MONEY. POWER. GLORY
07-25-2014, 04:36 PM
The drums of war beckoned the bitch. Recently she had been craving the taste of blood, the thrill of battle, and the joy of adrenaline coursing through her veins. This was the before of war, and the aftermath was possibly disastrous, chaotic. Isardis had handed over the pack, but all the same her loyalties lie with the wolves of Glaciem, and the Armada blood. Any of those who were disloyal would be feeble, apt to be destroyed. Already, the bitch had begun traveling to meet her half sister once more when the call of her's beckoned for the allies of the pack. She cared not for who she would fight against, only for the thrill of blood. Already she had partaken in a war, of the siege of Glaciem upon Valhalla, but the pack had been handed to a pitifully old bitch by the queen of Covari. Should any stand in their way, they would be vanquished. She traveled at the king's flank, rubies shimmering with an undying lust for battle. At their arrival, the king would speak of their alliance. Her own voice would rise, sitting in the crowd of wolves having gathered, scanning each one's face to determine who was friend and who was foe. Show me thy enemy, and I will shred those who dare disrespect our lineage. Speech, |