessarily.
Weaving through every bush, every tangle of ivy that latches itself between trees, in what seemed like hours silver paws slowed, as gold eyes laid upon what he thought to be a shadowed figure near the surface of Cwen’s Pond. This shadow, was no figment of his imagination, nor was it a real shadow, but a beast. It was a monster, a demon, with traces of crimson upon his ebon form. He was sure that with an effective nose, he would be able to smell the blood on the monster, and even around him. Shakó stood, frozen, his bright gold eyes gleamed with hate and the need to protect. Oh, how he hated that form, he had seen it once before a winter ago, he recognized those cold cerulean oculars. This monster might not have been as high then as he is now, but he was just as dangerous. He is, without a doubt, the First; the one that terrorizes the land of Transylvania, the one that strikes fear into puntar and varg alike. Shakó was sure that this figure, standing before him would make his spine tingle; if he wasn’t so enraged at his recent and past actions. But now blinking, as quickly as it came, it had disappeared into the darkness, leaving Shakó with his intense emotions clawing at his insides, begging to get out.
“They’re here,” Shakó growled lowly; his ivory auds twitching impatiently, waiting for any command from his amber Dragga and any disturbance from the shadows beyond. His gold oculars drifted around in the surroundings, trying to pierce the darkness that seemed beyond impossible at this distance. He wouldn’t move, not yet. He had only seen one, and the majority had to be somewhere close, lurking just out of eyesight. It would be foolish to just leap out with jaws open into the dark abyss.
//ack, the last paragraph could have been better.Edited 05/09//
|
|
Kaemon
Sikla
Trouble-making adolecent of Ge-Rad
?Mischief Maker with a Chewing Fetish? [br]*Fallen for the emrald-eyed fae*
Posts: 111
|
Post by Kaemon on May 10, 2007 10:03:28 GMT -5
A smaller stable and tan form moved swiftly though the brush, his familiar like auds held alert with uncertainty. His spine remained straight, his head low and tail out straight behind him. His mind raced as fast as his mongrel heart pumped, his veins flowing with thick warrior blood. He might be a warrior, or rather one in the making, but still the mann didn’t know exactly what he was doing. The only thing he could really do was follow in his father’s lead, and even though he would never admit it aloud, Ayasha.
True, Ayasha was older than him and had training, making her a much capable and headstong fighter. Maybe Kaemon himself would have had training, if the testosterone in his body wasn’t going haywire. He might have been a little over a year old, but slowy, he was maturning. After all, he would probably still act like a cub, if not for the emotions that hit him like a brick wall when being arounds faes. Well, maybe not just any fae, but Ayasha. He didn't know what it was, but something inside him seemed lighten his body when he was around her.
But it’s also because of his hot headed teenage pride, that Kaemon couldn’t admit that Ayasha was a better warrior than him. ‘For the time being, at least;’ Kaemon smirked to himself. After all, his father was back, he could teach Kaemon a thing or two about fighting.
Now however wasn’t the time, nor the place. This wasn’t some silly drill, nor a game of hide and seek. This was real. A shiver worked it’s way down Kaemon’s spine, causing his molten orange and tan mixed hackles to stand erect. Auds twitches, as nares flared, catching the stench of something that smelt remarkably like death and decay ahead. It only became stronger as the mann trudged forward with the rest of his pack, and he could have sworn he caught the distant scent of blood. ‘This must be where Shayla got caught,’ Kaemon wondered to himself, noticing that they were almost at the bank of the pond.
Following in step, Kaemon slowed his pace, his chocolate oculars peering into the shadows beyond. “They’re here,” he heard Shakó growl unnecessarily. Stiffening his body, Kaemon waited, waiting for something to happen, anything to happen. Who would make the first move? ‘Well, that’s a dumb question,’ Kaemon responded to himself without thinking. ‘They’re already here.’ So what was going to happen now?
//horrible, I know, but I couldn't think of anything else.//
|
|
|
Post by Carcharoth on May 17, 2007 14:40:22 GMT -5
((Cause I'm sick of waiting))
You always wanted people to remember you. You leave your little mark on society! Don't you know your wish is coming true today? Another victim dies tonight.
The orders had been given. And Wolfbane himself would damn the enormous brute if he were going to abide by them. The First was a Nihtgene, not a Lacan. He simply didn’t understand the beast’s level of pride and how much he regarded himself. Sikla’s took to the shadows. Skulking little swine’s like the fool Nearo became shadows. Carcharoth could not hide, and he would not. Not until he was slaughtered and his heavy carcass dragged to them. Hopefully that was enough emphasis on the point, Ziev should understand.
