<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Dancing+Script|Pacifico" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.DVC_container {position: relative;z-index: 1;width: 500px;height: 990px;padding: 15px;background: #1B1B1B url('https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/3a/57/f5/3a57f5737062052a28cf11e813ca7144.jpg') no-repeat center top;border: 0px solid #fff;box-shadow: 0 0 1em #000;}.DVC_container1 {position: relative;z-index: 5;width: 450px;height: 445px;padding: 2px;background: transparent;border-left: 4px solid #F1D3B9;border-right: 4px solid #F1D3B9;margin-top: 520px;border-radius: 50px;}.DVC_container1 p {margin: 0;}.DVC_message {text-align: justify;font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif;padding: 0px;color: #D5B199;width: 400px;height: 350px;overflow: auto;}.DVC_message::-webkit-scrollbar {width: 1px;background: transparent;}.DVC_name {text-align: center;font: 40px 'Dancing Script', cursive;color: #EDE0D0;padding: 0px;text-shadow: 2px 2px 4px #fff;}.DVC_quote {text-align: center;font: 14px 'Pacifico', cursive;color: #EDE0D0;padding: 10px 0;}</style><center><div class="DVC_container"><div class="DVC_container1"><p class="DVC_name">-Diorae-</p><p class="DVC_message">She does the only thing she can do: follow him to her cell without a fight. Not without slight hesitance or shaking knees of course. Diorae – no, it’s Marigold now – knows she cannot fight him, and she wouldn’t. Like Longclaw, he’s the more dominant one, as the submissive she follows. Even if she’s scared. But honestly, the golden mare is more scared of his wrath if she angers him by fighting him, than for what was waiting for her.
There is food and water, she can smell it, but she doesn’t ever feel calm enough to even look at it more than a quick glance. The darkness creeps on her and with the darkness, the ever watching eyes are back – or is it just one pair that keeps an eye on her? But this time, they don’t only watch. The screams of their – its? – victims fill the air. And there is no place Diorae can run to, to escape them – it? No, hím.
What doesn’t mean she stands perfectly still. Turn after turn after turn. The cell is barely big enough to allow her to keep walking around in circles, a tad bit smaller and she would’ve been turning around her center. All while she’s still limping from Longclaw’s branding. Sweat coats her golden coat, her flanks, her chest, her neck. Her ears dance around nervously, but no matter what, the screams seem to come from everywhere. Sometimes she thinks the screams come closer, but the next moment it sounds like it’s further away again. You can guess that it doesn’t help Marigold’s – or Diorae’s? – state of mind. Distressed in every possible way, already a wreck before the games even begin.
So by the time hé enters her cell, she crawls towards him like a kicked puppy. He might be her captor, but at least she’s not alone now. His presence scares away the watching eyes that send shivers own her spine and finally she’s able to breath. He’s calm, unworried and not at all worried by all what’s happening – well duh. To Marigold he’s a calm and assertive presence, the one of a leader and a leader is what she desperately needs.
Since she cannot tell him with words, she cannot ask him to not leave her, to stay, Marigold dips her head. Body language relaxes and her ears flop sideways as her eyes are half-lidded. For a while he does nothing and eventually her breathing even out – only then making her realise that she had been pretty close to hyperventilating. He doesn’t speak either. The white ghost moves to circle her, as to watch her up and down. Passing by her recently branded left shoulder disgust appears on his features, disapproving really. His new toy, his offering, marked by another.
He steps closer, as if to inspect the fresh wolf print brand on her left shoulder blade. Or, that’s is what she thinks he’s doing. Again she first feels his hot breath on her skin, then the burning sensation follows. Unable to move, she’s forced to endure it. Marigold is all tensed up, pain holding her in its gasp and tears clouding her vision slightly before they roll down her cheeks. But, she’s silent, she’s simply not able to scream her lungs out.
Across Longclaw’s wolf print now lays a wolfsangel. The wolf paw ruined, the anti-wolf symbol completely covering the previous brand that had been on her shoulder. A clear message to the wolf, and to Diorae herself. She was hís plaything now, no longer Longclaw’s.
The pain leaves her immobile and silently she has to watch him leave, unable to move forward to block his way or reach out to him in a silent plea. Eventually she’s able to move again. There is a slight limp in her step as the raw flesh of her brand stretches across bone, but she gets back to her circling nonetheless. Only sometimes stopping her endless pacing in favour of a small sip and quick bite.
Screams fill the air again, or had she simply not paid attention to it while he was visiting her, making it only look like the screams continued after he left. Like he was with his next victim. The sudden sound startles her nonetheless, making Marigold accidentally kick over the bucket that held the grain. Almost in slow motion she watches the thing roll towards the door, gently bumping into it and – to her own big surprise – opening her cell door a few centimeters before it fell closed again. She’s left gaping at the door in utter shock and surprise. He had left her door open?
