[P] [M] we are all secretly attracted to violence
#1

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.

Specifically, this thread is marked mature because of: graphic violence.
Between Arisaig Shoal and the Black River Reserve

He had found the prints and followed them without thought of the consequence.

O'Riley did not often think too deeply about what he did – not in moments like this, when he lived beyond Salsola and answered to no Law but his own. Out here he lied about who he was and what he did. Sometimes he didn't bother to explain much at all.

It had been a long time since he went to the mine, but when he finally made his way back he found that this secret, sacred place was no more.

Frustrated by this loss and fueled by a sense of injustice at whatever fickle gods saw fit to ruin the things he enjoyed, O'Riley had set forth looking for easy prey. He would have chased down a goat if he bothered to climb back up the mountain, but he wanted something bigger – something that would endure.

The prints were big. Another wolf had made them.

Overhead, the sky was beginning to grow overcast. With the breeze, the day was not terribly warm. The big stones were still hot from the afternoon sun, but as O'Riley descended into deeper tree-cover the air grew cooler.
Ordinary morality is only for ordinary people.
#2
[html][/html]OOC:
WC: 365


Wrath narrowed his eyes against a gusting wind that flattened his long, black coat against his head, shoulders and back. The shift in air pressure dragged the grey curtain of cloud overhead; not only extinguishing some heat from the day but also some light from his mood.

To his left, the Halycon mountains offered him a reality check. Their mass and their invincible nature —one that could only be worn down over the indefatigable assault of hundreds of thousands of years— felt almost out of focus compared to himself. The mountains were young, relatively. They would survive many more millennia; whereas he was on the downward slope away from the summit of his prime. The comparison weighed on his mind, along with his most recent canine interactions, and the overall conclusion was, overall, depressing. He had lost his sense of purpose since abandoning his plans for Salsola, and he was now choosing his way randomly.

He walked on in Secui form, large paws stamping his heavy presence into the muddy ground as he neared the darkening atmosphere beneath a canopy of hardy, evergreen trees. The wind whispered through leaves and branches, and the birds replied with their gentle calls. A hare kicked itself into a sprint before him, scattering the dry foliage which cracked beneath each of the giant wolf's steps. Though he was hungry, he did not give chase. Wrath was not in a running mood. He was tired. He needed to take on something big and slow. He had ridiculous amounts of power even for a Luperci but, without sustenance, his stamina was waning.

Wrath's natural power, both inherited through DNA and engrained through years of hardship, helped conceal his somewhat weakened state; he carried an agile, almost feline gait, and an impressive posture. And of course, he looked no less despicable, with that half-gone countenance, and a smattering of scrapes, scars, cuts and bruises.

He stopped, his gaze swept the area. The wind was blowing towards him, so anything following closely enough in his wake may be able to detect his presence. So, every so often, he'd stop, turning towards his favoured right side, and scan his flank in full before continuing.
Hell is empty, and all the Devils are here...
#3
The wind gave him away, at first.

O'Riley caught the scent of another male and slowed to lift his head and inspect the odor. He did not recognize it immediately, but something in his memory spurred him towards the source. His own gait was speedy and confident, relying upon muscle memory and the absolute confidence he had of his own power. As a hunter, he relied upon his stealth and his patience to find his prey, but as a killer, he relied upon his brutality and strength.

This was why he ruled – and his understanding of this and why so few people existed above him was tied deeply to his upbringing. Indeed, there was as much nepotism at work as there was design in where he stood now.

He only understood part of the spell. It would be too dangerous to his elders if he learned too much. They had sensed in him the same thing that lived in his father, and indeed, his bloodline reaching all the way back to the beginning.

Finding this man was a matter of sport, at first. The closer O'Riley came, the more he became convinced that this smell was familiar. He tried to recall its importance as he followed it, ever-certain he was gaining on the stranger even if he had not yet seen the brute.
Ordinary morality is only for ordinary people.
#4
[html][/html]OOC: If you need anything changing, please let me know.
WC: 291


Wrath nudged his way through dense undergrowth as the forest consumed him. Caring little about finding an efficient route, he pushed into fallen branches and spiked bushes, shoving or breaking them from his path.

Eventually, he stepped into a clearing. The daylight sliced through the canopy, spotlighting the snowy descent of white, fluffy cottonwood seeds which, in turn, were hunted by the sway and flutter of falling leaves.

The beauty of the scene was not lost on the brute, but he felt disquiet. The clearing was more or less circular, and it was vast. A trot across it would leave him highly visible to any that were hidden in the thick borders of undergrowth that encircled the clearing.

Not one to pay attention to the diminished remnants of his sense of fear, Wrath stepped forwards. He glanced only once over his shoulder, narrowing his gaze at an almost imperceptible movement in the distance.

