[P] [M] The start of something Magical

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 DISPLAYS OF VIOLENCE AND WHO KNOWS WHAT ELSE.

OOC: Somewhere between Amherst and Black River Reserve. Good luck.



The air was ice cold. The warm breath of the approaching killer billowed and rose like a spectre, fading and merging with the night sky, space, the black curtain that was sprinkled with the silver glitter of shimmering stars.

Once more, his torn mind had urged him away from the Salsolan borders as he found himself conflicted over two things: The flatness that seemed to come with age and loneliness; and the ability to be free and continue to do as he pleased whenever and with whomever.

"Would you follow orders? Would you do what you were told? We have rules and Law." The words bounced around his overactive mind, the tone of the Salsolan leader's voice still clear in Wrath's memory. For once, he had to be all in or all out.

He'd killed off almost all past friendships and anything that remotely resembled a family. Sometimes, in fact, quite literally. It was the last chance of acceptance for who he was. Maybe, just maybe, the pack would be worth the sacrifice.

"Bring something to prove your worth. Make it good" Inspiration for what constituted "good" seemed to elude Wrath. Apparently, he was one of the few purists left in these lands, and he seriously lacked any knowledge of what would bring material wealth or interest to one of the leaders of an infamous pack. His greatest asset was his brute strength and physical fortitude. He scarred but rarely slowed, even at his age.

Just one more day of freedom, he thought—had thought every day since—one more day to take what he wanted when he wanted. He had considered such about the lucky little wanderer at Drifter Bay, but any potential enjoyment had been waylaid by his injury. 


In the pitch black of early morning, he crashed through the campsite, scattering the embers of a dimming campfire, his teeth wrapped around the neck of a small, struggling doe.

Warm blood gushed, it sprayed everywhere, a brief flurrying patter as it stained the cold ground. The enormous Secui ragged the limp, flailing deer around the campsite, like a stubborn piece of gristle from which he was trying to tear off all the good parts. One eyeball popped from its skull as Wrath's teeth clamped down finally on its head, teeth piercing its temples. The young doe issued her last warning with a final flick of her tail, then she was still.

The killer's actions did not belong to any sane individual; not to any apex predator. Wrath was angry, enraged by the fact he'd opted to not butcher the young wanderer. A white-tailed deer wouldn't suffice, it was only food—what he really needed was game.

He snapped his head to the side, almost pulling the poor animal's spine out of its torso, before finally letting go. Panting furiously. Each breath, long and heavy, issued clouds of fury into the freezing night air. His fur matted with congealing blood, he stood ready, hackles raised, eyes wide, searching for something or someone else to destroy.
Hell is empty, and all the Devils are here...

Malefica let the smoke of the cigar fill her lungs, exhaling calmly and letting the effects of the herbs take over her already tired consciousness. She was sitting alone inside her dimly lit tent, trying to clear her mind before entering into meditation. Lately, the witch had been receiving multiple, conflicting messages from her sister's long gone spirit, each becoming much more erratic and undecipherable. She knew her constant moving and the promises she failed to keep were hindering whatever connection they had left, by now she feared her sister would be gone forever.

She took another hit. It was a blend of dried lavender and some of the cannabis she had left from La Roja. Smoking wasn't something she liked to indulge in, but given her current stress, she couldn't help but turn to it on this occasion. Exhaling the smoke once again, then decided to reach out for her old tarot cards.

Before the witch could begin shuffling her deck, she could feel the herbs quickly taking effect over her body. Her eyes felt heavy, her breathing slowed down... She put out the cigar and tried to focus on making a simple reading. Since the spirit of her sister had stopped appearing to her, this was one of the only outlets she had left. The fall of Anathema had taken many things from her, and she wasn't about to let the defunct pack take Mortifera from her again. She shifted her focus back to her tarot deck. Those were the thoughts that were driving her away from her real objective.

As she shuffled the cards, the borzoi woman's ears began to twitch as she heard noises come from deep in the forest. The witch didn't pay much attention to it, figuring it was simply a hunter off in the distance, and even if they were to bother her she knew she had set up multiple energetic wards around her camp. She brushed it off and kept her focus on the deck of cards.

