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Nevermore

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SWP Blood Moon Falling

#1
the following plot is rated mature for blood, gore, and macabre.


be swift!



A pang ripped through the empty stomach of the creature; starvation evident through both the sound of its stomach and its appearance. What would normally be a thick, lustrous grey and white coat has become scraggly, thin, and dull. Yellow eyes normally bright and calculating are cloudy with hunger while dried gums have receded a bit; without nourishment he will die within days, water alone cannot keep a wolf alive. The desert is no place for a dire wolf but something keeps urging the beast further into the sandy depths instead of back toward its mountain home. Starvation induced confusion creates a fog in his brain but not even that can be blamed for the way his steps follow an invisible trail; a puppet on a string.

Tawny dirt streaks his sides as they heave under labored breaths, his body wanting to shut down as it slowly consumes itself. His large frame becomes thinner and thinner each passing day as muscle and fat dwindle; the tiny lizards among the dirt not enough to fill the stomach of a creature the size of an equine. Nose pointed to the ground, he follows the silent command to press on…his instinctual desires suppressed under the weight of an unseen hand.

The unmistakable scent of greenery and fresh water pierces the fog behind yellow eyes and ash hued ears prick forward in expectation. Green equals life and that in turn extends to a chance to satiate the gnawing hunger in his abdomen. The great beast shifts into a predatory stance as it pads on soft feet toward the Oasis; saliva already pooling in his waiting mouth. He is cautious in his approach, unwilling to lose the chance of much needed food—but a shift in the wind brings a surprise.

”You are mine.” A disembodied voice murmurs on a harsh breeze and he is transformed as the unseen hand tugs on his brain.

The dull yellow of his eyes flares bright for a moment before leeching away to a blood red. His fur, once grey and white, becomes the darkest shade of black there ever was; obsidian. Gleaming fangs appear as dark lips pull up into a snarl that travels across the Oasis but he does not fear startling his prey. No, his father commands his aid, and he will serve Fenrir well. The black beast is fearless in his approach, already scenting the mouth-watering smell of equine flesh ready to harvest. His confidence oozes through the easy sway of his gait and the way one side of his mouth almost curls into a smirk. The dire wolf settles in to wait, the wind working in his favor and time on his side as newfound strength courses through adrenaline filled veins.



Something is happening! The Exiles are not spared the blood lust of Fenrir! A dire wolf the size of most equines lies in wait for any who dare enter the Oasis. Are you brave enough to take on a beast fueled by a wrathful spirit?

Tag: @[Storyteller]

#2



EVANDR
roth
DRESNER

There was something in the air.

An unseen tension cast a bit to the mouth of the winds and rode it mercilessly through the sands and with it brought a profound and daunting unease. Distrust had arrived early in the Oasis and it was no friend of the Warden. His sapphire eyes rose to the dry skies and squinted into the endless sunlight, casting his vision across the scorched sands. Nothing... yet.

As the pale skies aged into mulberry peach and the alpenglow of the Slidr River Valley faded into a hazy of obscurity along the horizon line, Evandr couldn't distract his hooves with enough strides to draw his attention away from the cold fingers of apprehension. He drew himself to a halt amidst the palm fronds and viridian ferns, the silent and gleaming oasis a wordless comrade beside him. Some hidden force, some strange omniscient presence, was pulling at the strings of fate. His very bones felt it. They quivered with inaction, dissatisfied they'd hammered away the inclement, yet still invisible, threat.

Obsidian banner lashing, the depth of the color sapped by the bleaching of the sun rays, Evandr's hooves pricked forward and trudged the massive brute through the sands. Weaving betwixt the vegetation of their only asylum, his flints searched til they struck terra cotta stone. Following the cliff face that hung over their recessed paradise, he followed the narrow and jagged slopes up the heights. It hardly compared to the summits that encased the Vetr Wasteland, but the advantage it offered with scouting was unparalleled. His strides were ungraceful, quick, almost jerky. Evandr knew whatever time he didn't spend examining the horizons from the perch were precious seconds lost. Something was going to happen. It was the Wastes.

Something always happened.

