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In the Trenches; sorry for the crap, >____<
500+
The brute had traveled far after leaving behind Dahlia de Mai. Tokyo Chance had simply been in his path, an unfortunate victim of that game he played. And the pied brute believed that that step in the game had gone well. Cwmfen would find his scent there at one point intermingled with the scent of that thing that was her pack member. And if she did not.... someone else would. He knew the ways in which packs preferred to function; someone would be by that locale and smell him. If the lighter brute or his daughter had not informed the other pack members of his presence and motive, that scene would simply be a mystery. The brute sneered. And now he had fallen back behind the lines, pulling as far away from that place with a swiftness of the falling night. It was a tactic—fear? Perhaps. But now that he was far beyond the reach of his daughter, she would be moved to wonder, to anticipate, to become anxious. But he knew that it was not yet time for the game to end. And the crow wolf was patient.
The black talons of the brute clawed the uneven earth of stone beneath him, the sound of those clawings scraping the air with an unmasked presence. His arrogance was such that he did not believe himself to be needed to remain concealed, and yet he walked with that unnatural silence that characterized the terrorizing night, that characterized nightmares and the anticipation of fear. The secui’s thick fur moved quietly in that whispering, whining wind, its fingers pulling at his fur, trying to push the shadows from his body. But those shadows hissed and clung like the writhing bodies of snakes coiled about his body and yet unable to kill him. That cold façade was not moved by the wind and the patterns of the dark, and his fathomless, empty orbs watched only the world ahead of him, though he saw much more. Those black ears, raised above his head like the horns of a demon, lifted, hearing a change in the wind, the soft whisper of Death.
The Raven, one-eyed and pied, crawed above him. The black orbs turned up, and the secui shifted. The change was relatively quick, and his lean, muscled body was sculpted from the dark as the wind wrapped about him. And the Raven came to him, silently upon the wind. Those rough hands turned up as if accepting a gift, and the one-eyed bird landed upon those palms. Silently, the brute listened, and the bird seemed to say nothing—and everything. A sneer flickered across his maw, a mocking sneer, a knowing sneer. And then he sent the bird back into the dark dome, and it disappeared just as it had come, swiftly and silently. The fathomless, hollow orbs of the brute were almost contemplative as they regarded the ocean beyond that surely moved within the dark, the black tail of the Korean carving that serpent’s path into the moving air.
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[html] You not crap! <3 500+
Brooklyn walked with the darkness and the darkness engulfed her. She hid away from home, like a stranger, a loner in her own family. She could say nothing of why she did it, only that it helped her. It would have been a stupid thing to think that it was all about growing up. Sure, she was not an adult, not yet, not really, but she felt as if she shouldered half the world's issues on her. She was hung up on what had happened in her family, what had passed between her and her sister. She could not let it all go. So in the dead of night, she escaped the confines of the manor and left the pack lands, heading first into the forests leading to AniWaya.
Everything was dead quiet and for once, the white female could stop and catch herself. She sat down by a tree, her body relaxing into the coat, her knees drawn up to her chin. Her hair fell in her face and she closed her eyes, breathing slower and slower. What was there for her in her pack? What was there to stay for? Where could she go? In Halifax, where she could scavenge some more human stuff, clothes and perhaps a weapon? No, that just did not seem right. It was dark and she could not guarantee that everything in that city was safe. No, that made little to no sense. Perhaps toward AniWaya then, where she could spend the night close to the borders and then ask for the council of the red wolf Dawali. Surely he would know the cause of her angst? But that too was a stupid idea. What if someone found her sleeping there? She could get into quite a lot of trouble and with the arrival of the pups in Crimson Dreams, Brooklyn doubted that Savina would have much patience for troublemakers like her.
