Death Of An Assassin
06-04-2013, 07:59 PM
ooc; -enter the big bad, guise-
The swamps weren?t a place that he traveled through often, as he despised the muck that would stain his ivory legs. Boredom had driven him to adventure into the swamps, to see what darkness lied beyond the twisted trees. The brute paced through the twisted and tangled vines, branches and thorns sticking into his thick white fur. Lazily he followed the remenants of a scent, following close enough behind her to not be detected but still keeping her in his sights. As the woman stepped into the mud, he slipped behind some trees, two-toned eye watching as she slowly sank into the ground.
Just as he accepted that she wouldn?t fight for her life, an ivory beast plunged into the mud to pull her out, freeing her from her icky grave, to be attacked by another ivory wolf. It seemed to be a clearing of whitey?s, though he couldn?t guess the color of the wolf with the mud stained pelt. Watching the group, his head would turn upwards as a vulture landed on a tree, and began to speak to the group, listening to the birds dark but annoyingly rhyming words he pondered what this seemingly tense meeting was about.
Striding forward from the brush, he made his presence known as his cold and distant voice cut across the clearing. ?Traitor? Bitterness?. Deception? Bitch.., such lovely yet insulting words. ? His voice would trail off here, his gaze raking over every wolf and vulture in the clearing, before pausing on the muddy figure. ?Babe, I watched you sink. You didn?t even fight, perhaps, the bird is right? Maybe you are suicidal, love.? His head swung to stare at the other two wolves, pausing on the white she-wolf. ? Such fire, you seem as if you?d like to rip his balls from his body and force them down his throat. Quite the lovely, she-wolf, eh??
An indifferent look would land on the other male, and to the bird, though he wouldn?t acknowledge them. Strolling closer to the group, he would stop a distance away, and watch, praying to some unknown deity that they would rip each other apart. The bloodshed would be quite the pick-me-up for his horribly boring day.
The swamps weren?t a place that he traveled through often, as he despised the muck that would stain his ivory legs. Boredom had driven him to adventure into the swamps, to see what darkness lied beyond the twisted trees. The brute paced through the twisted and tangled vines, branches and thorns sticking into his thick white fur. Lazily he followed the remenants of a scent, following close enough behind her to not be detected but still keeping her in his sights. As the woman stepped into the mud, he slipped behind some trees, two-toned eye watching as she slowly sank into the ground.
Just as he accepted that she wouldn?t fight for her life, an ivory beast plunged into the mud to pull her out, freeing her from her icky grave, to be attacked by another ivory wolf. It seemed to be a clearing of whitey?s, though he couldn?t guess the color of the wolf with the mud stained pelt. Watching the group, his head would turn upwards as a vulture landed on a tree, and began to speak to the group, listening to the birds dark but annoyingly rhyming words he pondered what this seemingly tense meeting was about.
Striding forward from the brush, he made his presence known as his cold and distant voice cut across the clearing. ?Traitor? Bitterness?. Deception? Bitch.., such lovely yet insulting words. ? His voice would trail off here, his gaze raking over every wolf and vulture in the clearing, before pausing on the muddy figure. ?Babe, I watched you sink. You didn?t even fight, perhaps, the bird is right? Maybe you are suicidal, love.? His head swung to stare at the other two wolves, pausing on the white she-wolf. ? Such fire, you seem as if you?d like to rip his balls from his body and force them down his throat. Quite the lovely, she-wolf, eh??
An indifferent look would land on the other male, and to the bird, though he wouldn?t acknowledge them. Strolling closer to the group, he would stop a distance away, and watch, praying to some unknown deity that they would rip each other apart. The bloodshed would be quite the pick-me-up for his horribly boring day.