Whispering Darkness [open]

[jester]

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[atrb=background,http://i34.tinypic.com/2eehmp2.png] So They Say The Lion, Is King of the Jungle... But Put Him In These Lands, He's Nothing But A Wolf's Slave!

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He thirsted for a little chaos, some hurt and pain. He hadn't witnessed it in some time, and frankly it made things utterly boring. When was the last time he had satisfied his needs? When he had lifted a paw to make a little pain, and smiled in his own success? Far to long indeed.

Jester, the Joker for pain, smiled in the night's swarthy hue, as the sounds raged through the night. Darkness, whispers, and coldness. A bit like his insides, his intention and goals toward life. With ever paw step, a feeling of utmost pride surged through his body. For, it would appear he was the only wolf in the night.

A Night Surgeon, if you will. However, looks deceive, and Jester knows that more than anyone. While lifting his nose to the scent the air, only the small lingering scent of night roamed. But, than a new scent drifted, and told him otherwise.

For, it would appear, that Jester has a visitor.




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[Bathsheba]

[atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,420,true][atrb=background,http://i37.tinypic.com/p60eo.png] There was the rush of the wind in her ears, but there was the ache of age in her bones. Bathsheba moved deliberately through the jungle. The wet earth sucked at her paws as she traversed the overgrown wilderness. She had grown used to the nakedness of the Tundra, nothing but ice and twisted, stunted trees. The great Yagi’s mind had grown weary, weak, and wayward. She was haunted by images of monsters and screams of devils. The fuse of her sanity was burning to ash; she felt close to exploding. The forest gossiped with the night sounds. The darkness made it hard to see, all light was blocked out from the thick canopy. Perhaps she had come here for the thrill of getting lost. Her pack didn’t care much about her anymore. They didn’t kill the voices and she could hardly differentiate between what was real and what was false now. Perhaps Dokimer really didn’t come back. Perhaps she never had a son. Perhaps Cypress didn’t lose her mate and pups. Tragedy seemed far and false. The truth should be comforting. Shouldn’t it? Her heavy body struggled through the thick growth. She shook her head to get her bangs out of her eyes. The large Empress then remembered why she was going out of territory. It wasn’t to get away. It was to understand where the other packs stood. Whether they could be trusted. But. How could she trust another wolf from a completely different pack if she could hardly trust herself? And then suddenly, a break in the canopy let in dapples of moonlight. Like hot coals, her eyeshine was bright and hot. Everything became crystal clear. Bathsheba scented the air. She could literally paint a picture of the wolf with only his scent, but for now, her sight was upon him, taking him in. “Of the Mafia, correct? I’m Bathsheba, Empress of Balkamir Yikaxy.”