Death has come to Alacritis, once again.


A dreary winter does it's best to cloak the earth and hide it's shame, the mutilative strand of malady it had allowed to afflict all the land. An apocalypse as cruel as the dreaded Eruption, but one that applies it's undertaking subtly. This is a death that the moronic wolves cannot run from. They toil and struggle to unbind their noose, and succeed not, for they rely on frivolous herbs to somehow cease the annihilation that cannot be stopped.



And the hopeful think that this hardship can bring the Alacritians closer together, negate the wrongs between them, giving them all a common cause. This will not happen, indeed the opposite must. Tensions can only run deeper while the leaders are under this high stress. This pandemic will only be accompanied by war. They say that a calamity like this epidemic will bring out the evil in people, and that is the only fact. But it's brought some evil out of the woods, as well?



The spectre of a beast strode from the darkened woods, nearly invisible against the gloom, save for his crimson eyes. This wolf seemed to have the trademark symptom of the illness that plagued all, for blood seemed to run from his eyes down his cheeks, but this nefarious soul was already marked with his red tears long before it became a trend. The long-lost, long-forgotten trickster, the rogue, the bizarre wolf, the vile creature named Frayer strode on tall legs away from his solitude, back into the world of the living!



What had Frayer been up to? Where did he go that night he ran from his secret love in the night as she slept, leaving his one and only prized possession and memory of her behind? And why had he never poked a nose from his dark sanctuary for well over a year? None may ever know what ran through his head, but it can be well assumed that they were abhorrent thoughts and plots. The smell of herbs drifted from his stringy fur, particularly the scent of the more noxious ones. What could he be planning?



The target of his plot is certain, even if the means and objective are a mystery. He approaches the new, unknown pack that now occupies the Corpseghoul Swamp, each step sinking further into muck as he leaves the solid lands of the woods. More gloom and despair somehow blanket these lands than the rest of the ill-fated continent. No scent markers could possibly endure in the dank puddles, but the beast knew he drew close to them, the unfortunate Covaris. He stood upon their stoop finally, head held high and proud like it hadn't in a dozen months but still came easily. He did not call, as to suggest he was a visitor requesting access, but just browsed across the land through carmine eyes and evaluated it's worth. Their scout should arrive soon enough.

Everything was in chaos. Wolves were falling ill left and right, including Desiree. Everyone was in a panic, desperate to find a cure. It appeared that the plague had already spread to other packs, wolves everywhere were sick. Unfortunately, she knew nothing when it came to herbs. Vi was busy sorting out the sick, and managing her allies on top of trying to find a cure. A sigh slipped from between pale lips. The russet woman and left the range, wandering into the swamp. Very had ventured into this part of the territory, but there was no harm in checking. Nostrils quivered, a foreign scent lingering. Her direction would change, heading towards the border. Why hasn't they called? Irritation bubbled in her chest as she got closer. Muck clung to her paws, squishing between her toes unpleasantly. It didn't take long to reach the border, but she had no idea how long the wolf had been waiting, but that was his fault, if he didn't want to wait he should have called. Verdant gaze would come to rest on the ebony man, his rich pelt distributed only by red on his ears and beneath his eyes. For a moment she thought he had the plague too. She was ready to chase him from her home, they didn't need anymore sick to care for. "Can I help you?" Smooth lyrics fell from her jaws as she came to a half several feet away from the stranger. Paws sunk into the muck beneath her stationary weight, but she would give the man a chance to state his case before passing judgement. WORDS HERE

"No, damsel," spoke the black wolf weakly to the approached red one.



Frayer turned his head to her quickly and faced her in perfect direction to showcase his stark facial markings to her. So began the drama of the social artist Frayer to his only audience member. But a masterful performance it must be, for he essentially influences the entire pack the most in this first impression.



"I am afraid that naught can help me..."



He repressed the grin his spirit wanted to twist his face into, that expression he always took when the magnitude and vileness of his plan was realized again, instead through his agile thinking made it to look like an abrupt twitch, another of the more striking symptoms observed in the afflicted creatures. Displaying these symptoms out front were purposeful, however hard it would be for one to see the purpose in appearing as a carrier of deadly bacteria. All a part of the plot? even the state in which he let his appearance slip - long, stringy fur in knots, scabs from bramble scratches left uncovered, fur seemingly boiled off in spots on his front paws? though not all done for the plot so much as a result of that plot so far, still beneficial now. This unkempt crow would speak again, more upbeat:



"But here this withered beast is to help you! I can smell it, the apocalyptic disease is already upon you - someone close to you, at least."



