Their eyes shine in the moon’s light as they fight. Their movements are fluid, smooth, and predatory. Lean, taunt muscles lay beneath different colors of fur and sharp incisors are visible beneath black gums. Blood spatters over their beautiful coats and color the ground red as they snap, tear, and wound each other.

Fur standing on end, you approach the two groups as they pause and separate as they take notice of your presence. Two pairs of eyes stand out to you and unnerve you. Both seemed to draw the respect out of you without your consent as you lower your head and tuck your tail between your legs. Power radiated from them both, and you’re unsure whether it was the large, dark grey male with golden eyes, or the black female with bright green eyes that had the strongest air to them. They both stood across from each other, and large groups of other wolves and Werelings in human forms stand on each side behind them. All of their eyes bore into you and you stop as you stand before the two obvious leaders.

Your muscles tense and they begin to shake as your wolf side slowly draws you towards one side, your true nature, good or evil, slowly reveals itself as you make your decision. Which side will you choose? Will you choose the path of light and good? Or the path of dark and evil?

Venantium or Eternals?


Last Updated: 01/27/2014

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Little Bird

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1 Little Bird on Sun Mar 31, 2013 12:40 am

Name: Anastasia Helene Faust (Annie for short)

Age: 239 years, but her body is just over 21.

Gender: Female

Rank: Warrior please!

Summary: Sweet Annie, gentle bird; a child with a soul dappled and coy as a fawn's. From her tongue unfurls but a whisper of longing, timid and fleeting as it touches daylight air, and from her eyes, a single column of light - choked by a wolven heart's lustful beating - a somber flicker that peers behind the tattered drapes to her inner's gossamer looking-glass. She is a feather, a wanderer on the breeze, one whom fills her little head's darkest crevices with fairytales and ever afters of a love's finest hour to comfort her shattered self. So soft she is as she picks daisies in seas of Scottish fields and twirls to the tune of the lute, twisting locks of autumn hair 'til they bounce just so and painting lips tart as strawberries the color of spring. So cruel she is as dances on her toes with slivers of porcelain limbs, teasing the air with the jingle of her wrist's bronzed bells as her fingers caress its wind. Never does the gentle bird sing songs to a man impure, nor does it land upon the shoulder of a maiden with heart charred and dark, and though her wit lies hidden and her fight shrinks back in fear, her body is shared by more than just that of a human with soul of a deer.

Anastasia was birthed into the arms of her awaiting father during a night of war, a war simply created to burn and to cleanse. This battle's fire was inescapable, as were its wielders, and as the cannons sounded and their glorious echoes bounced about the gated thresholds of Scottish churches, a mother and a father's cries were drowned away. Their daughter was the last of their heritage, the last to carry the most sacred of blood within her feeble mortal body, and now she had no protectors, no guardians to shield an evil land's wrath. With no arms to hold her, she shed tears unknowingly for her parents now burning beside her, dying ever so slowly beside the crumbling ash that was once her world. As the humans raised their fists in acts of fright around her, a single man approached. This man was no ordinary man, of course, for such petty creatures as those of hate and disease would do never what he would soon do. His eyes were red in his bloodlust, his arms rippled with seams of the darkest fur, yet his smile sent crinkles to his forehead and sparked alight a warmth to the air that Annie once cherished as her prized reverie. He was immortal - as she knows now - and he was her salvation.

He trained her to control what would soon emerge from inside her, to allow its effects to touch her in a way that would not cause her true self to become lost to the beast, but his teachings stemmed from a place far deeper within him than simply his moral obligation. His love for her was unmistakable, irrevocable as a father's yet passionate as a lover's, but his beloved felt not as he did. In a way she sucked him dry, feeding off his knowledge as she learned the way of the wolf, growing stronger with each drop of blood from those on whom she feasted and those her master gave. Her intentions were pure, as Annie is a gentle child, but her twists and turns made a man once with eyes lusting for her body one with fangs lusting for her flesh. He had his way with her before her death was prepared, as was expected of such a wicked male mind, but the bindings with which he bound her were tightened with the weakness of a bitten in mind. The blood she was born with surged hot through her veins once more, tasting with its freedom the sweet victory of the old man's heart, and through the double doors of his cottage it threw her, to a place far more hellish indeed. Without guidance she found herself bent to the will of dying men, hiding in the shadows as she turned only when necessary and fending for her precious blood with the only thing that she had: her amity. The bonds she melded were strong, as she was quick to sever those whom had nothing in return for her power and feminine tongue, keeping by her side both werewolves and mortals strong enough to keep up. She remained in Scotland for over two centuries, bouncing from village to humble village and sweeping away all residue of her existence from her tracks, but no companion was wise enough to do so alongside her. Lost in a world unknown to her, she has found herself in America with no more than a name and an ostentatious shyness that attracts little more than the scum of New York's most twisted.

Ms. Faust is a petite girl, though her bones are rather gangly and unusually long in proportion to her body. She stands just over five feet tall, rendering all curvaceous attributes she possesses...well, nonexistent. Never has the word 'beautiful' come to mind when one has sweet Annie in their sights, though there is something unique about her features that draws one in. Perhaps her sharpened jaw line, cut with daring angles, or the many freckles that tiptoe erratically across the surface of her alabaster skin. Her hair, tousled into loose curls, colored the many shades of an auburn sunset that cascades gingerly along her spine, her nose prominent and slender and pointed always towards the sky. Her eyes are kissed by summer's noon day, so blue and inviting as a pool's crystalline depths. She is beautiful, yes, but still but a child, coy as a dove with a quiet attentiveness like the old owl. How unfortunate indeed that this beauty is never shared, though it could be best that such a rarity is kept behind sealed doors.

Pack: Loner (for the time being)

Joining Keys: Member has posted the joining keys, Beta Teimhnin :3

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Example Post: (It's Lucy from Age/Faye from HG ^_^)

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2 Re: Little Bird on Sun Mar 31, 2013 9:05 pm

Membership Accepted!!! Have fun!!

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