As the dragon hearted First slunk backwards into the darkness, his call echoing out into the lands and trembling the silent lands of Ge-Rad, the Second emerged into the dimly lit clearing, his colossal form clear to see for miles. Yet, his midnight pelt did at least help him to blend into the darkness of the night, only the silver flecking around his muzzle showed any signs of his increasing age, but took nothing away from the sheer size and power he demonstrated. A single aud stood erect, swivelling back and forth to pick up any sounds of approaching paws. At it’s side was merely a tuft of fur where its comrade should have stood. Instead, a silver scar trailed from this tuft and ran straight through the beast’s left eye, leaking out to smother the blind orb in silver. It resembled the great Moon Goddess Tor above, one whose very presence was hidden well by the rolling storm clouds that were bustling across the windy skies above. The brute’s thick onyx pelt swished back and forth in the blistering winds, ruffling into an unkempt mess. Yet Carcharoth couldn’t have care less. It was about to be tainted with the blood of the innocent; the wind was simply a chilling reminder of the hell that was coming to this land this night. And with this thought, a sickening grin etched its way up his broad muzzle, revealing shimmering rows of saliva dripping razors. The blood lust was settling thickly in his black blood. Another step he took forward, lowering his head and raising his tail against the battering winds and the onslaught of hard rain that began to slap against the lands below. A rumble of thunder and a crack of lighting illuminated the lands, showing not only one shadowed figure out in the open, but several. Oh yes. Not all of these beasties enjoyed hiding in the shadows. And Carcharoth would lead them forth; lead them to their victory.
“Come and get me, siklas,” he growled maliciously beneath his breath, emerald hue flashing with madness and the moon replica staring ahead demonically, scanning blindly at the darkness beyond the tree line. They had arrived.
(it's not great, but we need to get this ball rolling!)
|
|
|
Post by Serg on May 19, 2007 8:49:47 GMT -5
(cause I'm also sick of waiting.)
The thick storm clouds squirmed in the sky, writhing and contorting as if in as much pain as the GeRad vargs would no doubt be in by the time the two attacking packs had finished with them. Serg had laughed inwardly at the issuing of the new First's orders. Hide in the shadows. A sneer worked its way on his thick black muzzle and his pearly white canines gleamed. It made him sick that Ziev was ordering the Balkar about like they were siklas.
A black form stalked its way out in the open, and Serg's keen nightvision had no problem recognising the beast as Carcharoth. A wry smile replaced his sneer. At least someone else had sense enough to see that these orders were based in pure cowardice.
Serg's muscular bulk that clearly identified him as no Nihtgenge strolled towards the place where he had just seen Ziev slink into. Amber eyes like fiery lanterns burned through the shadows and he shook his head and laughed bitterly. This would have been the first time his former Second would have seen that the former First had returned.
"Ziev, you sicken me." he growled. "I see that you wasted no time in snapping up the position of First, and how poorly you hold that title." Serg growled, sharp teeth glowed in the dim light. The night was as thick as soup, making the shadows as dense as they could possibly be. "The Balkar should stand proud, not cower in the shadows like siklas." Serg growled, black banner swished behind him, smoudlering amber orbs sparked with the light of hell. "Your own cowardice has led the once proud Night Hunters to appear weak and feeble. They should not skulk in the shadows like they are afraid. You're a coward Ziev. And you're dragging the Balkar through the dirt." He snarled, eyes flashing. Serg cared not that he had been gone for so long. He cared not that this wasn't exactly the best time to start arguing with Ziev. He had had a damned good reason for his absence, and all he had thought of whilst he had been gone, was not only extracting his revenge on Draeg, but on getting back his position as First. Serg was a Balkar, had always been a Balkar. And he would be damned if he was going to go back into that pack and look up to Ziev.
Serg snorted and shook his head. "When you get some balls, maybe we'll have a little chat later." He paused, and smiled maliciously. "That is, if fighting these GeRad runts doesn't kill you." A wicked grin distorted his features and he backed away, turning his back on where he knew Ziev was wouldn't have been a good idea. He made his way to where he saw Carcharoth standing and grunted a greeting, amber orbs now focused on the opposite end of the clearing. The pond dedicated to the treacherous sikla of a Drappa lay quivering as if it too dreaded what was about to happen, and Serg smirked. They were coming. "And let the fun begin." Serg muttered with a smile - he was going to enjoy this.
