Wolf RPG

T'was night. The moon and stars hung in the sky over the woodland. Feeble light peeked through the barren branches. She did not mind the moon looking down on her - it was what goddesses did. Peering almost in envy at the mortals who foolishly stole the sun's attention... Like a jealous lover.

Poltergeist was akin to her namesake. She moved like a wisp, her pale coat reflecting the rays of night and giving off an eerie glow. What light reached her eyes reflected back to the onlooker, making her pale eyes vibrant and daresay unsettling at a distance.

Those that dared to come close - for she was not a spook of the woods but flesh and bone - would see the woman roaming. She sniffed at the ground, looking for something. An ear would flick as someone approached but she kept her eyes on the ground, forever seeking.

Under the pale moonlight, one more geist wandered the darkened woods under the silver light of the celestial body above. Abaddon however, didn't think much of it other than a light source in the dark, to help his eyes adjust depending on how much light was offered from above, how much was shrouded by clouds or trees - how much his own fur would glean in the lustrous gleam of night. 

The scent of another caught his attention a while back, cautiously he followed it. The trail of a woman, uncertain with what he wanted with her, but it was someone new to meet. To see what would come of it. Entertainment? Companion? Something always came from it provided they were not associated with the "Saints" and their half-brained members. 

Well, aren't you an interesting one. The pale man stepped forward from behind on her trail, already caught by the shatter of a small branch under his toes. The two of them had similarities between them, as much as any porcelain creature did such as they are.

She did not look at him but a slow chuckle did escape her blackened lips at his voice. "Interesting, am I?" the spook replied with a drawl in her whimsical tune. A tail swished idly, inviting him closer should he wish it. "I haven't a mirror, cher - why am I so interesting?"

No, she did not see any danger in the invite. Even should he attack, it would be over in some way. Death was a friend at this point in her life. Dancing round the room, a strange waltz she shared with the cloaked specter. If he beat her until she was raw, she would just patch herself up and move on.

That was all these cute little encounters were. Fleeting. Meant to mean nothing. So this is why she posed the question to him first. To see just how weak this meeting would be or - surprise! - not.

With the grace of an aristocrat, the bloodborne man approached as she silently beckoned him to come hither. He took his time, walking in a semi-circle around the woman, eyeing her all the while, taking in each inch of what and who she was - a routine dance of his when meeting someone new. Every new face is interesting one way or another, ma biquette. He murmured, rounding around her front as he carefully took in her figure from every angle in a wide circle - cautious not to get too close should she choose to chomp in his direction. 

She was no bigger or smaller than he was, though from the looks of it she was skipping a few meals... If he were to compare, he had the bigger proportions than she. What are you searching for? Bringing up how he found her, nose to the dirt... he wanted to know what was it that she sought. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but satisfaction bring it back this time?

Ah, here was another waltz. The brute comes closer, looming near but not enough to snap at. He is wary, cautious... as he should be. A stranger alone in the midst of this location? A bit peculiar. She finds herself chuckling at his tongue and raises her sunken eyes to gaze at him. 

All she can see is a void.

"Is that so..." she utters, finding no solace in such words. For one who could not see a face for true, she has no comfort. They all look like monsters to her. But such beautiful ones. "a shame I cannot see yours." the spook responds, staring straight at him but not blinking.

If he can converse somewhat in her native language, she supposes he is worth her time. "Bones" the woman utters without a beat missing "be it prey or predator" she did not care what species "I require it for a ritual."

Her eyes meet his, the creature grins his toothy, crooked smirk, a dangerously boyish charm radiating from its practiced perfection - and yet it fades as he notices something, she may be looking at him, but it seemed to be right through him. As if his features could not be registered. The woman confirms it quickly. So it seems his tone would have to do double its usual work, no matter. She nor the large-eared woman in the canyons would be his first sightless encounters. 

Ah, what a shame indeed. I'm quite the sight to behold. He purrs softly, pride dripping from every pore and every syllable uttered from that toxic tongue of his. 

Bones? That was a first. Is it a ritual I should be wary of? I'd be inclined to assist, however, I do wish to know what this is for. Perhaps it would be of use to him too in the long run... he was no stranger to the strange and unusual. The boy sometimes dabbled into the occult if it tickled his fancy.

His ego flashes, shoving a broad and colorful color across her vision. Red for a passionate topic. It blurs his ivory frame. It tickles with magneta for an eccentric customer. "No, cher..." she purrs, twisting her head back to the earth. A guttural laugh escapes her this time. 

"I do not make a habit of cursing men" she snaps her jaws shut, a wicked little grin stretched across her face "they still have their uses" the spook purrs. Even if most were utter fools "this... is merely to appease the mother earth. The season - the wild and mad hunt - is almost upon the realm."