"Wherever you are, I hope to still have you by my side." Malefica muttered under her breath as her hands picked three cards and laid them in front of her. She still heard a commotion in the distance, but still chose to keep her mind on the cards. Her fingertips grazed the cards, not yet willing to turn them around. Would she like what they had to say? There was only one way to find out.

Her hand finally took the plunge and flipped the first card, representing her past; the Nine of Pentacles, upright. A world of comfort and success she had brought by her own hand, in the midst of all the earthly pleasures she and her sister indulged in there was no apparent sight of the struggles that were about to come. Oh, the yellow skies, grapes, and hunting birds that kept them fixated on the wonders of the material world, blissfully unaware of the distant struggle that would soon ground them to reality. Still, there was absolutely no trace of regret in her heart. What else was she supposed to do? The fruits of her work were for her to cherish, to indulge in them as much as her putrid heart pleased, she longed for the day she would gain her lavish lifestyle back.

It was now time for the next card, her present. The Queen of Cups, upright once again. Now she was sure the spirit of her sister was listening, and definitely not pleased with her work so far. It was a message she knew was incoming, but she still didn't want to listen to it. She was well-aware of her own shortcomings, but her pride didn't let her accept the truth. The witch was waiting for the right time to come, despite knowing her time could be running out. She quickly decided it was time to flip the next card...

The whole time she had been unaware as to how close the hunter actually was to her camp, and she only realized it when the man had already stepped into her campgrounds. Her heart rate had now raised considerably, but she still felt the buzz of the herbs slowing her down. She quickly grabbed a knife she kept by her side and a lamplight, before she had even laid her eyes on the intruder she already knew they would be a force to be reckoned with, especially against someone considerably frail like Malefica. With only a ragged cloak to serve her as a cover, she made her way out of her tent to hopefully scare away the intruder.

"Who dares disturb my peace?!" She barked, bearing her teeth at the stranger and raising the lamplight to get better visibility. Green eyes soon landed at the sight of an agitated muscular male holding the barely identifiable, desecrated corpse of a young white-tailed doe. "Oh... how primitive." She sneered before she had any time to think about her words. She knew exactly what the look of the stranger meant; bulging eyes, heavy breathing, bristled fur... This was more of a beast than an actual luperci. Malefica had dealt with these types before and knew she had to show no fear. Better yet, her pride didn't allow her to fear the raging beast in front of her.

Raising the knife and pointing at the male's amber eye, the older women growled a threat: "You better get out of here before gouge that pretty eye of yours out." Her face revealed a small grin, she knew this encounter was no coincidence. "With a specimen of your caliber I could make a good potion or two out of it..."

 [900+] // thanks for the starter!! long ass reply tho, sorry x.x
[Image: 1e78802baae3fc6afaa676dd2f052682.png]
[Image: anathema_88x31b.png]
WC: 694

OOC: lol, "Oh...how primitive". That made me laugh.

Definitely no need to apologise... I don't mind long posts, and I enjoyed that one. Let me know if you need anything changing as it gets a bit physical. But if you're not happy, I'll edit the end if it doesn't match what you had in mind.

For the record, I don't mind a bit of PP from your side if you think it'll help develop the story. 

Horizontal and limp, the young doe hung in his jaw with its head dangling and only attached by a tendon or two, producing a surprising amount of gore that pooled at his forefeet. He moved his gaze to the source of the voice in the darkness. His hideous injuries were mostly hidden with his mouth full, with the only overt wounds being located around that shimmering silvered left eye; decorated with a thick vertical scar and topped with a notched ear. 

The slight figure stepped into view, a lamp wavering at head-height in the darkness, its light reflected on the silver blade she was carrying. Wrath drew a long breath and then released it with a deep, thunderous growl. The accrescent rumble reverberated around the deer as his gaze roamed down the cloaked figure.

