Mortiul and Ignasia Border Outskirts

Stumbling upon the borders of a pack hadn’t been a part of Abaddon’s plan, but he was willing to work with it. It wasn’t like he was headed anywhere as it was.

The whispers had begun not long after the dark brute had left those wretched woods - rumors floating on the winter wind from nowhere in particular of a pair of secluded sister packs settled deep in the mountains. At first, Abaddon had been uninterested. As time went on, however, he was pulled deeper into the mystery of the allied groups; stories piled of of their violent nature, their insanity. Their outright, unwavering sadism. Despite his own past of bloodshed, Abaddon wasn’t actively seeking their violence. However, he was too accustomed to such things to be deterred; he was no stranger to brutality, and who better to accept his stained past than wolves who shared it?

The trek toward the territory had been long and tedious. After the miles of snow and sand and scraggly trees, however, he had reached the foothills of the rumored mountain range. By the time the towering mountains seemed within reach, he could practically taste the blood and ash on the wind, mixed with the almost overpowering scent of wolves. Most of it mingled - pack wolves who shared the same overlying scent from their time together. Closer, however, were the nonconforming scents of rogues. He was not the only wolf, it would seem, drawn in by the rumors surrounding these lands. He looked on to the horizon as he neared, spying many wolves - six at least, and more incoming. He halted, watching from the cover of a towering evergreen. He wondered idly what sort of sick, twisted creatures were attracted to the rumors he’d heard - how many had come from backgrounds like his?

One female stood above the rest, a pelt of cream and ivory adorning her frame. The pride and dominance of her stance alone spoke of her rank; it reminded him almost of Melek - she was very likely an Alphess of one of the two packs. As the brute observed, he realized that the presumed alphess was speaking. Not wanting to miss anything important, he approached.

Wouldn’t want to be late for the party.

The female’s sharp voice echoed in his ears as he approached, already berating two of the present females for failing to have the sense to howl for the alphas. A ghost of a smirk flashed over Abaddon’s icy visage, the male already respecting the no-bullshit attitude the alabaster bitch seemed to have. Perhaps this would be more interesting than he had anticipated. He halted as he came near, keeping off to the side of the group already present. His posture relaxed; his towering form remained tall, but an air of neutrality and nonchalance radiated from him. Starting a fight with an alpha within the first five minutes of his arrival would be less than optimal.

With a contemptuous curl on her lips, the alphess, snapped, “Now each of you give me your name and what use you think you’ll be. Save the speeches, I do not have all day.” Abaddon waited in silence for a moment, weighing his options. Speaking up when he had not been the first to arrive might get his head bitten off. However, the ivory alphess seemed to have little patience at all; wasting her time with trivial niceties would do nothing to help his case here. Just as well - he didn’t have much patience for them, either.

He was beaten to the punch by a gangly, foreign creature whose deerlike limbs seemed both too long and too scrawny for her ginger-toned body. Her saccharine smile dripped with cruelty as she replied, “Yvaine. I could be of use as an information gatherer from outsiders as well as an assassin if necessary. I excel at mind trickery and stealth. Making for a deadly weapon in a war, or to assassinate a wolf you particularly don’t like.” Abaddon could hardly keep from rolling his eyes at that. Really, how pretentious can you be?

Eyes of frigid honey slid to Yvaine’s companions. A mottled brute around Abaddon’s own size lingered near her, fixing the alphess with a gaze that held an almost disrespectful amount of lechery. At the brute’s side cowered a young, small female with a pelt like fire. Her posture said enough about her willingness - or apparent lack thereof - to come to this place. Numbing pity settled like a stone in Abaddon’s chest, though his face remained unmoved. He couldn’t empathize with the little she-wolf, and he didn’t care to imagine what her position must be like. The brute had, however, seen plenty of females in positions of weakness within his own pack. His mate among them, that day the alpha had beaten and banished her for a litter sullied by stillbirth.

The thought made the hulking male want to rip out the throat of the bastard who brought her here.

Just when Abaddon felt the mottled male’s presence couldn’t displease him anymore, the brute opened his bothersome mouth. "I am Endymion, and the gift that I have brought for you and the other superiors is named Feyre, the daughter of Noctis. I'm a warrior, and a damn good one if your standards are high enough. I'm willing to serve, eager to please, and happy to undertake whatever task you may give me.” This time, Abaddon couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. Stars help him, he already hated the male so close to him he could almost feel his itching claws sinking into the brute’s flesh. Ostentatious, vulgar - how did someone become such a damn prick?

Abaddon’s thoughts were interrupted by the next to speak. A wide-eyed female, pale-coated and lithe. “My name is Kalia,” she purred. “I’m a liar. An actress. I can become anyone. I make myself seem like something I’m not, and I make others believe it. When they think they know me, when they think I’m not a threat...that’s when I become the greatest threat they’ll ever face.” Perhaps not so wide-eyed after all, he mused. It was a good skill to have, gaining another’s trust with ease. It wasn’t something Abaddon had ever been good at, but he could see its use.

The next female to speak relieved Abaddon’s fears that every wolf at the borders had never learned the definition of “humble” or “succinct.” The cream-and-charcoal female introduced herself as Eulalia, simply explaining her gifts with stalking. He liked her more than the others already.

When no other voices filled the space following Eulalia, Abaddon lowered his head further, gold shifting beneath chocolate as his thick pelt rustled. He didn’t dare meet the sharp, vibrant eyes of the nearby alphess he addressed. “I am Abaddon,” he rumbled, the thick baritone of his voice hanging in the air. “I have ample experience as a warrior, a general, and a strategist - whatever these lands have need of. My services are yours.” Perhaps there was some hypocrisy in his words, having noted his experience and rank of not-so-long-ago. The scars littering his body might have said enough about his amount of experience. He hadn’t been presumptuous, however. Not like the others, playing up their abilities beyond face value. He wondered with some satisfaction what Endymion might think of not being the only capable fighter at the border.