She sniffs the air idly. "Appease the earth, for more lost souls will be born onto it soon enough" Poltergeist side-glances at the man "a fertility ritual."

No words shared of his brilliant self-esteem, perhaps she had no way of countering it - seeing as she could not behold it for herself. No, she skips right to his questions about the ritual of which she speaks. Thankfully it was not meant to harm his kind, not this time at least. I don't know if I should be turned on by that. He cooed with a malicious delight, almost humorous undertones slithering into his words. To have their uses, it ticked him pink to think of what she might mean by that.

Carefully he listens now as she speaks of it, little details sprinkling into the ritual that she wishes to produce... and he smiles. Fertility, she specifies. Ha! The exclamation echoes throughout the solemn woods around them as a flash of pearly white daggers shine in the dim moonlight. Distant winter birds fluttering away. Are you already planning on getting fucked this year? He laughs, not in ridicule... oddly enough, he was amused with how straightforward she was being. Casually tossing around the idea of puppies already.

"Tis not just for me" she corrects him, lowering her muzzle to the earth. The spook sniffs more, pawing at the earth in front of her "I am not so selfish to deny the gifts of motherhood to all my sisters" And perpetual burdens as well. Swollen, uncomfortable and utterly useless. She cackles at the man's blunt speaking. "only the strongest may lay with me."

For if she was to bear children, she need the strongest of men to protect her brood. Stopping, she lifts her skull again. Without warning, she swings to face the man and seeks his scent. Despite not being able to pluck his features out, the spook looks him dead on. "I do not birth weaklings" she coos to him "and I need not a hapless fool pawing my swollen belly."

Gifts. He mocks lightly, finding mild disgust in the word he parrots. Even now, in his soon to be third year, the boy had no interest in being a father. Even during the season he had been careful last year to not become anyone's "daddy", even if he did, he hoped those children were lost in a sea of lies and their mothers nothing but whores who cannot remember all the faces they slept with while their loins burned. 

Only the strongest men, huh? Sounds like something many women were after, something his father would be interested in as well. He reveled in such delights, to create little mongrels with beast-like genetics. The vampire couldn't be certain if he got the short end of that stick or not, maybe moreso on his mother's side for the looks so it seemed. Maybe for the better considering... well, the memories of his stench and appearance, it was better this way.

She strikes like lightning, and the ghoul matches her. Snapping at the air between them in a warning to keep their distance with ivory daggers, thankfully he had not chosen to approach for this specific reason. For now, no growl emitted from the revenant, only silence lingers as she speaks again. I'm no fool, I can assure you that. Dare he argue and sound like he wants her children? The children of some woman he knows nothing about, the same children he recoils from at the mere thought of being someone's 'daddy'.

"Gifts" she repeats to his drawl, a maddened look across her face in that instant "until they are burdens" I will be no one's burden remained unsaid "it makes me giggle... that females pop out children so readily, even nurturing the weakest of their brood." It made no sense to her.

"Why?" she does not swing her jaws away when he snaps, facing him head on. Not caring if he bites or draws blood. "if you are not a fool, then only fools would keep the weak alive..." It also remained unsaid what she meant; kill the weak pups. Leave the strong. 

"Would you kill a weak child, like a piece of prey?" Something that would have a pitiful existence, with only half the love of a parent? "to ensure the greatness of your own generation?" Sacrifices must be made.

They are always burdens. He corrects with a slight hiss in his tone. Perhaps it was because he spent no time in packs, especially around that time of the year when the females were fat and ready to pop, or spent much time at all around children. And so he found them all to be useless until their first birthdays until they were finally able to step into adulthood and be treated like one instead of coddled by adults and swaddled in a life of warmth and comfort. 

He grinned again at her mention of caring for the weakest. Well, that is what they could agree upon. It's a waste of resources if you ask me. Would he even have survived if his mother had the same ideals? If he had a sibling if his father wasn't just some donor? Many would argue Abaddon wasn't quite right, that he wasn't the strongest, that he was sick in some twisted way... and yet here he was, the vampire figured out a way to survive, to thrive in a cold world. He was strong in his own rights. 

Here they remained face to face, inches away from one another's noses. She didn't flinch, and he didn't budge from his threat. I would kill a child for much less my dear. he coos softly, a breath, a loving whisper despite its vicious undertones.

Burdens, he would still insist. Men did not experience the growth of another form in their form, of two auras mixing and mingling. They would never know the pleasure of giving birth and contributing to the world. They would always be a donor to the experience. She grins madly at him, not saying a word. Why argue about it? He was just a man.

Her eyes bulge slightly, likening to her maddened craze. The spook finally laughs again at his insistence he'd actually kill a child for far less than weakness. Her breath may even tickle his nose, them standing so close. "Clearly, no fool" she muses at last, giving into his ego. "but yes, I may get, ah, fucked this year."

