Hideaway Strath A Test Of Faith.

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The first post belongs to 'Kynareth Deagon'. None shall post until after I post after him (so, three posts in)! Thank you! <3 

THIS THREAD IS NOW LOCKED TO THOSE WHO HAVE ALREADY REPLIED AKA, THE SAINTS OF THE DYING LIGHT PACK AND SUNHAWK. NO-ONE ELSE PLESE INTERVENE, THANK YOU! <3

“-- I'm tellin' you, Aya, these wolves… they are miracle workers.”

The black, lanky, downtrodden form of the scabby wolf known as Dorus limped through the underbrush at its lowest parts, face not split by a grin for once… but a small, ‘sweet’ smile. Those blue eyes remained trained upon the trail ahead, trodden down by so many canines before him, the off-beat noise of his paws hitting dead leaves accompanied by another soft thudding-- it was the pattering of a female. 

Aya was typical in size, her pelt a soft russet accented by streaks of blonde. The plume of her tail was shaded by darker browns, the same gentle colors found upon her pretty face, not a grey strand upon that short, thick pelt. She was a pretty young thing, barely one and a half years old, with orange eyes that shined like the low hanging sun itself… and her only mark of abnormality? The twisting of a front paw, the poor part hanging limply from the rest of her leg. Broken. Though there was surely discomfort in walking she took it in her stride and followed the large dark male with an almost peppy undertone to her trotting.

“Wolves that can heal… amazing, Dorus!” The girl chirped with the rising of her ears, “I’ve only ever heard such things in legend…”

“Why do you think I'm still alive, my dear? These wolves have been healing me. Restoring me. I thought you could use their talents-- however.” He ducked his head and whispered to her with seriousness carried in the undercurrents of his tone, “Tell no-one else. They permitted me to bring but one wolf with me for healing… and no more. Can I count on your secrecy, Aya?”

A small gasp, and a hushed outburst,

“I won't tell another soul!”

“That’ta girl.”

He knew by the taste on the wind that the trees had been marked, and the ground that lay before them was no longer but neutral territory. She had caught it too, never faltering in the wake of her own demise, peering to Dorus with eyes of wonder as he passed the threshold without fear. The wind was neither against or for them, but he knew what he had to do in order to summon one of those golden wolves from the trial pack-- with his head thrown back the sound of his howl echoed about the area like the aftermath of some screaming thing… it was horrid. Off-tune, piercing, unavoidable. The wailing’s siren-like nature was only halted by an abrupt coughing fit from the male himself, as he rolled the hacking sound into a sticky laugh,

“They’ll come get us… they’ll come.”

Aya sat politely at his side, taking the weight off of her dangling paw, and watched the trees with a critical level of alertness. He would have to get whoever came to understand the situation before they blew Dorus’s cover, for he couldn’t have the stupidity of a single wolf ruining his plan now, no, not when he had come so far.
 
I’d kill that wolf… The creature pondered, testing his teeth against the pale flesh of his tongue. No blood swelled to meet him, but the pang of pain made those canines ache to be ground against another's throat… They better not mess this up.

Gonna go ahead and tag all the Saints! But pls don’t post until after Dorus’ next post.（╹◡╹）♡

@Derg @Nyra @Dove @Aries @Valour @Hemlocke @Leigh @Evelynn

Editing this post to add @Donatien since he’s in the pack now!

Kynareth’s upper half is bowed as his black-purple tongue laps at the rushing river. His front paws dipping into the foamy bank of the water as his star like orbs dance along the horizon of the fading green backdrop of trees and brush. His thick auds wives upon his crown as a sharp, broken howl reaches his ears — it seems the Saints are quite popular as of late, how unfortunate. 

Still, with a final swallow, he stands from his squatting position, muscles bunching enticingly as he does so. He’s padding towards the voice eagerly to meet this wolf who calls him. Though upon arrival he is pleasantly surprised to see that same disheveled, twisted wolf he met at that lake only days before. 

So, he’s a man who keeps his word then. Perfect. The brindled male thinks briefly, not leaving too much time for silence. Though, where his expression is neutral when his eyes are upon the male, his cream brows raise at the sight of this sweet, young sacrifice he’s brought him. A true shame, Kynareth almost wants to have his way with her before she dies. There isn’t enough time though, he much to excited to watch his pack choke on their words at his gruesome order to slaughter this assumingely innocent young lady.

“Ah, it’s so nice to know that you keep your word. I would be disappointed if you didn’t.” He hums to the blue eyed male, approaching the pair. For a moment he wonders how he snagged such a pretty little thing with the way he looks. Though upon further scrutiny, it seems she has a lame leg. She definitely won’t be getting way then, even if she’s able to dodge the swift onslaught of teeth that will befall her this horrid day. 

Then he turns his attention to the female beside him. “Hello, darling. It’s nice to meet you.” A curt nod of his head, quite the actor he is. “Kynareth Deagon.” He offers his name uselessly. 

