Taboo
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Posts: 46
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Post by Taboo on Sept 25, 2009 22:12:00 GMT -5
Love. That's what her past life proclaimed. Yet what they adhered to was terror. The spine eventually bends to fear, just as long you find what nightmares are made of. The storm created a shiver, indiscreet and yet shocking, to crawl along the smoothe curve of her back. Muscles loosened their tight hold somewhat and a grim barrier dissipated somewhat revealed a rather bold, yet vivacious young wolf as a hint of a grin told on her dark, charcoal kissers. Instinct prompted her to watch carefully the three wolves equipped with fang and claw that easily could rip her into shreds. Yet she felt strongly tempted to watch the lightning scythe into the tombstone sky. Instead her ears merely recorded nature's melody of thunderclaps. With Tehya's soft release from her previous agitation, Taboo adopted a more genuine humility.
"I'm sorry to accuse you of foolishness. But these days, fools often become kings. It is no longer easy to tell them apart. Especially since there is a clever fool every once in a while that lures in a victim." From her posture that stiffened into a warrior's stance, it was obvious she was used to orders from a leader. Obedience laced into every vein of her body. She just wanted someone who wouldn't abuse it. As the Alphess mentioned a hunt, froth gathered on the tip of her tongue. The idea of tender flesh danced and made her dizzy. Optics rolled a little, betraying the hidden nefarious side to her. Bloodlust revolted and hunger stirred within her viscerals. Not only did she need to feast, but the opportunity to show her unique skill flashed as ideal.
As Tehya spoke to the other brute, the vulpess listened acutely, observing closely to how the Alphess worded her entreaties and behaved toward the other pack members. Her openness to criticism impressed the neutral splayed fae, considering her last home that completely lack the trait. Her receptors wandered to Machiavelli. She decided his caramel and cream indulged pelt invited warmth and coldness instantly. The newly dubbed Advisor allowed friends, but as a rare event, she estimated. So his silent, calculating gaze distinguished him as wintry and reserved, but not adverse to caring. Taboo approved of such caution. She, too, reflected much of that defense mechanism. But what intrigued her were the misty, silver spheres staring back at her. It was strange that her glowing yellow ones reflected the lightning and his reflected the storm. She grinned at the irony before returning back to Tehya.
As the Mistress that exemplified the rich, deep hues of earth and nature sprinted away, Taboo hastily caught up to her, wanting to share something with her. "Tehya...there's a field out west. The rain will soften the dirt and churn it to mud. Hopefully a deer or elk's hoof will catch in the dangerous environment." Her voice broke into increments with the strengthening gusts. Against the furious background, the wolf appeared like a roving shadow, capturing the essence of unfathomable emptiness. Those shimmering flaxen receptors rummaged the possibilities. Throngs of fattened calves and mothers grouped all around them. She knew the mud would work best in their interest. "Two wolves should approach the deer head on so as the curve their trail while the other two attempt to trip up the prey. Make use of our circumstances." A wicked smile played beautifully on her enchanting face as she stared up at Tehya.
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Post by Sighani on Oct 20, 2009 0:46:09 GMT -5
Machiavelli's ears flicked in slight annoyance at Tehya's words, a single brow raising in an almost appraising manner as his stare roved across her dark countenence. "In all our time together, my lady," the Prince began, knowing full well that their time together was hardly impressive, but also knowing that first impressions should be revered as more than fleeting moments in a collective history, "I don't believe you've ever come closer to insulting my intelligence than you have in this instant." This time, his words were not punctuated by an apology. If Tehya wanted him to be more bold and direct in his advice, then so be it. Yet again, he found the prospect of testing her boundaries vaguely amusing, and the corners of his lips curled up into a private smirk shared only between the ebon queen and her silver-tongued adviser. He meant no harm. However, it was indeed his intention to make clear to the fatale that he would not tolerate being talked down upon, regardless of rank. His position in the pack deemed him as her insubordinate, but he would not be treated as an inferior. "We've all made mistakes in our past, Tehya. I have paid for mine perhaps more dearly than most. If anyone here among us could sniff out a common fool hiding under a king's crown . . ." Machiavelli trailed off, the smile he offered Tehya genuine in its sincerity, because this was, perhaps, the highest compliment he had ever paid her, though it was definitely not direct in its approach. "Let's just say that my training as a politician has not gone to total waste. I can recognize the mark of an unfit ruler when I see it. Or a fair ruler, as the case may be."
On that matter he said no more. He simply allowed the thought to linger with the mist in the air, allowed it to sink in, hoped that Tehya caught his full implication. And if she did not understand right now, she would come to realize it all in good time. And like the last ringing note of his voice, his smile also lingered, though decidedly more discreet than before as he did not wish to distract the pack too much from this newcomer. He had no time to further question her motives, however, because in that moment the queen was once again on the move. He cast a spectral gaze to Dante, a bemused glance shared between two brutes, the manner of which a fatale could know nothing about if only for the fact that femmes were confusing creatures in their own right. The heart of a woman may be as dark and unfathomable as oceanic depths, but the heart of a man is rocky and barren--a man sows what he can, and keeps it. Pearly teeth flashed briefly between the crack of a secret smile, Machiavelli finding the breath to utter but one lonesome syllable before he shook his maw and ran ahead to join the two other wolves: "Faes." Chuckling once again, his eyes flashed back to the retreating shadows of the two fatales, a glint of silver-lined steel in the verdant gloom, every silver lining tinged with just a shade of gray.
He felt the first spatterings from the slashed bellies of the stormclouds before the tumultuous beast in the sky let out a thunderous roar in the face of its death. Rain hissed down from the heavens and as the fog, thick and sly, crawled down from the emerald-draped mountains, the Prince found himself wandering through a dense haze in his own mind, the voices of his packmates fading into the sounds of the storm like the whispers of spirits upon a night wind. He had tried time and again to allow himself to believe that at the end, when the skies crumble and the mountains crack and the fates draw their black cloak across the flickering light of his soul, that he will live again, someway, sometime. That some thinking, feeling, remembering part of him would continue, because otherwise what will he have lived for? A life spent wholly on the pursuit of knowledge, terminated by a quick stroke of claws to his throat or, even more likely, an enemy so small it cannot be seen by the eyes of wolves, infecting a cut he'd been too careless to treat properly, creeping into his bloodstream and destroying him from within. When he viewed it from such a cynical standpoint it all seemed so worthless. What was the point of all this scholarly training in the grim face of mortality? Nothing was eternal. And as much as he longed to believe in ghosts and spirits and an afterlife filled with pleasures beyond the realms of wolven reckonings, and despite the ancient and worldwide cultural traditions that assert eternal glory--or, in many more cases, eternal hellfire--he knew of nothing to suggest that such a thing was more than wishful thinking. The world was so exquisite with so much love and moral depth that there was no reason to deceive himself with pretty stories for which there is no real evidence, beyond the preaching of crazed old men and new mothers in their dens. Far better it seemed to the Prince, in his metaphysical vulnerability, was to look death in the eye and to be grateful every day for the brief but magnificent opportunity that life provided. Too often wolves dwelt on the prospect of their deaths, wasting precious breath, precious life, still more precious thought.
Such philisophies clouding his mind, the monochrome brute almost ran directly through a wall of musk, strong to keen senses as granite. His paws slowed in the slightest, his eyes regaining their focus as he drew in closer to Tehya, feeling the smooth slide of fur against fur as his shoulder brushed against the rippling muscle of her flank, a gesture of reassurance, a motion that indicated that, at this instant, he trusted her to do the right thing. As he said, all the world's in a hunt. This was not just Taboo's opportunity to prove herself to the queen, but also the pack's opportunity to prove itself to one another, because now the scent of game was so strong it was almost dizzying, saliva pooling in the corners of Machiavelli's charred rims. "Be wary of bulls in rut," was all the advise he had to offer now. Lupine instinct had swept all logic aside and he was ready for the hunt.
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Post by Starrlight on Oct 22, 2009 17:59:00 GMT -5
Through it all he had remained silent, the patient sentinel, waiting with impartial silver eyes distant for the word that would once more set things in motion. Dante had not the mind for these delicate conversations of delegation, for his history was not to act with such a tactful air. Machiavelli, with his silver tongue, wove words with an ease that brought a somewhat detached admiration from his silent listener. The bru truly did know how to speak, for he matched his queen word for word, tone for tone, and syllable for syllable. They were almost mesmerizing in their banter, phrases dancing around one another with a rhythm and grace that Dante could never hope to match, nor would he attempt such a feat. In a true Caligae fasion, though born to lead, his training had been purely military, and diplomacy had little to do with conquering. He was not bred to use words as weapons, for the tooth and claw worked just as well.
It seemed that Taboo was of a similar mind, for after she had said her piece, she too fell towards silence. Her direct way of addressing Tehya was much more feasable to the Guardian, though she too held a wisdom about her that Dante found a bit unsettling. While not one to worry about such trivial matters on a normal basis, he found himself suddenly feeling out of place in this gathering, and wished Tehya speed on her decision to resume the hunt. The carnal act of physical and instinctual skill would certainly level the playing field once more, and it was a situation that Dante found much more appealing than this awkward affair.