|
|
|
Post by Draeg on May 19, 2007 23:42:52 GMT -5
Paws thumping rhythmically against the grassy earth like marching drum the amber Dragga darted swiftly through the tangled brush, weaving through the dense undergrowth that littered the forest floor as he ran alongside his faithful second. While slightly larger than Shako in terms of height the battered male was the white wolf’s opposite as far as his build was concerned, his body holding no where near the size or bulk of the ivory beta but rather leaning more toward a leaner frame. Golden paws carried him across the rugged terrain of Ge-Rad, shoulders rolling with each fluid motion set on by his powerful limbs. Taunt muscles working furiously beneath his tattered pelt he raced forward, adrenaline surging through his body like wildfire and heightening everyone of his senses. Around him he could make out the distinct movements of his packmates following his lead and ready for battle. Totaling a mere eight varg in all the former healer understandably had some apprehension about facing the invading party with so few warriors, however given the alternative he had been given no choice but to make do with what he had and hope for the best. It felt strange leading Ge-Rad into battle by himself, the amber Dragga remembering with a bit of nostalgia how the last time Ge-Rad had been invaded Cwen had led the charge alongside him. Somehow Draeg doubted he would ever completely get over the fact that Cwen was really gone, and while he took comfort in the fact that she watched over him at the moment he couldn’t help wishing that she was right there with him.
His mind raced with countless images of his two daughters and remaining family, of everyone under his protection that he had sworn to protect. The memory of what had befallen his beloved Shayla flooded his mind as he thought of what might befall his family and friends if Ziev and his cronies managed to defeat the small task force Draeg had assembled. What would become Firefly and the others if they were to fail? Draeg had already lost one mate to his enemies, he wasn’t sure he could bare to lose another. Worn features hardening upon his battered muzzle he let out a silent snarl, hackles bristling as his lips curled back to reveal a row of gleaming fangs. Ducking and weaving through the winding path he tore through the dense foliage and bracken that barred his way, slowing as they came to the pond bordering the forest and the meadow. Cwen’s pond Shako called it, named for their Twisted Drappa whom was no longer with them. A place of refused during the summer though now a shadow lingered over the tranquil waters, a dark shape looming ominously close to the bank shore. Eyes narrowing onto the familiar ebon form Draeg snarled, he had encountered the black dragga only once before but not even the Fenris curse on the varg nor the passage of time could extinguish him from Draeg’s memory. For the amber dragga was looking upon Ziev, First of the Balkar and enemy of Ge-Rad. Beside him Draeg could feel Shako bristling with rage as he stood glaring at the cyan eyed Dragga, placing himself beside the ivory beta he motioned for the rest of the pack to hold there position with a brief flick of bushy tail; muttering his instructions to them as the gathered around him. “Pair off and pick your targets, concentrate on taking out one then move on to the next but remember to cover each other. We fight as a team.”
((sorry I kept you all waiting for so long, this actually would have been up yesterday but there were...family issues that needed to be resolved which prevented me from posting and today I couldn't get to the computer earlier. In any case I apologize for the inconvience. Oh and Serg, forgive me for not including you or Carch in this post but like I said it was prepared yesterday and I don't have time to edit it right now, will try to later though))
|
|
Rokk
Sikla
High Warrior of Deor
There was something calling me, to negativity.
Posts: 251
|
Post by Rokk on May 29, 2007 6:14:27 GMT -5
(I have permission to join and fight with GeRad.)
Rokk had started out in the middle of the night. As havign recently returned to the lands of Deor, he had not felt too comfortable with sleeping in their dens. He had never felt comfortable sleeping in the dens before then anyway. He had never been one to socialise, and the arrogant warrior had never been one to cuddle up at night with his pack. He had always distanced himself.
So he had been sleeping in a thicket, before the wind picked up, and his trouble sleep had been disturbed. Dreams of a certain part of his youth were roused. His father, lying torn and shredded, his once proud eyes glassy and lifeless. Then Rokk himself, being kidnapped and taken to the heart of the Night Hunter's territory. The same vargs who had killed his father.
Rokk had originally journeyed to these lands in search of the Balkar, to extract his revenge. But he was waiting til he grew up. But they had found his first, and tried to sacrifice him to the Evil One. Rokk snorted. He would get his revenge for that too. He still bore the marks, both mental and physical, but he would get even.
The clouds of the storm roiled thickly in the skies, and thunder boomed. Cracks of lightening light up the writhing clouds in the heavens above. However, the shaggy brown warrior of Deor wasn't really paying that much attention, his mind was brooding on other things.
Light brown eyes were set on the floor, and his shaggy light brown pelt, darkened along his back, ruffled as it was toyed by the merciliess wind. His fluid steps however, were interrupted by his right hind leg, which refused to conform to the pattern. Probably because of the mangled scar that made his fur grow in tufts about his joint. A present, from the Night Hunters.
Three eery howls pierced his moody solitude, howls that sent shivers down his spine. With surprise, Rokk noticed that he was no longer in territory that he knew. In his idiocy, he had wandered into GeRad lands. But those howls, those were the sounds of a Balkar. Long had he nurtured his hate for that pack, and now it sparked deep within his gut. Hackles raised along his back, and brown eyes iced over as he silently crept towards the sound.