Then he’s quick to get to business. “Shall you meet my Saints? They truly live up to their name and they do love surprises.” The Grandmaster hums casually, yet that sweet lilt he adds to his velvety voice is impossible not to hear. Oh, is he up to no good. 

After their replies Kynareth would proceed to howl for his prideful team of hopeful killers. They’d love this surprise, or not.

At the sight of such a dashing leader, Aya’s ears perk and her bottle-brush tail wags ever so slightly as a smile rushes to her face-- the finer hints of gold amidst the grandmaster’s pelt remind her very much so of her own blonde tufts… Dorus, (much) less pretty but just as pleasant seeming, allowed the yellows of his back teeth to show in a smirk that lay just outside of the girl's peripheral vision. There was a calmness about Kynareth, and it brought the tattered male a great rush of relief; he hadn’t sent a green-horned lackey to meet them. Good.

“Here we are again." The bubbling of his voice was the wetness in his throat, but he dare not spit, not when he was supposed to be 'better'. "When ya' livin’ froom moon cycle to moon cycle, there ain’t much point in making false promises, is there?” 

Trickery was for the weak, for the limping girl beside him, for the many more that would fall at his teeth; but Kyn demanded more respect than that. It wasn’t often you met another killer so eager to cause pain and suffering for the sake of words and tests and philosophy, after all. 

Aya fell into a clumsy bow before Kynareth, her shattered foreleg and its thread-bare ankle coming to rest upon the ground in a splayed and obtuse angle. 

“Thank you, sir Kynareth Deagon! It’s… it’s an honor to be in the presence of such a strong and noble wolf!” She chattered with excitement thick in her tones, the scarcest paintings of a blush against her cheeks as the female failed to meet his eyes. “Please, bring your Saints…!”

“Yes… let the healing begin.”

It was at this pivotal moment that Dorus gave a mock bow, if only to look the part, as he backed himself off slowly towards the brush behind them… where the bushes lay low the gap they had entered from was now covered by the shadow of a wolf, moonlight eyes round in the dark, and what lay ahead? The Saint’s and only the Saints.

It was time for the ‘Test of Faith’.

To the Lord's call came Nyra, almost if not immediately. The mammoth of a woman came prowling, her head level with her spine as she approached with amber infernos for eyes. Seeing the crippled lady in front of her and her Lord, she tilted her head just slightly with curiosity. 

Her golden gaze went to Donovan in a silent question, Who is this? Of others that littered her eyes, that was the most prominent of inquiries.

They had moved meaning only more land that needed to be scouted. Originally, Evelynn had no real interest in sticking around these so-called Saints. She had heard drama surrounded them, an enticing detail not so carelessly placed before her by the grandmaster, though it only drove them away from the red canyons they once called home.

Perhaps it was fate that she joined their ranks. Truly her only plans were to scout these new lands, see what could be of use or entertainment before continuing her travels as she had done so many times before. Now she was practically no strings attached for room and board while getting to travel. Eventually, though they would have to settle, and settle they did within an enclosed mountain range far to the west.

Most of her days were spent learning their new land. Every detail was useful information and given that this would be their new base she was sure to know all of it before she even considered traveling out of their claim. It was a good thing she had started close because this was surely a call she wouldn't want to miss. A summoning, not just for her, but all who claimed the name saint.

She moved through the shadows, trailing the treeline as she came upon their leader and two strangers. One with a wicked grin that clearly spelled trouble, the other a young woman who looked all too soft with a twisted paw. Evelynn raised a brow, but she did not speak. Instead, her golden gaze waited on Kynareth to answer why they had all been summoned. This woman did not look like a trespasser and the lingering male kept his distance, it was interesting...suspicious. Needless to say, the gathering had piqued her interest.

The call was familiar, Leigh had heard it several times before. There was no mistaking it's owner, Donovan.

Another meeting perhaps? The woman hadn't currently been doing anything, and therefore had nothing to drop and leave. Picking herself up on her feet, she trotted at an even pace towards the direction of where she assumed her alpha would be waiting.

Upon entering the scene, Leigh noticed other familiar faces. Nyra for sure, and although she hadn't been introduced to the silver and gray female, she had seen glimpses of the pelt before. But there were still two other wolves, ones that she hadn't seen before. Maybe they were being recruited into the pack? One of them appeared rather... sickly? The she-wolf didn't want to make any judgements, but seeing such a wolf was a bit odd. The other was a much younger female, not even seeming to reach two years old. Leigh couldn't help but allow a sad but kind smile to cover her face. Today, her own daughter would have been about the same age.

Although she had many questions, she didn't speak. For now she would wait.

He is a Saint, and heeds the call of his Grandmaster. He slips wraithlike through the strath, hidden under cover until he emerges where the others have gathered. Pale, lithe, he stands off to the side, content to observe for now. No question slips from his maw.

Donatien doesn't know many of them by name, just sight and scent. Nyra is here, and the large brindled man as well. His violet eyes land on each one in turn before fixing on the injured woman, narrowing.

She is no recruit. She is even less of an asset than himself. 

What is the meaning of this? The du Pont waits, feeling a kind of energy hum through the air. Something is afoot.