Finally matters were brought back full circle, and Dante watched as Tehya took the lead, his gaze lighting internally from impassive to almost eager in an instant. Machiavelli turned and quickly confided a single word, no more, but it brought a chuckle from deep within. Faes were truly perplexing creatures, though absolutely mesmerizing in their complexity. It would seem, however, that Mach was a bit better off than he in that department, for Tehya definitally seemed to favor his conversation.
As the first drops from the heavens slowly were multiplied into a steady rain, Dante thrust his muzzle towards the sky, letting the cool water run down his face in rivulets. He loved storms, the refreshing scent of the earth and the static energy that seemed to cling to everything. It made his blood burn and his chest fill with the pride that was a wolf's birthright; the pride of the wild thing. Truly something so powerful and unpredictable as a storm could only be a work of nature, wild and untamable as the wolf pack itself.
Soaking in this atmosphere, Dante took off at a run, closing the distance between himself and the others. He would follow, trusting the others to lead them towards prey. His task was simple; assist, kill. Let instinct take over, for his body knew what to do. He could only hope that they would all trust one another enough to give themselves fully over to the cause. It was this that brought success in a hunt. So far, however, things were looking bright; the scent of prey was thick on the breeze, and Dante's stomach churned in response. The time of the hunter was near.
OOC: again with the not speaking! lol!
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Post by Asphyxia on Oct 22, 2009 18:16:46 GMT -5
Bury all your secrets in my skin.
Come away with innocence and leave me with my sins. [/size] A single moment could change everything. One step, even one pebble kicked in a different direction then something such as fate, if there was such a thing, would normally direct it, would set off an intricate ripple of change. Different things would happen from what would have happened had the pebble been kicked in the direction fate had had for it, or if it were not kicked at all, still, it would change other moments in life that one could not fathom. Every moment in present and future was decided on a day to day basis, never fully concluded, for it was ever-changing, ever-present, ever-lasting.
The backs of claws scraped the earth as Tehya dragged her paw across the dampening ground, taking a light step forward. Rain now pelted from the skies, weighing down the wolfs lush pelt, plume curving to catch each rain drop behind her frame. Whiskers shifted as nostrils flared, scenting at the rain. Still, the Queen gazed amethyst spheres toward the new female that had recently approached them. Though she still held conversation with her and was not to be easily distracted from the stranger.
“There is no need to apologize, Taboo. I do not expect you to throw all caution to the wind upon entering anothers territory and to expect only the best. If you were to expect only the best and to think no fools lived, would you not be considered the fool yourself? Aye, it’s smart to keep your guard up and wait to know another before judging them such a fool or not.” Gaze was spent over the other female, observing her stance and the way she held herself. From what Tehya could see from her own eyes, the female did not appear to have come from royal rankings before and was very used to having those above her. However, the ebony Queen could very well be wrong and the female might have come from the pure blood of a royal family, but had simply left such a life behind. Tehya’s patience was perhaps her best virtue. She tolerated a lot, and always thought things through before even considering punishment upon another and her patience with how they spoke to her and treated her could greatly outweigh that of another. While it could make for a great Queen, as she knew, it could also be used against her as a fault. Some might try to take such as a weakness and use it against her by walking all over her. That, however, was something Tehya would not allow.
Tehya’s attentions were soon turned to Machiavelli as he spoke to her once again. Audettes shifted to face the dark brute, crown tilting in his direction. Though he seemed annoyed, Tehya could not help but allow for a smile to tug at her charred kissers. Ah, so he was less patient and tolerant then herself. Even so, Tehya at times would be willing to throw caution to the wind with her words to test her pack and learn of them. Machiavelli had just stated that he could be easily insulted and annoyed and would not stand for such. Over time, Tehya would have to learn what ticked the brute, as opposed to what he was okay with. Even as she offered the large male a reassuring smile that she understood his boundaries and was willing to abide by them, she spoke, “I apologize for having insulted you, Machiavelli.” As her smile broadened, she eyed him carefully, taking a breath as she spoke again, “I thought you might truly take me for a fool, howbeit, I never questioned your intelligence. But as you sit there, testing me, I too, test you, friend.”
A low chuckle escaped the femme as she worded what he might already know. But then, he might not yet know that she had seen easily that he was testing her. “Aye, mistakes we have all made…” Her voice grew quiet momentarily, the smile fading as she watched the man. She knew he knew a little of her past but she wasn’t entirely sure how much. While she never spoke of it, it had been no secret in Kamen Reka when she had joined. Many thought she had joined in spite of Belial. Others thought her simply for a fool to have entered into enemy camp and expect a welcome. But she had provided information and she had, in the end, left Belial. Was it a mistake? Tehya did not view it as one, though she wasn’t entirely sure if she would be where she was now if she hadn’t made such decisions. Tehya blinked for a moment. Auds shifted. Had he just complimented her? The smile returned. “I do not question your abilities, Machiavelli.” Though she didn’t thank him, the smile and the words she spoke, she hoped, were as close to direct as his compliment had been.
Sparing a side-glance to Dante, Tehya wondered what was keeping him so silent. Was he uneasy around others and therefore, not very talkative? While she knew he wasn’t the talkative type as it were, it made Tehya feel that they were somehow leaving him out, when he added no hints of joining conversation. However, he did stand nearby and on guard. The Guardian she expected him to be. A reassuring smile given in his direction, with the hope that he understood that Tehya would not push him to speak did he not wish to, but appreciated him being there.
Again, Taboo spoke, stealing away the dark Queens attentions. Thick mane extended slightly, then ruffled again at the base of her shoulders as she turned her neck to face Taboo. A shiver ran down Tehya’s spine as she listened, slowly turning into a body quake that shook water from her thick coat, spraying anything nearby in the water she ridded of herself. While hunting, she did not need a heavy, water-logged cloak weighing her down. Tehya, as sorely tempted as she was to have a meal entirely to herself, wanted to see the way the wolves might interact together, working together as a team and the way they could create formations in bringing down a specific goal: Prey. Nodding at Taboo, Tehya agreed. “Aye, the mud could easily assist us. A forest will shelter the ground from the water. Though I think even close proximity of trees would aid us in our capture. The mud is slick, so even we shall have to be careful.”
The Queen hoped the others were experienced with being in mud and would not slow the rest down should they lose their footing. “Alright, Taboo. We’ll attempt your hunting formations.” As Machiavelli and Tehya had been the only two interacting much at all with Taboo, Tehya decided as Taboo’s suggestion, that they would hunt one prey in a formation of twos, in which she would place Dante with Taboo. If not else, it would show Tehya was she wanted to see. Whether Dante and Taboo could stand up to it and interact long enough to bring down a meal. “Two of us should go through the forest to balk them from entering any possible shelter or escape. Machiavelli, you and I will go through the forest and come up at the head of the deer and curve them back toward the field. Dante, Taboo, you two will come at them from the sides, behind and force them to break the herd.” It was a good plan and it would probably work. But how they worked together, was what Tehya was most interested in. And as Machiavelli and herself went through the trees, she could speak with him alone.
Glancing at the others, Tehya nodded to Machiavelli, then gave her crown a nod in the direction she wished to take. They would meet Taboo and Dante at the crest of the field, and meet the deer head on. As Dante and Taboo would come at the herd and force it to break its own formation to escape becoming prey, Tehya and Machiavelli would join them in taking down a deer that might be fool enough to panic or slip in the sleek, muddy ground. Lifting her paws, Tehya moved on in the direction Taboo had indicated, thus, dropping any attentions that were on the deer in the forest nearby. For now, she would allow Taboo to lead this hunt.[/size] The air around me still feels like a cage.
And love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage again. [/size][/color]
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Taboo
New Member
Posts: 46
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Post by Taboo on Oct 26, 2009 14:06:52 GMT -5
Brouhaha mingled with a taste of contradiction. Nature’s wrath spiraled it to attack upon itself and rage war against the earth it pledged to protect. Chains of docile servility unshackled as Taboo merged her entity with the storm. This atmosphere personified her better than words ever managed to describe. Her focus never faltered, but she refused to allow such fierce beauty escape her notice. The conversation between Mach and Tehya dangled and rotted without substance to nourish it. Words and velvet phrases no longer served a purpose. Now it was time to embrace the connection between observing, action, and reaction. Adrenaline formed in threads of electricity wired through her entire muscular system.
Ochre chasms pierced through the condensed fog towards Machiavelli. Even in one’s desired need to protect pride, his chastening reproach only served to waste precious moments. If the pack waited long enough, the storm eventually would create so much force that hunting would be impossible just for the sheer fact that they couldn’t see. As the Alphess finished her words, Taboo’s muscles coiled into their deadly spring. Upon being assigned to work alongside Dante, a devious grin twisted upon her jowls. The silent apparition never dissolved from her multi-cognitive mind. However, he did not require strategized speaking or direct attention. She admired his muted behavior, and a creeping sense of intuition whispered he masked remarkable prowess.
