Post by Serg on Aug 13, 2007 10:30:54 GMT -5
Above the skies churned in torment. An eternal darkness plagued the lands of Transylvania. It was hard to tell, but it was actually around midday, but the darkness persisted, the darkened moon and the blocked sun still hung in the sky, the Gods were imprisoned, and their former houses of supposed glory were powerless, and hidden by the masses of dark and thick storm clouds.
Serg had been exceptionally proud of this achievment, it had put an extra spring in his step, and sent his ego up a few notches no doubt. He was keen to see anyone try to save their precious Gods from their prison - which only himself and Carcharoth knew the location of. They would fail, and he would be victorious, and darkness would reign here for an eternity, long after he had died a proud old varg.
A clap of booming thunder rolled across the skies, making the earth tremble beneath in the wake of it's ferocity. The trees seemed to quiver, their geen leaves turned to a dark colour in the absense of light. Their bark looking black, looking all the more like dead skeletons of former life and beauty - although there had never been any beauty to find in these lands that an ebon shadow was wandering through.
Bracken and thorns curled and twisted in an intricate prison mesh, and the soil was black and soft under-paw. The scene was illuminated harshly as a vicious fork of lightening splayed across the writhing sky, and suddenly the form that walked proudly through these lands was shown for who he was.
A Dragga returning to something he had missed. The stench of the dratted marshlands had all but left his charcoal fur, and the Dragga carried his large muscular bulk with a dignified grace. Although the vargs of Sarnes had allowed him to come back, in the reeking marshes was not where his heart lay, (such a heart as the black Dragga possessed) and he had longed for the day when he could return to his original pack, and leave the filthy mud-infested Sarnes terra for the Balkan lands. He had never had much love for Sarnes, and now there was too many bad memories there. Now he was back in the pack where he belonged, and although he knew there would be questions, eventually. But he cared not. All that irked him now was that Ziev was not dead. He had made it damned near impossible for Serg to kill him - from a political point of view - and Serg wanted his position to be as solid as possible. He was not sure of all member's loyalties. But he would soon find out, of that he was sure.
Bushy tail flicked behind him, and amber eyes boiled with a simmering fury. He would turn this pack right again, they had only gone downhill since that coward Nihtgenge Ziev had stolen his command. Serg snorted. He was convinced that the wretch had let the Balkar fall into decay since he had left, and now he had a lot of work to do to, of that he was sure. So arrogant and confident was he that he was sure that they would appear strong again. But, first things first. He had many things to do before all of that.
Serg had been exceptionally proud of this achievment, it had put an extra spring in his step, and sent his ego up a few notches no doubt. He was keen to see anyone try to save their precious Gods from their prison - which only himself and Carcharoth knew the location of. They would fail, and he would be victorious, and darkness would reign here for an eternity, long after he had died a proud old varg.
A clap of booming thunder rolled across the skies, making the earth tremble beneath in the wake of it's ferocity. The trees seemed to quiver, their geen leaves turned to a dark colour in the absense of light. Their bark looking black, looking all the more like dead skeletons of former life and beauty - although there had never been any beauty to find in these lands that an ebon shadow was wandering through.
Bracken and thorns curled and twisted in an intricate prison mesh, and the soil was black and soft under-paw. The scene was illuminated harshly as a vicious fork of lightening splayed across the writhing sky, and suddenly the form that walked proudly through these lands was shown for who he was.
A Dragga returning to something he had missed. The stench of the dratted marshlands had all but left his charcoal fur, and the Dragga carried his large muscular bulk with a dignified grace. Although the vargs of Sarnes had allowed him to come back, in the reeking marshes was not where his heart lay, (such a heart as the black Dragga possessed) and he had longed for the day when he could return to his original pack, and leave the filthy mud-infested Sarnes terra for the Balkan lands. He had never had much love for Sarnes, and now there was too many bad memories there. Now he was back in the pack where he belonged, and although he knew there would be questions, eventually. But he cared not. All that irked him now was that Ziev was not dead. He had made it damned near impossible for Serg to kill him - from a political point of view - and Serg wanted his position to be as solid as possible. He was not sure of all member's loyalties. But he would soon find out, of that he was sure.
Bushy tail flicked behind him, and amber eyes boiled with a simmering fury. He would turn this pack right again, they had only gone downhill since that coward Nihtgenge Ziev had stolen his command. Serg snorted. He was convinced that the wretch had let the Balkar fall into decay since he had left, and now he had a lot of work to do to, of that he was sure. So arrogant and confident was he that he was sure that they would appear strong again. But, first things first. He had many things to do before all of that.
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