He was at the edge of a meadow now, and three dark shapes lingered by a pond. Childish fear was quashed instantly as he recognised each of them in turn. They had all been there, when he was going to be sacrificed.
But where was GeRad? Somewhere opposite these brutes obviously. Rokk wormed his way around the meadow, keeping to the tree line, his pace picking up from a silent stalk, to a fluid run. His limp disappearing completely with his increased speed.
Hushed voices up ahead, brought to his ears by the wind. Rokk slowed back to his silent motion, eyes frantically searching for the GeRad varg that he knew. Draeg. He had to be somewhere. And there he was, at the front, issuing orders.
"Draeg." Rokk said, still stalking forwards, head bowed in respect but still on edge, hoping that he had not startled the GeRad vargs too much. "I'm sorry that I'm in your territory without Tratto's Blessing, I wandered in without realising. But, if you'll let me. I'd like to help you get rid of your pest-problem." Rokk smiled coyly, his eyes flickering around to what little vargs GeRad had managed to muster up. The Balkar may only have three brutes out in the open, but Rokk could bet that they had many more hidden away in the shadows. "If you'll accept a Deor warrior's offer of tooth and claw that is?"
|
|
|
Post by Shunké on Jun 2, 2007 14:23:18 GMT -5
I live on the wrong side of life I’m the one you fear as you hold your wife I run were the darker crowds run On the rain swept streets were black rain runs
I play were the darker kids play I’m the one who goes out when you end your day I dance were the darker crowds dance In the pitch black clubs in a clove stained trance Glittering mismatched oculars peered through the brush upon the land before her. The light green color of the grass was beginning to appear as the once pearl black surface of the pond became an azure color; the sun was beginning to rise. There was nothing to fear, nothing what so ever. Nothing, for her to fear, anyways. Only the quivering of her excitement, and the strides of breath it took for her to stay calm, for the moment, anyways. She knew all too well, that as calm as it was now, it’s wouldn’t be so in the next few moment, or however long it took to get this pack of dogs on their paws. Her eyes slipped upon a few not to far from her, the mightily jet black First, and his equally if not more ebon confronter; a returning Dragga. The Balkar where known to be fierce and often dive head first into situations, often sorting things out only with force. Where that may be true for many, she knew that some, like Ziev, had a strong habit of making plans. Though, he didn’t usually share them with others than himself. So it didn’t surprise Shunké to see the second and former first confront Ziev about his “cowardly actions”. Shunké doubted he had just slinked off, but then again, how well did she know him? Hardly any. A surge of anger rose up through the sickly Drappa’s form, if he was, she would join Carcharoth and Serg in dismembering him. Sarnes didn’t stand for traitors, for cowards who fleed in the mist of battle, and she knew for a fact that the Balkar wouldn‘t disagree.
As quick as the flame of anger ignited, it was put out with a tinge anxiety as her sunset eye fell upon an all too familiar form. A mann, who stood no taller than she, but who’s balk could easily knock her to the ground with half force. His large fluffy coat, doused in ivory, with the exception of silver gray legs and underbelly. His eyes, a bright gold, filled with fierce determination- she knew those eyes, all too well. It seemed all in once, her heart skipped a beat just to lodge itself in her hoarse throat. She told herself she would be able to face him, to withstand him, but could he withstand her? ‘Kill him, you can do it, you know. You have it in you, after all. But what’s a fair battle? You, ready to give it your all, against a creature who wouldn’t want to so much as nip at your throat?’ The voice laughed, amused at the fae’s new dilemma. “I may not seek glory upon his throat, but I will seek it elsewhere,” Shunké growled back aloud, only audible to herself, her oculars laid upon any form other than her own brother’s. With the call of the allies to plunge forth within battle, the sikla-looking Drappa turned an aud to her subordinates, the anxiety that had welled up within her now put to rest. “Let’s put these pets out of their leashed desolation, shall we?” The fae said with her tail up and a sinister smirk upon her slender maw. “No holding back.”//Sorry, I'm bored.//
|
|
Zukozu
Sikla
Cr?ft of Sarnes
Don't you wish you could hold, The pretty little paper doll, The one you couldn?t quite control
Posts: 144
|
Post by Zukozu on Jun 5, 2007 11:07:35 GMT -5
[glow=black,4,000]So the story goes… A young and faithful member of the Sarnes pack had been out within the nomad lands, hunting a young and feisty rabbit due to the unbearable hunger that was twisting and churning at her gut. Without being aware of it, the young faemme had stumbled into the territory which belonged to Ge-Rad, killing the rabbit on their turf, not that of Kerls. This ebony pelted bitch had been caught by a varg, ivory white with golden eyes and the odd colourations of silver tainting his legs. The brute had called in back-up and had attacked the lone faemme, chasing her from their territory and littering her body in wounds – the most prominent of all being a deep gash along her left shoulder. Crawling and skulking weakly back to her packlands, the faemme reported such behaviour back to her Drappa and packmates. With a visit from the Balkar swiftly following her explanation, it was decided then and there that revenge would be taken, and in the most basic of fashions known to the two packs;war.