Figure revolted into abstract movement. Her psyche stretched to notice every small detail. Pillars stretched out farther than normal as she sprinted, allowing her to grip the churned soil and maneuver less problematically. The lupess took care to cloak herself in the trees as she quickly approached the herd she scented earlier. Both predator and prey were robbed now of their sense of smell with the assaulting rain and wind. These frightened deer observed every minute detail. Taboo slowed for a brief minute. Discovering a perfect veiled threshold of bracken, bush and tree, she hurriedly clawed deep gashes into a tree trunk before turning her gaze to Dante. Her expression implicitly directed him to remain there until she found her hiding place. Without waiting for him to catch up to her, the huntress tore off and gathered as much possible speed despite the weather. She needed to quickly reach the right corner of the herd, that way all four of them could merge towards the center, leaving the deer nowhere to run without risking death. Weaving through the mangled labyrinth of foliage, she finally found an excellent angle to base herself. Crania riveted in quick improvisation as Taboo spotted a large boulder. The she-wolf scrambled behind the granite façade as she lowered her body. Stomach nearly kissing the mire, the fae prepared herself for the hunt.
Although she implemented this tactic numerous times while dwelling with her old pack, the greatest disadvantage that the two foremost chasers, this included her and Dante, motioned that neither of them could see the other until the stampede began. Wolves may be more social creatures than most, but such blind trust proved difficult even for them. One aud flattened against her skill while one perked up delicately, only able to catch fragmented bellows and scuffling. Body began trembling from the constant adrenaline surges as she waited for Tehya and Machiavelli to initiate the chase.
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Post by Sighani on Oct 27, 2009 1:33:24 GMT -5
The sun shone weakly through the clouds like a pearl through a veil of tumultuous gray seas, sitting just atop the crest of the highest mountain, a single bland adornment on a crown of granite. The night had only just fled into the misty westerlands on shadowed raven wings, but already the territory of Torqueo Somnium was draped in a funeral shaul as deep and smothering as the embrace of a moonless midnight. All around them, shattered stars rained down from the heavens in sparkling drops of coldfire, the universe bleeding its silver soul into the very soil of this umbral bastion. This was the reason the trees grew so wild, reaching ever upwards to claw at the celestial begettors that cast them down from their sanctuary above those damnable rain clouds; this was the reason the flora grew so lush and green, always a portrayal of that eternal envy; and perhaps this was the reason that these lands had called to the wolves like a distant siren song, enticing them in with emerald curtains and crystalline skies, only to reveal that it was as broken and dejected as the varg sheltered beneath that high and bittersweet canopy. It was fitting, really, and Machiavelli indulged in a private smirk--a destitute home for a vagrant queen.
The Prince moved carefully through the underbrush, vines curling like serpents around his paws, spongy moss cushioning his footfalls and branding him a silver-eyed phantom, Tehya little more than a shadow in the bleary edges of his vision. Those ethereal orbs remained constantly on the herd, keen and predatory, the animals thrown into sharp, startled relief with the whipcrack of lightning that splintered through the bellies of the thunderclouds. Machiavelli's iron hackles daggered up as the sharp tang of ozone bled through the morning air, crackling like electricity through his blood, but the deer remained otherwise unfazed. These lands were riotous and before the wolves had come the deer had already laid their claim through countless generations. Though the rain battered down on their backs and the sky roared with violent attrition, these creatures had learned to ignore the abuse as a carrion bird ignores the desperate pleas of the dying. Desensitized to the storms--such a familiar visitor in Torqueo Somnium--as these beasts were, the pack, accustomed to much different conditions, could use the deluge to their advantage and fell them easily.
Reduced to a slavering mutt, Machiavelli's eyes roved hungrily over the glistening contours of the lead buck, lingering for a steadying instant on the razor-tipped antlers, skeletal branches covered with strips of velvet, thick ribbons that hung down about his mighty head, dripping and swaying as he grazed, entrancing. The Prince could smell his musk even through the driving winds and rain, could taste it on the roof of his mouth and in the back of his throat. However, his business was not with that buck, enticing as he was. It was a predator's job to cull the heard, to eliminate the elderly and infirm so that only the strongest specimens may live on to spread their seed, ensuring healthy populations for many hunts to come. The buck was indeed a fine specimen, but he would need to live through the autumn, long enough to further his family's line. In the meantime . . . Machiavelli's eyes flitted from the buck to an older doe several paces away from the main herd, standing weakly on a front leg terminating in a foul case of hoofrot. Her hips were full, her haunches thick; in her prime she might have produced several offspring. But nature is a cruel mistress, flirting coyly with the young and beautiful, scoffing in the faces of the elderly, sending dark minions to dispose of her old flames. Though the wolves did her terrible bidding, they were not free of her savagery. Stirring restlessly at Tehya's side, muscles quivering in anticipation, Machiavelli knew that he, too, was only a pawn in this neverending game of fate.
The Prince kept his voice lowered to a cool whisper as he addressed his queen, words hardly audible over the fury of the storm. "We'll drive them forward, away from the trees." His tail lashed from side to side as he crept several paces nearer to the herd, phantasmal eyes cutting through the gloom of the deluge, rainwater dulling his senses. He hoped Tehya had no objections to the plan, as they needed to act quickly. The cold cut deep. Bone deep. They needed to make their kill and take shelter. So thinking, Machiavelli did not wait for a reply. Instead, he made his way into the clearing, lips curling as the deer snapped to attention, though they did not run. There was no need for them to waste energy--with the stag as their guardian, one wolf posed little threat. Machiavelli stepped closer to the herd, pupils dilating, nares flared, every toned muscle tense and ready beneath a water-logged pelt of mist and stone. He could sense their aggitation, but not their fear. Not yet. He could toy with them for quite some time, inflicting little damage and receive remarkably little of his own. It was the chase he wanted, needed. The deer were swift and nimblefooted, but they could not escape the cunning of the wolfpack. Snarling deep in his chest, Machiavelli kept a careful distance as he circled the herd, keeping them on edge, preparing them for a stampede as he waited for the signal from Tehya. The signal to run.
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Post by Starrlight on Oct 27, 2009 21:17:04 GMT -5
Finally. Pads churning, chest full of the free power that is the right of the hunter, he melted into the rain, the wind, and the forest that surrounded him. This was his element, his birthright, not given to him by his father, but by the gods themselves. Following Tehya, he hardly felt attached to the ground, but could have had his paws set in the clouds. Pads skimmed the ground, keeping up with his lither companions with little effort. This was not a race, but a search, and though they traveled fast, he was easily able to keep up.
Shaking the rainwater off of his pelt, the black-tipped fur spiked and causing his frame to appear even greater, he hardly knew how much he resemebled his father in that instant. That time, so many years ago, when Atrix had done just that thing, his impatience at the world spurring the moment. How could he have known? He had been but a pup, not even an hour old, the source of his father's consternation. So much time had passed since that instance, but some things never changed. The natural order, the evil which was necessary to survive, the darkness which would always exist no matter how the light strived to take over. The carnal act of the hunt, the perpetual terror of the hunted, it would always remain.
On a night like tonight, when all of hell seemed to be out in full force, the gale surrounding them like the sobs of a thousand lost souls, it was easy to believe in such deep things as evil and goodness, the soul and damnation. Such things dwelt in all things, yet were unseen. It was only on a night like this when the individual could truly reach out and touch these powerful forces, and truly feel the shape of them. Or so it appeared.
Such wild fantasies, however, hardly had any place in Dante's mind at the moment, for it was so full of the instinct of the hunting wolf that no room was left to idleness. Tehya had ordered a split, and so now he followed Taboo, content to let her lead despite her new arrival into the pack. There was no argument within him, for so long as the pack had the promise of a meal, all had to swallow pride for the good of the hunt.
Slinking low to the ground with the natural, silent grace of a trained assassin, he sat with his characteristic tacitness. The quiet was hardly necessary, for the weather made all sound obselete, yet even the slightest chance of a ruined hunt kept all in their stealthy movements. To mess this up would be to go another day without food, and who knew when the next herd would be found. Survival was on every wolf's mind here, and Dante was no exception.
Taboo was gone from sight, and finding himself alone, he remained alert for a signal. The quiet was unsettling, for though used to remaining quiet himself, he had grown quite accustomed to the chatter that went along with pack life. A loner by nature, it felt odd to be unsettled by lack of companionship, but it was a nice change. For the first time in a long time, he felt as though he belonged. Content with this thought, he pushed the unease caused by his loneliness aside, eyes remaining trained on the silhouetted deer before him. Their silver surfaces glinted with a barely contained eagerness... he could practically taste the sweet blood on his tongue already. OoC: Waiting... waiting.... lol, I kinda drifted off subject on this post, but it was fun!
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Post by Asphyxia on Nov 7, 2009 0:48:05 GMT -5
Bury all your secrets in my skin.
Come away with innocence and leave me with my sins. [/size] What words did one have to describe a beautiful storm that crested upon them? Her rain came down in gentle sheets, but judging by the way the clouds rolled and the shapes, the air turning from warm to cold in a flash, Tehya knew they would be under a storm by the end of their hunt. They would have to take the game to the shelter of the trees if they wished to eat without the wrath of the storm. But the rain would still reach them. The Queen absently wondered how long the storm would last and how hard it would rage before it would dissipate into the nether regions. Auds stood tall upon the females crown, eyes shifting to the skies as the four wolves parted ways. Dante and Taboo took off together, Tehya and Machiavelli moving in a general direction to head off the deer and drive them from the comfort, safety of the trees.
