Ghastly Woods the souls that must awaken

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Dusk was rapidly falling as the paw of the first Blödhgarm to discover Relic Lore entered the Ghastly Woods. It was a mild day—perhaps the most mild in a while—and as a result the young pair's journey had been a rather uneventful one. Their was a silence, a birr, that surrounded them when they entered the woods, something forbidding and formidable surrounding them in the air and Fírnen felt himself shiver with a delicious delight, his hackles rising instinctively. Here. There's something different here, he whispered, his voice quick and breathless in his excitement, the under current growl that seemed to forever emphasize his words still there even as he wished to keep his voice quiet.

Can you feel it Kyrja? He crooned to his sister, turning to peer over his shoulder at her, his eyes as bright as winter gleaming with a feverish delight in the gloomy darkness. Slowly he tread in deeper, his shoulders rippling beneath the thick, curling fur that hung of his thinner than usual frame yet was still as dark as ever. His movements were quick and sharp yet retained a ethereal grace as he moved, each paw was placed without thought yet appeared as if it was choreographed and planned each time to be placed in just the perfect spot. Movement and grace had been something the Blödhgarm's had been blessed with. Then, with a leap, he shot forward and dropped his front half down, throat pushed forward and teeth bared as a violent snarl ripped through him as he seemingly challenged the trees and shrubs and the very essence of the place itself.

He was darkness, shadows - there was something about her brother that seemed to swirl around him, his grace making him seem nearly without joints at times when he drifted across the ground, with barely any sound nor sign of his passage. A couple of warm days had melted much snow, leaving little to tell of their silent passing, something that she found both fitting and mildly disconcerting. Would they know that they were still real, if they left no signs? But on the other paw, they were ghosts, he more so then her. He was a beast, an animal, when no one but she was looking. His voice was rough and rugged, he moved like a creature of the dark, like a monster. Despite how he flowed across the ground, how elegant he was and the way his dark fur rippled across his spindly frame, there was something sinister in the pattern of his every movement, something that screamed beast.

She loved him for it.

Kyrja padded beside him, and at a first glance, they couldn't have been more different. He had that dangerous edge to his movements, and she lacked it; she walked like a lady, with steps that appeared dainty and graceful yet covered ground. She was limber and long-legged, a shy edge of pride in her posture as her head was seldom relaxed and in level with her spine, but always up; her dark eyes watched, incessantly. In a sense, he was the shadow she cast on the ground, and as he said words to her and looked over his shoulder, she met his silver eyes without hesitation. There was always a tension between them, but it was harmless; they looked at one another and saw through flesh and bone to the dark heart beating beneath. Valkyrja smiled, an expression that was as pleasant to the eye as it was wicked if you looked below. "Not even the birds dare greet us, Firn," she purred, her stride lengthening for a moment to carry her up to him. Her pale side brushed against his, teasing along his side until she had passed him. "They break my poor heart with their cruel silence."

And then he was off, taking the lead again, leaping in front of her and baring his teeth at the trees. A tinkling laugh escaped her throat and she put the point of her muzzle against his hip. What could this place offer them, and bring into the hotchpot - except to call it such would be a form of lie..for there would be no equal sharing. They would take all the world had to give, and when it didn't give willingly anymore, they'd rip it from them and feast on the remains of their ruined lives.

// idk is the speech too unreadable? :3

Kryja is gorgeous and I love them both! I can read the text, but admittedly it's not the easiest to read - but still readable to me anyway. :)

She looked angelic, like butter wouldn't melt, but only he knew different and knew that it was a clever façade to mask the truth within—her beauty was as apparent as his wild darkness, but the two of them had always been a handsome pair. They complemented each other beautifully, his dark fur with his sharp, winter-bright eyes and her light, ethereal fur only enunciating her dark, enchanting ones, she was the beauty they manipulated others to see while he was the wildness within them.