It could have been anything; a falling tree, a shifting shadow. But that disquiet intensified. Instinct had kept this wolf alive long enough to flaunt grey hairs despite a dangerous lifestyle, and something felt amiss.

He paced across the clearing with a determined quickstep, moving for the other side. Once there, he thought, he'd turn and watch. Should there be another stalking, they would probably have to walk across the clearing and make their presence known, or circle around the more inefficient, energy-sapping route.

Once on the other side, he moved towards a large, blunt boulder and leapt onto its smooth, upturned "belly" and lay down, with his massive head on his rugged forelegs. His mismatched eyes stared, unblinking and lazily lidded, into the distance, over the clearing, now following the direction of the gusting wind.
Hell is empty, and all the Devils are here...
#5
It clicked around the same time that the scent became strong enough to warrant pause.

O'Riley did recognize the stranger. The male had been in Salsola – the same male who had crossed the border and harassed the young Ulrichs. Oh yes, he realized, this was one and the same.

Annoyed, the thick fur along his spine rose to a prickling point. This served to enhance his ferocious appearance, though for all of his display the wolfdog remained quiet. He was a hunter first, beyond anything else, and knew what it was to track dangerous game. He went silently, fleet-footed, and looked for places where a large predator might hide.

He felt the wind blowing his way and became aware that something was watching him.

O'Riley lifted his tail and curled his lip. Walking into a trap was foolish. Making his enemy come to him was the wiser course – if there was someone with a weapon, they would have a clear shot of him if he crossed into the open space in the woodland ahead.

“I can smell you,” he announced to the empty space. “If you're looking for a fight, you better come now, before I find you.” He would, certainly. Of this, O'Riley had no doubt. His supreme confidence was unshakeable in the face of a filthy Outsider. O'Riley sneered and listened for a clue as to where the other wolf might be hiding. “Unless you want to take your chance and run.”
Ordinary morality is only for ordinary people.
#6
OOC: Sorry for the long wait, it's been a tricky couple of weeks at work. Should be back to normal now. This was rushed slightly.

The cold gaze of disparate colouration looked on. His eyes strained in the direction he'd seen movement, and there it was again—just a flicker between the trees and the skeletal remains of the low-lying foliage.

Was he being hunted? The thought brought a sick grin to the remaining side of his face, and the voice affirming his theory granted a wildness to his gaze as if the very idea incensed him.

He pushed himself to his haunches first, then to all fours, making himself visible, while retaining the high ground. The obscene face pinned to a monstrous, massive frame, staring out in the direction of the movement. He could not smell, nor hear a thing; his follower was adept at hunting at least.

His voice was a low rumble that carried despite a distinct rasp. A subtle speech impediment accentuated the more sibilant sounds in each word.

There was a lilt, almost a laugh, carrying the first words. "Here I am." The chuckle faded instantly, clearly not genuine. "Sho what the fuck do you want?"

He stared across the clearing from his high vantage point, showing he was unarmed and uncaring, waiting for this curious being to show himself.
Hell is empty, and all the Devils are here...
#7
A big, black wolf came out of the woodland.

O'Riley felt a rush of excitement at the sight of the stranger. He, on principle alone, despised Outsiders. They were beneath his family, as inconsequential and easily expendable as any pest. Beyond the borders of Salsola he answered to no one but his own whim and reason.

He liked fighting.

Mostly, he liked killing.

Satisfied that this stranger was indeed the one he was after, O'Riley began his approach. He took his time, moving forward at what undeniably resembled the quiet stalk of a hunting predator. The wolfdog pricked his ears and lifted his tail, flashing signs of dominance with each motion.

“You were in the south not long ago, weren't you?” O'Riley asked, even though he already knew the answer. “Ran into some trouble, eh?”

The wolfdog didn't think – with his scent muddled as it was – that the stranger would recognize him. That was just as well. He prided himself on anonymity even though there were far fewer consequences to consider out here.
Ordinary morality is only for ordinary people.
#8
Even from his vantage point atop the large rock, Wrath's new person of interest appeared to be a sturdy unit. However, any emotion caused by this fact was absorbed into the stoical expression upon his countenance.

He regarded the approaching hunter, impressed with its confident gait. Most others, upon seeing Wrath, often were repulsed—if not wholly terrified—of the monstrosity. This one, it seemed, was a touch more sociopathic than those he was used to preying on. Wrath remained unperturbed, however; his posture entirely dominant.

A frown was etched into his rugged features as he tried to decipher the question. The working side of his face formed a wry smile. Where did he ever go where there wasn't trouble?

"You'll have to be more specific," he said, making a complete mess of the word specific.

The wind swirled in the clearing as this new wolf closed in on the large, smooth-sided boulder, which overlooked the clearing and acted as Wrath's pedestal.