Mud splashed up around the females legs, turning her fur into a thick, wet mucky brown along her legs, stomach and chest. A bit of a smile tugged at her lips. Bliss. She felt secure, felt happy and without worry. For the moment. Tehya wasn’t as skilled a hunter as some she’d seen, but she knew how to hunt. Though, the female tended to do better with larger game when in a pack setting. On her own, she stuck to smaller game. Smaller deer and smaller animals that roamed the floors of the earth. It was easier on her without exhausting her beyond belief. Now, however, exhaustion lagged her. She pushed her body, exceeding its limits, knowing that afterward, she would want to rest heartily. However, the Queen would not allow her pack mates to see her tired body lag. She make herself appear to move easily, as if t’were any other day. Afterward, surely they would notice though. Unfortunately, she suspected Machiavelli had already acknowledged her lack of sleep when they’d first met up.
Tongue lolled from charred kissers, jaws parted slightly, a light pant shifting back and forth from the huntresses lungs. Her chest rose and fell quickly, though in rhythm, insuring her muscles got the oxygen they needed as well. Muscles flexed in shoulders and thighs, hind legs launching her from the earth, front paws landing on their mark before she was launched forward once more. If the female had been more tired and less sure-footed, she’d have lost her footing in the mud long ago and slipped into a face-plant. Unfortunately, she thought too soon and nearly tripped, one of her front paws landing badly, causing her to skid a moment before she continued running, sending a quick glance to the paw as she moved through the trees. Her paw felt tender. If she over-exceeded her bodies limits in such exhaustion with a tender foot, she’d truly be the fool Queen that Taboo had suggested were about, and would be broken by nightfall.
A low growl of frustration rumbled in her chest. She was good with healing. Tehya had always been excellent at healing. She’d search for some plants later, after they fed. Wondering briefly if Machiavelli had spotted her ruse, she let her acoustics shift towards him, slowing down as they neared the trees to espy their game. Her left paw lifted off the ground to take the pressure off it for the moment that they stopped moving, her body dropping so her belly scraped the earth, ears pressed forward attentively to the game. She listened silently to Machiavelli’s words, watching the deer in the herd. The tip of her bushy plume swished back and forth, though the rest remained motionless. A slight nod to Machiavelli told him she’d heard him. The Queen merely hoped that Dante and Taboo would spy upon the injured doe. She would feed the four of them very well. The stag, however, did not look like one that would be ready to give up his harem too easily.
His large antlers spoke of a battle-ready prince. His alertness and watchfulness over his herd speaking of a ready leader to chase his harem clear into the trees away from danger if need be. To lead them from the danger and to fend off any danger. Would he cause them any trouble or let them take the woman with hoof rot that would only slow down his herd in the end? Tehya’s lips curled as the doe slowly moved closer to her herd, attempting to keep close so as not to show an easy target for predators. Unfortunately for her, and fortunately for them, she already had. But as the doe moved closer to the stag, his crown was lifted as he eyed the area where she and Machiavelli hid in the forest. His long ears stood tall, twisting like radars as he scanned the land before him, his head slowly turning to gaze upon his herd. Tehya didn’t move an inch. She waited for his head to drop back to his meal.
It wasn’t long before his mouth was shifting against the ground, his cheeks moving slightly as he chewed on the grass. Tehya didn’t feel like dealing with an angry, defensive stag when she had a tender paw and simply wished for it to make for an easy hunt. Though Tehya couldn’t see Dante and Taboo, she could smell them. Would they be ready yet? Before Tehya could move, Machiavelli had. It tugged a smile upon her lips. Trust him to take the lead. Unfortunately, Tehya was right. The stag didn’t appear ready to stand down, much less to one wolf. Would he stand down to two and lead his herd away? Tehya slowly crept from the forest, deciding to play Machiavelli’s game of leaving the deer agitated, with the anticipation of an attack. However, Tehya did not circle them. She remained closer to the forest, intending to keep them from entering the trees. Nostrils flared, taking in the scent of the deer. If Taboo and Dante were not ready, they would miss out on the hunt. She was growing further impatient. Giving a tail lash and a quick nod to Machiavelli, Tehya lunged forward toward the deer, intending fully to drive them forward. It didn’t take much. Her jaws snapping at the heels of the deer drove them into a run.
Amethyst spheres remained upon the poor-footed doe that attempted to keep up with her herd. The stag, to Tehya’s dismay, slowed his pace, urging his herd forward as he attempted to wait for the injured creature. Tehya snarled, lunging toward the doe and the stag who ran the field, her jaws snapping for the stags heels in attempt to drive him back to the rest of his herd. If she moved for the others in his herd, would he ditch the injured female and tend to the rest? Nature would require he sacrificed the one doe slowing down his herd for the safety of the rest of the herd. Did the stag realize that though? As Tehya’s jaws snapped at the deers heels, she didn’t intend to break flesh or bring any real injury to him. He was needed to move on so that he might make more healthy, strong offspring. She simply wanted him away from their intended prey. But the stag swung his antlers her way, slightly catching the female doe next to him, giving Tehya time to jump out of the way of the swinging branches that could easily impale her. Glancing toward Machiavelli, she gave a nod to the doe, wondering momentarily where Dante and Taboo were. She and Machiavelli would drive the deer away from the forests, but they would have to remove the stag from his current protective post if they planned on a good meal before the storm hit.
If they were lucky, the doe would slip in the mud-churned earth and the stag would decide to continue to the rest of his herd. Auds flattened against Tehya’s skull. She’d be damned if she’d let a good meal such as this deer escape their very clutches.[/size] The air around me still feels like a cage.
And love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage again. [/size][/color]
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Post by Sighani on Nov 8, 2009 19:02:53 GMT -5
...Machiavelli Alighieri Is it better to be loved or feared? A bolt of black lightning broke free from the emerald squall line of the forest, and as soon as Machiavelli caught sight of an amethyst streak within that flash, his ready muscles snapped and launched him forward. Razored mitts a blur of motion, the Prince moved along seamlessly at the side of his dark queen, the two wolves cutting through the bulk of the herd in an elegant dance, an age-old waltz not between lovers, but hunters, hearts beating in tandem to the frenzied tempo, souls entwined across the abysmal gaps of space and time. A gruff, basal command escaped the lips of the stone-hued hessian, directed toward the pack hiding still amongst the trees, acting on Tehya's wandering concern and calling the others to the chase. If the disposed sovereign's patience was truly as endless as she seemed to claim, she would not question his momentary disregard for her monarchial authority. He had no dilusions; true order would be restored as soon as new blood joined the earth. But for now, he did not hesitate to take the lead.
Powerful limbs pistoning against the ground, clods of dirt and muck flying up from beneath travel-worn pads, Machiavelli felt himself warp from beast to spirit. In his breath, the wind of lost sands, blistering and unchained. In his eyes, the storm-tossed seas, deep and gray with untold secrets and forbidden knowledge. In his feet, the scars and calluses of all the hardened creatures who had ever felt the unleashed freedom of the hunt and the taste of blood well-earned, hearts crying out in unison go forth, go forth and fly. And indeed, the monochrome hessian felt as though he could fly. He kept right on the heels of the herd, snapping, dodging, allowing the green hand of the wild to guide him in this task, to lead him along that old familiar path traveled by so many before him and countless more to come, show him to that sun-soaked land where blood ran sweet and muscled ached with the knowledge of a job done right. It had been far too long since he had felt this, this almost crazed state that drifted somewhere between levels of consciousness, a cloudy amalgamation of fate and chance. Too long had he survived on hare carrion; and he had, in fact, survived, but he had not really lived. This was what it was to truly live. This was what it meant to be a wolf.
His jaws cracked down with the lightning, aimed for the tender haunch of the lagging doe. Pearl-dipped fangs grazed through the deer's rich hide, scraping through flesh as warm and alive as his own, but blood remained the ever-elusive scarlet mistress, dancing just out of his grasp, so close he could smell it and his heart stung with the desire. Blinking the crystalline rain from black-rimmed vision, he turned in time to see the stag slowing, angling lethal antlers toward the queen. Tehya, he observed, skirted the swing of those sword-tip points with what appeared to be instictive ease, but he couldn't help but notice the sudden limp in her gate, marring her otherwise flawless elegance. Had she fallen, hurt her paw somehow? Machiavelli forced the thoughts from his mind, knowing that now was not the time for careful contemplation. He would broach the subject later, after the pack acquired its meal. A rabid snarl flew from charred kissers as the Prince drew away from his target and advanced on the stag, hoping to drive it away, hoping Taboo and Dante had not lost their prey. Eyes locked for a fleeting moment in time, predator meeting prey, and it was in that instant that a mutual understanding seemed to pass from Machiavelli to the mighty stag. The infirm doe was not worth protecting; nature's law demanded that she die this day.
Machiavelli didn't bother waiting for a signal from Tehya before he broke into a mile-eating lope once again, catching up to the injured doe in a matter of several leaps and bounds, so close he could see the steam wraithing from the creature's rippling haunches and smell the sickly sweet scent of her hoofrot. And in spite of the doe's evident exhaustion, she had not yet given up her struggle for survival, for a well-placed kick of iron-forged hooves battered into Machiavelli's shoulder, sending him shying away with a sharp yelp of shock, the pain hardly registering through the flood of adrenaline rushing through his veins. He shook off the wound, knowing he could not afford to waste time wallowing in self-pity; there would be time enough for that later, after a good meal had worked the knots out of his empty stomach. Unlike the doe, he had not yet spent his energy. His endurance would last far longer. With a surge of power, the stone-shaded brujo's fangs finally found purchase in the doe's flank and she stumbled, blood ripping through her chestnut coat, mingling with the rain in the sodden filth underfoot. But she did not fall.