She had opted for an incredibly bold approach, considering the situation she had just become embroiled in, and of course, the judgement she cast regarding his lack of etiquette did nothing to allay his temper. Wrath opened his mouth, and the butchered carcass rolled free and fell to the ground with a dull thud and a splat of internal parts. More scars became visible with his mouth empty; most notably the almost skeletal remains of the left side of his muzzle, where his flews and cheek had been ripped away and replaced by a permanent half-snarl.

He moved forward, his considerable weight crushing the remains of his kill; its ribcage snapping and splintering. He squinted against the lamplight—somewhat dazzling due to the fact he generally relied on his natural night-vision—before he stopped suddenly. 

Her green eyes glimmered; the emerald gaze! For a moment, his heart skipped a beat. Saphira? Couldn't be. Her inflection was similar—as was her abundance of attitude, apparently—but no, it wasn't her

He refocused in time to hear the threat and the motivation behind it. The incidental compliment about his eye, however, would potentially occur to him later.

Although losing his remaining eye would not be an ideal situation, he was more concerned about the last part of what she said. He shoved his head forwards, skewed to the right slightly so that if she did decide to stab one eye, it would hopefully be the blind one. But, having gauged her general approach, he was confident she would strike more as a last resort than a gut instinct. 

He put his face mere inches from hers for he was tall, even in Secui form. The lamp had been knocked to the side and cast its light over the better-looking half of his face, leaving the other skeletal side in the shadows. He was so close she could probably feel the warmth of his breath, could probably smell the fresh, warm blood from the slaughter.

"A what?!He demanded. "Potions..." The word came out a bit of a sibilant mess due to his old injuries, and he frowned, dubious. 

"Magic ishn't real?" He stated, but the intonation shifted it to a half-question. 

Now once again he was being foiled by his own standards. Similarly, as the drifter at Drifter Bay, this one was not backing down either. But this woman didn't seem quite so poised to strike, she appeared far more fragile, too. He held some trepidation about attacking her due to the threat of making a potion from his eyeball, but he couldn't just let every brave Luperci survive, could he? He tried to push the threat of magic from his mind, but he did waver for a fraction longer than he usually would have.

Even so, resolute that he would not be thrown off-track yet again, he raised a massive foreleg, intending to shove her back towards the tent. If successful, he lowered his head and stalked towards her, like the killer he was, snarling, slow paces, placing himself just right, so he was at a perfect striking distance.

"If you try to run, I'll be on you, and tear out your throat before you can shcream. Now... where's your magic?" He salivated at the prospect of devouring her, all that evil intent shimmering in the amber depths of one half of his stare.
Hell is empty, and all the Devils are here...

A deep surge of adrenaline rushed through her body. If the beast stumbling into her camp with his dismembered catch hadn't sobered her up completely, the looming prospect of a fight with such a raging beast had completely cleared her mind. As the view of the intruder's face became clearer, the rush became ever more intense. This was a monster unlike any other she had seen before; a partly disfigured, manic hunter commanded exclusively by his blinding blood-lust. He was a once-in-a-lifetime encounter, and she would be sure to make the best out of it.

She felt a small chill ran through her spine, but not from the fear.

Instead of showing fear or backing down at the sight of the intruder's twisted appearance, the grin on her face had widened. Whatever sign the spirit of her sister was trying to get across, the sheer hardiness and virility of the intruder was definite proof that her sister's power had not died out after all those years. Oh, the things she could achieve if only she could get a little closer to him...

The thrill was only enhanced when the beast broke the distance between them, both their faces being barely inches apart. Though the stench of the beast's breath, fresh with the smell of blood and viscera, was strong enough to make any sane person back down, Malefica still couldn't help the smile drawing from ear to ear in her face. She felt absolutely no sense of danger, not even the multiple battle scars across the man's disfigured face served to convince her otherwise.

His slurred speech, however, did manage to dwindle part of her excitement. It wasn't the content of his words doubting the effectiveness of her craft, rather the fact that he didn't seem to be able to pronounce certain sounds. The witch was willing to look past the damaged eye- after all, he had two, she could simply take the working one and leave it at that- but the manner of his speech led her to believe that if she wanted to use the male's body parts for dark magic, she'd have to avoid using the head altogether. When compared to the rest of the body, she now realized his head was far too damaged to be of any good use... Had the beast been less injured, she probably would've gouged his eye out the very second he'd gotten closer. Now she knew an eye simply wouldn't suffice. 

