Thine Blood Is Mine To Take

[Genocide]

The high stench of the rotting earth grew thick and rather annoying within the nostrils of a deep red and grey beast that silently traveled through this haunted land, land that was soaked with the blood of many, some great leaders but most of them cowards and enemies of the clan that lived here. A small scoff rose from the large muzzle of the mann, his large paws sinking into the cold dirt and kicking along the few dead leaves in his path.

Genocide silently surveyed the area around him, silently noting the darkness that seeped from every crevice and the strange scents that roamed freely to destroy the weak minded and the frail... those that never belonged here. Dark blue optics narrowed while their owner ignored the stench and traveled on at an easy pace, muscles rippling under light and dark red fur tinged with grey while auditories flicked slowly to keep a tab on his surroundings.


Many knew of the risk it took to come here, even with a purpose there was always a threat of being killed... What did that matter, he had no time to deal with the Balkar, he just continued on while idly wondering when the last he had of a delightfully bloody meal. Ah yes, that last wolf from several weeks ago had plenty of meat on his bones, the poor little coward had practically licked his paws for mercy, Ha! Mercy, such a sign of weakness.... you must kill your enemies when you have the chance, not allow them to live and bare their own little rats they call pups, that only makes them stronger and more annoying.

It was then that Genocide paused and turned his head, being followed was he? Hmph, come what may as he honestly didn't care. He had no business to attend to and hated to be stopped along his way but obviously that was not his choice. Silently he sat on his haunches and impatiently awaited for his pursuer to show himself, he didn't have all day after all.

[Carcharoth]

The lands had grown dull and lifeless as time slowly passed from summer, autumn, winter and now spring began to creep over the lands slowly but surely. Not to say that the Balkan terrain hadn’t been lifeless and dull before – it was a parasitic patch of land that had been sucked dry of life, love and pleasure. Crooked, blackened trees that had long since sucked the last drop of moisture from the dried earth stood like unresponsive soldiers in a destructive battlefield. A thick, hovering mist haunted the undergrowth and caused the vision of any lera to be hindered. Silence was so powerful that it was considered noise to those who knew the lands well – and these beasts were known as the Balkar.
Once such brute stalked his lands with pride, his stature and sheer power evident in the way he held himself tall, tail erect and hackles forever rising and falling to continue a further deception of size. Yet for Carcharoth there was no deception as most varg would intend such actions to achieve. He was a monster; a grizzly sized varg that daunted even a larger than average varg. It was not just his size that was a key factor in the fear that he created amongst the lesser putnar and lera, it was his over all appearance in general that send shudders down the spines of those who laid eyes upon him. Due to fewer feeds than a true pack wolf and the significant fact that he was aging, loose skin hung grotesquely from his underbelly and swayed sickeningly from side to side with each earth-trembling step his massive paws took. On reaching his large broad head, only a single aud stood erect, the other merely a tuft of fur where it should have stood alongside its fellow player. Running from this a long silvery coloured scar cut straight through his left eye, leaving behind his a milky white orb that resembled the great moon Goddess Tor herself. Despite being completely blind and deaf on this side, his senses had heightened and he was well adapted at coping with his ‘disability’.

The sudden and distant sound of disturbed debris caught the Second’s attention and his head swivelled in the direction, ebony nasal picking up the faint scent of an unfamiliar aroma. A malicious sneer tickled its way up the mann’s silver flecked muzzle as a cold chuckle shook his enormous chest. Changing direction now to gain ground on the intruder, Carcharoth picked up the trail swiftly and continued to follow, his ebony pelt blending in to make him one with the shadows.
Ahead he caught sight of the opposing male. He wasn’t very large in comparison – the only varg Carch had met in fact that even compared to himself was a fellow Lacan by the name of Carnage, and he too was a fierce competitor – and thanks to his grey and red tinged pelt, the brute stuck out like a sore paw against the charcoal land. Yet after only a few minute of tracking, the brute came to a halt and peered over his shoulder, his attitude a little too ‘nonchalant’ for Carcharoth’s liking.
It was obvious that Carcharoth was no Nihtgenge, he had the stalking ability of a nimble elephant. His build, temperament and simple lust for power and respect was that of a Lacan – a fighter and warrior of the Balkar. Not only this, but with the title of Second in command, it only boosted his already large ego further.
A deep growl vibrated within his throat and he stepped out of the shadows to reveal himself, a frown deep set into his brow as his lips twitched to reveal the rows of yellowing daggers that were loosely hidden behind blackened lips. “And what business do you have treading so casually into the lands of the Balkar boy?” he asked with hoarse vocals, tail erect and twitching with clear eagerness as to the possible events to follow.

