REMEMBER: {panic}IS ONLY 2 WORDS AWAY FROM{picnic}

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Morgan grinned wickedly, now openly pleased with the idea. I’m allowed to get my fangs bloody with this whelp and we get more members to train. And the training, I’m sure, will be fun as well… dear Verlust, I love this pack!
“Heh, well, that settles it! Thanks for the input, babe,” Morgan woofed, winking toward Assyria before moving in on Freya. “Now, my dear, since you decided to give us that oh-so-wonderful idea, I’ll oblige and make this quicker than usual… aren’t I generous, eh?” A low chuckle rumbling deep in his throat, he lunged toward his victim, aiming to sink his lethal incisors into the tender flesh of her torso, just above her heart. Of course, it’ll still be painful… I’ll make completely sure of that.

[♫Flisk♫]

Flisk shrugged at Neveria, his tail nervously swatting the ground. He was still covered in dried blood, he suddenly discovered, and kept himself busy with his new task. Sitting down, he strained to listen while lapping his tongue over the crusty metallic blood. Blood. It gave him a sort of exhileration, like he wanted more of it, but would not have to kill another wolf. He listened to the name of the pack in his head. Blood Mist. That sounded like it hurt. Blinking, Flisk suddenly became aware of what the wolves were talking about. Training! That's what I thought...I was too stupid to know anything anyway. He rolled his eyes.

"They might...train us."

Swallowing, he watched the scene take place. Freya looked battered and torn, like she was ready to go to a better place. Morgan looked just like his father. Scary. Evil. The one who drove him out. Assyria...she looked like a witch with an evil idea. He sighed and spoke to Neveria again.

"You know we won't be able to escape. We might as well just accept it. We are now Blood Mist neophytes."

Lowering his head, he only looked up to hear a sharp NO!! and see Morgan ready to kill Freya. Despair filled his stomach as he sunk to a laying position. Freya had proposed her idea, they stole it, and now they were about to kill her. He crinkled his brow. After all, only being on this earth about 6 months and only joining the Yozorans at the age of about 5 and a half months left Flisk vulnerable to what he was going to learn soon. And he didn't even know it.

[nighty!]

M

issing woke up about five minutes after she fainted. To her, it was the longest time she ever slept but nothing much happened besides decisions that she doesn't know about. The neophyte got up on her four legs and then layyed down like a spinx just looking at what was the plan. I really hope the packs will come to the rescue. She sighed, She missed Coop and Touriquet already but she has to get over that just for a couple of nights, she knew that they'll come to the rescue. All they just have to do is to deal with the pain and be patient.[/size][/color][/blockquote]

[Sivoncé™]

PAINFULLY, I PREPARE A RELEASE

Neveria stared at Flisk, dumbfounded by his words. The scene before her seemed to spin uncontrollably, whirring until she could scarcely make heads or tails of the blurs and smears. She blinked furiously, but the haze of her minds declined to clear. Clarity abandoned her and she somersaulted, headfirst, unprepared into the assault of Flisk's words on her youthful, innoccent ears.
Her eyes round, her lips damp and quivering, her voice emerged from her contorting airway with a faint exhale, "But...that's not right. No, we're Yozoran neophytes," she insisted. "I...I have a family, I have a brother, sisters....what about Trianna? You've got her, too, yeah. What are you even talking about?"
Denial. Stage one of mental and emotional shock.

Freya's breathing was labored and rapid, heart beating wildly, chaotic in its disorganized quivering. Her eyes, wide and moone-shaped, bore into Morgan, as if the harder she looked, the duller their resolve would be. She could glare these past few moments right out of their brains, out of their memories, burn the entire strands of thought, restart. Reset. There had to be some sort of reset button....
She slowly began to prowl away, her movements so gradual and calculated that her progress could scarcely be noticed but by a fly. She stopped, watching Morgan as he laughed at her impending demise. Her blood sprinted through her veins, echoing, splashing, pulsating in her ears. Her eyelids slowly closed in a blink and reopened, a swallow moved down her throat. Slow, soothing breaths entered and exited her body, all in methodical, well-processed pattern. This wasn't a game anymore. The gamble was up....this was the finger on the trigger. This was beyond fight or flight....this was just plain out fight.
As he lunged towards her, the gun snapped, the toxin swam freely with her blood, sweet adrenaline poison coarsing through her veins. Everything was washed in a crimson tint, every movement like a blur. She thrashed her body to the side, the ground ramming hard against her flank as Morgan soared away from her. Her fangs met her leg in an instant, though there was no feeling, nothing by the numbness as she tore and snapped voraciously. She bit hard into the place where it connected to the socket, a faint protrait of Annelise limping frantically on three legs came to mind. But she was cast away without a second thought. She cracked the last connection her leg held internally, the sound creaking through the small clearing, then stumbled to her paws once more. She rounded and sprang immediately, fangs catching at Morgan's face, claws battering desperately at his eyes.