A shudder passed through him as he felt her warmth against his side, contentment washing over him as he pushed back against her, making them closer still. Her fur was brushed flat as they pushed against each other, as she knew she would only have it, but the friction of their movements caused his to ruffle and rage circling him in a wild, dark halo as his eyes shut briefly in his contentment. At her words his eyes snapped open and he turned to look at her, covering her muzzle with affectionate and soothing nips just on the borders of pleasurable over pain. Nothing would upset his sister and as if responding to an unspoken command that was when he shot forth, his wild fury at this damnable forest that dared not greet them as she had wished escaping in a terrifying snarl. Her laugh and delicate touch on his hip only encouraging him further.

His wild cacophony of snarls, barks and broken, almost howl-like noises only abated when the birds hidden amongst the trees broke from them in a raucous noise of their own. The darkness of the crows matching his own raven-black fur as he turned to her, a soothed, simpering expression on his face as he waited for her praise. There, my sweet, his voice was a growl, but it had a affection he knew only she would be able to identify, the welcome you deserved.

Dark eyes drifted over his mussed fur, lips crawling back in a disapproving grimace, but there was no time to ponder the disarray of his black hair. She knew that it would settle with his motion in time, the way it always did. Only the forest watched them here, so it was nothing to be ashamed of - the forest had eyes better then any wolf or prey, and saw through thin skin and red flesh, into the very soul. The forest knew who they were, and there was no reason to put on smiles and groomed appearances. The trees would not care, they wouldn't budge even if she glared at them with all the power in her black gaze. In the midst of her pondering, Firn shoved his muzzle into her face, and for a moment an annoyed crease appeared in her face - then she yielded, leaning in closer. His teeth pinched the thin skin and she gave a playful growl; no other sound would serve to voice such sensations as shot through her.

It ended though, as her brother leaped forth, showing displeasure at the forest. Kyrja herself let her gaze drift. This was an old place full of old stories, secrets whispered upon the cold breeze. Lengthening shadows cast across a darkening ground hid many of the signs from view, covering up old bones with a shroud of darkness. With relative ease her eyes pierced the coming gloom, drifting aimlessly across the latticework of thin branches. It was winter and much of the greenery lay rotting under their paws, the forest bare of its magnificence. Naked, she thought. And honest. It showed its grim weapons of roots and thorny bushes, flaunting its capacity in the face of strays - winter was a grim season, their extra lean shapes a testament of that. To the sound of her brothers snarls she pictured the forest in high summer, with all of its shroud intact. How cleverly nature hid its fangs in dresses of innocent green, fooling the unwary into thinking themselves safe in such a place. The forest didn't move with the power of bears or the strange lean grace of her brother; it sat still and quiet, waiting for the fools to place their heads in the jaws of nature.

Nature, was merciless.

The birds gave way for her brother, they rose in clouds of darkness like an oddly fitting herald of the Blödhgarm pair's arrival. Valkyrja's dark lips curled back in a toothy yet elegant smile, and like a bank of fog she drifted close to Firn's side. "Crows," she murmured in her sweet voice. "Their cawing is oft displeasing on the ear, and perhaps one should enjoy songbirds and their colors - but crows are what we are, and as such the forest has greeted us." She laughed again, a sound like silver bells and waterfalls. Her muzzle drifted across his back, gently pushing a stray hair into place in the midst of his hackles. As she pulled away, her muzzle brushed affectionately along his cheek. "It is a fitting welcome, Fírn, and now the forest has tested our mettle. It did not give us beautiful songs, but tested us with silence. We..overcame." Kyrja danced away, an eager edge to her light steps as her head faced south. "Come, my brother," she urged. Perhaps one could identify the emotion in her voice as happiness - she was not a cold creature, albeit different things pleased her then the wolf of the norm.

"Let us be the Crows of this land."

// is it better now, or should I give up on the shadow effect? :)

Hmm, have you tried a light shadow behind darker text? It might leave a cool effect and bit a little easier on the eye perhaps? ♥

While he shared her grace in movement—albeit of a more different, dangerous kind—he did not have her way with words and Fírnen listened, enraptured, as she spoke. Like his growling, threatening voice this Blödhgarm's words tended to be just as harsh and direct, yet he could not help admire his sister's eloquence even if he did not wish to learn it himself. As she laughed, the sound like music and just as beautiful as her appearance, a devilish smirk curled his face, a tip of a fang flashed in a wicked smirk as his wintery eyes drifted skywards with a hunger deep within them as he watched the birds soar. He accepted her ministrations and allowed her to fuss his fur a habit of hers that he had grown used to and he crooned with a nightmarish grumble in his throat as she brushed her muzzle against his own. As we overcome everything, he agreed, it falls to us as everything must. Her words brought out a passion in him, a blood lust, that only she could rile and he felt the familiar burning in his blood as his teeth gnashed in his eagerness to conquer this land too.