Machiavelli grinned triumphantly, curling away from a futile kick, lush plume scything high into the air, blood staining his smile-split maw. Breath heaving, wet and shallow and filled with all the power the storm had to offer the wolves of Torqueo Somnium, he wondered briefly if the doe would run again, or if the hunt would end here. He waited, patience soothing his trembling anticipation, nimble paws bringing him full circle around the broken and bleeding beast. This time, he was in no hurry. He had spilt first blood and that had been accomplishment enough for him. However, as queen, it was Tehya's divine right, he knew, so slash the lifevein and drink deeply of the prey's essence. This time, he would wait for the others. He knew, beyond all shadow of a doubt, that he could wait much longer than the doe.
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Taboo
New Member
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Post by Taboo on Nov 8, 2009 21:23:42 GMT -5
Sharp, cruel awareness filtered every fleeting movement, every twitch of muscle created from the gathered mass. There; just as Taboo spotted the prey beginning into a disturbed trot, her body gloved itself into a deadly monstrosity. Time hung, almost dead before rebirthing in an explosion into a series of lights. Sliding eyelids over her gaze, Taboo allowed herself to embody into her immaculate intuition. As she ran, it felt as though everything fast forwarded, and all the details fell, lost to desperation, fear, even hate. In this moment, she felt a rupturing hate for the victims. The taste of power overflowed, spilled such a sweet, addictive toxin. Despite the irrationality, the she-wolf truly believed that she was purposely deigned to be the predator, while these deer were so designated to fall to their jaws.
Her small body easily outmaneuvered the stampede as she zig-zagged with astonishing grace. She may not have the strength to match these terrible beasts, but her acumen and reflex provided her with weapons that herbivores would never quite understand. In the flailing rain, it was quite difficult to spy Mach and Tehya. Eyes matching the bold sillhouette of lightning scything the horizon finally fell upon the pair dancing towards death. Memories circulated through her brain while in virtual, peripheral vision she still recorded the happenings all around her. Even as she sprinted underneath bellies, swerved from slashing hooves her mind caught on a certain remembrance.
The leading general of the red section called upon a private meeting with new recruits. A certain dread trembled through untrained bodies, not yet demented and mutated through the horrors of war. The generals never called to meet with anyone, not with any rank excluding themselves. A whispering rumor that this generation was a disappointment, a mistake. And they were all going to be removed as a problem. However, as all the new warriors, including Taboo, merged into the dark cavernous room, it was obvious that such an idea was false. What sight greeted them instead were all different types of prey and enemies to the wolf. All of them were dissected in different ways, displaying their tender organs and entreaties to life. Dorian, the leading general, explained that all warriors were to learn all the different anatomies of both possible food or threats to the colony. A certain understand passed through Taboo, and certain gratitude cycled through her at the idea of learning such lethal information.
Once again, the hunting lupess reset herself to full awareness. She was within fifty feet of both victim and savage killers. Savage? Yes...because they killed with no regret or sympathy. Perhaps even with a shade of pleasure. She barely registered the fully primed stag darting off away from the three shadowy figures. An idea half-formed, but enticing, drew her into mechanical instinct. Before he fled too far a distance, Taboo angled herself into both his and the doe's blind spot. She dedicated all her effort into a powerful spring as she lunged for the stag. Paws landed promptly onto quivering hindquarters before pushing off towards the deer. Taboo did not target the deer in such a way for a fatal blow nor a weak, vainly hoped slash. Her mind drew up the anatomical features of this particular deer while claws and teeth aimed for a major artery traveling down the slender neck into the chest. The fatale slashed deeply into the doe's neck, clinging for several seconds onto the prey. However, her body was slipping quickly. Before she could fall into the dangerous zone of crushing hooves, she leapt off and quickly continued the chase. However, the adrenaline clogged her perception as she received an agonizing blow to her chest. The surprise attack caused her to fold and roll into the callous ground. Pushing away the pulsating pain through her chest, Taboo regained herself and once again started to run. It was apparent at this point, however, that she could do no further damage.
Her attack wasn't completely unsuccessful by any means. Sanguine streams dripped in heavy amounts from the deer as she still attempted to run from slavering jaws. It was evident that the hungry wolves would win, but who would finish the kill, and what totalling wounds would equal the conclusion?
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Post by Starrlight on Nov 14, 2009 14:54:42 GMT -5
It was time.
Paws thudding, hearts racing, everything was multiplied to him, for he was not one of the pack, he was the pack. He gave himself over, completely, wholly, and now was aware of every movement that the others made, every shift in weight and striding pawstep.
He had waited while Mach and Tehya made a wary approach, but when the deer scattered at Tehya's attack, all hell broke lose, and he intended to join in. It was only appropriate, after all, that the son of the Devil exercise his right once more. Chaos was somewhat of a release for him, and he relished in the fact that he did not have to hold his bloodlust back. A total release. He fell somewhat behind Taboo, the faster, lighter fem obviously outstripping him, but still he would reach the deer in time to do his part. Noting her reach for the buck, he saw her use it as if a springboard, propelling herself at the doe with an ingenuity which impressed the large bru noteably. It was a good use of her strengths, agility and cunning. He too would use his own personal traits to help with the kill: his size. As the doe slowed, weakened, he set his pace so that he was right next to her forelegs, sharp hooves flashing in his peripheral vision. As his orbs followed her movements, he caught an opening, and opening his powerful jaws, he pulled a risky move.
As he snapped down on her foreleg, he dug his paws into the ground, trying his best not to be carried along with the doe. There was no fear, only elation, as his jaws tore through her flesh. Maimed, the doe could not possibly have much motion left in her, though the fight for survival does tend to grant unnatural power to a creature. He was forced to jump out of the way of the back hooves, spinning to the side to avoid a kick. Now was his time to drop back. It might compromise the hunt, but it was his custom that the ruler of the pack would make the first kill on the lands. He had done his part, and now would wait. Perhaps Mach and Taboo had different beliefs, but it was a measure of respect that he controlled his instincts now, though the bloodlust made it nearly impossible. Licking his lips to clean the sweet, warm blood from their surface, he let his intelligent orbs flick back and forth, waiting for the outcome.
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Post by Asphyxia on Nov 15, 2009 1:07:36 GMT -5
Bury all your secrets in my skin.
Come away with innocence and leave me with my sins. [/size] Adrenaline raged through the she-wolfs veins, bright spheres narrowing upon their game. Talons pulled up the mud-churned earth, pads sinking into the mud as she landed. If she didn’t remain sure-footed, the she-wolf would slip in the mud and lose her chance to catch their prey. Acoustics tipped forward momentarily before flattening against her skull. Taboo and Dante had finally appeared, moving quickly to join in on the kill. It would be quick. But Tehya could see that they were waiting for her to take her hit on the doe as well. Thusfar, she’d only chased off the stag, who quickly rejoined his herd and shoved them off into the shelter of the trees, finally leaving behind his injured doe. There was no more he could do. And even as his herd disappeared into the trees, he paused, staring, hesitant to leave her behind. It only lasted a moment before he turned and disappeared along with his harem. Plume whipped behind her frame, fur dragged down by the rain that now left the female soaked.
The rain pelted the earth, the wolves, their prey. Thunder clapped loudly above them, lightning streaking across the skies. In the rainforest, all would be beautiful, but here, in the field, they could see the fury of the storm. A loud yelp caused Tehya’s muzzle to swing in the direction of Machiavelli. He’d been injured, but quickly shook it off. His adrenaline wouldn’t allow him to feel much of the pain during the kill, but afterward, Tehya knew he would be feeling it. For any of the wolves who ended up injured, Tehya intended to tend their wounds before her own. Glaring spheres shot back to the doe as Machiavelli quickly caught onto her flank, Taboo launching for the neck. But the female leapt off before she could fall victim to sharp, angry hooves. In the moment she caught her landing, the doe had attacked. Taboo was sent sprawling to the ground and Tehya could see both her and Machiavelli were hurt. Dante shot out of the rain and latched onto the doe’s foreleg. Finally, Tehya’s instinct took hold.
Powerful hind-legs launched her off the ground, but as the doe began to slip up in the mud, she overshot her quarry by a few feet. Lunging, once more, the wolf felt her body collide hard with the neck of the doe, forcing her to crash to the ground. With one wolf on her flank, one on her foreleg, injuries and a wolf knocking her down to boot, the doe had no choice but to fall, her screams slicing through the air. Tehya’s jaws moved quickly, snapping tight around the jugular of their prey, canines digging deep into the deer’s throat. Blood seeped onto Tehya’s muzzle, staining her jaws and seeping down her throat in warm, sweet liquid. Talons dug down into the deer’s neck, forcing her to stay down even as she struggled hard to get back up. The two males on the deer’s legs, Tehya on her throat - and guaranteed, Taboo would be on her in moments if she wasn’t already - the deer eventually gave in to her fate, her struggles ceasing as the life was drained from her twitching body. Finally, she fell limp, her eyes glazed over, the life from her gone. Tehya held on, even now, for a few more moments. She was no fool. Too many times, prey had given in to their fate, until the moment they had the chance to escape.