(Sorry it took so long, and sorry if it's a little dragging. Another reminder that you'll need 20 post points if you intend to join the pack. If it's just for a bit of roleplay that's cool))

[Genocide]

The smaller male eyed the one who had been following him with no sign of interest or fear upon his face, his black lips curling into a rather annoyed frown upon his muzzle, obviously he was not very happy to have been stopped like this and wasn't intimidated by the much larger wolf before him in the least. His attention briefly, so very briefly, flickered to the unseeing eye of the one before him... so he was blind there was he? That was interesting to say the least and a bit of useful info. Unpon being questioned on his buisness he growled a little and spoke coldly "I have no buisness with the Balkar... I'm just passing through." he needed to find some more wolf meat, he was getting hungry.

Quietly his thoughts flickered back to the wolf he had eaten weeks ago and he began to slaver a little at the thought, ah such delicious meat on that one, it was so hard to leave the carcass behind, but alas he had to move on and this was where he ended up.

[Carcharoth]

Observing the brute who stood before him, Carcharoth’s chest quivered with another foreboding growl as he took note of the mann’s apparent disinterest in being discovered and the way he keenly seemed to peer into the pearly white orb that was within the monster’s left eye-socket. A sneer curled itself onto his broad muzzle as he took another step towards the lesser brute, his yellowing teeth seeming whiter than they were against his leathery ebony lips.
On approaching the mann, Carch began to circle him, his brushy tassel held high along with his broad head. Thick muscles line his neck and it gave the impression that it was far stockier and shorter than the average varg’s – helping to link a relation as to why the brute appeared far more bear-like than wolf. The reason for his power and muscle was simply through training and experience as a Balkan wolf, without it he would have probably looked more like the runt who he was opposing, yet still larger in bulk.

Upon rounding back to the brute’s front, Carch slowed himself to a halt and let a sinister chuckle shake his hearty chest. He noticed, for a reason he knew not, that the intruder had begun to slaver at the muzzle and his brow a brow in response. “Well do you know the penalty for simply ‘passing through’ our lands for no other reason than to get where you’re going?” he asked in deep vocals, hackles now tingling with the thought of spilling the runt’s blood.
He took another step towards him and lowered his head so that their muzzles were almost touching, so close that the intruder was able to feel Carcharoth’s hot breathe wash over his nose, just as the Second was able to feel his. “We punish them, teach them a lesson, and if they’re lucky, we even end their rotting worthless lives,” he growled maliciously. Snarling savagely before swiftly gaping his jaws, Carcharoth lunged forward and snapped them sharply down upon the mann’s muzzle, hoping to tear deep groves and cause some serious damage.

(not my best, I apologise)

[Genocide]

If the Balkan male was expecting a yelp in response he was sorely disappointed, instead the younger responded with a sharp and mad snarl that can only be heard from the jaws of those who so loved to kill others, genocide was no exception to this rule. His deep blue eyes narrowed and danced madly before he yanked his muzzle out of the larger male’s jowls, ignoring the pain it caused to do so.

Still snarling madly he lunged, some sick amount of pleasure and satisfaction coursing through his muscles and blood at the feel of sinking his fangs into the larger varg’s neck, he would never roll onto his back and plead for mercy like the sickening sikla’s this male has probably dealt with before, he would not be proven weak, he would not be a coward, he would fight fang and claw to the very end until his body reached the very last threads of it’s limits. He knew he would be overpowered but he didn’t care, he had tasted blood and now he wanted more.

Still quite mad he pulled his jaws back, tearing off a hunk of flesh from his enemy, grinning insanely he tossed the flesh and snapped his jaws around it, eagerly swallowing it. Deranged eyes dancing even more brightly as he did so, wolf flesh was always delicious, but they had different flavors…. this flesh was tough and a bit bitter but to him it was still a bleeding hunk of meat… and it tasted fantastic.

(How was that?)