He watched her dance and as she called him came, no hesitation in his movements as he glided forward with a gaze fixated on his graceful sister. She seemed to float, to glide, and where his movements brought an uncomfortable feeling, fear perhaps, hers he knew would bring the opposite—attraction, joy and above all speak off her seeming innocence. However, Fírnen himself was quite the actor and while he could never quite reach the effortless, natural feelings that Kryja would bring he could morph himself into creature who seemed to exist to spread pleasure more than pain he really thrived on.

With his nose to the ground Fírnen prowled forward, a wild savagery in his movements as he hunted the smell that had caught his attentions. A rabbit, young, had perhaps wandered too far from its den and in its fear of the sudden cacophony of noise had darted in the wrong direction and now lay trembling in the bushes nearby. With a violent snarl the dark beast dived for the shrubs it used as a measly shield from his teeth, his movements disconcertingly quick—but there was never any hesitation when it came to savagery for Fírnen. A scrabble of its back feet and a petrified squeal were the last noises the rabbit was to make before Fírnen caught it between his teeth with a deadly accuracy, puncturing its spinal cord as he felt the rabbit go limp as he shook it and broke its neck. He withdrew from the bushes with a victorious snarl, dropping his prize to the floor before ripping it open and devouring its heart and drinking the creatures lifeblood within it, the warm liquid dying his muzzle red. Here, sister, he managed to snarl out, his words only just understandable in his delight and delirium, taste what this forest is made off.

(This post was last modified: Jan 29, 2012, 05:19 PM by Fírnen.)

Sometimes, she wondered if she was the brain, the heart, the spirit, and he the beast, the dark hand reaching out to conquer what she pointed at - sometimes, she liked to think of herself as the angelic wintery terror that grasped his dark leash in her delicate paws, but a single glance at his pale eyes always waved them aside as mere fancies. Those silvery depths were intelligent, a sharp, wild sort of it. While he was a beast in every movement he made, he was also something dark and graceful. Even in his savagery there was a trace of sophistication. What he lacked for in eloquent speech she made up for; what she lacked in beastliness, he made up for. They complemented each other, and as his heated words washed across the wintery air she smirked, dark lips twisting in a grimace that conveyed both joy and anticipation. There was a certain arrogance to them and this she knew - and guessed he did too, for arrogance that you are not aware of within yourself is bound to cause your downfall - but she cherished it; it was their lifeblood, their nourishment, simply the reason they were who they were. Arrogant, vain, ambitious, though their goals varied with the moon and seemed to melt and change as easy as snow. Dark eyes narrowed as he passed her, though she made no move to interfere.

Instead, she watched him.

His movements were quick and precise, his nose accurate. Kyrja's dark eyes lit up as he pounced, a quick snarl ripping itself from her throat as she bounced on the spot, half-dominant, half-playful. One would perhaps expect such a vain and lady-like creature as her to be rather dainty and careful, perhaps even disdainful, when it came to feeding, but the opposite couldn't be more true of the pale girl. As Fírnen backed out of the shrubbery with a warm, limp rabbit between his jaws, she gave a low growl but watched him for a moment still - it had been an execution, a butchery, proof of what their bodies were capable of. When they danced together they were deadly, synched, both quick and light - his jaws had found the desired target even in the tangled forest here, and she knew that there was no executor more idoneous than he.