Giving a hard shake of the doe’s jugular, Tehya drew back hard, tearing out the deer’s throat. Dropping the chunk of jugular to the ground, Tehya’s panting came on, exhausted as the adrenaline left her body. Her chest lifted and fell with each deep breath she took, catching as much oxygen back into her lungs as she could, swallowing gulps of oxygen and rain water. The rain was fierce now, pelting harder against the wolves flesh. Blood continued to pour from the doe, slathering Tehya’s front pads and in blood. Her chest, muzzle, fore-legs and paws were stained with the preys liquid life. Acoustics tipped forward as she took the moment to look to the other three. Dante had gone uninjured, and while Tehya had a tender paw, was otherwise fine. It was Machiavelli and Taboo that she currently worried about. Taboo had taken a hard kick to the chest, Machiavelli had taken hooves to his shoulder. They would be bruised and in pain for a while, but rest would surely do its best to heal their wounds. The wounds were not fatal, but would prove to be painful.
Swinging her crimson-stained muzzle to the air, Tehya gazed at the skies. Everything was dark and Tehya knew that the storm was going to get worse. “We should get into the shelter of the trees, before the storms fury gets worse.” Her gaze shifted to the other wolves, then fell upon Taboo and Machiavelli. “You two will have to take care with those wounds. We don’t want them to get any worse. I may be able to find a plant to help ease the inflammation and pain a bit.” Her concern sketched across her face, quickly disguising her exhaustion as she worried over her two pack members. Slowly, she finally took her gaze from her pack mates after sending each a nod and gently grasped the deer by her neck. Though she was a well-rounded and thick doe, it didn’t prove too difficult to drag her toward the shelter of the trees in the mud. The mud proved to make it far more lubricant and easier for her to drag the large weighted prey.
Finally, as she dropped the doe about twenty yards into the shelter of trees and brush, where they only had a gentle drizzle of rain thanks to the large canopy of trees, she let her lips crack apart, rain water dropping from her chin as she spoke. “Eat what you will, I’ll be back to eat my fill in a moment.” Before any could respond, she loped off, taking care with the tender paw as she weaved through the trees, amethyst spheres searching for the plant she intended to find. The scent of salty rain water assaulted her nostrils, wet trees and moss giving it a much larger stench. However, the smell, to Tehya, was heavenly. Her water-slicked coat was heavy for her, though she didn’t find it anymore difficult than when it was dry. Eyes dropped to the ground, spotting signs of the plant she searched for. It thrived in the rainforest, and thus, proved easy for her to find. It had only taken her ten minutes.
Paws shifted forward, gently digging into the ground around the plants base, before she placed her jaws gently around the plants base and pulled upward, uprooting the plant. Gnawing on the base of the plant, she snapped the plant itself from the root, taking the hefty roots back to the others. The ginger was fairly strong in taste and she gently lowered the root to the ground, before biting off a considerable bit for herself and chewing it, before swallowing the plant. She couldn’t wait to wash the taste down with some meat. Picking it back up, she returned to where the others were, biting the roots in half and dropping one half at Machiavelli’s paws, then the other at Taboo’s. “It doesn’t taste good. It’s strong, but it will help.” Whether they sucked it up and ate it, or would attempt to tough it out, Tehya didn’t know, but she hoped they would eat it and aid the healing process. Severe injuries or not. Glancing at Dante, she let a smile quirk her lips. He wasn’t very communicative, so she liked to show him she was still paying attention too all, including him.
Finally, lowering herself close to the throat of the doe, Tehya’s canines began ripping at the flesh, peeling it from the muscle and meat that she intended to feed upon. Though the deer didn’t freely bleed as she had before, Tehya still got plenty of taste. She was content to rest low next to the prey and feed upon the muscle and meat, her canines tearing it from the doe’s throat, tongue working the meat inside her mouth, before she swallowed. Each swallow that landed in her stomach eased the tight clenching that had been caused by her previous hunger. Lips curled back instinctively to show her teeth as she ate, though she knew she would never turn on any of her pack. Pads shifted her weight backward as she tugged on a large chunk of meat in attempt to pull it from the spine. Tehya’s favorite parts were the thick marrow bones and she intended to have some after they were all done with the meat. Her stomach satisfied, Tehya moved away from the others, stepping only about ten feet from them before she curled up against the base of a tree and began to preen herself.
Her tongue gently moved over her tender paw, the ginger root taking a bit to kick in. As she cleaned the blood from her legs and pads, she continued to return to her paw again every few licks. Acoustics tipped forward as she listened for the other three, keeping herself alert. Plume curled against the she-wolfs side, her tongue sliding across her lips to lick the blood from her lips. Lifting her spheres back to the other three, Tehya let a contended smile tip her lips as she rested her tired body. Even though she didn’t yet sleep, her intentions to sleep tonight were high. She did, however, intend to see her pack members happy and well-fed before she would do so. Besides, she had yet to show any of them the dens she had discovered during her earlier travels and would show them the dens to rest their tired bodies soon.[/size] The air around me still feels like a cage.
And love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage again. [/size][/color]
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Post by Sighani on Nov 16, 2009 5:01:11 GMT -5
Dhani... This is how you shall contemplate our conditioned existence in this fleeting world: a star at dawn, a bubble in a stream, a flash of lightning in a summer cloud, a flickering flame, an illusion, a phantom, and a dream. And thus is all conditioned existence to be seen.
The words were a ribboning mantra drifting in and out, in and out, of the fog in his mind. A whispering tide against the mist-shrouded shores of the ocean of the Cosmos, stars drifting through the churning void, far-off worlds crying out their siren songs, the steady hum of the universe rippling waves of tranquility. The young mortal, hardly an eyeblink in the omniscient face of infinity, was truly at peace within and without himself. In a trance, the deepest state of meditation, wherein the material world melted away and everything he saw was light, glorious light, a pulsing gold like the heart of a god, filling eternity. The words, the oldest mantra he knew, so ancient he often felt as though it transcended his life and all others, suddenly cut through the fog like towering pillars of starfire, casting out brilliant tendrils that embraced his metaphysical self and exploded through him, so revealing he was stripped down to his soul, and yet so secret that none but the mortal and the spirits of time could ever know. He felt the energy of all time and space in his every breath, the love of all hearts burning at the center of his every cell, the wisdom of eternity floating just at the hazy fringes of his consciousness. Enlightenment. He could feel it growing inside him, burning with the light of a hundred thousand suns, but as untouchable as a wisp of smoke upon the winter air.
Spheres glittered with the mystique of black oblivion as the young monk descended the winding path back into the world of flesh and bone. The crimson flames of his pelt leapt to life in a stirring gust of stormwind, flaring along the ridge of his spine, his pelt a flurry of dancing fire beneath the charred skyscape. In these lush, green lands, he seemed a wildfire, slipping silently between trees strung with rich, mossy hangings and vines that seemed to spill down from the very mouths of the clouds. A vibrant gem nestled between looming mountain ranges, a land between the mists of worlds, a land in which the monk had found himself after what seemed only a heartbeat of vagabond soulsearching. This was the path that had been laid before him. He'd seen this green-splashed jungleland painted across the all-seeing fabric of dreamscapes, sent to his mind's third eye, perhaps, by the almighty and the all-knowing. He felt as though he'd been here before, maybe in a past life; he knew this place. It felt like home. He'd lived his entire life in a white-washed world of snow and ice and wind, a world of sterile beauty and unconquerable power, but those mountains, their peaks piercing through the floor of heaven itself, were not his home. They were all he'd ever known, and yet he could perceive them only as a sanctuary, a temporary waypoint as he drifted, ever a snowflake upon a wayward breeze, through this life toward the next. Breathing in green life, the young venerable wolf knew that if ever his wandering paws ceased in their search to find a more permanent residence, he would be content merely to take root here amongst the trees that stretched eternally into emerald oblivion.
He drank deep of the life of the forest, taking it into him, glowing green motes that floated in between the crystalline raindrops like sparks of old magic, verdigris spores flowing through his blood, claiming him, drifting across the smothering sheen of his orbs and sparking fresh, young life within the black fathoms. This skin was new and tender, but those obsidian eyes gleamed with the ancient knowledge of countless generations. His fathers had seen to that themselves. Raised within the sheltering monestaries of high stone monoliths, cut off from the carnal world by a thick wall of ice and fog, Dhani had walked the first three years of this incarnation in the pawprints of his fathers, but now it was time for him to strike out on his own, follow the roads that stretched out before him, find his own way, to seek for his own what his fathers themselves saught. One day he hoped to return to the men who had taught him to love and that love could be so pure and deep, to tell them of the nature of the world the monks had left behind many long years ago, to tell them what he had found, but for now his way had led him here. He would not leave until he knew why.
And Dhani's patience, so it seemed, was as complex and unfathomable as the Cosmos in which he struggled to find his place.
The wandering monk's lithe figure rippled with motions of fluidity as he rose from a warm hollow in the earth's bossom, blinking away the filmy dredges of meditation clouding his eyes. The fog lingered ever at the corners of his vision, always waiting to wash over him, steal him away from this realm, but he was learning to control it. The last time he had lost himself in that fog, the ground had still been blanketed in a layer of snow. It had been nearly as long since he had last collapsed in a fit. Only through spiritual meditation would he ever overcome the failings of his physical body. He knew that if ever he allowed his carnal instincts to lead him astray, he would fall back into the hell from which he had only just escaped. A red wolf caught in a terrible in-between, scorned by varg, coyote, and hound alike, he had no place in this world. And that was why he knew it was his task to make one. The monk's fur spun red flames against the darkness of the storm, his plume brushing its smoldering embers against the wet greenery of the forest floor, his breath curling from his nostrils like spirit smoke, each step he took leaving a phantom of himself behind.