The white wolfess got up and shook herself. The loneliness inside grew with every waking moment. She looked back to where the lands of her pack were and contemplated returning there for the night. But the ache would only keep growing. She needed something to assuage it. Slowly she walked towards the ocean. Its calm rhythms would mean a lot to her, she who thrived on darkness itself. How melodramatic it all sounded, she realized. Who would take her seriously if she even found anyone to talk to? Making her way towards the ocean, Brooklyn came upon a different scent. A male, who did not seem to belong to any pack she'd met so far. Curious, she followed the scent. The night was dark enough to hide in, but she knew too little of stealth to conceal herself. If he found her and proved to be a threat, she could always run away of course. Cursing herself for being a coward, the white female walked towards the origin of the scent, curious to see who it could be. Th result, a weird-looking male, both intrigued and disappointed her somewhat. This was it? With a sigh, Brooklyn hid behind a tree trunk, trying to see just what he was up to.
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500+
For a moment, the wind and shadows of the night moved about the stationary male, undecided it seemed as to which path it was required to take. While the shadows remained, clinging to that tall, muscled form of the Korean optime, the wind departed, taking his black scent back to the land. The black eyes continued to look out into the darkness of the ocean as if searching for something—or perhaps whatever had been sought was found and was simply being watched. His posture was held erect, as it always was, denoting his arrogance and power, his need for dominance that was held with effortless grace. His grace was ethereal, wraithlike even in his stillness. Like the effigy of some long forgotten god, the pied brute rose above the rocky terrain of the Trenches in a black silence that commanded the darkness of the Night. The cool, empty façade was held with that innate quality, the hollowness of that black soul no secret of the mind. With the fierce, fathomless eyes that pierced the soul, he could have been a figure out of nightmare.
Abruptly, a horned ear swiveled back as if hearing something that had made no sound. The movement, for the stillness, was almost surprising, startling. It was as if such a movement required a sound, like the grating of two slabs of stone. But there was nothing save for that incessant whine of the wind. Those black orbs remained before him, but he saw many things. For a moment, that wind was stilled, and he smelled the hiding creature. It was young—he could smell its innocence upon the air, permeating his mind with a silent suggestion. A sneer tugged at a corner of his lip, his jaws twitching with more than minimal amusement. It twitched with that old hunger of blood—yet he decided that no blood could be as satisfying as that of the masked creature. "Why not come and join me?" that suave, empty tenor invited. That sound, harsh for its cold edges, was carried upon the wind. Still he had not turned, had not moved save for that single ear which promptly returned to its prior state.
The Korean was silent, that beautiful yet terrible visage turned toward the ocean, the moon obscured by the clouds in the darkened heavens, although some cold moonlight leaked weakly through those dark masses. The chilling wind was not inviting, but the voice of the crow wolf and the shadows about and within him drew the hidden youth near, inviting the approach to come to his side. It was then that his head turned, a movement so eerily graceful that it seemed unreal, like a shred of dream or the movement of a ghost. "It’s dangerous for one so young to wander alone in the Night—you’ll be safer in my protection." The assuaging tenor, dripping with that black, sinister intent, may have proved more enticing than the path that lead behind the one who hid in the shadow of a tree.
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[html] Oh god the delay. I got the response from the SA, so we can have another Corvus/Brooklyn thread after this ends. 400+
She remained utterly silent when he first spoke, too aware of how exposed she was. He must have been a skilled hunter, to track her down so easily. He moved in such a graceful way, his whole body like a tense coil, and Brooklyn found herself looking on in fascination and dread, two feelings she had never thought she would be able to feel like this. He stirred something inside her, something deeper than curiosity, a primeval desire for knowledge of all kinds. His appearance did not frighten her in the least and Brooklyn wondered if it was the dark night or her own dark mind which compelled her to come out from hiding and step into a shaft of moonlight.
From here, he looked even more imposing, his strange eyes sending shivers down her spine. She turned to look over her shoulder, pondering. She could turn back, turn her back on this creature of darkness and go home. She would be there soon enough, she would hide away in her house and forget all about it, claiming it to be a horrid nightmare. Or she could listen to his voice a little more, she could come closer, oh so closer, drowning into those dark eyes. She didn't want to be a child any more. Sure, there had been the time of her playfights with Haven, pretending to be a dragon and an ogre. But that was eons ago. Now she was grown, awkward, lanky and naive, but grown. Dawali's words rang in her mind. She could never be a prince because she was a girl. How angry he had made her, how much she had shouted at him. In her heart, Brooklyn wanted to be the saviour, wanted desperately to be the hero.