[Carcharoth]

As the younger brute snarled savagely in reaction, wriggling and bouncing around to painfully tear himself away from the Second’s grasp, Carcharoth’s throat gargled as the blood which reached the back of his throat began to bubble and spurt with his exhaling breathe. Unleashing his gasp, the intruder was left now with gouges deeply imbedded into his grizzled muzzle, causing the monster to chuckle coldly and maliciously lick the crimson blood from his broad jowls.
Yet the attack that suddenly followed was both predicted and unexpected, catching Carcharoth momentarily off guard due to his arrogant boasting. Rearing up as the runt lunged his jaws forth, the ebony beast roared and snarled savagely as they sunk deep into the space just above his shoulder. Lips pulled back fiercely and as suddenly the white of his emerald eye began to show, the fury and bloodlust now evident in his intent.

The flesh that was suddenly ripped from him as the opposing mann retreated forced Carcharoth forward, blindly surging on to crash full-pelt into the varg, skull on skull. The Balkar’s blood boiled; his broad head too broad and thick for him to feel the pain of the collision. On knocking the youth to the now bloodied earth, he wheeled round swifter than would be expected for a varg his bulk and size and threw his muzzle down onto the intruder, sinking his own daggers into the scruff of the mann’s neck.
Without a moment’s hesitation he shook his head violently once before padding forward, dragging the mann now deeper into the heart of the territory. If he did not seek out another member of the Balkan pack, then he’d have no other choice but to share his quarry with only himself; which of course would be a waste. It was a rare occasion such a burly youth with so much spunk crossed over their boundaries and wished merely to fight rather than join their ranks. At least now he had more control and had a better opportunity to question the runt on his full intentions…before deciding his fate for him.

[Genocide]

Genocide snarled from both pain and his blood driven rage, white fangs stained crimson bared in the eerie light while his dancing eyes fixed upon the one dragging him. His body writhed from his anger and his urge to snap, bite and devour anything he could, lips pulled up hard enought hat they almost split from the strain, his body tensing, muscles quivering in desire to draw blood and fight.


His stomach at the moment was rejoicing on the flesh he had devoured, this wolf's taste was bitter and he was tough but that added to the fun of ripping the flesh off, spilling blood and entrails was always a glorious sight and one that turned him to hunting more and more wolves. Pups tasted ok and they were tender... but it was much more fun to kill and gourge on adults, he knew he had little chance of hurting this one seriously enough to spill any guts... but blood could be spilled.

Yes... yes blood could most definatlly be spilled, growling low in his throat and wincing a few times to the yellow jaws in his neck he glared up at the one holding and dragging him roughly, ingoring the blood gushing from his wounded muzzle.

[Carnage]

The smell of death was always prominent in the Balkan lands, though on this particular day it was a fresh, metallic scent that was adrift on the air. No doubt this scent would attract the demons of the territory, for the perfume hung idly in the air like a toxic shroud. As was likely to happen, the scent became caught in the nares of a lumbering beast ravenous for the taste of violence and torment. With more agility than would be expected from one with a colossal frame such as his, (though he managed to plow over and crush the occasional sapling), Carnage bolted, following the scent trail to the clearing where all the fun was being had.

Upon drawing near, the magnitude of the aroma was staggering. It stimulated within him dark urges to bite and tear into his fellow wolf. No, not his fellow wolf, for it would be unfair to consider himself equal to any wolf without the title of "Balkar". The Night Hunters were a league all on their own, with skills honed to perfection and appetites for twisted and otherworldy delights. There were plenty who had thought themselves worthy of carrying such a title, for their desires had been claimed as similarly dark and wretched. Many had failed upon being put to the test, and those that had managed to survive were the sole owners of the badge of honor.

What he saw after passing through the line of trees before him mad his hackles bristle, forming a rigid line of spikes down his spine. The first form he distinguished was Carcharoth, a respectable lacan and the Second of the pack. His gargantuan frame was nearly a mirror of his own, except that he lacked the bursts of bright orange on his underbelly and back. Fiery yellow eyes seemed to smile at his superior in what was at first a silent greeting. The hulking Second, however, seemed to be preoccupied with a second party. Hanging from his jaws was the scrambling form of a thick-headed youth, his pelt an oddly dark mixture of slate and crimson. Grinning from ear to ear, Carnage placed one orange paw forward, and then another, as he approached the angered youth, his smile of yellowing fangs seemingly taunting the trespasser. Raising his arm, he roughly smacked a large paw onto the boy's muzzle, pushing his head down to better look him in the eye. "What's this you've managed to find, Carcharoth? A young ruffian who's displayed too much confidence?" His own orbs spoke seriously of grave consequences and merciless torment before he quickly slid his paw from the youth's muzzle to agitate his wounds and prevent being snapped at. "They wear it thicker than the pelts on their backs nowadays," he growled disapprovingly, noting the spark of defiance and hatred i nthe youth's gaze. Turning his attention to Carcharoth he couldn't help but notice he wore his own battle scar. "I do so love the kind," he spoke, venomous tones filled with sarcasm and abhoration for the arrogant creatures that found their way over the border.