Though the sunlight was an enemy at all times. No matter the time spent beneath the warmth of it's bake it's gleam was unrelenting to the eyes. Beneath his furrowed brow the sharp blue of his eyes nearly disappeared. In them, mirages reflected the blur of sands. The mountains were sectioned with deep lacerations, revealing the sky beyond, and every slash trembled with unspoken pane. The citrine, sepia, and gold of the sands intermingled with one another with contrasting tears of cobalt from the shadows growing intensity. It was a mix of colors, undistinguishable and unfaithful. That is, to an untrained eye that is. Years spent in the ruthless expanse of a hell on earth like the Wastes and you'd learn to decipher the small discrepancies. Fortunate enough, and unlike the inexperienced castaways of the Houses, Evandr's gaze had bore into the eternal heat waves for years.

And in it was a blur, a speck, it danced along those intersecting lines of color, pulled thing and long, an ink blot run across dark parchment. Nape snaking so that his muzzle lowered to the burnt stone beneath his feathered hooves, his form loomed upon the cliff face like a vulture examining the slow process of death in carrion. Whatever that ichor was... it was vastly approaching. His nostrils flared and tested the air, but it proved a foe. Whatever approached was downwind. It could smell them with its own stench masked with the boil of the exiles' sweat. No matter. He'd investigate himself.

Skittering across the stones, Evandr descended the rock face, leaping from outcropping to outcropping, his knees groaning in protest with each sharp jolt to his extremities, reminding him that he'd not been bred for dexterity. Throwing himself into a gallop upon the appreciated surface of sand, the herculean stud raced through the glade. Every ounce of apprehension that had bubbled in his chest throughout the day now popped and boiled with the heat that beat upon his back. A sweat broke along his pits and flanks not from the exertion but the steadily rising adrenaline. Whatever approached was not an equine. He knew of all incoming exiles. It was the unspoken rule.

As the palms steadily thinned and the ferns perished, he saw it. A dire wolf. A thing of legend. Of course, a creature of Slidr Valley Legend. Evandr had always been under the false idea that those tales died at the borders. But here in the flesh an obsidian son of Fenrir crept through the ferns. It's fiendish crimson eyes scanned through the Frekr Oasis, easily aware that an equally starved buffet squandered in this shadows. "DIIIRE WOOOLF!" his voice ripped through the otherwise silent Elysium in the Wastes as a surge of energy drove him towards the creature. His battle cry would carry not just with the volume but the open realm, and it'd reverberate off of the scouting cliff face he'd utilized earlier. No exile could ignore it. They'd either follow the call to arms, or they'd help those who could not. The choice was theirs.

Just as Evandr made his choice. Closer and closer he came, until the behemoth of a stallion - sand and earth twitching at his hooves with each breach of contact as his arcanum flickered to life - intended to throw a thorny shoulder into the lupine's side to bring him down.

Evandr did not know flight or fight. Just fight.


x




powerplay excused
within reasonable limits!
always tag responses.

Tag: @[Evandr]

#3
How...peaceful. The oasis was a rare place within the wasteland Hex called his home. Not that he knew any better. He'd been skulking about the east for three years now. To him it was a relief from the heat waves and a place to bathe. Not that Hex ever really bathed. More often than not he was coated in sweat, dirt, and grime he had accumulated over the last few weeks-- if not months. His war paint was streaked and running down his sides, a smear of grease across his brow had begun to melt down and coated his closed eyelid. He was tucked beneath a tree, a long shadow stretching and obscuring him in the darkness. His breath was even and fell from quivering nostrils with each gentle heave of his chest. What he didn't know was that while he slept that an enemy was growing closer.

"DIIIRE WOOOLF!"

The voice cut into his nap and with a snort the colt opened his eyes. He lifted his head to see the warden coming straight toward the oasis with fury in his eyes. Smacking his lips together loudly, Hex observed him for a few moments. He was unsure of the other male's reason for running about like a chicken with his head cut off. Then it hit him. The scent of dirt and blood. It was familiar in some ways, and foreign in others. Turning his head, Hex's eyes opened wide as he spotted the massive wolf. Sand blew toward him, disturbed by the canine's huge paws.

Hex sucked in a breath, as if it would save him. What the heck was he supposed to do? A shudder rolled its way down his spine. He supposed he couldn't do nothing. He lowered his head quickly, smearing his face across his knees as he cleaned the sweat driven war paint that was beginning to roll down his face in droves. He was sweating. And it wasn't just the environment. Hex was scared. Terrified, even. Though it didn't show on his face, the tell tale glistening of his dark pelt was obvious. Everything felt like it was going in slow motion as he eyed the warden making his attack.