Derg trailed after the sound.
He was still learning the paths of their new home.
And he didn't want to pull his injury out now. Not when it was on the cusp of closing properly.

He watched the accumulation of Saints.
How they brought themselves before Kynareth. And this stranger.
The Overseer's head tilted up, eyes assessing, holing command over the pack as she strode to Kynareth.
He wordlessly slotted in on the otherside of the Grandmaster.
He wasn't certain of the plans at foot here, but discorse now would be frivolous. 

She glided onto the scene.
Quiet for once.
Oh, how the might of the Saints was now presented and it seemed Kynareth was showing them off like a trophy.
She was the trophy.

The mutt sidled up close to one that looked rather similar to her, she had to admit.
Such pretty eyes he had. Sasha was yet to learn Donatien's name, but that didn't mean that she couldn't make small talk. And a good impression.
She needed to get higher ranks.

"What's this 'bout, yah think?" Her hushed whisper pressed into Donatien's ear, her mismatched eyes watching the Grandmaster with a grin. He wouldn't hear her. Only see her snakish tongue lapping at the ear of a newcomer.

Sorry for the long post! Dorus need to post right after me so pls refrain from posting until they have. 
Besides that follow current posting order. Skip time will be around two days! Have fun!

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Blood and gore

Kynareth’s much too excited for what’s about to transpire. He can’t even help the wag of his tail swishing along his hips. He’s sure he looks like a little kid in a candy store, but oh boy is he about to make a mess. So he turns and nods to their sweet visitor with an enthusiastic nod and a snake like chuckle as she addresses him as noble and other sweet things. “Oh yes dear! My Saints are so eager to meet you.” He exclaims back to her. Ending it with a look to the wilds around him, seeing as his Saints begin to appear.

First to appear to his beck and call is Nyra. A satisfied smile shows itself on his face to her. That is why she is his Paladin. Her seemingly unwavering loyalty has been proven and he is eager to see if she’ll be so loyal as to rip open a sweet innocent wolf.
Then the sly, little Evelynn shows and he eyes down the silky, ashen pelt of her. Finally making it to her face he offers her a glance that says you’re probably not ready for this.
Then one of his favorites appears, Leigh. He watches her approach and his golden orbs flick to her own. She will not like this and he knows it. So here he conveys a type of apology through his eyes to her. Yet it will not be enough and he knows that. He keeps his glance short, eagerly looking away knowing that she’s gonna be so pissed that he’ll probably end up like this wolf afterwards because of her beating his ass.
Then one of the newest addition to the pack, Donatien. He’s excited to see him here. Here, now, he will see what the Saints are expected to do. Only now will he understand what it mean to be lead by the one and only Kynareth Deagon of the Abbey — a war torn, bloodthirsty leader. So he too offers Donatien an almost suggestive glance with a soft quirks of his brows. A silent, are you ready?
Second to last is Derg himself. His right hand man, his other half, his Overseer. Suggestive images dare to pass through his mind of their passion filled nights, his passion for the man never disappearing he gazes to him. It’s an almost loving glance, yet it hold that familiar flirty glint that Donovan is known to have.
Lastly, his bitch of an ex wife, Sasha. Lord he still wants to kill her but he can’t quite do it yet. His plans are too good to rush. Yet even then as he watches the crowd grow he notices her pad up to the lighter coated male and whisper in his ear. Deliberate eye contact with  Kynareth has him flicking his auds back as he gazes at the two jealously. He knows she’s got to be doing it on perpose yet he ignores it turning away from her and walking towards their new company. 

It is time.

“SAINTS!” He calls to them, golden orbs wild with mischief. “I call you here today as a test in faith! To see where you stand in your allegiance to this pack. To me!” He languidly stalks behind the stranger wolf. “This is our new territory, this Strath will feed us and give us shelter for the upcoming winter, it will protect us!” A sweep of his eyes across the crowd. “So we will protect it. Kill any who come close and paint our border with our enemies. Or perhaps even those who aren’t are enemies too.” He hums suspiciously glancing to the female he’s standing behind.

“I’ve brought you a sacrifice of sorts. Here is your test Saints,” his eyes narrow and his smile becomes horrid and toothy. “And it’s in your best interest to pass.” Then he’s raising his voice once more. “We will rip this stranger, this beautiful young wolf, to shreds here. We will all participate in some way! I don’t give a fuck how, but you will participate! I don’t care if it’s to kill, or to bury this poor girls body afterwards, but god so help me, you will participate!”

He steps away and looks to them as if he’s waiting for them to move. “If you do not, then YOU ARE NEXT!” It’s a bluff, he wouldn’t actually do that to his precious pack bat that is besides the point. This is the Kynareth Sasha knows. This is not the Kynareth his Saints know. “Go.” The Grandmaster hums to them and then in the same second he’s throwing himself into the young girl. 

He’s not going to kill, he’s going to hurt — to suffer. He’s baring teeth and snatching up the skin of her shoulder where it tapers down onto her rib cage. It all happens so fast and he’s horribly shaking his body to and fro like he’s on a mission. Ripping off the chunk of skin in a splatter of blood and the exposure of bone. He’d go in for another bite right after.