Then it clicked—there was one instant there had been too many wolves in too awkward a setting for him to kill.

"Shalshola." He uttered on a heavy breath.

His working eye shifted as if something akin to emotion wavered like turbulent orange mist within. "Trouble tends to be more ... troublesome than those two. They were interesting enough to leave alive ... just. Curioush, however, that such an infamous pack would use such inexperienced fighters as their firsht line of defence. It'd be a good way to get them killed. They had heart. Yeah... they had heart."

He levelled his gaze back to the hunter. The words weren't designed as a taunt, or to ridicule, he stated it as it stated everything: as if it were just some observation made in passing.

He recalled the name of the girl that the other male had perhaps accidentally used in his moment of adrenaline-fuelled rage.

"Evelyn, I recall, was quite as attractive as she was ferocious as she was shcared. What a ... delicious ... combination." His gaze narrowed and his hefty tongue lashed between his 'lips'; he watched the hunter closely for any reaction.

"You shtill didn't tell me what the fuck you want."
Hell is empty, and all the Devils are here...
#9
He was a grotesque creature, this monstrous wolf with the scarred face. Something or someone had done that to him, O'Riley imagined. The fact he was alive at all seemed remarkable, and further piqued the Erilaz's interest. What sort of man endured such wounds and still went on seeking destruction and violence?

Perhaps sensing some common ground between them, O'Riley's impulses were torn. He instinctively sensed that this other predator was a threat. Two killers could not exist in the same space for too long without conflict.

The mean expression and twisted scars were only part of the stranger's story. The Outsider was beneath him, certainly, but O'Riley was an opportunist.

“You've heard of us, then?” He pressed, ears pricked. O'Riley liked the word he had used – infamous had a nice sound to it, like the cracking of bones. “It's unfortunate that you avoided a fight, if that's what you were looking for. If you have a death wish, we could certainly have granted it. The fact you fled tells me otherwise,” O'Riley pointed out.

He felt untouched by the comments about the Ulrich children. Coaxoch's children had been tainted by coyote blood, like it or not, and while Inferni was no more the betrayal remained keen in O'Riley's memory.

“It seems stupid to me that you'd risk trespassing,” he went on. “Explain to me why you did that if you knew who we are.”
Ordinary morality is only for ordinary people.
#10
Barely blinking, Wrath watched the deliberate steps of the large, stalking wolf. His approach entirely different than the yapping, snapping, overdecorated behaviour of the young male that had confronted Wrath on Salsola lands.

This hunter was far more reflective of the stories he'd heard of the corrupt and secretive pack. Experience had taught Wrath that the quiet and the composed were often the most formidable, so he watched and learned.

Confirmation received without any reaction to his comment about the young archeress, Evelyn. Curious.

"Of coursh." He'd heard of them. "But what I found washn't what I expected."

"Fled?" He laughed only one single note which came out on a ragged breath, along with a spray of saliva.  "I'd have had to kill them to continue. I only remove the unoriginal and unintereshting. How about you?"

His grin spread—infectious, but not in the typical sense—as he called out this Salsolan for what Wrath knew he was.

Two killers face to face; neither would go quietly, and neither would let the other run—not that either ever would.

He leapt down from the rock and landed with a heavy exhale. A fight wouldn't be an ideal situation with what he now took to be one of the leaders of Salsola, not hungry and tired as he was.

He straightened up, lifting his chin, ears erect; a perfect posture in contrast with his flawed features. He paced diagonally across to his left on slow, deliberate and powerful strides, keeping the hunter to his right side peripheral.

His paws landed with hefty, dull thuds as he pressed his full weight over them. His enormous shoulders bulged and flexed. There was a low rumble in his throat; a premonitory warning, should the hunter feel inspired to attack.

"Your reputation intrigued me, but words and stories are only an enlarged, terrifying shadow to the naïve. I wanted to see the real thing. To see, perhaps, where your vulnerabilities lay, and to exploit them." He paused, that malevolent grin permanently fixed to one side of his face, now spreading across the other. "And if it sho transhpired, I'd assume you'd either try to kill me, or, make use of my services."

"Imagine an entity represhenting your pack that could further spread the fear of crossing Shashola? Bring the rumours, the nightmares, the shadows... to life."

He stopped pacing and locked his gaze on the Salsolan. His chaotic mind viewable through the window of his wild amber orb. A hunger, an inclination to pure evil, iced over and sporadically subdued by his intellect.
Hell is empty, and all the Devils are here...
#11
Would you want to wrap this thread up and have a new/more recently dated one? If you want to continue this thread we can discuss some options.
You can PM my Mel account to discuss ideas or hit me up on Discord!

The unoriginal and uninteresting.

Hearing the wolf speak his purpose with such certainty brought a strange light to O'Riley's eyes.