This is it, Hex. You don't have to talk. Just...just do.

He heaved himself to his feet, blinking fastidiously as if trying to wake himself from a nightmare. Turning his pale gaze upon the wolf he tried to find a point he might actually be able to do some damage. He shuddered again. He could be a distraction, perhaps. He was no muscle-bound beast like the wolf's current opponent. He wasn't stringy but he wasn't laced with strength. His strength was his mind...and even that was lacking. Hex felt his mouth run dry. He had to do something. Steeling his nerves the colt leaped forward into a canter, his hooves finding purchase in the sands. Hex still didn't know what he was doing...he'd figure it out when he got there.

He got closer and closer.

And closer.

Shit.

Hex closed his eyes and dug his hooves in harder as he aimed to slam his body directly into one of the wolf's left back leg. Stupid? Sure. Completely idiotic. Hex had blanked by the time he'd gotten there. The least he could do was try and get the creature's balance off. He just hoped he didn't miss. Not only would it be terribly embarrassing (at least it was just the warden here, right?) it would be wasting precious time.

 Storyteller








image credit

Tag: @[Hex]

#4
Kith’ae had never dared to dream that a day would come where he’d find himself missing the frozen touch of the black lands. Warmth such as this had been such a foreign concept for years. Snow was a near constant in the icy plains of Marothel. Under the shade of the great mountains there had been little that could be done to escape the numbing cold. To think he traded one extreme for the next. A wrinkle formed in his brow as he continued to make his way to the only well known sanctuary in this hellish waste.

A kind of lull had fallen over his day to day life. Things had taken something of an almost boring turn in his life. The life of a smuggler he had grown used to was almost completely stunted out here. Kith’ae was almost expecting the continued hush to remain. A call sounded throughout the Oasis that had his steps faltering for the brief moment. Dire wolf.

Images of the large, well fed beasts that stalked the northern herds flickered through his mind. His attention was snapped and drawn towards the Warden. No such creature could live in these wastes and be so plump. His eyes followed a path and landed upon the large canine - thinner but far taller than the wolves of the mountains. There is something eerie about this one, however. It’s eyes are a shocking red, fur black, and teeth ready to attack. His attention flickers for a brief moment to watch as another exile finally breaks free of the shock to join the Warden.

Kith’ae had spent a lifetime defending the lives of others. In the many years that have passed he’s taken a comfort in knowing he no longer needs to jeopardize himself for anyone but his own selfish desires. Yet as he watched the sudden scramble happening within the Oasis it was with a quiet groan that he threw himself into the action as well. His steps were wide as he made his own approach - his own charge. The dire wolf was being lunged at from two directions nows.

A third should not hinder their attempts to deter the canine. He lowered his head, tucked it close as he threw his own weight towards the beast. However he angled his head downwards. The tines upon his antlers may have been few and far shorter but their jagged edges were just as dangerous if he was able to aim correctly.
Tag: @[Kith'ae]

#5
we are the wild ones, the savages

Little time had passed since the incident in the desert expanse, her wound had been treated but was fresh and still sore as ever. So of course something would have to go amiss. The smell of unfamiliar hits her nose moments before Evandr's voice rings through the air. He was charging at something--her vibrant pink eyes following his trail to see....

What the hell?!

Her eyes go wide at the sight. Aishe had seen wildlife in the desert; most was small, deadly, poisonous. But this, this creature was far from its home--its fur black as night, with eyes the color of blood. She'd lie to you and say it didn't frighten her to stare death in the face, but Aishe was terrified. It wasn't until two other Exiles (no, she doesn't know their name. Aishe knew so few here) propelled themselves into the fray.

Something in her snapped. Men had gone ahead to fight and she was sitting in the shade with a wounded shoulder like some maid. The thought made acid burn in her chest, a flash of the downfall of Saren plays in the back of her mind--about how she ran, how she cowered in fear; Aishe wouldn't be like that again. Never again.