At the gathering of so many wolves, in so many shapes and colors, Aya’s expression first is lit like kindling to a flame-- giddy, strong, exciting as she takes a step forth upon those three good legs of hers. Donovan’s voice rises upwards like a howl onto itself, strong, resolute, and it fills her with strength… until it doesn't. The words twist and deepen, the truth hits her like a sledge hammer and visible confusion spreads across her face like oil to water. Sacrifice. 
No… surely, surely not her?

A tentative step backwards that almost sees her buckling to the ground and a wild tossing of her head as Aya’s breath comes shallower now, the ambers of her eyes catching Dorus’s behind her. He is smiling. He knew, he knew. Betrayal and terror become so strong a force within her that hot, salty tears rise to her eyes and the pretty young thing keeps her tail betwixt her legs, attempting to huff out words--

“N… No, please, please don’t, no,” Aya stammers, swallowing thickly as she captures the eyes of the wolves about her. “I-I thought... healing... n-o, I, I have to get back to my ma’. S-She needs me. I look after my brothers, m-my brothers and sisters, t-they are young, s-so so young,”

The girl’s voice cracks and squeaks as panic makes her heart race, her entire body quivering as those doe eyes sparkle with unending tears that drench her face fur. Even the dumbest of wolves can tell that every word she speaks is sincere… Aya is begging for her life. 

“P-Please, I-I’m a wolf, j-j-just like you, please, m-my ma’, t-the babies… please h-have mercy… please…”

A gentle howl rises from the clearing, the mournful song of a beautiful creature at the teeth of the enemy. Not the call for aid. Not a signal to any other creature waiting in the wings. A wolf simply being a wolf, expressing sorrow without words, expressing despair without clarity. It was all she could do, it was all Aya had left within her to do… it was a gentle, soft swan-song that fell upon the pack like a chorus of birds in the early morning--

And then Donovan attacks.

A pitched scream, the scattering of blood drops, she can barely escape him as she falls into a roll and begins to scramble for footing with her three good legs--

Dorus smiles.

Let the fun begin.

It all quickly clicks into place. 

Ah, so this is why he called us.

Nyra watched her Grandmaster attentively, drinking in every word. 
The Shieldmaiden took notice of the poor young thing, as realization hit her like a fully loaded semi-truck. 
This crippled she-wolf was going to die. 

And she begged for her life. 

Nyra's golden eyes gleamed with lethal fire as she joined, the poor girl scrambling for footing as blood seeped from the wound in her side - only for Nyra to blast into her, making her careen onto her back harshly as the Shieldmaiden brought wicked teeth down on her inner shoulder, her chest.

She would tear her apart. 

One by one fellow Saints arrived. No one uttered a word, though it was clear the same question rang in each other's minds. They wouldn't have to wait long though. Kynareth looked to her, his gaze wandering her body to which she could only smirk. Men were too easy to distract, but that wouldn't do now. She wanted answers, evident by the slight tilt of her head as she waited until his look spoke enough.

There was something else there, not lust, it was all too knowing. Evelynn's gaze narrowed as his attention turned to the others one by one before finally speaking. The Grandmaster spoke with a booming voice and an air of pride that felt a little too fake for her to believe. Where is he going with this?

As if she had sent the cue the tone changed, quickly growing much more sinister as he referred to the girl before them as a sacrifice. This was no meeting, it was meant to be a show. The silver woman scoffed, this was excessive and certainly something she had no interest in partaking in. Eve never dirtied her paws for others and she made it clear before that she wouldn't be cleaning up other people's messes. The Saints could do as they pleased, Kynareth made that clear from the start, though that now included her.

The brindled beast of a man charged in, ignoring the pleas of the trembling girl who seemed to have almost accepted her fate with a sad howl. Blood was quick to be spilled as another moved in. Maybe she should pity this girl, though to blindly follow and believe someone as mangy looking as the fellow in the treeline she must have been a fool. It was the role of nature, the weak will die and the strong survive. That being said, Evelynn did not follow in the other's steps. If Kynareth wished to challenge her later on the issue he could, though she was sure she would win when it was his own words that backed her. Worst case, surely she could outrun him.

This public event of sorts though answered some of the questions she sought since her joining. Kynareth's "loose laws" was in reference to free blood spill. They were savages, or perhaps just mad, either would be reason enough to turn others upon them. They must have easily pissed off surrounding packs. That's why they moved.

For reference, "Summer" is Leigh's daughter. Not to be confused with Summer the writer.

...What?

Leigh's heart sank as Donovan spoke, and it only crumbled as he continued.

A sacrafice. This poor, innocent soul was going to be a sacrafice. And it was for nothing. It wasn't worth a single thing besides the alpha's pride and desires. And Leigh didn't give a shit about those things. She didn't give a fuck about her leader's wants or needs.

The woman wished that the young girl hadn't spoke. She wished, as terrible as it was, that Donovan had attacked sooner. The pleas were too much for her to bear.