And so the secret truth goes… A wicked little monster full of will and determination returns to the Sarnes Everglades to re-encounter the skeletal being named Tasá, to challenge her once more and win the battle for free entrée into the wicked lands. The fight went well, Zukozu succeeding in passing through, though not without a cost. Littered with wounds, one prominent gash in her left shoulder, the bitch made her way to the Sarnes dens, only to have caused a scent trail that her new Drappa swiftly followed. Worry and anger marked the Drappa’s features as she questioned the new member. Sinister thoughts and twisted plots began to stir in the wench’s mind, causing her to come out with a little white lie, blaming such incidents on the pathetic pack Ge-Rad – hoping that such a war would repay them for their past with Serg; the faemme’s Uncle.
Back to the Future… Zukozu, the little ebony wench and niece to Serg, kept low and to the shadows, her ember hues darting from one pack member to the other as they all hid within the safety of the tree line. The Balkar of course, those who were proud Lacan’s, escaped from the shadows and took to the clearing, their large and powerful forms flashing under the sudden streaks of lighting that were giving occasional light to the battlefield. Zukozu watched also as Serg left the shadows, swiftly threatening Ziev before turning his back on the First and heading out with the rest of the warriors, determination to kill evident in their powerful movements and body stances. The deep rumbling of thunder shook the wench’s innards, her heartbeat accelerating with the sudden rush of adrenaline. At long last, her wicked scheme was going according to plan, and at last she was giving her Uncle some form of revenge – not to mention it amused her greatly to see these sikla’s suffering. Deciding there and then, that much like the Lacan’s and Nieten’s of Sarnes and the Balkar, Zukozu wasn’t going to dwell within the shadows. She had a purpose for being here, and after her previous little visit to Ge-Rad to form a legitimate agreement with Draeg that the two pack’s would lay their hatred for one another to rest, it felt only right that the ebony bitch should make her way forward, and let herself be the one Draeg sees first. The perfect beginning to this war delightful little war.
Skulking forward through the undergrowth, Zukozu emerged from the shadows and stepped in line by her Uncles’ side, throwing him a malicious little grin and a wink before picking up her pace into a gentle lope. Weaving in and out of the Lacan Balkar and Nieten Sarnes, Zukozu eventually made it to the front line, her smaller, sleek form standing out vividly against the larger, more powerful forms behind her as another flash of lightning ignited and the land became stark white, if only for a second before darkness fell once more. Along with the others, she halted just before the opposing tree line, ember hues glaring through the shadows and waiting patiently for those hidden within to emerge, no doubt explode from the undergrowth as their hearts would be pumping anger and rage. “Come on out Draeg, I’ve missed you,” she cooed seductively, feathery tail erect and flicking with delight at the coming prospect; taste the blood of Ge-Rad.
(COME ON GUYS!)[/glow]
|
|
Dane
Sikla
Shattered Nieten of Sarnes
You called me out; I shrugged you off.
Posts: 161
|
Post by Dane on Jun 5, 2007 16:47:20 GMT -5
What if this whole crusade's a charade? And behind it all there's a price to be paid? For the blood which we dine The night sky held not the comfort of stars, and even the milky eye of Tor, so used to lending its guidance to the land, was obscured by ominous clouds. It could be called a premonition of events to follow, by more superstitious Varg, or simply a stormy and unforgiving night by others. Theonly light was offered by the occasional flash of electricity, ripping the sky in two and illuminating the ground below, if only for a fraction of a second. It truly was a sight to behold...
At the Ge-Rad border sat a line of intruders; Varg who did not belong there, but felt for different reasons that they did. Some longed for revenge against the mysterious white knight who had injured one of the Sarnes members, some pined only for the taste of blood and the war gave them an excuse to leave their own territories in search of new victims, while one Varg was truly out for himself. A quest of sorts, to harden himself against the constant assault of emotions that any other Varg, should he fall victim to the torment, would lose his mind or simply fall down dead. Only after abolishing these setbacks would he be able to call himself a Varg. A grownup amongst his new family. No longer a Sikla pup searching for acceptance.
The Varg of higher ranking had already set forth, Balkar and Sarnes alike. In the distance he caught the brief outline of the First known as Ziev who had snuck off early, probably conceiving some sort of sneak attack or other thought-out maneuver unlike the other Balkan warriors who were antsy for bloodshed. Next to him was Serg, another ebony Dragga who had seemingly arrived from no where to lead Sarnes alongside Shunke. Dane did not know him, and didn't feel ready to make his acquaintance. Now was not the time, but perhaps afterwards. If I should survive.... But no, weak thoughts like that were not allowed. Redemption, remember? You're out to make a change.