The geography slid slowly by--for any soul on its way to enlightenment knew that anything done in haste is not worth doing at all-- emeralds and slates and deep, rich umbers all thrumming with earthen life, foreign and familiar, teasing his senses, driving back the fog of his mind, if only for a short while. A green finger traced a changing portrait through his memory, Dhani storing the lay of the territory in the deepest wells of his recollection, savoring its beauty and revelling in its natural power. It made him feel powerful, big, bigger than himself, bigger than he had ever felt. And Dhani knew how important it was in life not necessarily to be strong, but to feel strong.
Live free, child of the mist, Father Kama had said the day they stood in the shadow of the mountain, placing a delicate kiss upon the fire-woven crown of his brow, blessing the second sight with lips so seldom moved. And with respect to knowledge we are all children of the mist. In seeking you will find that the obstacle is the path, and the path the obstacle. By daily dying have you come to be. Now go forth and live. But what was it to truly live? When did a wolf transcend mere survival and lapse into that elusive dream called life? Thus far his meditation had revealed little on this particular dilemma--only that seeking the truth would lead him astray and that, in some form or another, the answer would this time find him.
Writhing flora eventually gave way to weaker, sparser growth, a trail forged by cloven hoof and rough claw, and Dhani allowed leatherned nares to lead him along the winding road, ginger mitts delicately skirting pits of muck and snaking runners shooting out from the menacing walls of blackberry thorns and stinging nettle to either side. The scent of wolven musk was overpowering, woven in with the metallic tang of newly-spilled blood. The thunder grumbled disdainfully overhead, a starving beast, and Dhani's mind, in spite of his training, began to race. Black eyes flicked carefully over the fresh pawprints etched deep into the mud, the tufts of dark fur snagged like cloudy wisps on the thorns, the relative stillness of the surroundings caused only by the presence of predators. He had never before met a wolf outside the sanctuary. His ways were not their ways. And now he realized Father Kama's words to be absolutely true. As he stood alone on the path, he found himself gazing into the impossible reaches of his biggest obstacle yet. He knew what the fates had laid out before him, he knew what he was supposed to do. But this time it was not enough just to know--he would be forced to act. To approach these wolves. This pack. The fog crept slowly into his vision, clouding his mind, dulling sensation. It was safe inside the fog where nothing could reach him. But it was not living. Shaking his head, hoping to somehow clear that enveloping fog from inside his skull, he jarred his body once more into motion, the smell of blood wrapping its scarlet noose about his neck and leading him along like a common cur.
Finely-honed instincts led him through a tangle of ferns to a small copse of temperate trees, eyes widening at what he found. A congregation of four wolves, exhausted and blood-stained, huddled around the tattered remains of some unfortunate beast. Swallowing his second thoughts like a foul poison, Dhani took several hesitant steps forward, way of their food but also seeking to be assertive in the face of beings who would doubtless deem him weak otherwise. His lush, cinammon plume swished behind him, respectably low even as his pointed ears strained forward, desperately grasping for any sound of warning, threat, hostility. "Greetings," he said softly, and his voice felt like damnation. It was the first word he'd spoken in over a year, and his voice cracked from disuse, his vow of silence shattered by two simple syllables barely audible over the hiss of the cool summer rain. He cleared his throat before continuing, his words a harsh desert wind against the rough sand scraping down his throat, jagged flint clearly discernable in lyrics once so clean and pure, a rasp of stone against stone. "Forgive the intrusion," he croaked, lowering his muzzle slightly in respect, but he could not bow. To prostrate himself so before the unenlightened was far outside the realms of his discipline and would be looked upon by those of his community as shameful and unclean. The scent of fresh meat enticed a low grumble from his stomach, but he was long accustomed to such hunger pangs. "My name is Dhani. I come to these lands from what now seems another world, the high mountains in a vast kingdom you may know as Cthonia. I am a monk of the holiest order." A kind smile curled across charred rims, his tail swishing so that the pungent scents of safron, poppy, and sage wafted from his coat, though he doubted any wolf present would recognize the distinct musk of the monastery. His muzzle inclined slightly at that, black eyes passing over the visage of each wolf in turn, the young monk carrying himself with such stature as would not be expected in a man of his small size. He stood with discipline and honor, but pride did not warp the serene expression on his face. Pride had been the first earthly state he had discarded. The smile faltered on his face as he considered his next words, shame already settling its cold claws about his heart. He did not wish to bring such dismal news into a kingdom so newly established, but it was his duty, his divine command.
"I seek the counsel of the sovereign Tehya. I'm afraid I carry grave news, but my elders request your understanding. Your presence in these lands has set into motion a series of events none ever thought possible. At least, not in this lifetime. It is in such circumstances that I begin to realize why our paths are so often hidden from sight; when our chosen paths lay in plain view, they are often the paths we least want to tread. Will you hear me speak?" Peace has no boundaries; Serenity knows no religion; When the eyes close, The mind shall see
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Post by Sighani on Nov 18, 2009 3:54:24 GMT -5
...Machiavelli Alighieri Is it better to be loved or feared? With the sky churning tombstone gray and charcoal, the wolves of future generations could not regale their packmates with stories of how the heavens had smiled down upon Torqueo Somnium's first kill. However, those bards not-yet-born could sing of how the heavens shattered. Ill omen or great fortune, Machiavelli could not say; Torqueo Somnium was not like other lands; indeed, it seemed another world at times, strange and alien and thriving with emeralds and slates that were not to be seen anywhere beyond the realm of lost souls. As the doe fell to the ground with a muffled slap of muck and hard, packed flesh, the sickly sweet stain of blood lacing delicate patterns along his sodden muzzle, beading like shining garnets set upon the tips of his fangs and whiskers, a triumphant grin split the monochrome hessian's usually stoic features. New blood joined the ancient skin of the earth, the wolves setting upon the terra's ample bossom a beastly sacrifice of sinew and bone. Silver eyes flitted between the faces of his comrades, then to the trees standing setinal all around. This grove was sacred land. First blood, first kill, and now first feast.
Machiavelli began to approach the fresh carcass, but as he stepped a low, dull pressure flared up in his shoulder, sending black tendrils of pain creeping down his foreleg and into his joints, muscles stiffening and contracting, protesting violently against the motion. He winced, shifting his weight. In the thrill of the chase, he'd all but forgotten his injury, but now that the adrenaline was draining from his blood, memory came back full force, and alongside that recollection came an unpleasant ache. He'd be sore for several days, he knew, the muscle too tender for much strenuous activity, and he suddenly found himself thanking all the powers that be that his queen had not assigned to him a rank that required physical prowess. The only task he had to be capable of doing was keeping up with Tehya. Glancing to the dark queen, her maw drenched in gore, eyes flashing with bloodlust, her breath ghosting out in the air like wreaths of sulfur smoke, she seemed a demon escaped from the lowest bowels of hell, but Machiavelli had sense enough to know that the infernal paws of that demon queen were not as swift as they were weary. It took great effort, he knew, to drag a condemned body up from the pits of damnation. Tehya was injured, and her lack of sleep as of late made her far more susceptible to the pain than either of her wounded subjects, but Machiavelli had no doubts that a full stomach alongside pure physical exhaustion would draw the queen deep down into dreamless slumbers this night.
"See to it that you mind that paw, my lady," Machiavelli called as the obsidian fatale slipped away through the trees. "Roots and herbs do not heal half as well as rest and relaxation. That injury will be long in healing if you continue to strain it so." He had no way of knowing if she heard him or not, but it mattered naught; it would not be the last time the queen would hear him speak on such matters. She did not put faith in idle paws, Machiavelli knew, and would likely resist his advice to calm her incessant activity and wanderlust, but he would insist. Had she not spoken of trials, testing his boundaries, seeking out his moral failings? This, if nothing else, would test her patience. As soon as she healed again, Machiavelli would know the extent of her limits.
"Congratulations, my friends, may you enjoy your meal" the Prince said with a soft smile, looking fondly upon Taboo and Dante in turn. His tail swished gently as he made his way to the shelter wherein Tehya had dragged their meal, his spirits high, higher, perhaps, than they had been in many long months. This was an accomplishment worth celebrating. Not only had their efforts secured a fine meal, but it seemed that a new face had joined their ranks as well. Machiavelli stared at her for a long moment, storm gray clashing against moonlit yellow, his expression carefully guarded. Thus far, Taboo had proven to be quite the enigma, but he had no doubts that, in time, he could come to regard the fatale as a close ally. Old delusions of grandiosity finally overcoming his desire to decipher the mysteries he saw roiling in the sulpherous depths of the foreign femme's orbs, Machiavelli shook his troubles away as raindrops from his sodden pelt, and sank his slavering jaws deep into a meal hard-earned.