If the right suitor came along, that is. Poltergeist would gift the world her burdens. Let them cascade along the earth, ruining everything in their path... It was delightful to think about.

As her eyes grew wide, his remained neutral in their almond shape. Staring straight at her, watching every movement and new wrinkle from the strain on her eyes at their close proximity of one another. he studied her from here, carefully, listening to her words no matter how strange they came off as. He couldn't quite understand where she was getting at with all of this, but it was intriguing. Entertaining even.

At her confirmation, he snorts, amused with how she had put it, the man grunted a laugh before reaching out to press his nose against hers briefly before turning to scan the lands around them. This time he had his own nose against the soil, eyes looking at the ground around them from underneath blackened lashes. Lets go find you those bones then. It was not a question that he would assist this one in finding what she needed. He wanted to see what would come of it after all... so it was more or less a selfish act instead of a selfless assistance for the sake of being kind. 

He roamed in the direction of cawing crows, knowing they might know where some carcasses may be with bones ready for the picking.

He presses against her, and she instinctively shoots out a tongue. The salmon pink slab briefly licks his snout before recoiling like a snake. There is a ghost of a smirk there. "Comme c'est gentil de ta part..." she coos, following his body. No longer were they nose to nose. The man turns away, sniffing and following the shrieks of birds.

The spook falls in step, allowing the other wolf to take point for now. She's curious too - wondering what sort of bones this fated encounter would give her. Silence. Then... Her eyes brighten as she runs ahead, shoving past the ivory man. Her fur tickles his own coat before shooting off. "Avoir! Aller!" she snaps at the carrion crows.

Deer. The carcass of a doe lays beneath the festering flying parasites. It was perfect. Grabbing one of the crows in her jaws, she gives a sharp bite. It falls dead in her mouth. Spitting it out, the spook begins to murmur almost lovingly to the body as the other avian shriek and fly away.

A toothy grin found its place upon his mug at the sensation of her lick before he pulled away. This time her words were alien. He didn't know exactly what language it was, but there were a few words here and there he was familiar with, small ones... just enough to get by on most times, but here is where it ended.

After a little while of searching, she was quick to bolt ahead. Brushing past him as he raised to watch where she rushed off to. While she ran ahead, he sauntered closer. The smell eventually found its way to his senses, a foul odor that called the corvids from miles around, some vultures too from the looks of it as they flew from the carcass when the pale woman approached. One of the flying beasts falling prey to her fangs as she swiftly plucked it from the air. 

While she occupied herself with whatever she was doing, Abaddon finally walked to their destination, stopping only a little ways away from the stench filled carcass and watched her do her thing from where. Seating himself gently on some still white snow, untouched by the birds or filth from the death before them. As he watched, the plume of white curled around his toes.

She would work, deliberately and delicately. Though the carcass was not alive, nor was the crow any longer, there was a certain degree of care involved. Should she wish to work on the ritual, she would need to treat the bones and body with respect to use it.

Quietly removing the deer ribs as if the ivory man was not there, she would place them next to the crow's body. With the heart of the doe - miraculously untouched by the birds and other predators - removed as well, she would bundle it together with the rest. Then, and only then, did the spook turn.

She saw the frame of the man on the snow and ignored him. Her pale gaze sought another place. Plucking the bundle carefully, she would walk to a spot a few paces away from him. She placed the items and began to craft a makeshift altar from fallen sticks. Merely gathering them into a pile.

It was silent work. She could speak to him, but she only hummed softly to herself. Running the instructions in her mind or singing a tune. Her voice spoke in another language.

It was like watching a play, or a professional at work. The precision in the work kept his interest. She ignored his presence to focus on the art at hand, leaving him to just watch from the sidelines without needing to get his paws dirty. The last thing he wanted was to dig into a carcass once again, not unless it was absolutely necessary for survival at least. She was quick at work, knowing what to do exactly to make her... well, whatever it was. 

The humming only added to the cursed atmosphere, even if the foxy looking wolf from the canyons called herself a witch and was all kinds of flashy about her craft... this one was different, this came off as more of the type of magic he thought it was. Silent, meticulous, practiced, no need to show it off or prove herself - she believed in it, and that was all that mattered. Well, the other believed in herself too, but there was a naivety about her craft he found. 

Maybe that one was a new witch. 

Regardless of it all, he sat watching... listening to tune being hummed softly int he quiet woods.

"Bite me."

The spook swung around, the request as easy as offering someone a cup of tea. One lump of sugar. No cream. Her eyes took on a more calm focus than her previous madness. All the what-ifs, all the psychological mind fucks aside... She stared at the man, waiting.