"Who are you?" Her voice sounded small compared to his, a tentative plea for mercy, as if she thought he would kill her. "I have wondered on my own before, though not so late. What do you ask in exchange for protection?" She thought of him, in a way, as a demon. In the stories she'd grown up with, the stories she had loved so much, there were always demons seducing young girls (whatever that meant) and making bargains with them. They sold their voices for human legs, their hair for freedom or their hearts for protection and a promise of love. Brooklyn looked down at her own strange body. She had nothing to offer him, nothing of worth and he could kill her with a careless flick of his ear, perhaps, for demons were known to be strong. The girl shivered again, the night growing darker around her. And yet, she felt no fear, only a calm sort of blanket covering her heart. Straightening, she looked her demon straight into his eyes and did not once falter.
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The young thing slowly approached, uncertain. And she should be. But he was kind and had bid her to join him, and she could not refuse him now. She had entered a dangerous arena. She was no longer safe. He would keep the light from touching her, but he did not protect her against his own presence that was held heavily upon the air like a black mist, shrouding the truth from the lies, the right from the wrong, the light from the dark. It was all the same—there was no right or wrong. There was only necessity. Upon another plane the wretched existences of this place had failed. They all had the delusions of their false gods, of fate and destiny, of purpose. They were all nothing. The girl had struggled with it—was it right to come as she was bidden, or was it right to leave? There should be no struggle because there was no right or wrong. There was only ‘is’.
Her voice was weak, the weakness of these lands imminent within her. Her blood was of now significant importance, and she was still youthfully unable to rise above it. Perhaps she never would. Practically all the wretched creatures of these lands refused to see the truth of the world, refused to see the futility of the pitiful lives. And like a bottled shadow he had sprung upon them. The emotionless façade was marred only by the slight twitch that moved his lips in vain. "I am the Night and the Darkness," came the tenor’s quiet reply, his voice dangerously suave and quiet. His head slowly turned, breaking the lithic stillness of the pied form with that eerie, unnatural fluidity. That intense, fierce gaze flickered with something black as he met the eyes of the white thing, piercing into her as if he could strip her bare, as if he could know all of her secrets, all of her moments of weakness and moments of darkness. For a long moment, he simply held her gaze, challenging her to look away, challenging her to retain that gaze and to challenge him. He could take her life so easily—she had already given it to him.
The black ears that rose above his head like those demonic horns of effigies long forgotten were unmoving as his head shifted. "Nothing that a whelp can give," the emotionless voice sneered in mockery. But nothing that can’t be taken. Whatever it was that the pied brute desired of her would be found. And if he wished to possess it, he would simply take it. She could not refuse him, and he would not be refused. The brute’s hollow gaze continued to pierce her. He saw the fearlessness within her and laughed that mirthless laughter that clawed the air. This thing was a thing of light. She could not accept the darkness that sought to burrow into her soul like the worms through a rotting carcass. There was no anger, there was no fear or hate. She had not opened the path to darkness. She was useless to him. She was better dead.
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[html] Marking it mature soon? 500+
His gaze continued to hold her in its grip and the more his eyes bore into her the more aware of her self she became. Brooklyn had never been one to simply accept her flaws or weaknesses, she had struggled to overcome them. As yet at a tender age, when others still chose to run around and be children, her own desires were quite different; she herself was quite different. It had been something she had never questioned, the lack of a father and growing up in a pack governed entirely by women, but now, with Salem and Haven missing, with her own quest for her orange brother failing more each day, with the disintegration of her family, Brooklyn questioned her own existence more each day. She was strange and she could never truly be normal, like the other wolves. This demon had come to light the way to Night and Darkness, to the things which she had never thought could exist. He had come to tear her away from the cosy safe life she had led so far and teach her the ways of the true world.