Gritting her teeth, Aishe forced herself to stand. With out a second thought, she moved with a limp in her gait to stand at the side of her fellow Exiles. The beast was bigger than the wolves she'd heard stories of, but then again, much was bigger than her in the world. Forcing the pain to the back of her mind with the rush of adrenaline burning her veins, the jenny finds herself bolting forward (still favoring her left leg of course) toward the wolf. A battle cry erupted from her chest as she went to stab it in the side with the crystal horn upon her head.



gif
Storyteller Dumb Aishe is dumb.
Tag: @[Aishe]

#6
the following plot is rated mature for blood, gore, and macabre.


be swift!


Though it’s stomach may have burned with an ache unsated and its lips cracked with a thirst unquenched, the dire wolf was compelled to obey his father. When a call roared through the fronds it needn’t understand horse tongue to know that it had been spotted. Rather, it abandoned its need of hiding, of sleuth, and emerged as a black shadow from the underbrush it had just slid into. Intelligent eyes of garnet bore through the trees. Those who feared the wolf darted in fear, leaving behind them plumes of sand that betrayed their path. Of course, he would have elected to chase them. But not today.

The bellower of that call, a beckon for arms, wasted no time in pursuing him and it was this massive creature that his attention honed upon. Stained fangs revealed themselves beneath wrinkled lips as the dire wolf snarled, snapping its jaws in a dare to the Warden as he approached. “Slay them or be slain. Do not return a failure.” The words of his father echoed betwixt his ears, a lone and telekinetic command that only the lupine was privy too. The invisible thread that had draw him here grew taught, tugging at his hackles with expectance. It was time. It was time to do his father’s bidding.

Lithe on its paws despite the frail frame, the dire wolf plunged forward to meet the initial opponent as others gathered to the rally.

First, Evandr drove at the lupine, but his bulk was no match for the dire wolf’s dexterity. Deftly he evaded the stallion’s thrown weight which in turn betrayed him; his back vulnerable, the obsidian son of Fenrir pivoted around with eager, open jaws, webs of saliva dancing on the velocity of the turn, and sank his fangs into the back of Evandr’s neck. Blood on his tongue, his stomach yearned to swallow the pound of flesh he’d managed to find. Vice grip upon the Warden the creature’s defenses fell as he began to thrash.
It allowed Hex the perfect opportunity to upturn the malnourished wolf. The young exile collided with the dire’s hind leg, buckling it beneath the hesitant albeit effective force. It yelped with surprise as his hips crashed to the ground. Fruitlessly snapping at Hex with no avail, the Warden Evandr is released from the shaking, but his blood’s stench hung in the air with grim reminder; this son of the Dread Wolf meant to kill them or be killed. There was no surrender.

The youngest of the defender’s escaped unscathed as the dire scrambled to his paws. Hind pulsing with a dull ache, the dire wolf managed to find his paws quickly enough to feign a pursuit after Hex, but the child was no longer the concern. From the side, @[Kith’ae]’s rack barreled down upon him. Gnashing teeth realigned the wolf’s focus, and the beast faced the new opponent head on. “Do not fail me, child.” Fenrir growled into the lupine’s ear, and a wave of fear rolled through the beast’s stomach. The wrath of Fenrir was far worse than what these horses could do to him.
He would not return a failure.

Perhaps motivated with the simple desperation to please, the dire wolf lunged forward at the kirin-esque stallion, jaws asunder. They came crashing down one of those weaponized tines, teeth clacking against them as Kith’ae’s weight drags him some steps. But even a starving dire is a heavy one. The lupine yanks the offended back by the antlers, paws lashing madly at the stallion’s shoulder, nape, and chest to deter him as his fangs gnaw at the opalescent horns. Blood ran red once again.

Aishe’s cry drew the dire wolf’s attention but there was little time to react. Barely releasing Kith’ae in time, the jenny’s horn grazes the side of the wolf. A faint laceration of rubine red winks beneath its eldritch coat and another yowl of ire, anguish, and rage leaves its muzzle. But it does not falter. In a flurry the wolf is spinning after her, jaws lashing, scratching at her hinds so that superficial wounds rain upon them; but she otherwise escapes the jaws.

As the attackers reel back from their injuries, or lack thereof, the wolf staggers to a stand betwixt them. Sides cascading with pants, the beast snarls and glowers through the sweat seeping beneath his obsidian pelt. It eyes them all; Evandr, Hex, Kith’ae, and Aishe. Even those watching from the outskirts, through the fronds and the palms. A bloodied tongue laps at its upper jaw, and the beast throws back its head with a wolf’s lament. The eerie cry carries through the Oasis, another grim reminder that what plagues the Valley may also plague them.