AND POISON TAKES ME AWAY

[Njack]

A tuft of brown fur flashed suddenly in the distance, away from this commotion. Those wolves that might have seen it, that might have not been distracted by the fight between Morgan and Freya, might even decide it was the rear end of a wolf, fur flashing in the light as he headed back to the pack lands. Or, they might just decide it was a tuft of fur. I don't know.

His paws pounded the ground as thoughts rushed through his mind. Ligua had just seen the circle from a distance. Knowing the loner lands a bit better than some other wolves, he had almost managed to follow the kidnappers. He had lost them a few times once they had left the Twilight Clearing, and as a result, he wasn't sure that these were the kidnappers at all.

It did look suspicious, though, so he was rushing back to report it. He couldn't have done much else. Breaking through that circle, if they proved hostile, would be suicide.

Not that following them wasn't.

(Feel free to reroute him, even send him to other pack lands. I dunno if anyone will believe him, either way, and I can always delete or edit this post if he's too much of a wild card in this scenario or if the Blood Mist wolves were impossible to trace.)

[.Rabid Lycan.]

((I’m not sure if Ligua is allowed here or not… Nighty put “BloodMist wolves and the kidnapped only” in the first post *shrug* =P
And jeez… Siverian wolves sure have a knack of getting their limbs ripped off x3 ))

The beast recoiled, his assault avoided in a whisper of air and the crackling of tension. He stumbled, but somehow managed to maintain his footing, and found his fangs locking onto empty space, the air around him littered with speckles of dust that stung his eyes. Morgan swerved, preparing to launch another attack, and was greeted with the grotesque endeavors of the desperate Siverian. A barely noticeable wince seized his face, and while he was distracted with the vision of macabre that stood before him, a pair of jaws rushed his skull.
No… not this time. Not again, you fucking bitch!
Morgan pulled his head back slightly—enough to save his sight from being razed by the she-wolf’s fury, but not enough to emerge unscathed. A roar erupted from his chest, the serrated edges of her incisors ripping into the signature scars that split his features. His eyelids split, and he snarled venomously, surrendering his composure to malice for the time being.
He dove in to meet her, hoping that a fang or claw would reach his opponent. His vision ran scarlet, and the world was blurred with blood. All too familiar. De ja vu. Only she won’t get my throat this time.

[♫Flisk♫]

Flisk watched silently as Missing woke from her faint. He rolled his eyes and quickly turned back to the battle at hand. It seemed that Freya was fighting back. Good for you! Rip him to shreds! He twitched with every blow. Mame him Freya! Clearing his throat, he suddenly noticed Neveria, obviously in shock. He licked his lips. What a grim world this was. Death, seperation, battle. Neveria spoke, and when he heard the word, that single word, it made the rage fly straight to his heart. Eyes blazing, he growled quite loudly indeed, a snarl which was sure to reach the wolves outside.

"NEVER. SAY. TRIANNA!"

He snarled, kicking dirt up towards her as he paced to the very front of the cave. His paws touched the grass outside as he watched the battle take place. Trianna was out there...somewhere. Was she hurt? Did another heroic figure step in and save her? Did that heroic figure sweep her off her feet, head over paws in love? He swallowed, blinking away his hatred as he stared at Neveria. The rage flared, his final burst of it.

"Shut up. Just stop talking. Your too stupid to accept this anyway."

[Sivoncé™]

(( Normally I would say allow it, but since Nighty specified it as a private thread, I think it's meant to stay that way. You can keep your post there as it is, but having him burst right now....maybe save it for a thread after this one or something =D ))

LISTEN
don't cry my child

Thump-thump.Thump-thump.Thump-thump.

Whether or not the curves of her fangs found victory in their ravaging of Morgan's face, Freya neither knew nor had enough sense left in her to wrap her mind around caring. She careened to the side as he swerved, the silver surfaces of his claws flashing inches from her, the other pair of bladed slitting a clean, wide arc across her flank. She stumbled, the world bathed in a curious crimson luminosity. Blood ran thinly along the abrasions, but the cuts were only surface wounds, their damage having minimal depth. She recovered her resolve, fiery and stark clear in her newborn, single-pathed mind. She coiled, muscles bunched, inclined for her move. The energy was electric to her body, but the battery was winding down. Death loomed over her in the form of Morgan's bloody raving, a worthy enough reaper for the cause.

Thump-thump.Thump-thump.Thump-thump.Thump-thump.