The voice which spoke to her was not too high, not childish like her brothers', nor too low, wise and deep like Dawali's. It was a normal voice, deeper than her mothers' voices, but pleasant to listen to. Although the words he spoke made her shiver and want to turn back, the white female remained stoically where she stood, not budging an inch. "You have come to teach me, then. You are my damnation and my salvation, the one to open the gates." She spoke things she had been taught months before, archaic forms of invocation, a spoken contract which would bind her to the demon. "I am the Light and the Day and you are the one who will guide me to my destiny."
His next words sent a spike of fear straight to her heart. Whelp? No, no, he was here to lay claim on her and show her the way. She quavered in the wake of this decision, feeling her soul shy away from his eyes, almost resigned to the fact that he could overpower and kill her immediately. But she was a D'Angelo, she was of the angels (this, too, she had heard somewhere) and she would be brave and strong, she would say the right thing. Swallowing her fear, she took the few remaining steps until she stood before the demon and placed one hand upon his arm. Her blue eyes, normally so full of joy and childish delight, were now darkened by the terrible decision she was making. "But is it not what you have come to claim, the innocence of whelps? I am far more than this shape shows me to be." Brooklyn D'Angelo stood up straight, pulling back her shoulders and throwing back her hair. The words she spoke sealed her fate with a grave finality. "You are Knowledge made wolf and I will learn all I can from you."
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Some PP—PM me if you want it changed~
A sneer, or perhaps a snarl, twitched once upon his cruel maw. It was as if he wanted to laugh at her words but could not for he no longer was capable. So eager was she to learn what he had to teach, but she did not know what existed beyond those tenebrous gates. This thing was not ready, and it would not receive well what he had to offer. She was weak, and he did not desire her. The black orbs, empty and emotionless, remained fixed on her, the intensity of those deadly pools as an eternal challenge, that dominance that sought to overcome every creature that came upon him prowling in the dark. Her words were so certain, but she could not ascertain what will come. She could not possibly understand such things. But at that single word, a quiet, mirthless cacophony grated upon the air. "Destiny," that cold voice sneered when the laughter had been killed. "There is no destiny. There is no preordained path. It is causality that exists alone in this mortal world and those who can control it." He could manipulate others, creating that illusion of choice that ultimately ended within his jaws and in quiet, dark, death.
That emotionless façade was unmoved as she closed the distance, but when she touched him, something darker than the black emptiness of those eyes bled into those fathomless pools. There was a change within that sinister mind. Like the clouds that darkened heaven with thundering rain, the calm of the waters of that empty soul too were darkened, a silent thunder whispering, rising up with an incessant snarl. How dare she touch him without permission, her touch so unworthy of a creature such as he who walked among the gods and demons of the Dark. The beautiful features of the crow wolf’s face grew terrible in the darkness, and yet, that emotionless façade had not changed, had not shifted. He became dangerously still, the silent suffocating and oppressive, deafening. And like a snake, or perhaps like some nightmare’s monster, that face watched her, his gaze such that he seemed to see right through her. And perhaps she had come toe close. Perhaps she would taste too keenly the decaying fruit of her mistake.
The hand of the arm that she had touched rose up, her elbow fitting dangerously well into the palm of those unforgiving hands. As his other came to press her hand to his arm, he pushed up and out upon her arm, locking her elbow, and with that simple move he had control of her body. He pushed her to the rocky ground without ceremony so that her back was exposed to the heavens, and he knelt over her, releasing her hand and pinning her to the ground with the weight of his own body. His claws ran along her back, unforgiving as the cut shallow trails into her white fur. His maw was lowered to the back of her neck, those cruel jaws parting to allow the bone white teeth to brush along her tender skin. Innocence? He could steal that away. "I am the Darkness made wolf," the quiet tenor corrected with those unnervingly soothing sounds. "Have you come to submit the innocence of your blood?" But he had already drawn blood, and he had already subdued her.