Malefica realized she'd have to change her approach. She couldn't let this opportunity go to waste, and if she were to simply take his remaining eye then the whole effort of facing him in a fight would be too costly for a body part barely able to function. Plus, the male was getting ready to strike. She slowly put her knife down and allowed her facial expression to soften up, turning her malicious grin into more of a gentle smile. "Oh no, poor little thing..." She whispered smoothly, all traces of her spite or anger seemingly fading away, "who would hurt you this much?". This was her new tactic. She needed the beast to lower his guard and recant his striking pose.

There was no guarantee her new technique would play in her favor, but with the male's foreleg already against her chest and under the threat of certain death, she had no other option. She quickly raised her hand and cupped the scarred portion of his face, keeping the same calm expression as before. "You were brought to me at just the right time, my dear." Her words were all in an attempt to put him off, which seemed to be working so far, "There's no need to run anymore."

 [600+] // late reply! sorry again ;-;
[Image: 1e78802baae3fc6afaa676dd2f052682.png]
[Image: anathema_88x31b.png]
OOC: No worries!

WC: 571


Wrath's countenance was contorted with perplexity.  Why was she smiling? Many other reactions to his disfigurement and size were the same, and he had nothing but contempt for the meek and mediocre. But this woman was smiling, confidently grinning into the face of death. Either she cared little about dying, was delusional, or perhaps she really could do magic. Either way, he was no longer inclined to eat her. She was too unusual.

Their profile was carved into a heavy, pearlescent moon as the pitch-black silhouettes of little red riding hood and the hungry wolf, with their faces close enough to be kissing. Wrath's hackles were raised above the threatening upward arch of his spine. His shoulders and back bulged with pent-up aggression. His broad, exposed jaw hung down as he growled those hot breaths into her face. He figured he'd rip off her arm first, see if he could take the whole limb before she could even release the knife.

Then she really confused him. She put the knife down. Her movements deliberate, seemingly unphased and unhurried by his snarling, threatening behaviour. His working eye shifted to the blade on the ground, and his growling stopped. As her soft, caring voice met his ears, his head tilted in full-blown dog-like curiosity.

From the quiescent night, the remains of the scattered fire crackled and popped, and for the first time since Saphira, another wolf touched him affectionately. Touched him over his worst scars. After his injury, he'd lost all feeling in the damaged half of his face. But he could feel now. He could feel the caressing touch of her hand, the warmth of it, which seemed to draw away tension, confusion, heartache and most importantly, anger. If he had doubts about the efficacy of her craft, they were quickly starting to wane.

His entire form relaxed, the arch left his back, the fur around his neck flattened to its black, lustrous shimmer, and he even began to take a step back, removing his leg from the witch's chest, although he did not want to move his face from the her hand. The sensation was so foreign yet so fulfilling. For a moment, his own rather fetching amber gaze rested into the green severity of her own. He could have been in another place, another time before the years of death and destruction and the lonely journey that had been his warped and mangled existence. And when he came to speak, his usual gruff voice seemed more youthful, lifted by wonderment and surprise.

"You really are..." A slow blink of his eyes. "You really can... " He said, almost appearing in a daze.

She had undoubtedly managed to distract him. He was incredulous to believe what she'd just done. Rational thoughts never really crossed his mind—with time, nerves could heal; that even a beast could be starved of society and affection for so long that one slight touch felt like it possessed real, physical energy—and he was left stunned.

"Who are you?" He was frowning now, no longer so certain about anything. "Wh-What do you mean the right time?"

His trust only stretched so far, and his violent inclinations always simmered dangerously beneath the surface, so he finally eased his head back, sliding the rough scarred skin from her palm. But she had rocked him with a single touch and the right tone of voice. What kind of person accepted such a malignant creature with so much enthusiasm? Not someone with good intentions, he considered.
Hell is empty, and all the Devils are here...

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