The hulking mass of muscle and fur known as Carcharoth made his way past without so much as a side glance. Just as well, he thought, for he had gotten enough of his face before setting out for this little journey. Perhaps after this he would have the courage to face him without fear, or at least without cowering like a Sikla.
The signal had been given to move forward, as was relayed by the chilling howl of the First. With the remainder of the superiors gone, he had the confidence now to approach his Drappa. Padding silently to her, she seemed to be deep in thought. Only after she finished addressing those who had stayed behind did he stand beside her to be noticed. "Exciting, isn't it?" A devious gleam was caught in his gaze as he parted his maw into a nasty grin. Half of him fancied he could get used to this life, while the other half argued with passion that he should seek his salvation elsewhere. Hopefully, this night would help to smother out the pleas of the latter, making way for another dark-hearted member of the Sarnes-Balkar alliance. Yes, he was out for himself now, and waited only to hear words of reassurance and the order to depart from his surrogate mother.
|
|
|
Post by Carnage on Jun 5, 2007 22:26:40 GMT -5
It doesn't really seem I'm getting through to you Though I see you weeping so sweetly I think that you might have to take another taste A little bit of hell this time Twin lanterns burned in the dark; fiery blazes lighted with malice and anticipation. They were the only source of light in the thickening darkness, save for the occasional whip of lightning that cracked the sky like iron jaws snapping a bone. It didn't take long at all for the splinters of the sky to resurrect and become whole again. A whole sea of black that obscured the horizon and made the ground indistinguishable from the heavens.
Finding their target, the blazing optics locked on to something in the distance. It was the First of the Balkar, Ziev. He had went on without the others, and for what? To scope things out? Carnage did not believe that he would try and run, not with the fighting so close by. Not when they practically had their jaws wrapped around the whole of GeRad's throat. He was conversing with another Mann, more than likely it was Serg, the returned Dragga of Sarnes. Carnage didn't have much of an opinion on him, not yet. He wasn't sure of how he ran things when he had been the First, so there was no comparison to be made. He seemed able-bodied enough, and at the moment, that was all that really mattered.
A howl sounded through the whole territory, filling every conceivable crevice with the vibration of the eerie voice. He knew the call well, for it came from his superior; an order to remain hidden and take what you could from the shadows. His bright orange features scrunched into a scowl. This wasn't the way of the Balkar, to slink about like cowards, leaving their presence unknown until the very last minute. The order brought at first confusion, a disagreement and at last, anger. Rebellion. No, he would not follow them. He could see up ahead the hulking mass that was Carcharoth, plowing through the ranks towards the heart of GeRad. He was not following them, why should he? They were Lacans, warriors, and they knew, perhaps better than the rest, that the Balkar were to be feared; they were a force to be reckoned with. The victim of a Balkan warrior was to meet their end face to face, to have their veins pumping not only adrenaline and nervous anticipation, but also fear for what was to come, for what was inevitable. Their killers would be staring them in the eye until their last breath had escaped from their mouths, the last thing they would see before their blood abandoned their veins would be the cold eyes of their pursuer and a gaping mouth full of sharpened fangs. They would know who and what would hit them, and they would see when and know there was no escape. This... was the Balkan way.
With newfound inspiration, a sickening grin wound its way onto Carnage's muzzle as he took first one step, and then another; lumbering with a purpose to the heart of GeRad as Carcharoth had done minutes before. Two gargantuan hellbeasts of Varg, Wolfbanes in their own right. Though rather than having a simple pelt of midnight hue, Carnage had an awkward combination of ebony and flame. The added fiery hue made him a bit easier to see in the darkness than it would be to see a completely black Varg, but it made little difference. If a victim was close enough to see the color of his pelt, then they were close enough to perish.
Coming up behind The Second, he was proud to follow him into battle. He wasn't sure why they had come, but it didn't concern him at all. He only cared that they were here now, for he never needed a reason to be ruthless, or a reason to cut someone else's life short. It was just something he enjoyed doing; something that all of them enjoyed.
Every now and then the clouds would uncover a fraction of the moon, letting a beam of light fall down on the drenched forms below. Amber eyes glinted with a madness only a Balkar would know as he rose his head high and let forth a howl that shook the sky and rocked the earth like a mere pebble in a Herla stampede. His otherworldly call haunted the land long after he had closed his maw as it echoed out across the forest and challenged the authority of the "Gods" and the weaklings of GeRad. "Yes, let them come..." he said, the malice dripping from his deep voice like the rain that cascaded from his pelt. "And let them fall."
|
|
|
Post by Firefly on Jun 20, 2007 20:48:33 GMT -5
THe winds had changed and with it came a shiver. What it truly was Firefly could not grasp. Cyan orbs blinked once, and then again as they turned towards the darkened skies. The pond's ripples curling thoughtfully in the distance, and for a moment it seemed as if it were just dark abyss threatening to swallow up anythign that dared to step close to its gurgling jaws.