Slender legs brought Frayer upon the stranger. He thought to cough, but such would be overkill. He let his visage portray the rest of that message, for it was time for the next. He crooked his skull at an angle, peering with one eye forward at his inquisitor, then questioned her:



"How much do you know of the blood-tear plague? Each of it's many symptoms, it's environmental factors, treatments, aggravants, it's genetic aspects... it's origins? Does your young pack even consist of a healer?"



He waited for no response. He strode high and slowly circled her, speaking with his tone subject to a gradual crescendo, each word more dramatic than the last!



"I have been made witness to much, and prowled in to witness much more that I was never meant to. Many secrets of these lands and worlds beyond I have discovered and made sworn to uphold..."



Just a moment to catch his breath; a scratchiness could be heard on that deep inhalation, and he continued as loud and climbing.



"But the truths of the epidemic I must reveal! I am by honor obligated to stop the annihilation of all wolves by this malady, as was foretold..." He halted his steps and looked straight at her face. "As became of the ancient humans!" added he, as the truth behind the death of humanity was a mystery to all - so why not use wolves' ignorance to upscale the tragedy?



And to end scene one of Frayer's play, he submitted to her the conclusion of his message:




"I must obtain the assistance of your pack to save Alacritis... to produce... the cure!"

The man would speak immediately, his reply not what she expected. No she couldn't help him? A brow would lift, her expression lacking any amusement. He would speak of the plague, though it was no doubt that word was spreading to rogues about the disease. He would move closer, getting to close for comfort, but she steeled herself to keep from reacting. He would question her, wanting to know what she knew about the disease and if they were capable of healing those sick. He would begin to circle her, causing the woman to narrow her eyes as she matched his step, refusing to let him leave her sight. He continued to ramble on, explaining some nonsense that she didn't real bother to listen to until he spoke of offering help. When he finally stopped moving, he was stated his true purpose. He needed their help. The woman would shake her head, a sigh slipping from her creamy jaws. "I really don't have the time or patience to deal with this. Why should I believe that you would be useful?" Her scrutinizing gaze swept over the dark man, her tail twitching with mild annoyance. Where was Vi when she was needed? The Queen would now how to handle this man. She would remain standing, waiting for the man to finally start making some sense and answer her question. WORDS HERE

"Why should you believe..." mocked the ebon beast, threading an offended tone into the syllables.


"Look at me! Look at my eyes!" he barked harshly.


He glared back at the red gal again, a hint of placed anger making the crimson of his optics fiercer. Those were trained and definite tools of this demonling, looking wide open and into the souls of the eyes of opposing color on his opponent. Stretching below, brutal markings ruffled by months they've gone ungroomed could very convincingly be called the bloody mark of the viral death. This moment, Frayer looked as grave as he could, and not the insects fleeing to the swamp from the cold wintery north would be able to tell that this creature were not here with a sincere and critical mission. Could the dame?


"The grand malady is not called the blood-tear plague for no purpose. Can you not see the stained fur below my eyes? I have survived it! I have cured it already!" spoke black lips of a blacker fiend, as the head drew back and up.


An accusing visage struck the brows and nose of Frayer as he prepared to launch the lines that would strike the shuttle back into his adversary's court once more. Yet another tactic to be played by the charlatan comes upon her - the classic guilt trip. He would try to have this younger wolf truly believe that she is solely responsible for all the pain of her brothers and sisters should she not cooperate.


"Now, are you going to allow this blessing be conferred upon yours, or will you continue to act on the skepticism I see in your face? If you do not bring me to your pack - if you turn away the only wolf who can cure them - their deaths are on you!"


And with a calmer tone, to convince her of the choice of reason: "I just ask you to escort me to your alpha - and then what happens cannot be blamed on you. Simple."