No, that couldn’t be right. Why would he leave her cell open? That has to be a mistake, this shouldn’t be happening. Should it? Swallowing the dry lump in her throat the palomino mare slowly moves towards the door, step by step. Her hazel eyes widen as the door indeed moves at her touch, making way for her. With a sharp intake of breath Diorae – Marigold – stumbles backwards, crashing into the wall behind her. Her eyes never leave the door, her mind unable to wrap itself around this discovery. Was this a joke? To lure her out and to have her captured all over?
No, she decides, she won’t fall for it. Even though she’s uncomfortable and in pain and afraid and so incredibly alone, she won’t take the bite. She won’t fall for the trap, would she?
Of course she does. Staying locked up in a cell was one thing, but staying in a cell while the door was actually unlocked was something entirely else. And maybe, just maybe, she would be able to find another passed her door. But, what would she find at the other side? Swallowing the dry lump in her throat she moves back towards the door, one carefully calculated step before the other. A quick peek into the hallway makes it look empty, makes her think its empty. Of course it isn’t. The guards are there waiting to see if she would take the bite in their little game.
Like expected she does take it. Although she tries to be soft, all sounds sound extra loud in the eerie silence. Her hooves leave a rhythmic sound on the stone pathway, echoing into the distance. Marigold moves slowly, hesitant and unsure, wondering if it wasn’t better if she would turn back to her cell. But no, her desire to be with someone was bigger. And hadn’t Longclaw told her to come back to him?
A sound in the distance has her frozen, except for her nervously flickering ears, and holding her breath. Someone, something, was behind her. Had they noticed her already? Ever so slowly Diorae turns to glance across her shoulder – the right one of course, bending over her left would hurt too much – and she can see them right away. The guards grin at her, silently laughing at her stupid mistake, at their joke. She doesn’t need much more to bolt.
They hunt her down like a wolf wold hunts its prey. As she runs, tries to flee, her hooves slip across the ground, finding little to no grip. She bumps into a wall rather roughly, slowing her down before she’s able to recover herself. The guards much closer on her heels. Too close for her liking.
For a moment she thinks about surrendering, she had never been one to fight and go against rule. Marigold probably would have too, if not for the little opening that is offered to her. Another loud sound, echoing through the hallway, coming from somewhere behind her. It’s sudden and loud enough to make the guards pause and look back, she can even hear them mutter a curse under their breaths. The brief hesitation is enough for Marigold to sneak away, hiding behind a couple of barrels around the corner.
All she has to do is hold her breath and keep still as they rush by. What was left was to sneak out silently and unnoticed. Somehow the sun touched mare manages, without further obstacles, to sneak out. But it’s not Beqanna she escapes too. Not the eerie path Longclaw guided her down. A wasteland lies before her. Not that it stops her.
Her first steps into the bare lands are hesitant, but each step takes a bit of the hesitance away and before she knows it, she is running away from her captor’s lair. Right into the hands of her previous shepherd, or wasn’t that Longclaw?
Or not entirely. It’s a wolf, head dipped and ears standing up that’s growling at her, but he looks exactly like Longclaw. Instantly she’s aware of the eyes again, and on a clue, a couple of more wolves appear behind Longclaw. Unlike him they are bland, normal blacks and browns and greys. Nothing like the iridescent blue roan one in the front. Even the navy blue of Longclaw’s mane and tail is there, down the wolf’s back all the way from its head to its tail. And the way he looks at her, it’s all so the very same.
Sand, carried by the harsh wind, scratches across her now healed legs, as she backs away a few steps. It’s him, but at the same time it isn’t, and she doesn’t know what he will do. As to apologize for his covered brand – not that she really had a choice in that matter – she dips her head. Her ears flick back and there is this sudden need to lie down and roll on her back, to show her stomach in submission. Exactly what a wolf would do. But Marigold is no wolf. And it’s not Longclaw who stands in front of her. The growl followed by a loud bark snaps her out of that haze.
A rollback is all she needs to dash away again. Sand kicks up all around her, some directly into the wolves’ faces, but it doesn’t blind them for long and they are nipping at her heels before she can get far. Her nostrils stand wide as her breathing quickens, ears flat against her neck and eyes widened in fear. Not knowing what else to do, Diorae – because Marigold would never even think of hurting Longclaw – kicks out. The blow lands, she can feel her hoof connect to a sharp canine jaw, but it gets her too. Claws slice up the calf of her left hind leg, but the claw disappear upon the impact of her hoof. All it lacks is a ‘poof’ when the wolf disappears.
Her new injury makes it impossible for Diorae to continue her attempt to flee. There was no way she would be able to keep ahead of the couple of wolves that are left. The Longclaw one is gone, but that doesn’t stop the other two from approaching her. Now facing them she backs away again, ears still back and head dipped slightly. Her blonde tail is up in the air, her muck trampled underneath her hooves and mixed right with the wasteland’s sandy ground and she nervously dances on the spot.
She doesn’t really know how she makes the other two wolves disappear, but they just go like the Longclaw wolf had gone, only lacking the ‘poof’. The first had gone after she had tried to evade the coming attack, but failing due to her hurt hind leg. Diorae had been forced to keep her weight on both her right legs, her left foreleg kicking out and hitting the wolf on its shoulder. Not without a couple of clawmarks across her left flank, but unlike the injury of her hind leg, this one is only superficial.