Heart pounding in its cage the hybrid stepped, her canter light and airy as she danced to the right side of Draeg. Fly looked around her. She could sense the growing tension like a rain cloud hanging on the edge releasing its precipitation.
The spring grass tickled the sides of her heels as she looked around at the Ge rad vargs when the foreign sight of Rokk sent Fly into a start. She starred cyan eyes cold for a second before the stranger stated his case. Though he had arrived with a friendy stance and one with great worry. Fly looked to Draeg, his scent had marked him Deor. Though the idea of another body to help them did sound genuinly relieving.
Paws brought her forward some more, closer to the pond then ever, and the tan hybrid new the shadows that lurked willingly, ready on the other side of the glittering nothingness.
|
|
|
Post by Draeg on Jun 29, 2007 22:51:20 GMT -5
The earth shook as lighting streaked across the heavens, letting out a reverberating roar that shattered the foreboding silence that had descended on wolves of Ge-Rad with a resounding boom. Fierce winds tore through the meadow with astounding force, scattering tidbits of debris across the rolling field. A storm was coming. The irony that it had chosen to pass over Ge-Rad at this particular point in time was not even remotely lost to Draeg. Auds swiveling forward the Ge-Ridian dragga stare out at the small rabble stretched out before him, amber orbs centering on the three blacken figures standing amidst the clearing. Even in the dark shroud that surrounded them Draeg could recognize them, their identities etched into the utmost exposed regions of his memory. Lips curling back into a cold sneer he glare at the trio, amber orbs smoldering as the scent of blood wafer against his nose. One of them was responsible for Shayla’s current condition, the amber varg fully intended on exacting revenge as soon as he was able to identify her assailant.
He could sense Firefly pull up beside him even without looking. Her presence was comforting, soothing him despite the daunting situation before him. Casting her a grateful look Draeg tensed as he followed her gaze towards a familiar shape emerging from the treeline, however he relaxed upon noting the shaggy youths scent. Though the amber Dragga was having trouble recognizing his scent it was evident he was neither Balkar or of the Sarnes brood though Draeg still regarded him warily, eying him coldly as he approached the defending pack. Looking back toward the clearing he listen intently as the brown brute explain himself, quirking a curious brow and tossing him a dry look. A Deorian? Here? Now? “Chalos doesn’t know you’re here does he?” he said dryly. Tail flickering behind him he shrugged, amber gaze flickering over to the emerging threat before them. “I suppose that doesn’t matter, I couldn’t get rid of you now if I wanted to anyway and given our numbers I’d be a fool to turn you away so you’re in. Welcome aboard.”
Ahead of them Draeg could make out several shapes making their way out from within the undergrowth, emerging from the shadows to form a line and stand beside the triad. Some of them he recognized, some of them he didn’t. One varg in particular caught his attention, inciting a low growl from the amber dragga. His gaze settled on her as she weave through the gathering of varg around, her sleek form eventually coming to rest within the front lines. “Zukozu.” he muttered darkly, furry banner lashing behind him furiously at the sight of the slender fae. Somehow this was all her fault, Draeg wasn’t sure how but something told him the ebon bitch was at least partly responsible for everything that was taking place.
Everything suddenly became vividly crisp as another bolt suddenly struck down, illuminating the land with its white hot light as it split through the sky. Amber gaze not leaving her he leaned his head closer to Rokk, lips scarcely moving as he quietly coached the brown dragga on what to do. “You want to fight then here’s the plan, you see that fae cooing over there like a dove. That’s the former First niece.” he explained quietly, emphasizing the last part for the pup’s benefit. “When the fighting start’s I want you to go over there and kill that bitch!” Surveying the allied packs he resume his original position, maybe they wouldn’t be able to drive either of the First forces but one of those bastards had nearly killed his daughter and Serg had taken Huts from him. Perhaps watching Zukozu die before his very eyes would inflict the same amount of pain on the former First as Huts’ death had on Draeg. As for Ziev, well, given how highly he thought of his precious Night Hunters repelling them might be enough to shatter that giant ego of his.