Do it.
What's the worse that can happen? You could miss. And try again. You could miss and try again. You could miss. And die. You could miss and die. He could be the one to kill you. Or the exhaustion could placate its thirst at last. Either way, death is waiting, the door is open. Only Morgan stands in the way. Sweet rest, think velvet moss, think rabbit fur. Sleek, dark, impenetrable shadow. No light. No sound. Just sleep. But first, you could try. Try for it. Have your revenge, no wolf mocks a Siverian. Never. He's maimed in the face, maybe blinded or something close. Now is the only time, you must strike! Strike! STRIKE!

THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP.

The she-wolf launched herself towards Morgan's chest, her fangs knocked and shot for his throat.

---

Neveria met Flisk's hateful fit with an even gaze, deadly with its clarity. "They say ignorance is bliss, Flisk. If that's true, then at least I die a happy death, whereas you wither away with only your misery as company. At least I have my hope, however false you think it it. At least I know who I am. You'll be first to bend, Flisk. You'll be their neophyte. You've already said it yourself. Look at Freya! She fights now. Before she cowered, but now she fights! She's a banner for the Siverians. What will you be for the Yozorans, for your family? A traitor that broke or a Yozoran that bent and shattered under binding circumstance?"

WHEN YOU AWAKE

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Fangs meet flesh, the sickening moment of suspension holding them both captive. That surreal expanse of time where two beings connect, joined by identical lust for the slaughter. That second where it is all or nothing, and the desperate nature of the beast slams forth in a battering ram of violence, no longer contained, but ripe and ready for the kill.
I’m not breathing normally. Am I… drowning? No, I can’t be; it’s impossible. I haven’t been near water since the last time I went under. Impossible…
Skin splits asunder, shredded ribbons peeling away by enemy jaws. The beast recoils in the same movement, lessening the blow but accepting the devastating damage all the same. He searches in vain to look his assaulter in the eye, but finds nothing to behold.
Too quick. Not fatal… never die like this again.
Denial blossoms, taking root even as scarlet rain spills from the side of his throat. Instinctively, he curls his skull inward, heels burrowing into the earth to support his body. The blood in his eyes is slow to clear; there are shapes now, but no features. No details.
Lowly, he chokes out a breath, guttural hissing sounding involuntarily from deeper in his chest. “You… got me good… hehehe… love you, too… darling.” It was more of a strangled whisper than a taunt, and—unable to locate his opponent—he swung about madly, snapping wherever he could reach. Denying his own mortality. Unsure whether he was about to die again.

[♫Flisk♫]

Flisk listened to Neveria speak, knowing inside that she was rambling on about something he already knew. He let a low rumble out from his mouth and quickly paced toward Missing. Poking her with his paw, he furrowed his brow, swallowing silently and wondering with all his heart why at a moment like this, she had chosen to faint.

"Erm...I wouldn't faint anymore if I were you. You don't know where you will end up...underground? In a river, dead?"

Pacing away, he snarled to himself. No memories were coming back to him from the battle except he was thrown onto another wolf. Swallowing, he furrowed his brow jonce again and eyed Neveria, finally replying.

"You think I don't know that? Of course I'll fight back but you'd be stupid to think that we'd win. One, we're outnumbed. Two, they're older than us. Three, how much pain do you think you can handle?"

[Sivoncé™]

Neveria shrugged her scrawny shoulders at Flisk, eyes boring relentlessly into his. It's not so much what we think we can do as it is what our motions actually are. "I don't know how much I can handle. But wouldn't it bring us more pain to know that we betrayed wolves we love? If you're talking about physical pain, Flisk, then look at Freya. She's still going. Seeing that, how much do you think we can take? Combining the two, mental and physical, then I guess if my pain threshold proves to be minimal, I'll be dead within a day or so. If not, they'll kill me slower. It doesn't matter what you think you can take if you have to face those wolves you love again and see the looks on their faces!" She spat in disgust at the ground between her paws. "No physical torture can top what that can do to us, what that will do to us, if we see our loved ones looking at us in fear."

Freya tumbled back from Morgan, his jaws slapping down on empty air in serpentine nature. She was a good foot into safety, the enrgy slowly ebbing. Her eyes flickered around to the wolves roughly circling the clearing. Holes littered the edges of their circle --- she could escape. She could leave here if she wanted to. She would die before she got anywhere, they would probably let her go. Or she could stay. Stay and attempt to finish Morgan as her dying action. Maybe they wouldn't let her die after killing him. Just another shot at escape for me. I'll fight them all if it means getting out of here. Take them down, one by one......
She prowled to the side, a clear shot at Morgan's flank. The rocket energy was coming to its close, this final spring would signal it's end. Freya's end. This is for my pack!
She surged forward and crash landed into the slavering beast.

[.Rabid Lycan.]