She, the girl, was crying out for her mother. Trembling with fear. Helpless, unable to escape. And it was all too familiar.

Aya was someone's daughter. She was someone's sister. She had a family and Leigh knew they'd miss her terribly. This wasn't a nobody, it was a somebody. A very valuable, special, and from what the she-wolf could tell, an incredibly loving wolf.

And yet her family couldn't hear her cries.

The dark-furred female was shaking as well, her terror nearly matching the girl who had now been shot down by two of the Saints.

Had... Had Summer called out for Leigh, just like that? Had Leigh been too distracted by hunting to hear her own daughter? Was the fucking rabbit worth not being there to protect her family? Where was Aya's family now? Who would tell them?

There were no words. She stood there, in complete shock, unable to process her surroundings. She wanted to help the wolf, badly. She wanted to rip Donovan's pelt from his back and drag him off of the poor girl. And there was no time to have conflicting feelings towards Nyra. Nyra had been nothing but kind but Leigh didn't care.

And Leigh's relationship with Donovan? What had now become of that?

Leigh, and Donovan?

They weren't friends anymore.

She wasn't his darling anymore.

...Right...?

What was this? What was Leigh experiencing? The woman felt dizzy, head spinning and eyes watering. There was no screaming, no throwing a fit. It was disturbingly quiet. Disturbingly silent and unnoticed. On the outside the she-wolf seemed normal, a bit shaken perhaps. But on the inside, well...

Leigh was having what another universe would call: a panic attack. A silent, panic attack. A complete shutdown. A type of attack that unfortunately, was usually ignored.

The usually calm woman no longer had control over a once calm breath. Heart pounding and ears flattened against her head. She was exposed now, she couldn't protect herself now. The sounds of cries and teeth tearing into flesh was overwhelmingly explosive, invading Leigh's ears without an invitation. Her sight was covered both with tears and the shining light. Everything looked like an overexposed photograph.

And finally, she let it all out.

Her screams were haunting.

High-pitched and strained, her jaw parted as an unreognizeable cry flew out.

"Leave her alone! DON'T FUCKING TOUCH HER!"

Was anything more well documented than Sunhawk's stupidity?

He'd heard a scream, and instead of running like any person with an ounce of sense would do, Sunhawk did the opposite. He investigated. His good Samaritan instincts landed him smack-dab in a gathering befit for the Manson family: a gaggle of wolves encircling a downy brown furred wolf, with a giant leading them.

The giant. The guy with the gangrene mouth. Sunhawk was disappointed to see the man's face present and accounted for. He'd kind of hoped in the back of his mind the gangrene had taken over and turned the scary man into just another skeleton at the bottom of Bonesplinter. Alas.

If anyone had given him the willies, it was Donovan Azura, chief Freaky of the Redsand Tribe. Why was he here - and better yet, where was that daggermouthed viper he kept as a pet?

Yee. Bad vibes from this crew. Sunhawk visibly flinched as the brute turned to the girl and began attacking. Then another joined, and another.

Smart Sunhawk (who doesn't exist) would take one look at the cult following and he'd make his exit. Dumb Sunhawk (very much alive and real thank ya) stared open mouth at the bloodbath until a dark-hued lady with a beige ruff suddenly came to life like a dragon, roaring over the din with inferno in her voice. Well fuck - that lady was scary, but all Sunhawk could do was stand there as if Donald Glover with a pizza box in his hand while the world turned to fire about him. And a poor girl was murdered. Let's focus on the girl - who even kills girls?! Psychopaths.

"Oi! What the fuck is going on here?"

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More wolves come to heed the leader's call. His eyes roll sideways as the pale female draws alongside him, the fur along his spine lifting as she whispers in his ear. I suppose we'll find out, cherie, he purrs back, not noticing the burn of Donovan's stare on the two of them. She is attractive, and he is longing.

And then the giant speaks.

Donatien stares, his mouth slightly agape. His mouth begins to water. The broken girl pleads and he lets out a shuddering groan, feeling her cries reverberate through him. 

So hot— He is only sorry he won't get to fuck her before she's in tatters.

And he surges forward. There's screaming. . .but perhaps it's only the shriek of his own blood boiling over, hot in his veins. It all blurs anyway; the only thing that matters is the pain. The pain to give and the pain to take.

The rake seizes the other foreleg, the healthy limb, between his jaws. He bites downward, harder, harder, heart pounding as he wonders how she'll scream as it

snaps

A voice, as if underwater—

Oi! What the fuck is going on here?

Fuck fuck fuck

it doesn't matter

Nothing matters but the shattered bone and young blood in his teeth, his belly pressed against the ground, hips pumping, throbbing—

Scream, you bitch!

sliding in here a little late - forgive me for this post i am half asleep

Irony, he thought – the silencer was no saint, by any true definition of the word. The call that pierced his solitude would have been easy to disregard, if not for the sinister lilt rising from the caverns of the grandmaster’s throat, the veiled velvet strung like liquid gold upon his song; minacious. And before that – an ugly, wretched cry, languid and death-ridden.