With nothing left to say, Abaddon shifted his gaze toward the other assembled wolves. Eulalia’s companions - a pair of large males, one of whom stood a few inches above Abaddon himself - and a tiny female with a pelt of pure ivory. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for in terms of the alphess’s response; he hadn’t had his heart set on this place, this potential home, but he had been willing to make his way here. A splinter of hopefulness pricked annoyingly in the back of his mind. Was he yearning for a home, or just a purpose?

A slender wolf bounds towards the borders, pelt a patchy mix of whites and dusty creams. Periwinkle eyes peer out towards the gathered group from within a fine-boned face, and the young female practically vibrates with anticipation, pace quickening just-so. Iliana had been waiting for this moment for an age! Ever since she had heard tale of a pack worshipping a wolf of fire, after what had happened to her - how could she not come to them the moment she heard? It was her calling, she could feel it. Alabaster tail waving like a banner, the female comes to a halt next to a rather scarred, black brute of a wolf, just in time to hear the alphess introduce herself. Vivaldi! Of Mortiul, not Ignasia, but the sister packs were so intertwined she was sure she would meet one of the notorious cult members soon. The pale wolf’s demands for an introduction sets the cheerful femme’s heart aflutter, and she sits down with a small, practically inaudible huff, listening intently as the growing band introduces themselves.

The pale bitch leans forward a bit so she can see down the line of wolves, so to speak; the male next to her was so large she couldn’t quite see past him. Shooting a somewhat sheepish smile his way, she peers at the first wolf to speak - Yvaine - with fascination. What a creature! She was rather pretty, and though Iliana had never been a vain bitch, it made her mourn for the damage done to her pelt all those months ago. She seemed capable though, professing a proficiency with assassination before turning her attention to a male that could be her masculine mirror image. Next was Endymion, who boasted of his battle skill while introducing Feyre...as a gift? She didn’t seem very pleased to be gifted, and Iliana frowns a bit. Well, perhaps life here would be better than the little red wolf expected? The fae sure hoped so.

Then went Kalia, who presented herself as an actress. The patchy pelted wolf wishes she had such a talent; she wore all her emotions upon her shoulder, and she knew it. Eulalia in comparison was a little boring, but maybe she just didn’t like talking so much around so many wolves. That was fine, too, since Vivaldi had said she didn’t like speeches. Next was the big brute she had planted herself next to - Abaddon, he introduced himself as. He didn’t seem that much older than her, but he was so serious - but perhaps that’s what Vivaldi was looking for. A general and a strategist, he says - her eyes rake over his frame once more. With the scars he had, she certainly believed it. It makes her blush, just a bit. All the blemishes upon her skin were accidents, and all burns. Such thoughts are expelled from her mind though when she realizes - just one more wolf, then it was her turn! The Bishop fellow seemed nice enough - he was the only one to speak of bonds or loyalty, after all - and it was a relief to see someone who wasn’t quite so serious as all the rest.

By the time the alphess’ gaze shifts to her, Iliana is practically brimming with eagerness, and it showed in the joy in her gaze. ”I’m Iliana,” The female proclaims, ”And I’m a dab hand when it comes to healing. No disrespect, miss, but I was actually hoping to join Ignasia?” The last bit comes out as a question, cerulean gaze darting up to the regal wolf’s face before away again. ”I heard tale of a prophet among them?” After the alphess makes her reply and moves on, the pale she-wolf swings her cranium towards Abaddon, small smile earnest as she gazes up at him. ”This is all rather exciting, isn’t it?” She whispers, tail giving a small wag.

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Protector Bishop @vivaldi Infidel Quentin Mercenary Yvaine @abaddon Paladin Endymion Feyre Assassin Crimson @eulalia Breeder Lluise @anyone i missed

A crushing weight had landed itself on her chest as the Alphess stepped onto the scene. So many eyes looked at Feyre with a gross mix of amusement and pity, a similar sight to the perverted gaze that Endymion had set on her ever since he had stolen her from Noctis. She felt her throat tighten as she looked up to find the superior's own interested gaze resting on her, not a wisp of oxygen passed into her lungs until that calculative gaze had moved away and she had been spared by the intensity of her thoughts. Everything passed so quickly, names were thrown into the air as carelessly as she had once introduced herself to new pack mates. But now she wondered if these wolves would even bother to remember her name. She had recoiled when Endymion let her name slip from his disgusting tongue, yet she knew that most of the figures present would fail to let such a thing stick in their heads. Just as quickly as everyone had introduced themselves, the Alphess was talking again in harsh tones that made Feyre's skin crawl.

They would be taken into the pack lands, she would be taken into the pack lands. Feyre had no doubt that Endymion and his new Alphess would serve her to the rest of the superiors as if she were a fat glazed spring pig sitting upon a gleaming silver plater, and she was repulsed as she could already see those hungry eyes feasting on her young and untouched body. She was frozen in place, terror solidifying in her stomach to create a weight that wouldn't allow her to lift a paw. But a sharp kick to her rump sent a squeak flying from her lips, forcing her to her feet as Endymion's hateful gaze pushed her to walk once more.

Every step she felt herself becoming closer and closer to what would be known as her doom. Every step she felt herself growing farther and farther away from that cozy den back in Noctis, and the family that she still loved.