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OOC: I apologise for the crap quality of this post >_< 300+
No destiny? But... Brooklyn flicked her ears this way and that, confused by his words. She had read a little, bits and pieces, as much as her ability allowed her to. She was by no means proficient and some of the things there were too hard to understand, but destiny was easy. Fate. Every step, every decision, every single breath was decided by a higher being, that was something some of the humans believed in and in a very oblique sort of way, so did she. His words chilled her blood in her veins and she backed away once, afraid to look upon him. Why are you saying this? We can only control our lives and the lives of our prey, but not more. What do you mean?
His change was visible immediately, but the speed with which he attacked was too much. There was no change in his face, but his terrible eyes grew darker and her nightmares came true. He could not be her father, could he? The thought came into her mind uninvited and she could not breathe with the impact of it. She could have taken after him in coat, his white blending with her mother's to produce her, the snow white angel. But none of her siblings had his eyes, those frightening pools of darkness that engulfed her whole consciousness until she was lost to the world. Her body slammed into the ground and it was this which brought her back to reality, the physical awareness of his mass on top of her back and the pain of his claws drawing blood. She screamed in pain, a piercing noise to drown out the darkness in her mind and let in the light. He was so heavy and his toxic words wove themselves in and out of her mind, capturing her more than his body did. She whimpered in return, barely managing to squeeze out a few words. Please, I don't know what you want from me. It hurts, please let me go. The D'Angelo girl was too proud to cry. Just yet, anyway.
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The jaws of the pied brute parted in a terrible sneer. But he was silent and did not speak. Just as all the wretched things that cultivated here—cultivated like bacteria—this white thing could not understand. Their minds were weak, just as their bodies were, and this white thing was no different. At last, that hollow grating clawed upon the air. Those black, empty eyes watched and leered, and in the silence, the shadows grew loud. They laughed, sighing and screaming as if in pain as he bid them near. The black tendrils begged at his feet, but he was above them. He was above those shadows as he was above this wretched world, that pitiful thing before him. And so he burdened the thing’s mind only with the sharp thorns of the truth pressed down to tear the soft tissue, to spill meaningless blood upon the earth, to split the thing’s skull with but the tip of his unforgiving claws, his hungry jaws. The thing believed in destiny when there was no destiny to behold. Faith—it was but a myth. And he was beyond the myth. And the thing was not worthy. And so he would burden her with but the spilling of blood, so that the pitiful existence might continue, with the understanding of the futility of existence itself. And yet, beyond existence he was as well.
The thing fell easily against his mere touch black as the moonless, starless night. Pitiful. And his hungering claws were sated and yet not satisfied. The whelp beneath him screamed, and the shadows shuddered in their delight, those black tendrils digging into the wounds with merciless ease. And his claws parted her flesh, and his empty, emotionless façade watched. And the whelp beneath him begged to him, and those aurals that rose above his heads as do the horns of demons lifted forth to listen, and yet it was but an illusion. Choice, mercy. They did not belong to the thing beneath him who knew not how to control causality. Such things belonged to him, he who was above the gods of darkness and was merciful to give his presence to the living of this putrid place. This thing should have thanked him for his mercy. A black amusement flickered in the depths of those black orbs, the only movement upon his lithic features. "Let you go?" The dangerously suave tenor sounded in the night, quiet and yet rising with unnerving ease.
The brute leaned forward, pressing his knee into her lower back. His hand traced down the rivulets made by his claws. It was as if he could know what was within it, what was ripe for his taking. His claws scraped against spine, pausing at the base of it’s tail. But the thing was but a whelp and could give him nothing. Why should he give it life in return? "You can offer me nothing." It was a statement, and the suave tenor did not leave room for it to counter. He knew. There was nothing. But he was merciful for this female thing, and he could wait for its persuasion, its faulty reason. His beautiful and terrible visage grew close to it, his jaws hovering over its neck as his claws moved to the vulnerable place beneath its ribs. "And what can wretchedness offer the Dark?"
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