Spectral steam burst from the belly of the felled beast as pearly daggers sliced easily through tender flesh, likened to the soul escaping a dead husk. Sanguine ropes of entrails spilled out at his feet in a gush of hot blood and his eyelids fluttered delicately closed, saliva hanging from his maw in thick, pink ribbons as he tore through the meat, slightly bitter from the deer's diet of nettles but nonetheless smooth and rich, warm silk against his tongue, the hide pungent and soft as down, scarlet essence sluicing liberally from each mouthful. He was reduced to a base creature, a predator driven entirely by survival instinct, and just when the vermillion flames of hunger roared to life within, he doused them swiftly and efficiently, his need to extinguish the burn driving him inside the hollowed-out cavity of the beast, jaws cracking through ribs that splintered like dry tinder around the vital organs he so deperately saught. It was not long before the Prince emerged from the kill, crimson-washed and panting from the exertion, his belly considerably swollen and his hunger pangs completely eradicated. He hadn't feasted so well in many cycles of the moon, nor in the presence of such honorable varg.
Jaws cracking as his muzzle split into a wide yawn, Machiavelli limped carefully toward Tehya, taking up the ginger root she'd retrieved for him as he went. "Thank you, my lady," he muttered, grimacing, as he swallowed the root. He'd endured worse, to be sure, having spent many long nights in the swamps of voodoo hounds who drafted so-called elixers by the light of the witching moon, but ginger was out of season and the taste was harsh and bitter, particularly after a meal of deer meat. "I would suggest we bury the remains to safeguard against vermin, but I don't think I could bring myself to move just yet." Not only did he feel hampered by the newly acquired weight in his stomach, but the cold was beginning to creep into his bones, latching hooked claws around the ache in his shoulder and twisting viciously. His bruise bled deep, but once again, he'd endured worse. He did not tarry long on smalltalk before the conversation took on a much more dire edge. "If memory serves, my queen, did you not mention the presence of caves within Torqueo Somnium? Such a commodity would seem a blessing amidst this storm. Surely you know the worst of this deluge has yet to reveal its ugly maw. We must act quickly, whatever we do. If we do not set out for the caves, we need to get to higher ground. Who knows how long this rain will persist? We'd be fools to get caught in a flood."
But fate, it seemed, had an infuriatingly familiar way of marring even the best-laid plans, for as soon as the words escaped charred lips, whereupon the taste of blood was still bittersweet and heavy, a new scent assaulted his senses, this one not entirely foreign. Wolven, he recognized that much instantly, but intertwined amidst that musk was a wafting, dizzying perfume of safron and opium. Machiavelli's brow lowered in a set frown, the brujo racking his brain for the fleeting memory, grasping at dreamsmoke, so near and yet so insubstantial. He'd been among varg of such a smell before, but where? And then suddenly, as the newcomer emerged from the brush, it hit him. It couldn't have hit him harder if it had been delivered direct to his head by the hooves of hell's infernal stallion. A monk. Machiavelli's instinctual reaction to a stranger was a low growl and a bristling of the hackles, but the revelation immediately slaked all such greetings. Instead, he found himself on his feet before the small fire-spun male had even bowed his customary greeting, keen auds straining forward, eyes wide, almost in disbelief. In his days as a rogue, when his mitts had been roughly calloused by the stones of far-and-away lands few, if any, had tread before the Prince himself, he had saught refuge from a blizzard within the shelter of a monastery. It had been the most enlightening and stupifying moment of his life all at once, sitting in the presence of a great lama and discussing the nature of the world and the hearts of men. He'd come to know so much in just that single night by realizing how remarkably little he knew, and in realizing his own blindness, he had at last learned to see. It had been within that monastery that he had resolved to turn from his ways of old and strike out on a new path. Machiavelli had his doubts that this approaching monk belonged to the same order, but that scent was utterly unmistakable.
"Venerable sir," Machiavelli said, somewhat breathless, unable to help the grin that wormed its way across his lips as he returned the bow, though he lingered lower and longer than the monk himself. He had been exposed to their customs, and though he knew little of their ways, he had never forgotten how to pay his respects and address one of higher spiritual stature than himself. Machiavelli gestured vaguely toward Tehya, hoping she could take enough of a hint and, at the very least, nod her head in greeting, seeing that the monk showed the greatest interest in her. Did he already recognize her as queen? His head whirled as he listened to the monk speak, the frown returning to his face as the conversation became hard-edged and grave. What black plague had followed this monk into a place so calm and green? "We would be fools to turn you away," Machiavelli responded to Dhani's inquiry, searching the younger brujo's face--and indeed, he was quite young--for any indication as to the black-winged news he kept snared within, but he found nothing. "My queen," Machiavelli hissed hotly under his breath, "shall I offer our guest a bite to eat? We can retire to the caves and hear what he has to say. For the sake of all Torqueo Somnium, I believe it imperitive that we listen."
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Taboo
New Member
Posts: 46
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Post by Taboo on Nov 18, 2009 16:06:23 GMT -5
She felt a burning sensation. Taboo leaned over slightly, testing her weight and tightening the muscles in her chest. As soon as the webbed fibers tautened, all her breath rushed out of her stomach and left her dizzy. Determined to analyze the extent of the damage, she tried again and realized she was dangerously close to fracturing a rib. Eyes were veiled by lids as Taboo sighed with an almost palpable frustration. Indulging in independance, anything that left her vulnerable left a rancid taste to fester in her throat. Though the still bleeding corpse lay at her mitts, a stifling feeling of defeat loomed over her. The bend of her tail twitched slightly to signify the anxiety beginning to wind up in her. Her glowing eyes often skipped from one pack member to the next, a subtle shade of rouge painting her cheeks. Perhaps she may have delivered a fine blow, but her foolish mistake of running so closely paralleled to the deer filled her with shame. And so, even when everyone scampered off in joyful bliss to fill their stomach, she lagged behind. A strong sense of defensiveness overcame her as her chasms darkened to a bitter rage. One of her greatest flaws was her overzealous protection of her pride. As she sauntered slowly with her body bowed in both low humility and protective stance, many times her body shook and winced involuntarily.
As the smell of death assaulted her, a new sensation seized her at once. A turbine darkness so fiercly hidden from the world started feasting on her mind, trying so desperately to manipulate the host it happily leeched off of. As the psychiological battle raged in her head, Taboo's entire composition transformed. Form straightened to full height, completely disreguarding her throbbing wound. Malice and cruelty dazzled across those sharply angled features. Her beauty fell away to give into monstrosity. She leapt forward with sudden violence, her jowls and claws moving at high speeds to tears in the animal. She ate anything and everything, cracking bones to eat the splinters or just feast upon the intestines. There was only one thing that stopped her from being overpowered. Taboo glanced up to noticed Machiavelli studying her. As his eyes probed into hers, the disguised demon slid back into the shadows. Except now her chest gave her agonising misery.
Her attention quickly scattered from the large brouja, trying to find something else to pretend interest in. Fortunately, the sleek, ebony robed figure of the Queen approached her with a root. It took several moments before the scene truly interpreted in her head. As Tehya exited to tend to her paw, she breathed a quiet thank you before chewing the plant. Bitter streams of a runny liquid coursed over her tongue. She swallowed as quickly as possible before vomiting all back up. It had been awhile since she'd eaten any type of herbs for healing. Hoping relief would come swiftly, she retired to her haunches. Although knowing that she'd most likely have to jump back on her feet soon to shelter in for the night, Taboo honestly couldn't take the pain any longer. A delicious release spread through her body as soon as her paws no longer felt the pressure of her weight. She sighed, trying to soak as much energy as possible before needing to journey again. Her mind spun. It was overactive and attempted to observe and analyze all the wolves around her. Of course, such a feat proved impossible considering the short amount of time she spent, but her subconscious was specifically trained for survival defense mechanisms. The one wolf that gave her any sort of concern or worry was Dante. Faceted receptors traveled over to him, her auds pricked straight. He never spoke. Obviously he preferred it that way, but the difficulty of puzzling him together increased immensely. Stymied by the failure to understand, her legs wrapped close to her body. Heat rose and nourished the nearly frost bitten parts of her body. While the pain died down, Taboo realized the entire half of her body was coated in blood and fluids. Wanting to distract herself from dismal and horrific images, the huntress pulled back on her feet [not without flinching] and slowly traipsed over to Tehya. Taboo didn't wish to speak with her, merely just bask in her presence. A long while passed since she spent time with another female that she didn't despise.
However, the generous moment Taboo intended to soothe with shattered instantly at intrusive sounds. It may be her duty to be welcoming and non-judgmental to any newcomers, the bad timing spun her off into an agitated and spiteful attitude. Optics narrowed to dagger points as her ears tipped forward to catch sounds, like a basin scooping water. The sight of red and orange surprised her enough that stone tiered pelt raised into sharp spikes. Her banner snapped along the ground like a whip as her head lowered. Once again, Mach disrupted her from raging thoughts as she stared at him in confusion and curiosity. The grin fighting over his face made her wonder if he knew him. Taboo growled to herself before shifting her focus back onto the red wolf. Everything about him disturbed and angered her. From the too sweet smell to the surreal, vacant look on his visage.
She relaxed somewhat when he only mentioned bearing news. Being a brief messenger, she hinged hope on the face he would leave in several hours at most. His whole speech about dangerous circumstances didn't faze her. The planet that so many boasted as lovely and near perfection harbored wretching and terrible problems. As long as someone set themselves in a stable and determined mind set, no problem would be established. Taboo glared over at the monk, before turning to Tehya as her brows lifted in doubt at the situation.
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