[Carcharoth]

The youth writhed and wriggled under his grasp, but it only caused the brutal beast to growl darkly and close his jaws tighter onto his quarry, slowly puncturing the skin of the mann’s scruff. Droplets of crimson life source leaked into the Second’s jaws and they began to dribble, dangling stalactites which trembled and threatened to break off and latch onto the foe below. Blood lust was becoming evident in his maddened eyes, and it was made even fiercer by the drive that this burly young male was producing. His ivory eye seemed to roll and swirl within its socket, picking up on the fury and malice and looking beyond the sight of which the emerald hue could pick up on.
A figure to the left startled the now mind-blind brute and his entire body lept to the right, his jaws snapping even tighter now into the mann’s skin and the earth quaking slightly due to his massive body landing hard on the already solid and dry earth. Thankfully, the presence to have made itself visible was Carnage, and Carcharoth seemed to come back to reality, his muzzle twisting into a sinister sneer as he parted his jaws and tossed the intruder free. Now he was between two inevitably larger Balkans, both Lacans and high in their pack’s status. He had no chance of escaping death now if he so much as tried to escape or fight back – his only chance was to sit still and talk.

Before the runt retaliated – knowing fair well he would – Carcharoth once more stepped over him and placed a large paw onto his chest, pushing down with his considerable weight to prevent him getting up. Passing a fleeting glance to the fiery Lacan, the enormous Second chuckled coldly. “It is a wonder how most of them survive now a days carrying their attitudes in such a bold fashion,” he responded with a rumbling growl. Lowering his muzzle now towards the opposed, Carcharoth made sure that he was out of range of a good bite, and glared hard into his royal blue eyes. “Now if you were merely passing through runt, why did you choose this route? You may be a thick-head when it comes to attacking the Balkar, but you would not have been so blind as to whose territory you would be trespassing. What are your intentions and where are you headed? If death is what you seek, we’ll be glad to show you a short cut,” he questioned darkly, his malicious grin once more smothering his muzzle as he concluded his speech.

[Genocide]

Royal blue orbs flickered like hot coals as they darted toward the one who had showed up, Genocide growled lowly in his throat when his enemy bit slightly harder into his scruff but he ignored the pain as best he could, once he was dropped to the cold and hard earth below his fur bristled in his innate defiance while malice rolled off him in waves.

Though it was obvious the younger was indeed thick headed and slightly cocky he wasn't stupid, he knew that with two of them here and, accounting their massive size, he knew there was no point in trying to fight with them.... but that didn't mean he had to like it, and he certainly wouldn't speak respectfully.

Wheezing when the black brute pressed onto his chest he glared up angrily and growled a little more but spoke in a slow but agitated tone, signaling he wouldn't lunge this time but he certainly wasn't going to be civil to them "Hmph, I'm just seeking to find... and kill my half brother... I came here first to see if he came here to die first." from the flash in his eyes it was made obvious that the very idea of someone killing his half brother other then himself made his blood boil with rage... of course he wouldn't be surprised if that sickening excuse for a runt hadn't come here first to die, either by natural causes or from tooth and claw.

[Carnage]

((Wow Genocide, you reply fast. Bit of a challenge to keep up, but here you go))

The rampant insanity that resided in Carch's gaze dwindled as he began to recognize Carnage's form. The two of them had managed to form a sort of friendship between eachother, each of them mirroring the other in size and attitude. he returned the dark brute's grin with his own and closed in the space between himself and the mangled youth. He was trapped between the two of them now, their bodies forming a snarling prison of muscle and fang. The Lacan was eager to see what words would form on their victim's bloodied lips, and he was sure that the male he was now an accomplice to shared a similar thought.

His hackles bristled as Carcharoth pinned the brute to the ground, making even more futile his situation. A low growl hung in his throat, waiting to become audible as his vehemence was fueled by the Second's speech. A short cut... he mused. How he would have liked to help lead the dolt into the underworld with his teeth clasped 'round his tender neck. As fate would have it, he seemed to have arrived too late to carry out such a gratifying act. The majority of the fury had passed, replaced now with curiosity and a quivering restraint exercised by the two brutes that was sure to snap if only the wrong words were uttered. Carnage thrived on the idea of such a mistake, and the saliva hung in strands fro his clenched maw to prove it.

