POSTED: Wed Jan 11, 2017 6:02 am

    Ethereal skies were laced with a thick layer of cloud, the dawn sun obscured from view. There was no warmth on this particular morning, a stiff breeze stirring with intention across the Infernian lands. Snow drifts swirled in sporadic patterns, only serving to perpetuate the notion of eeriness that had enshrouded the realm. With the rumours of obscene attacks and several instances of a lingering presence along the pack borders, there was a sense of anxiousness in the air. Some might consider it almost a delicate fragility, wherein a single instance could irrevocably cause a shift in the atmosphere enforcing the sensation that something dark loomed on the horizon. Something was coming, it hung like a gloomy promise, setting everyone on edge. Patrols had increased, and there was the constant need for vigilance. As yet, some hadn’t quite encountered evidence that would lend proof to the circumstance, but the emotions within Inferni were seemingly contagious, and suspicions were never far from the surface.

    For the Blackwater son, his routine patrols along the southern boundary had doubled, his paws now mindful of every step, his mind taking in every detail for comparison on the next occasion. But weariness had begun to seep into his bones, tempered with a kind of restlessness that caused him to become even more standoffish than usual. Stoicism grappled with rising agitation, the added concept of being observed beyond his control only aiding to his conflicting emotions on the matter. Cypher held begun to live in a world where his waking moments had become usurped with memories of the past. Memories of screams and of fire, of blood and of loss. The man from Chesapeake Bay couldn’t help but be reminded of past events so similar to this – except this time he was on the side under siege as oppose to being the offender. While the irony was not lost on him, the ashen hybrid could often be found wishing his life was not like some cosmic plaything where he would inevitably end up on the losing side. Cypher didn’t know how he would cope if something tragic would happen on this occasion. He’d grown to love Inferni, even in the short amount of time he’d called it home. This ragtag group of coyotes and coy-hybrids had found a place in his heart – and he would be damned before he let anything happen to them.

    So, the former mercenary had also taken to doing some more combat practice, well aware his skill fighting armed was lacking. Cypher had always been one to prefer brawling with tooth and claw, and tended to lean toward selecting his Optime form for most skirmishes. In the Guild, the young Blackwater had swiftly proven his worth with hand-to-hand, having been given extensive training by his father as soon as he had shifted. Attacking using a four-limbed approach usually saw him taking to Secui as his form of choice, revelling in the added bulk comparative to his much lither Lupus figure. But this morning had seen the need for dexterity and a more humanized approach to combat. As such, the charcoal and alabaster furred male presently stood in the training arena with his only weapon held aloft with his left hand. In front of him, a few paces away, the coyote mongrel had grabbed one of his used carving logs and placed it vertically on the ground, creating a small post about the height of an average coyote in Lupus form. Cypher breathed in slowly, then exhaled. He repeated the process, forcing himself to relax and focus. That had always been what Hatham had said; that to succeed, one had to relax and maintain focus. The Sciens pinpointed a notch on the rugged bough and on his exhale, released the blade from his hand.

    The weapon flew in a relatively straight line, mostly parallel from the ground until it began to drop in a downwards arc. It landed in the ground with a thud, almost mocking the coyote hybrid for his pathetic attempt. Cypher could immediately realise his error, the trajectory suggesting that he had released the knife too early – but it didn’t stem the rising frustration for the male had yet to hit the log since beginning an hour ago. The man from Chesapeake Bay felt a frown line his handsome features, and he begun to stalk forwards to collect the knife to try again. But, as he bent down to retrieve his weapon, the frown on his face turned into a scowl and the last few days’ events finally overwhelmed him, bringing his emotions to the fore. Clenching the blade for a few seconds Cypher then hurled it in anger and frustration – in no particular direction – while simultaneously venting to the world. “I know you probably have your rules,” the Blackwater son began, his voice initially low as he cast his eyes towards the greying heavens. “But I’m guessing they don’t account for everyone being dead!”

      Word Count: 825
      Form: Optime
      Location: Training Arena | Early Dawn
      OOC: Oh look, let's just snark at the universe x3 Let me know if you need anything changed <3
what have i become, my sweetest friend

everyone i know, goes away in the end

Quintus (NPC)
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walking in the dark

POSTED: Mon Jan 30, 2017 4:10 pm

Optime (+646)

The Sciens had been rather wary as of late. Strange things had begun to surface along their borders and the territories just beyond them. Seemingly sporadic attacks were happening on many of the clan, and the perpetrator had no qualms with attacking women or children. The Whiplash had felt a protective need that he’d laughed at as it reminded him of one of the tribal elders back in Nizhoni.

Wind had been kept stabled when not in use, and Eidolon had been warned to keep an eye out for anything suspicious if she ventured out of the packlands. He’d all but grounded Kore to the inner grounds of the pack territory. Needless to say, the fox was none too happy about it. And, as for Bronx, all he could do was heavily advise the young male and hope that he heeded Shikoba’s better judgment.

Though he was a big fellow, he was also green as new grass shoots in the spring.

Shikoba had decided not to bother the young coydog with formal “training” for the time being. Though tensions were high, the Sciens didn’t want Bronx to fret too much. The culprit would be found and brought to justice soon enough. In the meantime, they were safe so long as they stayed well within their borders. To keep the young man’s mind off of the threat that seemed to loom in the unknown, Shikoba had tasked Bronx with finding Kore. The errand was as much of a game as it was training in disguise. The vixen often liked to sulk in places where she couldn’t be bothered by a nosy coyote.

With any luck, it’d take Bronx the better half of the day to find the crafty fox.

Meanwhile, Shikoba could set his focus on more “adult” tasks like preparing for the inevitable fight that was to come from all of these border harassments. The Nizhoni male was no stranger to how conflicts like this often turned out. Having grown up with constantly border skirmishes on the edge of the tribe’s territories, there was no doubt in his mind that something bigger was being built up. He needed to be ready.

He’d brandished his bola and tomahawk and had set off towards the training grounds. The bola, he knew, would need less training than the other. He preferred to use the ranged weapon while atop his mustang so he could use the horse’s added strength to bring out the roped weapon’s full potential. Even without taking Wind, it didn’t hurt to practice his aim while standing on his own two legs.

When he’d come upon the training area, he hadn’t expected to see another clansman there. He was a dark, lanky individual, likely standing a whole foot taller than Shikoba himself. It was an attribute that labeled the male just as much of a “mutt” as the Whiplash was, and a small feeling of likeness was born from it.

Interestingly enough, the fellow Infernian seemed to be practicing with throwing knives…and appeared to be rather frustrated with it if his anger-fueled throw and subsequent words were anything to go by. Shikoba couldn’t pass up the opportunity. He sauntered up at the dark one’s back, a feral grin spreading widely on his lip in his own amusement with it all. “Bet you’d kill a hundred of ‘em baddies if you could hurl your knife like that all the time,” he snickered, crossing his arms.

Looking up to the sky as if trying to find the imaginary being the other had been talking to, Shikoba went on to question, “Who ya’ talkin’ to anyway?” He knew damn well that the dark hybrid wasn’t talking to any physical being, but, there was fun to be had all the same.

Shikoba Whiplash

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