Was that all it was, then? The destruction of everything that was lesser than, everything boring and basic? There were so many people in the world who seemed like they deserved to be put into this category of things. Was it even possible for someone to compare to a god? Did all that matter to creatures of higher authority and violence was that people never, ever, became boring?

O'Riley, dazzled by the revelation, laughed.

It was an honest, horrible sound because it was so real.

They could have fought, here and now, and been locked in mortal combat until the end of time or until one of them made a mistake. Everyone eventually slipped. That was what had brought down the Boss before Elphaba, and the man who had once held a position not unlike his own.

“Is that what you'd want, then?” O'Riley finally asked once he stopped laughing. He sounded now as if he was speaking to a comrade and not a man he had come to kill. “You would have to contend with more than children. Would you follow orders? Would you do what you were told? We have rules and Law,” he emphasized this word.

He had expected this stranger to be foolish and inclined to violence for violence's sake – but if he had been testing Salsola, as he said, it was a matter of learning. The nature of some men made their ego's unstoppable.

“You've talked a lot,” O'Riley went on. “I would want to know you've got more to you than that ugly mug. If you fight me I'd kill you,” he said, certain and reassured of his own immortality. “But I'm sure you could think of something else to prove yourself.”
Ordinary morality is only for ordinary people.
#12
OOC: Either sounds good. I've sent a message to your Mel account, so please let me know what you think.
---

He made no verbal response to the questions. Instead, he just dipped his head, issuing a silent assent while keeping his mismatched gaze fixated on the Salsolan.

Law. That almost tugged the corners of his mouth into a smirk, but he kept the sardonic thoughts to himself.

He did grunt something of a laugh at the mention of dealing with Children; they'd take one look and flee.

He even remained impassive throughout the presumptuous idea of the hunter's victory. Though Wrath felt a long way from his best, he was still a massive, homicidal unit with all its teeth, and the other would do well to remember it.

"Of coursh. Round up your enemies, gut them, suffocate them with their bowels, hang their decaying bodiesh along your borders. Something like that? It would sherve as more of a deterrent than traps; I'm sure you'll agree." The sibilant hiss to his voice added a minacious edge and the following smile and hungry flash in his expression revealed much about the darker parts of his mind. "I am talking about the shadows here. It is just what I have heard of Shashola: Outsiders fear the consequence of crossing the pack."

His strengths were acute; severe and intense as they were limited in their scope. Beyond violence, he did not have much else to give, which is why all previous packs outlawed him.

"Perhapsh we fight. Here now. You get your practice, your kill, and maybe a disability to carry for the rest of your days. Or instead, we part ways, take time to consider a shymbiotic relationship."

He slurped a string of saliva escaping from the gaping hole in the side of his face, then shrugged. Either option was acceptable for a wolf that had little left to live for.
Hell is empty, and all the Devils are here...
#13
I saw and will reply to you soon! We can either end here or you can reply again.

What a macabre, brutal vision this stranger had. It suited him – the cruel expression, the terrible scars across his visage, even his sooty fur.

Though he did not subscribe to the beliefs of the Khalif, the old stories and superstitions were hard to forget. A cannibal god the color of night, dreamed up to control and cast fear into the whole of the Mountain believers.

Salsola was old enough to begin curating its own legend. As a part of this living history, O'Riley saw reason to made his own efforts in ensuring that the Thistle Kingom was not mistaken for anything soft or easily forgotten. Inferni had fallen beneath their might. He did not want anyone to forget this fact.

The wolfdog shrugged casually, as if they were discussing nothing out of the ordinary. “Too much fire and you burn the whole forest,” he said. The metaphor would go over the Outsider's head, but it pleased O'Riley. “Come back in three moons, if you haven't gotten yourself killed. Bring something to prove your worth. Make it good,” he added.
Ordinary morality is only for ordinary people.
#14
OOC: Thanks for the thread! 

---

For the first time in years, he felt hope, and it lit something in his heart and his mind. He may not have hoped for all the flowery aspects of life as many do, but, like any other being, he needed a sense of purpose.

Staring him in the face was the potential to be of some worth—to utilise his limited assets in a role that, in theory at least, would be fulfilling to his sick and tainted mind.

He knew nothing of the coincidental similarities between himself and Tak. He was no God. But, he was a black-furred cannibal, with a penchant for the darker realms of life and more slanted moral inclinations.

He was too proud, too cynical and too guarded to make himself vulnerable by thanking the measured, somewhat arrogant Salsolan.

He turned to leave, catching the gaze of the hunter one last time, he dipped his head in a brief nod, still grinning about the message behind the burning forest analogy. It wasn't that he didn't understand; it was that he disagreed.
Hell is empty, and all the Devils are here...


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