Breaking her chain of thoughts, Kyrja ate up the space between them, her sleek frame shadowing the feast as she bent her head, lips back and half-growling, to taste the body. Flesh it was, like everything else that walked and lived and breathed; flesh could, and would, be devoured. His growled voice fell on her ears and she replied with a half-snarl as she thrust her muzzle into its steaming body, caring little of what he thought; he'd gotten the heart, the liver was hers, if he wanted to argue it, that'd be his problem. With a savagery that was quite unbecoming she found the dark, warm organ and ripped it out, devouring it. A sensation of glee and warmth spread through her, a shiver traveling down her spine. It was so small, though, and all the rabbits of this place would surely die out if that was to be their only source of food. Valkyrja thrust the thoughts aside, focusing on ripping out more of the soft belly of the young rabbit. This had been an easy kill, another sort of welcome gift perhaps; it had lain terrified. She doubted every kill would be this easy, and with a form of thoughtful look on her face the dark lady raised her head. Her bloodied tongue slid out as she licked her lips, but then she shook her head and leaned down to keep feeding; in a matter of moments not much would be left. She and Fírnen seldom let flesh go to waste.

(she does not say this, only wanting to show it: "Crows")

is this better? :3 Light glow is a bit hard to achieve since the background already is very light.. ^^'

Much. ;)

Fear could be paralysing Fírnen had witnessed. He had seen it grip their very soul and then them shake in uncontrolled terror—and he had relished every minute of it. Fear, however, was not something he was familiar experiencing. Causing, oh, he had many and much experience, but feeling it, that was not something he could remember suffering often. Nothing tasted sweeter than the acerbic taste of fear in your prey's veins, it seemed to enhance the kill somehow and still Fírnen could swear he could taste this young rabbits terror upon his tongue. He watched Kryja feed with a satisfied eye—hunting usually fell to him to avoid her dirtying herself but he knew she was capable in her own right—he was too enthralled with this place to feel true hunger that the rabbit's heart could not sate and so he let his sister feed uncontested, unthreatened by her daring growls.

After he tired of waiting he began to walk slowly into the forests depths, not so far they would be considered apart (as of course, the pair hardly were) but enough that he hoped to entice her over. We remain here then, for a while at least, he knew she would agree, it had been a while since the two had been so taken with a place upon first arrival. There must be packs nearby, we can seek shelter and rest our weary bones, gorge ourselves a little, and then decide what we must do. There was a wicked gleam in his eye as he spoke which he knew Valkryja would not miss, and his forever quick words were faster in his excitement. In a place like this there was bound to be plenty to do.

Skin broke beneath her onslaught as flesh flowed down her gullet. Warmth spread through her body as she fed on the small rabbit, one dark eye flung in her brother's direction ever so often. With each passing second, impatience became more and more clearly writ upon his face, and hurriedly she tore the young creature apart. Then, he was walking away, and with a snarl Kyrja bolted after him. Most of the rabbit was gone anyway, but as she slid up beside him, she gave his hip an angry nip. It left a smear of blood unseen in the dark mess of hairs, but she knew it was there. And she hated it. Shaking her delicate head, she glided up beside him, shoulder to shoulder. Dark and light; in her younger days, she had often mourned the fact that she was not pristine white, as to be a complete opposite to him. That was before she had realized that his eyes were gray. Now, she relished her silver-stained coat, for its sleekness was far more prominent then in any white one she'd ever seen. There was just something to the way it glittered in the light that was breathtaking.

He spoke truth and she answered by licking her lips. It tasted of bits of fur and blood and flesh. Wrinkling her nose, she did her best to clear the gore from them, glad that she'd not stained her chest. "They'll be fools to take us in, but everyone is fooled," she purred in between the flicker of her tongue. Slowly, she sank down on her haunches, watching him with glittering dark eyes. He wanted to move on, see this place; and she stalled, just to provoke him. "And the fooled becomes fools. And we, rise above." With a focused look on her face she fell into silence, working to get rid of a particularly annoying patch of blood on the left side of her muzzle. It just refused to go away, and with an irritated shake of her head, Kyrja launched herself up on all four and began to pad away in search of a stream.