Shaking his head, as if to rally himself, the wolf tenses, roaring with a guttural mix of bark and growl, before lurching forward in attack again.




Something is happening! The dire wolf grows weak! Continue to defend yourselves, exiles, or fear your demise! Participants must respond by August 13th.

Tag: @[Storyteller]

#7



EVANDR
roth
DRESNER

There was a split second before it all transpired that Evandr knew his move had been foolish. Those sapphire eyes of his widened with the rush of adrenaline his heart released. The inky image of the direwolf had been there before him, snarling and daring, and then it had been gone. But not for long. Evandr felt his tightly drawn hide pop beneath the lupine's fangs. An unconscious exclamation erupted from his muzzle, not one of any particular sound, but the utterance of pain. Heat roared along the back of his nape, pooling with moisture as his lifeblood ran his muscles red. Then the beast shook itself.

Gritting his teeth, Evandr could do nothing but attempt to pull away from the dire's greedy fangs as it drug him further and further down. Evandr's knees buckled beneath the weight while also attempting to offer opposition to free himself. There was a brief, fleeting moment where the Warden saw the face of his mother flash before his eyes, the face of the usurped Saren and his manic grin, and thought he would soon join them in death. Desperation had started to flow through his veins when the young colt managed to upturn the wolf. It had been so thoroughly attentive to the beast of a stallion he'd had betwixt his jaws, it seemed the monster had forgotten about those who rallied behind him.

Sick relief came with another set of pops as the puncture wounds along his nape were suddenly vacant. Crimson ran down the edges of his muscles, slipping down his chest, and dripped into the sands below. For a moment all Evandr could do was stand, bleeding, his gaze watching the battle unfold. Hex had been lucky, and managed to escape unscathed. The kirin man - Evandr thought him vaguely familiar but wasn't entirely confident in his own capacity of thought - had attempted to rip the wolf asunder with his horns but only found them locked with the direwolf's jaws. And Aishe, determined and resilient Aishe, managed to sink her small horn into the obsidian monster's pelt, dealing damage in the favor of the Exiles.

Nostrils flaring through the pain that pulsated through his crest with every beat of his heart, the Warden dared not let his people fight without him any longer. As the son of Fenrir had just managed to find his footing, lurching forward with another attack, Evandr descended upon him again with harks pinned into the mess of his midnight hair. Just as he would have collided with the wolf, he drew upwards. His massive forward extremities, with their great breadth and musculature, rose high with a flurry of stones and rocks that were commanded simply by his rage. Those substantial hooves came bearing down on the direwolf's back. Evandr wanted to crush the beast. Break it where there could be no mending.


x




powerplay excused
within reasonable limits!
always tag responses.

Tag: @[Evandr]

#8
"What is wrong with you?" The voice inside Hex's head was screaming. Garbled and manic, sounds not of this world rang within him. Emotions grabbing at him like hands closed on rattled bone cages. He was in too deep now. The beast's leg loomed before him and Hex closed his eyes instinctively, awaiting whatever would come next. Though the connection had been..unexpected. He felt his body collide with the creature's muscular limb and a sharp breath was expelled from his chest which left his flesh shivering. He tried to catch himself as he fell, though his hooves found no purchased in the sands. His limbs folded beneath him, nose tucked toward his chest in an attempt to protect himself. He found himself on his back in the sand, pale eyes blinking up into the sky. Sand stuck to his sweat streaked coat, making him look more like a buckskin than a grulla. It was then that he sat the wolf lose his own purchase and come closer. Summoning what little strength he had in his body he rolled out of the way in the nick of time. Ragged breaths escaped his twitching lips as he pulled himself to his feet again.

Blood. Blood all around him.

While he had escaped relatively unscathed, other than a few bruises from the actual collision, it seemed not all had been so lucky. The fought on despite the blood running drown their bodies in droves. For a moment Hex considered fleeing. His eyes becoming saucer wide as he watched the scene unfold. His knobby knees shook and his ears flattened out to the sides. "No. You're stronger than this." A jolt of confidence runs through him and Hex knows he can't leave. He must fight. They were exiles, sure. But that didn't mean their lives were meaningless. He would fight alongside them. Not for honor. Not for glory. Not for anything other than himself.