Glissading through the undergrowth, he was silverlight; ghostly. Umbral cloaks and corpse-pelt masked the behemoth beneath, accursed in disposition – the wind seemed to cry at his nape, as though trembling at his touch. Hastening across auburn earth and ignoring the moulding of frigid dirt at his step, at last he emerged from thicket and shadow, only to alight an otherworldly gaze upon the growing concourse as Donovan’s prideful speech came to a close.

There were the saints, and there were not.

Cast in a tracing of ink, a sudden bestrewing of shrieks erupted from the clearing, and at once it became all too clear what was occurring – nothing short of a game, a display of the grandmaster’s dissolving sanity; erupting from his skull, bleeding from his tongue. Aries had no qualm with murder, had no qualm with violence, and yet for once he made no move to join the savagery. His allegiance was not sworn to Donovan, nor to the Saints; his allegiance was to the night, and the night alone.

Ruinous; wordless. He placed himself somewhere between the grey woman and the dragoness, phantom-still. His faith need not be tested, and he was reminded starkly once more that this frenzied cult of criminals was not, would never be, Blackfeather.

He would not kill for them.

The words tumbled from Kynareth's lips like an ever-growing river. Picking up speed and passion with every word.
He tilted his eyes to the man - Dorus. Something was wrong.
Something bad. Sacrifice. The screaming. His wide eyes shot to the brindle male. 

Despite what Derg's mind was saying, his heart roared with desire. Hot anger that made him want to round himself onto the defenceless girl too and slaughter her like he should have done to Astara. 

Before he could give in, roars and calls. Defiance. Leigh. He looked to her, his eyes clearly showing he didn't know of this. He couldn't stop this. Didn't want to. 
But another too. An interloper. He now had a target he had reason to hurt. And took the chance. 

Derg lept forth past the slaughter, diving to Sunhawk. To chase him away or battle him to the ground. It didn't matter. Not now. 

Oh!
His words were akin to a sonnet. Caressing her ears with his silky hard voice.
"Go," she repeated to Donatein, a whisper in his ear. And he did, though she knew he was going anyway. 

As did she. 

The stupid woman screaming at them to stop went unheeded, as did the man that the Overseer was now going to take care of. She wanted flesh. 

"Kill!"  she screeched as she bolted to the prey. Sasha couldn't let Aya look so pretty like that anymore. Not when her Kynareth was here. Sasha locked her jaws onto the girls face. She would rip it off if she so could. 

She needed to destroy. 

I’m sorry Sunhawk! :’> I luh you but Donnie boy loves to go chomp!

The reaping has begun and the blood seeping from his maw drips messily down over his cream chest. Staining red as well as splattering his face. It feels good, oh so good. He’s been so contained the last few weeks, he’s been too friendly, too normal. No that is not how he is meant to be. He is a force of natural destruction, he desires death and submission. Only then perhaps will his thirst for tyranny be quenched. 

This feeling only increases as he watches the other wolves before him take their full and lessens when others do not. Though, despite his words, he doesn’t take it as seriously as one might think. He couldn’t give a rats ass if they participated or not. As long as they will fight for him or at least help in some sort of way when things seriously go down then he’s perfectly fine. For this act of brutality is different than a life or death situation, on the Saints side at least. 

Though expectantly, Leigh’s sheiks screams for the terror to stop have him spitting the chunk of skin and muscle from his lips and whipping his head towards her. She can attack or yell at him how she will, but he will not hurt her and he will not stop. Or that’s what he believes until a foreign voice cuts through screams of death. Then as his gaze is previously on Leigh he whips his head the opposite direction. That other wolf that was traveling with the Ursus male, Revui so long ago — Sun something or another. He shakes his head with a sickening, blood stained, toothy smirk on his usually handsome face as he watches Derg sprint past him and into the body of the stranger. 

He absentmindedly has the idea to fuck Derg’s brains out later only because the scene before him has him feeling some type of way. Seeing the usually passive Overseer sink his teeth into others has his pelt heating up pleasantly and he’s eagerly kicking up dirt to meet him. A murmuring of, “You guys got this.” to the wolves chewing on the poor girl as he swiftly makes himself known beside his other half, his Overseer. 

His heavy body also slams into the poor innocent wolf. “Wrong place, wrong time, my friend!” Donovan sings mercilessly to the poor Sunhawk. He aims for the junction of neck and shoulder as he widens his maw woth vicious daggers on display made for ripping and tearing. He puts them to good use, turning his attention onto this new sacrifice. If he’s able to get a hold he will shake the others body to and fro ruthlessly. Mercy is dead to him today.

There was no hope left.

Barreled onto her back with paws in the air, though there had been a screech to stop and an exclamation off to her side, there were wolves attached to her chest and legs and face as the echoing of her screaming began to be the noise that pierced the air the loudest. Sasha’s fangs against her skull had been rammed against an eye, bursting it in an explosion of red and liquid as the organ collapsed and sank and stickied itself against slick fur. At her midsection, Nyra’s teeth were gouging at the spaces betwixt her ribs to meet soft ropey muscle that was exposing itself to the air in shades of pink and crimson, the same color by the split in Aya’s foreleg at Donatien’s fangs. That leg now, like the other, was bone and gristle protruding and oozing fluid, her heart pounding against Nyra’s aggressive mauling, calls growing silent as the savage Sasha began to crack her skull beneath her biting.