Sensations of charred flesh and scorching waves of a maddened fire raked down his spine. Not from agony or any physical reaction, no; it was rage. His vision lost in sightless scarlet and his perception frayed by anger, it was a hopeless situation. But amidst mental chaos, realization snapped into focus.
…wait… oh, stupid! STUPID, STUPID, STUPID! You idiot, you piece of shit, Morgan… you let it happen again! You lost track of what’s important! Arrogance last time, anger this time—haven’t you learned by now!? Eye on the ball, remember? It’s the game, and that’s it! Nothing personal, just the game, you ignorant son of a—
His ears twitched, blind to the world, but managing to detect the shifting sound of paws as Freya made another flying assault. Morgan recoiled, but his disabilities prevented him from completely avoiding the blow, and the sting of fangs punctured the hardened tissue of his flank.
At the moment of contact—the second Freya dug her incisors into his flesh—he froze. Digging his heels into the ground so as to remain standing, Morgan turned his head in Freya’s direction, his sightless, bleeding eyelids staining crimson tears down the sides of his muzzle.
“…what is it… with you wolves and… my eyes? Kind of… ruins the fun if… you can’t see… your victim’s eyes… when they die…”
Well, at this point, even if she doesn’t kill me right here and now—with me standing still, it should be pretty easy to finish me off—I think she put enough holes in me to bleed me dry anyway. Hmm… do I want to die now by fangs, or ten minutes from now by blood loss? That’s a tough one.

[♫Flisk♫]

Flisk's gaze hardened. What Neveria had said was true, but the young neophyte had not loved anyone in his pack but Trianna. He had not known anything. He only had been in the pack for half a moon. Swallowing, he looked to her in confusion, spitting himself, half out of habit and half out of anger. Turning away, he set himself away from the conversation. Staring at a cold, gray wall of stone, the small male neophyte wept. Tears streamed down his face but he sobbed silently. The only clue that he was crying was his spasming and the small puddle that was forming underneath him. The stone floor made him shiver as a light breeze swept over his flank. Turning, he looked back at Missing and shook his head. His eyes scanned the fight with Freya and Morgan. Was Freya already dead? No...she wasn't! She could still win! His tears forgotten, Flisk called out, oblivious to the vicious wolves around him.

"GO FREYA GO!!! RIP HIM APART! BITE HIS THROAT!"

[Sivoncé™]

Tumbling to the dirt floor, dust plumed and fanned around her in hazy clouds. She coughed hoarsely, crimson tainting her once beautiful pelt. She was a ragged mess, disheveled, pelt tangled, eyes wiry with bloodshot veins. Far ffrom the young, shy she-wolf of the Siverians. Far from the young femme, padding lovelorn afer elder warriors. Even being here...here, in the midst of a death camp, she felt undenyingly wholesome. Never fell in love or took a mate. Never had many friends, save for Annelise, who she'd gotten to see find her way home at last. Melina was in charge of the Siverians now, Nightshade no longer plagued with stresses she was not meant to take, but rather in her place as advisor and beta. In the period after the packs had escaped Blood Mist, the forest had been lulled into a scattered mass. The pack was tighter now. The Siverians would prepare themselves. With Nightshade's knowledge of the past Blood Mist, wielded and put to proper use in Melina's leading vessel...and the claws, fangs, wills of each Siverian warrior, her pack would be prepared. They wouldn't go down without a fight. A hot, honey sensation moved through her body, quivering in her organs as they strained with the final rampage. I am one of the pack....truly, I am.
Freya's vision, blotted inky with black splotches, teetered perilously, threatening to give way to the null void that flooded at the banks of her conscious state. Her form drooped in a tired crouch, but she prowled forward nonetheless, relentless even after the phase of adrenaline had exhausted her body. She sprang fangs snapping for Morgan's throat, Flisk's howl a dull buzz in the back of her mind.

J O U R N E Y

Before you die, they say life flashes before your eyes.
It isn't lightning.
It's a wild tempest, a massive fray of images crowding the remnants of living sight.

home

Annelise is back.
Melina will lead us.
I am watchful for you, my kindred.

fire

HELL---
Her fangs caught on an unidentifiable sleeve of flesh, and the night took her breath away.

release.

[♫Flisk♫]

((This is gonna be a really bad post but my muse is running low so just try to deal with it.))

Flisk paced again, paw prints embedded in the floor. The cold wind chilled his fur as it ruffled and piled up, matting. The dried blood taste was still thick on this tongue, the crusty feeling still there. Blinking, Flisk circled, not looking at the battle at all. His thoughts were swirling, and though he felt as if he had to see what happened, he didn't want to know. His tail drooped below his legs and he suddenly snapped his neck towards the scene of action. Freya, lunging toward Morgan in an attempt to kill or wound him, and then her falling to the ground, limp. Was she...DEAD? Flisk shook his head, his stomach began to ache, and a headache moved into its' place. Despair fluttered through his heart as he called out.

"Freya? Freyya? Get up Freya! Get up!"

Flisk had not looked at Morgan yet, all his concentration focused on Freya.