From his sunken eyes to the scent of faded blood - she knew what he thought he thought he was. Some beast of burden. Some night spook. Someone to walk fleetingly with in the depths of hell... only to abandon when something better came along. Her altar was finished - it just needed;

"Blood" she says, if he stumbled or started "I need blood now. Blood of woman and man. Don't worry, cher - I won't bleed you dry" and the spook cackles "if you're as pretty as you say you are, I am curious to see all the bitches fight over you come season."

Auds shot forward at her simple, and yet nearly random and shocking demand. It felt almost like a trap, for someone to so willingly offer themselves like that without some coaxing and sugar coating. Then again, this one was beyond strange, stranger than he quite possibly - at least, well, she was more open about it than he was. There were reasons why he kept his kinks a secret for the most part.

She continued, explaining, and though he was never too keen on bleeding himself, he supposed this could be a special occasion. Just don't touch the face. A simple request as he rose to walk once more, this time closer to her. You'd be surprised. He chuckled at the thought of women fighting over him when the season came... if only she knew how he avoided nearly all of them last year - except for the one nearing her end... and smelling like many men before him. He felt safe that he would not be a dad then to indulge.

Only once the target upon her skin did she offer would the ghoul stretch out his fangs to puncture her skin. Whether it be neck, shoulder, or paw or whatever - he would indulge in her ritual and partake in this little instance for now.

"I am rarely surprised."

He requests not the 'face' and she giggles - a low chuckling sound that is nearly mocking. And then she strikes. It is a fast, fleeting and quick movement. She turns on the spot, sinking her fangs into the side of his neck. The spook does this for many reasons, but mostly it is so he could bite her own neck in the process.

Less messy this way. It would do no good to bleed out in the midst of nowhere. Her fangs do not hunger for blood often. Even as she tastes his, the woman does not cry and curl in pleasure. If he's not fast enough, he misses the opportunity. She recoils, his blood on her pearly whites. The spook grins wickedly - but does he grin back?

She strikes and so does he, not missing the beat and opportunity given. Sinking his fangs into her neck in the practiced location to not steal her life, but to bleed well enough as she clearly desired. He hung on for a moment... greed taking over briefly as he laps up the crimson liquid, hunger swirling in his mind before finally, reluctantly, letting go. Strands of saliva and blood tying them before shattering with distance.

Bloodstained both their pale pelts in matching wounds, it did indeed make him grin as the young man couldn't help but slide the pink muscle across his blood-stained lips, happily enjoying the lingering taste of her upon his tongue.

"Bon garçon" she leers, her sightless gaze focused on him before whipping away. The spook approaches the altar, staring down at it before she smears the blood on it. Her injured neck lowers, rubbing against it. Then she places her jaw, letting the blood drip.

"Blood of fertile man and fertile woman" she drawls, her chest seemingly echoing the words through it "ribs of the nourisher" her maddened stare looks to the doe's bones "and feathers and talons of the seeker..." with a crack she rips off the bird feet, depositing them and feathers on the altar.

She begins to hum again, swaying slightly in an invisible breeze. Clean thy earth of burden, of poison. Gift only the strong and willing... She gathers the items between her paws, giving them a brief shake. seep thyself into bones, blood and womb... she says nothing to him, uttering a tune as she works. 

And after a few seconds, it is done. "The earth is clean" she utters "and ready to receive the season's... burdens."

Frost fire eyes watched as she walked away, preparing to complete her ritual. What a waste. Was all he could think as he saw the precious liquid being dropped onto the dirt, sullied by the disgusting sensation of sand in its sweet aroma. If this ritual succeeded, however, then maybe it was worth it in the end... he hoped. At least for her desires in the end, for him, he would continue to aim for no children to be thrust upon him as his duty. 

I suppose now you will find yourself a suitable male, hm? He scoffs, feeling the wet sensation of blood dripping down his neck from the fresh wound. Let me know how this all works out for you. He hums with satisfaction, shifting his weight from one leg to the next while still keep his gaze upon the strange creature of which he had stumbled upon oh so randomly.

The spook laughs again, smirking. "This is my little gift to the area - not myself" she finally corrects the man "you scorn children, but so too does the Mother" stillbirths, miscarriages... failed attempts at breeding. All the ire reserved for a place that cannot hold any new faces. "without new life, the old dies and generations perish." No one to carry on the precious bloodline.

She turns to look at him, fixed on his face. A face she could never hope to see. "Nature needs proper worship" the spook says with weight "else it gives nothing back. Give something, expect something in return. Bargains" she utters breathlessly "are what make the earth go around." It was the same with trifle alliances in packs. Expect to give, expect to take. What matters is what you personally got.

She grins, her teeth still bloody. "So I merely bargained with the earth" she snickers "and you assisted. Expect something to come your way, cher."