Dorus watches, a stiffness growing between he legs as his panting grows rough and rowdy in clear excitement for the act before him… it’s too much. He can’t not interfere. Spitting violently to the side to clear himself of fluid, the no-eared bastard grabs onto the tip of Aya’s tail to keep himself clear of the Saints (lest they somehow get any drop of sickness upon them!) and with the strangers proclamation falling upon deaf ears he begins to tug. Clumps of fur off of the wailing childs fur fly into the air as he proceeds to break her tail into pieces, swinging his head too and fro, bending the ligaments in ways they cannot bend. 

It’s clear that Aya is breathing her final breaths. Shock had caused her to spasm a few times, but now that hole in her chest and the puncturing of her lungs was leaking so heavily that it was clear something vital had been bitten through. Dazed, confused, and with the earth beneath her becoming warm and wet from blood-loss her voice comes only as a dying whisper below all of the carnage surrounding them;

“W… wh… y…” Bubbled through blood and foam as she begins to grow cold and limp, “I… I never… di… d… anything… wrong…”

Light is lost to her one-eyed gaze like the snuffing of a candle against the coarse roar of the wind… and Aya, the stranger with the broken paw, becomes nothing more than a corpse below the myriad of fangs grinding against her.

Some Saints joined the slaughter, others did not, but the stench of carnage leaked through the air, and through Nyra's nostrils as those who did attack shredded Aya.

The bloodlust...shoved her sanity to the side and made some otherly, hellborne monster out of the Shieldmaiden, who's ears fell deaf to Leigh's screaming for them to stop, who's senses both heightened and dulled as the monolithic woman ripped and tore past muscle and lung tissue.

Everything around her sounded distant and far away, like she was underwater. 

And yet she could breathe. 

Finding Aya's heart, which had still been beating at least to some degree...Nyra grabbed it and ripped it from it's place inside the girl's chest with malicious aggression. 

Blood spewed and spurted like macabre rain, all over Nyra's muzzle, her face, her chest, and all over all the other wolves that were too close to avoid the splurting of liquid life onto their pelts. 

Heaving for breath with pinprick pupils, Nyra almost if not definitely looked the picture of an insane psychopath, especially as she held Aya's heart in her wicked teeth. 

The sacrificed girl fell cold and limp, lifeless, shortly after. 
Nyra's senses finally returned to her, and she froze as she realized that she had really, truly, helped take a life. 

She had just given her aid to slaughter someone innocent. 

Not even a life that had done anything to deserve to be taken. 

Ears slanted back, the Shieldmaiden felt the bile rising in her throat, yet she choked it subtly back down...she would let herself vomit later. 

Nyra had few to zero good or even neutral feelings about being a killer. 
She had never truly wanted to be one, and yet...here she was. 

Life truly is a twisted, fucked up thing.


And now, so was she.

So first things first -- what's the discount for buying headstones in bulk? Cause it kinda looks like we're gonna need like six of them.

Sunhawk froze in place as the carnage went from Supertwisted Fight Club to - hold on, pause 

Holy SHIT "Is that a fucking heart?"  Had that white wolf (now red cause, y'know, someone unplugged the innocent girls' heart like disconnecting a hose from a high pressure water line - bitch didn't even turn the spigot off first) just seriously ripped a goddamn heart from that screaming girl's still beating chest?

Ugh. I'm gonna be sick - like maybe, forcefully eject all of my stomach's contents sick.   Sunhawk's claws dug into the dirt as he saw the World's Worst Fighters (seriously who goes four on one?! C O W A R D S !) rein in their bloodletting and turn their thirsty eyes to him.

There really was no time for writing epitaphs (Ok but if there was, it'd look like this: Here rests Sunhawk, first of his name, last of his name on account of his balls had more sense than his brain did) because the Dr.Evil-looking who was figuratively the size of a mastodon was hurling towards Sunhawk. Followed by his weird and freshly blooded counterpart, Mini-Me.

"Fuck me." Sunhawk mouthed as the heavy-hitting Dr Evil (or was it Fat Bastard?) took a Babe Ruth level slugger at his shoulder. The poor guy, I mean, have you seen Sunhawk? He's as intimidating as a ladybug - yonder AT-AT Walker litcherally sent Sunhawk flying.

Thankfully, the singing weirdo had home-runned Sunhawk right out of Derg's jaws. That did not, however, get him home free. He still had a pack of psychopaths hot on his heel.

Mind reeling from the shitshow (horror show? I mean, god, Nyra looked like the world's most terrifying xenomorph as she triumphantly ripped a beating heart from someone's chest and raised it skyward like a shrieking Mayan prophet. Sunhawk's never gonna get that image out of his mind melon)  Sunhawk staggered and began to run.