Had his distraction helped? Hex wasn't sure. He'd been so concerned with avoiding the fallen monstrosity that he hadn't paid attention. His chest heaved with each labored breath-- both from exhaustion and nerves. He was no war veteran, he'd never even sparred before this day. He was relying solely on his instincts. Were they even any good? Anxiety welled within him, like bile threatening to rise from his throat. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as he observed the dire wolf. He found his target. Setting off as he had done before, Hex returned to the beast's side. He found that same leg he had attacked before, finding that perhaps it was already weakened. He was no strong like the rest of them-- not in heart or body. Rearing up, Hex built his momentum as he prepared to crash down on the wolf's toes with his hooves. He put everything he had left into it.

"FOR THE EXILES." His own voice surprised him. It was deep, like rolling thunder or distant crashing waves. He didn't stutter or falter. His eyes hardened, seeming to darken as they did. His teeth gnashed together. "Fuck this wolf." He added under his breath, anger coursing through his veins. An anger he had never felt before. It was a strange emotion to him and he couldn't place it. He didn't know where it came from. But it moved through his body, crash like waves against him. "Fuck this wolf."

 Storyteller








image credit

Tag: @[Hex]

#9
we are the wild ones, the savages

Aishe had seen the beasts of the desert, but none were as feirce as the rabid wolf before her.

It was the culmination of everything evil in the world; from Saren's malice, to death incarnate, the wolf was a symbol that the jenny wished never could have existed. Her skull ached when it made contact with it's hide, rattling her brain, straining her neck upon impact. With another battle cry she tore away, its obsidian claws raking across her back legs. She stumbles forward but manages to keep her footing (she'll tell you a low center of gravity does wonders), splashing dirt and sand as her wobbly gait comes to a halt.

For a moment,  her vibrant gemstone eyes can only take in the raw carnage.

Think Aishe, the thought rolls around in her mind as seconds ticked away in the wolf's favor. She bore no magic, only the wits in her mind could aide her and her fellow exiles in this battle. Liquid violet eyes peered at her surroundings, long ears pinned against her neck as her shoulder throbbed from the aging wound. What if they lead it away from the oasis? What if they found a ravine and had it fall to its death? No she shook the thought away, for the ravines that could kill the beast were too far from here.

None of them could run for that long and stay clear of the animal's jaws.

Knowing she'd taken far too long thinking about the situation, Aishe commanded her body to act. Quickly she darted back into the fray; what she lacked in strength the jenny made up for in speed. Small and compact, she was far better suited for the sands than many. She sees the boy with paint and dreads of black hair attacking the leg he had before--with little thought Aishe goes to his side. As he seeks to land a hit on the beast's toes, he own  jagged horn of crystal sought to pierce the very flesh and tendons that kept the pillar of fur erect. With luck, perhaps their combined efforts could down the animal, and give way for the bulk of their muscle (the only other few present able to really pack a punch) to deal as much raw damange as they could.

Between the movement of fur and flesh and sand, Aishe catches a glimpse of the wounds on her Warden's body. She'd be lying if she said there was no concern written in her gaze and on her heart, but foolish she'd been for taking now of all times to care. Blinking rapidly, Aishe is reminded of what the task is--she could worry about the man later.

Well, if there was a later.

"We can hit the bastard all day but it won't change anything!" came her voice as she darted back from the direwolf and in again, looking to strike at it's heels. "We need to crush it, or impale it, or lead it to the pools and let it burn!"

image
Storyteller Dumb Aishe is dumb.
Tag: @[Aishe]

#10
the following plot is rated mature for blood, gore, and macabre.

be swift!


He growls deep in his heaving chest as the string tethering him to his Father pulls impossibly tighter. Fenrir knows his offspring’s strength is failing and pulses a burst of telepathic energy down the line that connects them. ”You will prevail!” The disembodied voice roars angrily in the dire wolf’s mind; he nearly flinches. His own rage builds to a blazing inferno and he drowns himself in bloodlust and the craving to taste horseflesh rolling across his tongue. It is this that drives him as he watches that beautiful crimson stain the dark pelt of @[Kith’ae] from where he drives sharpened claws into the male’s shoulder. He uses the pierced muscle as a hold to scrabble his way further up Kith’ae’s neck, hoisting his large body up to sink teeth into antler and dagger-like nails into the skin of his chest. He rides the kirin-esque man into ground, satisfied in the way it feels when his knees give out and his jaws eagerly open to rip out the other’s throat.