Bushy tassel rising sharply behind him he gave the signal to attack.
|
|
|
Post by Shakó on Jun 30, 2007 9:40:14 GMT -5
Gold eyes narrowed as the puntar he despised came forward, each with it’s own unique appearance to match it’s detested personality. Shakó sneered audibly, his silver lips curled to reveal the ivory daggers that hid behind his lips. Hatred burned in his eyes as they rested upon another, an ebon Dragga by the name of Serg. No matter what this ivory man was told, he would never stop blaming this one for the deterioration of his blood’s mind. If Shako was to take one down today, it would be him, even if he was to fall with the mighty dragga. But not too long after the dragga had shown himself, had the drappa of Sarnes appear, her mismatched orbs gleaming. She looked sicker than ever, his poor sister, with short fur and skin clinging to her bones. The beta’s heart wrenched with pain again, how much longer was she going to put him through this? Shako shook his head, a small voice reminding him this was his enemy, and if he wasn’t careful, his downfall. Brainwashed or not, she indeed had changed, for the worst. “I thought I’d never see the likes of you coming around again,” he growled at her, his ivory auds pinned against his cranium. “But I’ll leave the others to deal with you scum,” Shako finished, turning back to the other three that had reappeared.
And to his great surprise, another gray varg had befell on this battlefield, one he didn’t know. From what Shako gathered, his name was Rokk, and was from on of their allied packs, Deor. Looking back at Draeg, the dragga wasn’t pleased at first, but wasn’t in the least bit upset either. But hey, what was an extra set of paws? If he wanted to fight, who were they to stop him? It also seemed that the great amber dragga had something else on his mind, for Shako did catch a hint of hatred in his eye. Redirecting his gaze, beside the ebon dragga of Sarnes, stood one slender ebon fae, with traces of Serg’s heritage in her. She stood, proud of herself, and it wasn’t a moment too late that Shako recognized her for a passing point, she had been in Ge-Rad at one point. For what, Shako wasn’t sure, but it looked as through Draeg had received a stab in the back, or something equivalent to it.
With a furious look in the amber Dragga’s eye, he raised his tuffled tail; a signal to attack. Shako’s hackles prickles upon his back once again, standing fully erect just as his ivory tail had done in pursuit of Draeg. “I’ll take this one, even though he may not know it, I’d love to put a dent in that pretty face of his, more than he realized,” Shako growled, his gold eyes fixated upon the ebon dragga, as he dashed forward to clash jaws with the one he truly despised more than any other: Serg.
//not the best, I know, but I'm just getting back into RPing. Hope this revives the thread//
|
|
Rokk
Sikla
High Warrior of Deor
There was something calling me, to negativity.
Posts: 251
|
Post by Rokk on Jul 10, 2007 9:08:05 GMT -5
Rokk smiled grimly and shook his head. "No Sir." His dragga did not know he was here, Rokk wasn't exactly a sociable varg. He was built for this, for revenge only. And he would have it, he thought, as a sly smile etched on the corners of his mouth.
Rokk grinned, and bowed his head when he heard that he was allowed to stay and fight, the knowledge of which sent a thrill of excitement mingled with the remaining fear from his youth through him. He would do his father proud, he would do Deor proud, and he had a little something to prove to Draeg too. He had not forgotten the amber varg from his youth. Though the Dragga of GeRad had other things to worry about now other than the Deor Warrior.
Rokk's brown eyes surveyed the dark shapes of the vargs invading the GeRad territory, his maw losing it's grin and taking on a more serious expression. Now was the time, and he needed to prove himself. The nightmares of his youth would be gone after tonight, of that he was sure.
His attention flickered back to the Dragga of GeRad as he realised that Draeg was talking to him. His keen brown eyes found the form that Draeg was referring to. Well preened, an icy temptress for sure. Her tones rang slick over the broiling stormy airs, calling for Draeg. Rokk grinned maliciously. So that was the niece of Serg? The same black demon who had featured so mcuh in his nightmares. 'If he wanted to sacrifice me to Wolfbane, I'll show him to do it properly next time by taking his own blood i the name of revenge.' Rokk thought to himself. A determined steely glint materialising in his eyes.
He nodded grimly. "It would be my pleasure Draeg, the less ties Serg has to this world the better. I'd like to kill his niece before I see him die too." Rok''s brown tail flicked behind him. Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself, perhaps not. But one thing was for certain. Zukozu would die by his claws.
At the signal to attack, Rokk gathered up his strength, muscles tensing, coiling, then he sprang, attention focused wholly on the black form of his target. It was scary how much she looked like Serg that Rokk almost faltered, the part of his mind that still quailed in terror from that night almost making him lose his reserve. But bloodlust and anger and his thirst for revenge were the overpowering force here.
His limp that he had gained from that dark night disappeared, and as he neared the former First's niece Rokk grinned with glee. "I may not be Draeg little missy, but I'll sure solve your problem of missing him." He growled, his muscular bulk transformed as he sprang at her, fangs bared and claws ready to rake flesh. He would make sure that he was the last thing she ever set sight on from this earth.[/b]
|
|