The only thing was Sunhawk didn't run so well on account of just having the wind knocked out of him. He was about to get jumped like squirrels on the world's last tasty acorn in two seconds.

As fangs flew the screech of not just one, but two rang into the air. Evelynn winced as the harsh cries from Leigh cut her eardrums, her auds only temporarily falling back to block some of the sound. Though much to the other woman's protests, no one did stop. In fact, only more seemed to be spurred into action as another two bodies flew forward to tear into the poor girl.

The silver siren sighed, golden orbs raising from the scene only to spot another. She might have been new, but she had caught sight of all the saints faces at least once while traveling and based off his gawking he stuck out like a sore thumb. They had a trespasser. Now that she could work with. A sly grin spread across her maw as she slowly sidestepped the scene, sticking to the shadows as the stranger stupidly called out to the scene before him.

It was all a dance. One step and then another as the pieces came together into something more. Derg and Kynareth dashed forward quick to equally tear into this intrusion. Evelynn might have had no interest in a sacrifice, but this man had done this to himself. He could have turned and left, but he stayed. Not only did he stay, he had a lack of brains to keep quiet as well, so really whos to blame here?

As the two leaders attacks clashed, the man did his best to run, a gap appearing before her as she finally tore away from the shadows to follow in chase. She might not be the strongest, but she was fast and as the distance between them began to close she would lunge with fangs bared for a leg to stop the man in his tracks.

She wanted to die.

There would be no life after this, not anymore. Those she considered friends, family, she now labeled as killers, murderers. Life would no longer be the same. Her relationships would no longer be the same. Leigh would no longer be the same.

Her screams fell upon deaf ears as more blurs of color flashed by and rushed to tear a bite from Aya. It was as if this would be their last meal until next spring, and everyone had to fill up on food as much as they possibly could if they didn't wish to starve.

The tiny streams of water rolled down the she-wolf's cheeks, the tears pooling at her lashline before falling down her face and dripping onto the ground.

Leigh knew they didn't know. Didn't know how and why this was so incredibly painful. She told herself that made it okay. But it wasn't. Regardless of why, it still felt like a sharp thorn piercing her heart. There was no excuse.

It was a helplessness. This feeling of complete and utter dread that consumed the trembling body. She hadn't been able to do anything back then, to save her family. And how she felt like she couldn't do anything to save Aya either. That poor girl. That beautiful soul.

Her heart was racing and thumping against her chest. There was an unexplainable feeling twisting its way through every nerve. It was sadness, fear, pain. And yet there wasn't a word to decribe what exactly it was. It was just a feeling. A dreadful feeling.

But Leigh couldn't sit and watch any longer. She wouldn't. Don't think that the she-wolf hadn't seen the second unfamiliar shadow lurking in the darkness. She saw him. She'd come for him next after she was finished with Donovan. Even if it killed her, it'd bring her nothing but joy knowing she took the stranger's life in exchange.

Launching herself forwards, she stumbled like a newborn deer towards the scene. The woman still hadn't fully remembered the names of her newer packmates, but she recognized their fur. The golden wolf with a curled tail, one similar to Donovan's, was now chewing at Aya's face. And Leigh wouldn't tolerate it.

Without hesitation she latched onto the other she-wolf's pelt, her bite not sharp enough to cut skin but still firm and strong. She tugged, hoping she could pull the wolf away from the poor girl's body. Even if she wasn't strong enough, perhaps it'd be enough of a distraction to get Sasha to leave Aya alone.

There was so much blood. It flooded her senses, the sight of pieces of torn flesh scattered around the area was sickening and an image that Leigh knew wouldn't be leaving her mind any time soon.

She couldn't hardly see now. The area was stained with crimson and the tears continued to drip down from the woman's now dull orange eyes. Although only half aware, she did manage to catch a glimpse of another stranger fleeing from the scene.

Good choice buddy. I wish I could do the same.

But Donovan was chasing after the other wolf. Or was it the wolf who brought Aya here? No that's not right, why would he be running? But who else could it be? What the-what the fuck was going on?

I have to help him, but I can't. I can't leave.

And then she got angry, her emotions running wild.

Fuck him! Look at him run! This poor girl didn't have that privilege. Fuck you stranger! You lucky piece of shit I swear if you get caught that's beyond pathetic go DIE somewhere else FUCK EVERYTHING!

Her thought's were all strung together in one long run-on sentence. They were incoherent and messy. Angry. Filled with rage. Even venegful.

Leigh kept attempting to pull Sasha away, but it didn't seem to be working. She tugged and tugged, her jaw sore and teeth grinding against one another. Until finally her grasp broke. Flying to the ground with small tufts of golden fur caught in her mouth, she collapsed with a thump.

Breathing wild and eyes searching for any life from the bloodied wolf who's only crime was having a broken paw, Leigh sobbed. There was nothing else to do. Aya's heart had been stollen by Nyra. There was no way Aya was still alive. She was gone. Not even recognizeable anymore.

"I'm sorry..." she whispered, her voice choked up with tears.

"I'm sorry."