The wolf is forced to leave his prey to bleed in the sand and dirt as the ground rumbles.

Boosted by his defeat of the scaled male, he eagerly turns to meet the Warden in his fierce charge, teeth snapping in warning as he spins. He underestimated the speed of the massive Evandr and sees only flailing hooves ready to pin him to the earth. Using the athletic advantages of his lupine ancestry, he snakes his way between the falling hooves but the debris kicked up by Evandr stalls his great escape. Sand particles land in his eyes leaving him temporarily blinded and slowed. Pain greets him as his vision clears, the Warden’s strike landing on his right hip in a slice that cuts straight to the pale bone beneath sinew and blood. Outraged, the wolf twists his body to duck away before he can be pummeled a second time; adrenaline lends him the strength to ignore his wound. He curls his body around to the Warden’s side where the top row of ivory teeth pierce the flesh of his left flank and pull that flesh down as bottom canines puncture perilously close to Evandr’s groin.

Fenrir roars in his mind, his displeasure clear. The actions against the Exile’s fearsome leader, left his weakened leg vulnerably exposed to Hex’s renewed assault. The wolf cries out-- half roar, half snarl at the sensation of his foot being ground into the desert. The action does not break bones, but halts his twisting body enough that the wound to his thigh pulls apart a bit more. Fury swells in him, saliva dripping from his bloodied maw. Turning, he targets Hex and swipes at the stallion’s forelimbs, sending a spray of ruby liquid across his onyx fur. He greets his mark viciously with tooth and claw, deep gauges opening across the front of the exile’s forearms while canines tear a chunk from the man’s breast. The sensation of his flesh being cleaved once more draws him from the attack on Hex and he growls in rage at being denied yet another kill.

This time, it is the brave Aishe and her broken crystal that separates skin from bone. Agony sparks along his nervous system, igniting flares of pain so immense it burns away the adrenaline. The miniscule jenny manages to rupture a tendon with her defective horn sending a fresh wave of blood coursing down the dire wolf’s leg. The burning desire for revenge lights a manic gleam in his eyes and he uses his larger stature as a battering ram, knocking the irksome woman to the ground. Knowing he is defeated, he works quickly, instinct driving him to push the horrific pain to the back of his mind for the coming seconds. With a gleam in his eye at the small beauty pinned under him, he moves in a flash of fur and blood. Discolored fangs plunge into the striped section of a cream colored foreleg to dissect her leg in a gruesome display; repaying the ruptured tendon she gave him and more.

He drags himself off the bleeding donkey, not prepared to die a worse death than the one his failure promises him by remaining with the Exiles. Half-dragging his mangled leg, the dire wolf lopes into the underbrush and disappears. The Warden’s wrath not one he is willing to face, he leaves to die in agonized peace.

The puppet on a string collapses into the dirt miles away from where the ground will remain stained with the evidence of his failure for weeks to come. The corner of his upper lip curls against the ground, I did not entirely fail. Two of the four will find their lives forever changed in the next month under the weight of an irreversible curse. It is this thought that warms him, replacing the coldness of impending death creeping its way along his limbs. Even when the shadow of a dark wolf blocks out the light, and the puppet master cuts the lines holding him to this plane, he goes into death’s arms with that smirk on his bloodied face.


Something is happening! The dire wolf has fled to die at the hands of his Father in the desert! The Exiles are victorious!

This concludes Part One of Blood Moon Falling! The equine fought valiantly, and one can suppose they may find victory simply in survival. Fevers will strike two participants. Evandr and Aishe will find their blood boiling for some days... and lycanthropy will rest there. For now, it is dormant. I wonder when it will come into play? Hex will leave with the item, Tier Up! He may now access Virtuoso when the time comes. All other participants, your valors do not go unrewarded (or cursed). You'll find 100 crystals in your purses. Congratulations, fighters. You've survived Fenrir's descent.


Tag: @[Storyteller]