Even Hurricanes Have Names
The almighty phoenix maneuvers from beneath a pile of moss and prickly leaves. The realignment of her spinal cord pops compulsively by a swift move, she sighs at the repositioning of her back and slowly begins to stand to her foundations. Ushering her way through a fortress of trees and bushes, wandering these blasted lands without nary a sight of any four-legged creature since she came to Alacritia. The slender beast stretched down a path, detecting movement from ahead of her Fayelon rounded her scapula's and pinned her ears to her cranium. Dark black lashes blinked in sync motion as she watched the hoofed beast move against the thick aroma of darkness orbiting around them. She watched carefully as the body stirred once more. Undetected among the thicket she was protected behind, the gladiator preformed a steady, predatory volt around her being. The muscles under multiple points of her epithelium rippled, tightening with the anticipation of her first hunt in what felt like centuries to her being. After a few pondering moments and analyzing she finally drew her skeletal fractions back and sprung forth onto the herbivore.
Fayelon began using her sharp irises to rip through the tenderloin of the beast, her phalanges held the carcass down as she devoured it's essence. Hunger was one element in this dreadful world that wasn't so easily subdued or persuaded, so quite frankly she caved in to temptation and fed her way out of it's hazardous imprisonment. Having not being able to stick to her regulated diet since she has stepped foot onto these new lands has defiantly driven her mad, starvation isn't something to take cold-heartedly. Now with a full stomach, energy and strength regaining it's compulsion and pumping blood throughout her bodice -- fueling her with the stamina and endurance that she so greatly needed at this moment.
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Fayelon positioned herself rightfully beside her kill, long strong legs spread eagle as it was her instinct to be prepared for a fight, then again she couldn't get into a scramble with a pup. Shaking her dome the black furred goddess tucked her chin into the base of her heart-shaped chest, eyes that burned two different colors of galactic remedies analyzed the young males lineaments and exterior. Her own proportions were crumbling with layers of muscle displays, Faye took in his "bad boy" profile and smiled at his determination to try and sound high and mighty. The fae's physiognomy so happened to change in both mental and physical aspects when returning her attention onto the dead animal beside her. "Are you going to try and chase me away now or do you want to exchange names and telling me what I am trespassing on?"
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With a rich, commonly not heard of Greek accent Fayelon addressed her title appropriately. "The names Fayelon Sin'Clair. An outsider to these lands and an alpha eh? Instead of talking about them, why don't you go ahead and fetch me your alpha." Faye snapped the last part out, the muscles in her bodice stitched together to form a more intense, defensive stance that held bravery and knowledge in its wake. Sure she didn't know much about packs nor alphas, but she might as well start testing her luck while she still has some left.
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He had been patrolling, as was expected of him and was tasked of him. Things had been quiet for quite some time, and so he thought to greet the voices he'd heard in the distance. A small smile formed on his features, as he really was enjoying himself here in Imperium. The pack had marched off to battle only a few days after he had joined, and he was proud to be among a group of wolves that actually did something. Glaciem had become so passive after his father's illness, it had been pathetic. He neared the voices at a placid trot. A child's voice rang clear, and for a moment he thought to avoid the confrontation with the infant. He wasn't known to be the best with children. Alas, curiosity won in the end and he neared the pair of wolves. One was the child he'd heard, and the other was someone he hadn't seen before, or smelled - for that matter. The woman was smaller than he, and smelled of no distinct pack - not even Imperium. Hackles raised at once as he picked up his pace and placed himself between the boy and the stranger. The woman seemed to be moving away, but Kyarst didn't like the idea of her being here in the first place - not when most of Imperium's warriors were far away battling Lydovne. “I'll make sure you get back where you belong, trespasser.” the Praesidio would speak definitively. An eye shot to the youth who had encountered and engaged the stranger. “Has she been any trouble?” he queried, knowing that if she laid so much as a paw on the boy he would have to do something. A growl brewed deep in his chest, frothing and bubbling in his lungs. “Go.” he warned the stranger. If she chose not to obey his command, there would be consequences. Already he felt himself curling his shoulders forward and aligning his crown with his spine. A hushed tone escaped his lips, so much so that he was sure only the boy would hear. “If things go south, I need you to do something for me - for Imperium. Find Lysis Armada or Nagendra and bring them here. Got it, kid?” “speak,” |
Kyarst is 2 years old, 142 lbs, and 36" tall. This is your warning. He is prone to acts of violence including but not limited to: maims, claims, dominance challenges, etc. He is also prone to foul language. Also, Lysis is allowed to pop into his threads whenever she pleases, as the two are almost always close to one another.