When the mann finally spoke, his voice was laced with malice. Though a certain level of respect was expected, it was hardly fulfilled, but the fact that the lad kept himself from snapping at either of them would have to suffice for the time being. Upon hearing him voice his intent of murdering another wolf, Carnage's face went alight with amusement. It was not that he found the youth incapable, for his feisty attitude and short fuse had proven him to be violent enough to lash out and murder another if his temper deemed it appropriate. It was the fact that the boy was so torn to shreds by this point that imagining him doing the same to another while in this sad shape almost evoked a chuckle. Still, he held back for the time being, and was satisfied with baring only his cold grin. "Your half-brother, eh? And is he so grief-ridden and pathetic that he would venture to our lands and beg for his own death?" He doubted that any inhabitant of the land would deny him such a request, but the thought itself was so quaint that he finally released his wry laugh into the night air.

[Carcharoth]

The youth seemed to come to his senses and refused to protest further, though it was evident that he wasn’t going to be polite or respectful in how he showed his submission. Emerald hue glared into the royal blue eyes as his lips continued to twitch, remaining pulled back in a taught snarl as he awaited the response of the intruder.
Carch’s single aud, aloft his skull like the last soldier on a scorched battle field, pressed forward and easily picked up the words which were growled deeply from the young mann. Restraining a deep laugh that was blatantly itching to burst from his lungs, the Second merely raised a brow and replaced his snarling expression into a broad sneer of content. At last, he’d gotten some form of sense from the youngster and with it a true purpose in his reasons for trespassing. “Now, wasn’t it so much easier to just tell me than go through all this?” he growled coldly, a slight hint of amusement apparent in his tones.

The booming laughter of Carnage caused his eye to wander for a moment, taking into account the words the Lead Lacan had spoken. Returning his watch on the two-toned mann, Carcharoth’s grin broke into a toothy smile, his chest shaking now with a deep chuckle. “Well I’m sorry to break the news to you mate, no such varg has wandered through these parts in quite a while,” he responded on suddenly cool tones – his charming manner returning within a few mere moments. “Would one like a little helping paw in finding such a troubled sibling? Help that could benefit you somehow?” he suggested, cocking his head and passing another side-long glance towards the Balkan by his side. Something sinister was beginning to stir.

[Genocide]

May the animal kings curse these two to oblivion! From all this wasted time and bloodshed he could have probably already found and killed his nuisance of a half brother, and if not then well this was waste of valuble time none the less. Auditories flicked slightly at both their words and a deep frown creased his dark red muzzle, at the moment breathing was becoming a little difficult because of the black brute atop him but he would not concede the fact to him... it would only most likely please him.

Silently he looked to carnage, it was rather amusing to see the firey varg upside down like that but this was not the time for laughing. Grumbling to himself he answered Carnage first "He might have... after all he did kill the drappa." with that his ears then flicked forwar to listen to the large brute holding him down, ugh their amusement as annoying by this point it took all of his restraint not to snap again, at the offering of help hunting down his sibling the varg, fur the color of bloodshed, seemed to think about the offer.

[Carnage]

Carcharoth had regained his cool demeanor rather nicely, which in turn kept Carnage from losing his. The two of them easily fed off of the other's emotions. If one was upset, it didn't take long for the other's blood to start boiling in turn. Calming such a rage was a matter that required more skill. Well, not so much skill as incentive, for the in Balkan world, the only thing that could ever curb one's lust for the time being was the perspective promise of something even better to surface in the future (near future, preferably). Judging by the shifty yet promising glance cast by the half-sighted giant, Carnage could tell that the gears in the brute's mind were turning, causing his own mind to whir inquisitively in turn.

Offering a wink to Carcharoth that he was sure and youth was unable to see, he made known his approval for whatever twisted plot was still in its developing stages. "Yesss..." he offered, deliberately drawing out the word into a snake-like utterance. "You would do well to contemplate such an offer," he said more seriously as he noted Genocide's hesitance, discarding his wily grin for only a moment. "Before blatantly refusing. More may lay on the line here tonight than simply the fate of your brother." His clenched jaw enforced the threat that Carcharoth's words had implied. Were the youth to object to such aid and 'hospitality', he might lose out on the chance to find his brother at all. After all, it would be hard to kill another if you were already dead yourself.