She wasn't sure how much longer she could take of this nonsense. The man was crazy. Plain and simple. But clearly he was not liking her lack of faith. Anger glinted in his crimson eyes but he continued to speak. He claimed to have already cured it. A brow lifted as she only half listened. But his next words caught her attention. He had the audacity to try and pin the blame on her. Eyes narrowed to slits as anger flared in her eyes. "Enough!" She would snap impatiently at him before tossing her head back to call for Virdiana. As her howl came to an end she would look back at the man, irritation still clearly written on her face. It was her fault that wolves were sick? How dense could one possibly be? She could imagine how Vi would react to this man, the Queen would not be so patient. "If you don't find the cure, I can assure you, the Queen will blame you for this." Words were kid of any emotion other than maybe mild amusement. She would remain standing, not wanting to sit in the muck she currently stood in. Why did he have to pick this place to call for someone? WORDS HERE

The howl came and the red queen was pained to leave her companions sides, pained to leave Crucifix and Desiree. They seemed to be the milder cases, sticking to fever and bleeding with the occasional mild seizure. Scorpion on the other hand? He was more violent and that was why Vi had kept him separate. But that really didn't matter? She lifted herself easily, placing a gentle lick atop Cru and Des's heads before ducking from the den and setting out at a lope towards the swamps. She didn't go there often, honestly having only thought it would be useful in drought or when she would eventually need to dump bodies? But currently it was useless and quite smelly. So she approached slowly, muck sucking at and clinging to white paws. Sibelle was there standing with a strange black and red male. Something about him seemed off? "You called?" It was more a question to Sibelle, tone light and easy though weary gaze remained on the man. It wasn't often Sibelle called for her, Vi had come to know she was a very capable woman so what was this that needed her attention? Speech

Clearly this new arrival, redder than the last, smaller and yet carrying more authority in her steps, was talking to the other female in the scene, but Frayer did not have the patience to wait for her response, nor was it strategically sound to let her speak her side of the story first. He would butt ahead of her with a long and graceful stride, look the newcomer in the eyes and pronounce,


"The alpha of this pack, I presume?"


And without letting her respond either, he nudged his head and lips higher, and stated, "Good."


The inky imp from the dark woods mused for a moment, that here was yet another female pack leader like the one brute of Lentajin that he never had the full opportunity to dupe. What a strange land Alacritis was, that any wolf with an attitude could mock up a "pack" and prance around like a real dignitary. Oh, how he wanted to mock their foolish ways, and make this rose dame redder with anger! He held his urges back, though, leaving not a visible trace so little as a glint in his eyes. These nonsensical wolves he needed on his good side, for now. And this show must go on, so his full attention returned to the so-called alpha and he spoke again, moving the whole time, weaving courteousness and slightly more than the necessary dose of drama into each line.


"I have traveled here with benevolent, selfless intent, and though I have been greeted with suspicion and rudeness by your scout... I will continue my charge."


And continue, with feeling! "Judge me not by my grotesque and grim visage, for I have suffered through much. You know that the sick amongst you are getting worse, but trust my word that their condition will become abominable - and deadly!"


The last word came out much like a hiss! With Frayer's mouth still open from sounding it's syllables, it hung, for a moment. He found himself having been carried closer to his intended audience, a mad and intense expression holding his face resulting of the striking declaration he had made. He recovered over seconds, standing tall and looking down at her with optimism upon his features, and spoke finally his intentions.


"But take heart! The malignity in their veins can be stopped! There is a cure - of my invent!"


A theatrical pause followed, of course, as the lightless creature drew closer again,


"Will you allow me to heal your packmates?"

The Queen would arrive promptly, her tones light, though the russet woman knew better. She knew the Queen hated leaving Desiree now that she was ill. But this was important. She would nod but before she could speak, the man was stepping forward, blurting out his words. Eyes narrowed as lips threatened to curl. She would watch him closely, and as his head lifted, she knew immediately that Vi would not take a liking to him and he would most likely be turned away, even if he would help. She was only half listening, but he called her rude, her emerald gaze hardened into daggers. Staying silent, she would move to bring herself to stand beside Vi, watching the man, though no longer listening to his words. She already knew what he wanted to say, the only thing left was for Vi to agree or to send him away. She had no reason to participate in the conversation any further, and so long as he didn't come any closer, everything would be fine. -short post since sib isn't going anything- "Talk" "You" Think