Ring the knell and Death will answer
Lurid ♡
01-14-2023, 08:48 PM
(This post was last modified: 03-03-2023, 04:28 AM by Requiem. Edited 1 time in total.)
L ike a drop of blood amongst the endless sea of white snow, the crimson wolf trudged onward. His dark coat, covered mostly by a thick black cloak that billowed in the arctic gales of the northern storm, would have stood out in the blank canvas the world had become, were anyone around to even notice him. As it happened, the weather had turned most sane folk back into their dens, caves, and warrens to wait out the storm in shelter. He was no sane wolf. Whether it was boundless loyalty or blind determination to see his job done, the wolf marched onward, buffeted by the winds and the snow and ice. Sharp argent eyes squinted against the wind that whistled past his ears, and each step earned a grunt for the effort it took just to keep moving. He could not stop though. Stopping meant failure, and failure meant death. Requiem had succeeded in his task, and the last of the Mirovis deserters had been hunted down. But when he tried to return to the small group of remaining loyalists, he had found no hide nor hair of them. They must have sought shelter against the coming winter blizzards, he presumed. Following the plans of rendezvous that had been drilled into his brain since Lurid had led her people to these lands, Requiem began to make his way across the northern territories in search of their meeting point—the landmark vessel of steel and rust that their Empress had so greatly desired before she had vanished from their lives. If the remaining Amarix wolves were to try and regroup anywhere, it would be there.
T he snow did little to stop the behemoth of a wolf, massive paws crunching through the fresh frozen powder and carving trenches in his wake. The cold was biting and was beginning to seep through his hardworking muscles and thick downy fur, threatening to sap his strength with every step he took. Each breath exhaled created a cloud of humidity to appear before his muzzle for a second before vanishing into the snowy wind. He'd have to seek shelter soon and wait for the storm to pass if the weather kept up like this. Requiem really did not want to slow down his return any more than it already had been, but with nightfall fast approaching in the shorter daylight hours, he didn't have much choice. Already the sky was growing dark, turning from a gray sky full of heavy clouds to an almost inky black. Still, he trudged on, unwilling to waiver from his course just yet. After some time, his efforts were gloriously rewarded when he saw the massive dark silhouette rising from the fields of ice and snow. Silver eyes lifted to the form of the beached ship and relief washed over him. Thank the gods... he'd made it!
F inding an entrance to the giant relic was a challenge in the near pitch blackness of encroaching night, but eventually Requiem found a hole in the hull of the ship and was able to slip inside. The silence within was almost deafening compared to the howl of the wind outside, each step Req took making the click of his claws on the steel floors echo around the cavernous interior. The ship was massive and derelict; a truly astounding sight to behold. But as he made his way deeper down the decks of the ship, something else astounded him even more. A scent on the air... one he hadn't smelled in two years, and one he didn't know if he would ever find again. Butterscotch and rum. Requiem froze mid-stride, his senses peaking as nostrils flared to breathe in the scent. There was no mistaking it. But how?! The further in he went, the stronger the scent became, so the practiced hunter began to follow it, weaving his way up and down stairs and down long corridors, seeking out the wolf who possessed such a perfume. When he felt like he was getting closer, Requiem began to whistle the tune that he did when he was working. His timbre carried down the passageways and echoed about the ship like a phantom's sonata, calling out for her. If Lurid really was here, she would recognize the tune, and she would know what it meant. He just had to wait to hear a response.
T he snow did little to stop the behemoth of a wolf, massive paws crunching through the fresh frozen powder and carving trenches in his wake. The cold was biting and was beginning to seep through his hardworking muscles and thick downy fur, threatening to sap his strength with every step he took. Each breath exhaled created a cloud of humidity to appear before his muzzle for a second before vanishing into the snowy wind. He'd have to seek shelter soon and wait for the storm to pass if the weather kept up like this. Requiem really did not want to slow down his return any more than it already had been, but with nightfall fast approaching in the shorter daylight hours, he didn't have much choice. Already the sky was growing dark, turning from a gray sky full of heavy clouds to an almost inky black. Still, he trudged on, unwilling to waiver from his course just yet. After some time, his efforts were gloriously rewarded when he saw the massive dark silhouette rising from the fields of ice and snow. Silver eyes lifted to the form of the beached ship and relief washed over him. Thank the gods... he'd made it!
F inding an entrance to the giant relic was a challenge in the near pitch blackness of encroaching night, but eventually Requiem found a hole in the hull of the ship and was able to slip inside. The silence within was almost deafening compared to the howl of the wind outside, each step Req took making the click of his claws on the steel floors echo around the cavernous interior. The ship was massive and derelict; a truly astounding sight to behold. But as he made his way deeper down the decks of the ship, something else astounded him even more. A scent on the air... one he hadn't smelled in two years, and one he didn't know if he would ever find again. Butterscotch and rum. Requiem froze mid-stride, his senses peaking as nostrils flared to breathe in the scent. There was no mistaking it. But how?! The further in he went, the stronger the scent became, so the practiced hunter began to follow it, weaving his way up and down stairs and down long corridors, seeking out the wolf who possessed such a perfume. When he felt like he was getting closer, Requiem began to whistle the tune that he did when he was working. His timbre carried down the passageways and echoed about the ship like a phantom's sonata, calling out for her. If Lurid really was here, she would recognize the tune, and she would know what it meant. He just had to wait to hear a response.
Warning: Requiem is an explicitly mature character for violent and sexual content. Read his threads with caution.
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Current time: 11-21-2024, 12:06 PM
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