[m] - Sing your graces; the Lord he hears all
Boreas conflict final battle. Thread #6
WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

Emmett de le Poer
Pray for Death, I am not a merciful man
Secui | xxAM |
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How easy it was to get himself embroiled in this conflict. Six times in a single moon he had protected Salsola from invasions by these zealous fools. Their religion was so strong that it blinded them to the fact that they were vastly outnumbered, to commit an attack on two packs that were allies and so close to each other in the name of their god. He had heard tales that they were supposed to be tactical warriors, these reports must be unfounded. His eyes narrowed as he waited, listening for the signal to start the attack.

They had been gathered together, Inferni and Salsola and divided into groups to better surround and destroy their opponents. Emmett had been tasked to lead this small band. He had learned their names, Tacet and Sliver and introduced himself and that was it. He wasn't here to make small talk with strangers, he was here to fight and to win. They had been give the task of coming from the rear and taking them by surprise. They would surround the Boreas scum and eradicate them.

Early that morning he had approached Till and Coa for them to help him don the Armour that he had hastily made. It was nothing more than tanned leather cut into the shapes that would fit over his secui body. It was very throw together but would suffice to protect his back neck and legs. He had been anticipating a maximum amount of movement when designing this. He rolled his massive shoulders, feeling the leather give and then flow back into place.

In his secui form he was swift and strong and a talented fighter, together they had circled wide around the Boreas camp mercifully without being noticed. The place on the map had been shown to him by the higher ups and he had made sure to memorize it. The fresh skin of the wound on his face was taut and itched fiercely. The bastard who had sent an axe to his face had paid for it in flesh and blood but Emmett couldn't be sure of his death. His ear also burned with fire, the strip torn from it had never been found.

He was eager for the signal to come and to race into battle again, his paw kneaded the earth at his feet, long claws gouging out chunks of frozen earth. He wanted this all to be over so he could go back to his peaceful quiet life in the pack.

A great cry went up and the Associate pulled up his head listening before charging forwards, leaving the others to either follow him or flee like cowards. He made no noise, no snarl or war cry, their job was to take them by surprise from the back and kill as many as possible with a stealthy approach.

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His father had told him that Inferni was organized and not one to back down from a fight. Both these factors meant that when a challenge arrived, the clan would mobilize and fight off their enemies. Sliver was now realizing that Inferni's tenuous history with peace meant that they were well-prepared and quick to assemble their members. Further, it seemed as though since they had such good relations with the neighbouring pack, they could count on their assistance to drive off the offending wolves.

Sliver had been paired up with one such wolf. Luckily, since the neighbouring wolf pack was so closely allied with Inferni, Sliver could only assume they understood the relative importance of coyotes. He didn't need to explain himself or why their species were such paragons of canine perfection to Emmett. Sliver was also accompanied by another coyote, but this one was a strange-looking beast named Tacet. The three spoke briefly before Emmett led the charge. Both Sliver and Emmett were in their secui forms, so they moved quickly toward the Boreas camp.

Sliver heard a cry or a howl sound and saw Emmett respond immediately. Together, he followed the charge to find the Boreas wolves and show them the error of their ways.

Hey guys. You are free to kill Rudy, though be warned because he is a skilled fighter. Maybe when he dies, someone could even find his poetry?? :O



Some of the Boreas wolves stationed at the entrance to the camp took notice of a group of forces amongst the brush. Word spread quickly, and little time passed by the time they had their weapons and armor.

There was a rush to the feeling, and the movements of the Boreas wolves. A hurry to the call of their beloved religious battle, which they waged against those unlike them. For a few days Rudy had lost his way, discretely denouncing God and what he stood for. But something brought him back, like the steadfast hands of the father he never knew had steered him straight. However, his hands had never touched the wheel. The path that he must follow had been set, and the pieces had been chosen. He was a glorious Bishop, an incarnate of the eternal Fire. His sword, the smiting end of God's justifiable wrath. It was with this in mind, that he decided he would destroy the sacrilegious poem he had penned. He would burn it, along with the corpses of the enemies they would soon face. And all would smolder and fall through the earth to be forsaken. Ash in the putrid world below.

Rudy would be saved.

There was a hot buzz in the cold, northern air which twisted Rudy’s gut. This twisting was mistaken for butterflies and pre-battle anticipation, when it was in fact something much worse to come.

Nearby, he heard the winnies of horses, and the anxious trots they made in the dirt. Within his own head, his eyes peered out—through the dented Trojan-style helmet which embodied him. The worked metal gleaming dully in the sharp, wintry light which bled through the slow-rolling clouds. His hand-painted armor; fire-adorned and colourful to the point of eye strain. Only by his hand, had virtual flames come to life so brilliantly and realistically. As if the licking red-orange tongues could consume him, and set him apart. He was a blazing spatter of colour, yet his golden eyes came from the aphotic pit his body held within. Silently placing his immense, shadowy anger into full view. Like a plate of food everyone knew was there, but no one dared eat from. Just as well from the slit of his mouth, condensed air came streaming out in iterations; like a dragon failing to open flame.

His father was dead because he wasn't strong enough to save him. Rudy left the girls in his life to focus on God, and it all made sense now. Natalia was ignorant to the truth every being must come to realize, and his mother never had a chance. Suddenly, and surprisingly, everything was becoming clear. Yet his anger raged on, and it didn't appear to flicker either. It would burn until the end when its fuel ran dry. This fuel source as unseen and intangible as true sorrow.

Rudy was one of the wolves who came out of the camp to attack the supposed group of heathens who were hanging around.

With his sword held high, and his poetry jammed away into the satchel on his back, he charged out from the camp. A vicious snarl shooting from his lungs, ringing out and joining the sounds of his companions. As they took the unforeseen bait. So much unforeseen consequence for a road so seemingly clear. Everything seemed so sure.

Sara Styg
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me

It had started out a day like any other, Sara had woken later than usual, and then set upon her usual tasks with dull fervor. Living in this God forsaken land was beginning to drain her energy, and she saw no hope for a swift return to Zion. The coyotes here had been stronger than they had anticipated, and attacking two packs head on was a nearly impossible task. Already many of their own had died, and she could tell in the look on her comrades faces that many were feeling the same as she. But God had set them upon this task, had He not? They could not give up, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

It was late morning when the sudden flutter and cries of crows shook Sara out of her stupor; she turned to see the birds alighting, in the direction of the main camp. This had happened on more than one occasion without interest, but this time, something was different. She felt the fur on the back of her neck stand up, and her skin prickled with nerves. Being a ways away from the main camp was both a blessing and a curse; what was happening over there? Should she go to investigate? She was supposed it was better than sitting here, waiting to hear word.

She gathered her dark skirt up and tied it off near her waist so she could move about more freely; she grabbed only the sharpened dagger she had been given for self-defense, and also her small travel med-kit. She then went to saddle up her mare, much more urgency in her movements now.

(+0) Sara is at least a mile away from the main camp; Sliver should be able to find her on horseback once she heads that way.

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