"There has to be some water in this forest," she muttered under her breath, slinking like a stray bank of fog beneath the heavy, bare boughs. Thorns grasped for her but she eluded them, stepping lightly over roots and fallen branches. This was an old place, powerful simply by virtue of existence - Kyrja respected it, and felt at peace here. It was dark and quiet, and once they had received their welcome of crows, it had become quiet pleasant. The rabbit was another gift, and gladly she took, but she was hesitant as well. Before all of this was over, it would claim its payment, and she wasn't certain what price it demanded. For now, though, the slender female forced those thoughts from her head and instead wriggled through the shrubs in search for a creek. Finally she found one, and without pausing she plunged her muzzle into the cold, sweet water. Blood and dirt came loose, and when she brought it up again, she felt better - cleaner. Water dribbled off the end of her nose as she snorted, and licked her lips again. "And what do you feel like doing, brother?" she asked, as if no time at all had passed; the gleam his eyes had sported flickered to life within hers, accompanied with a wicked little half-grin.

I'm sorry for the delay. ): Shall we end this and make our joining thread? ♥

As the gap between them widened Fírnen heard his sister's annoyed snarl before the rushed footsteps of her paws behind him, and then, finally her presence near him once more. She followed him as he knew she would. Her words brought a devilish smile, more like a grimace, to his face, of course. We only let them see what we want them to see. We'll project something suitable to encourage them to make the right decision. The words would struggle to sound more menacing coming from anyone else's mouth, there was a wickedness in his intentions and the tone of his voice only spoke of it. Kryja seemed to be stalling their further exploration and Fírnen frowned at her, his frustrations clear, as she continued to speak, his black tail lashing out whip-like behind him.

Quickly as he had, she soon stormed past him and Fírnen could only smirk at the returned gesture, relieved at least that his frustrations at her lack of moment could not finally be sated. He trailed behind her contentedly in her mission, sniffing at shrubbery with an almost benign curiosity, playful even, to those who did not understand the malicious thoughts that would be crossing through his thoughts at each detected scent. Fírnen did not feel the need to constantly enforce his dominance over his sister to feel truly in the lead of their relationship—he was confident enough in his own abilities that he could control her without continuously reinforcing it.

Her goal was met not after long and he watched her dip and bathe her bloody muzzle in the stream, shaking his head at her desire for cleanliness. He, meanwhile, relished in the fresh scent of blood in his nostrils, in being able to curl his macabre tongue along his fur and taste the animal he had not long devoured and he would not be cleaning his raven-dark pelt. Why what we always do of course, he cooed, his lips curling to reveal his teeth as a snarl hummed underneath his words like a nightmarish lullaby, cause chaos and mayhem.

A smile that in truth was mirthless played upon her pale face, dark lips pulled taut over worn fangs; yet there was a sort of edge to it, as if the notion of manipulative work excited her. That was no lie, for it did, it sent her heart hammering like nothing else could, adrenaline spewing into her veins and into her mind as poisonous words laced her tongue and slipped out like innocent songs, somehow hiding the sounds of battle and death lurking beneath it. She made no move to answer, simply licked her teeth one more time. The time for that would come, when her dark eyes became pools of hope, treading just on the border of sadness - when her white-gray fur would be angelic and slightly ruffled to make her look even more pitiful. Shaking, quivering, she'd convey a lack of energy, starved, though in truth she had always been a lean, mean creature.

Now, though, she was none of that, none of the whimpering, simpering child she so often played - now she was something dark and terrible draped in pale cloth, as if to hide the decay beneath. She was fearsome and proud, ignoring the fact that she always submitted to Firn - her head was high as she was wont to carry it, her fur still sleek, impeccable. Her brother - her guardian, her everything, her vice and her demise - spoke. His voice sent a shiver down her spine and with a crooning sound she slipped around, curling up next to him for a moment as she licked some of the gore from his lips. She liked the song that he was singing, the promise of blood down the road. Like a hound on the scent her eyes glittered, possibilities racing through that delicate head of hers. "Disguised in satin," she murmured, drifting away again, aside from his warm black body. Away from his ruffled fur and bloody lips.

A flick of her dainty tail, coarse hair brushing against his chest; then her body broke into movement the way a wave breaks upon shore. Relentless, patient, her slender legs carried her into a wolf's trot as she counted on her demon, the one that held her leash, to keep up with her as they drove, mercilessly, into the heart of this new land.

How the birds would sing in woe when they learned what had come to haunt them.