That leaves one wolf. Would he disappear just like the prior two? Well, not just like that of course. She guessed she would have to land a hit on this one too. One to one now, the wolf snarls in rage and hesitance. This time Diorae doesn’t try to evade, instead she dashes forwards herself too. Determination is in her eyes and her teeth are bared to take a bite out of the wolf. She does, the fur in her mouth proof of it even when the wolf has poofed. Just as the small superficial wounds on her face, scratching her face.
Diorae stands in the middle of the wasteland panting. Her sides heave with each breath she takes, head dipped towards the ground. Each time she breath out, the sand moves a little, to fall down somewhere else. She doesn’t know how long she stands there before she has caught her breath, but when she looks up, hé stands beside her. The shock and surprise – she hadn’t heard him coming – startles her and she freezes. For a moment she can only look at him. Little does she know he’s only a imagination of her own mind – fuelled by the dark god himself. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t have to. Marigold is back and would go back without a fight. And thus she turns without him having to mutter a word.
In submission her head drops as she moves in the way she thinks is back to his lair. Emphasis on the ‘thinks’. Instead of going back, she walks into the opposite direction, only thinking that she’s going back. Hé has disappeared, though she can feel his eyes still on her, which makes her not look back. For all Marigold thinks Carnage is following behind. They journey is long and slow. Only now she realises how far she has gotten, how close she had been to … to what exactly?
She definitely hadn’t had this oasis in mind. A pair of hazel eyes take in the sight. Water, in the middle of the wasteland and trees growing and providing a little shade. The sun burns down on her back, as Marigold simply stares ahead amazed at the oasis. A shudder runs down her back. Not like before, not because of watching eyes, but simply because of the beauty of it.</p><p class="DVC_quote">A beautiful face is a mute recommendation.</p></div></center>
OOC: The Wolfsangel is a German heraldic charge inspired by an actual historic wolf trap consisting of two metal parts and a connecting chain. The top part of the trap, which resembled a crescent moon with a ring inside, used to be fastened between branches of a tree in the forest while the bottom part (the brand), on which meat scraps used to be hung, was a hook meant to be swallowed by a wolf. The simplified design based on the iron "wolf-hook" was often heavily stylized to no longer resemble a baited hook hung from a tree or an entire wolf trap.
I figured to have Carnage brand her with an anti-wolf symbol
. Not to be mistaken for the Nazi symbol.
In summary:
- Wolfsangel brand that covers Longclaw's paw brand
- Injury to her left leg calf, slash of wolf claws
- Small injury on her left flank (superficial wolf claw slahs)
- Small injury across her face, superficial scraps of teeth against skin.
There is food and water, she can smell it, but she doesn’t ever feel calm enough to even look at it more than a quick glance. The darkness creeps on her and with the darkness, the ever watching eyes are back – or is it just one pair that keeps an eye on her? But this time, they don’t only watch. The screams of their – its? – victims fill the air. And there is no place Diorae can run to, to escape them – it? No, hím.
What doesn’t mean she stands perfectly still. Turn after turn after turn. The cell is barely big enough to allow her to keep walking around in circles, a tad bit smaller and she would’ve been turning around her center. All while she’s still limping from Longclaw’s branding. Sweat coats her golden coat, her flanks, her chest, her neck. Her ears dance around nervously, but no matter what, the screams seem to come from everywhere. Sometimes she thinks the screams come closer, but the next moment it sounds like it’s further away again. You can guess that it doesn’t help Marigold’s – or Diorae’s? – state of mind. Distressed in every possible way, already a wreck before the games even begin.
So by the time hé enters her cell, she crawls towards him like a kicked puppy. He might be her captor, but at least she’s not alone now. His presence scares away the watching eyes that send shivers own her spine and finally she’s able to breath. He’s calm, unworried and not at all worried by all what’s happening – well duh. To Marigold he’s a calm and assertive presence, the one of a leader and a leader is what she desperately needs.
Since she cannot tell him with words, she cannot ask him to not leave her, to stay, Marigold dips her head. Body language relaxes and her ears flop sideways as her eyes are half-lidded. For a while he does nothing and eventually her breathing even out – only then making her realise that she had been pretty close to hyperventilating. He doesn’t speak either. The white ghost moves to circle her, as to watch her up and down. Passing by her recently branded left shoulder disgust appears on his features, disapproving really. His new toy, his offering, marked by another.
He steps closer, as if to inspect the fresh wolf print brand on her left shoulder blade. Or, that’s is what she thinks he’s doing. Again she first feels his hot breath on her skin, then the burning sensation follows. Unable to move, she’s forced to endure it. Marigold is all tensed up, pain holding her in its gasp and tears clouding her vision slightly before they roll down her cheeks. But, she’s silent, she’s simply not able to scream her lungs out.
Across Longclaw’s wolf print now lays a wolfsangel. The wolf paw ruined, the anti-wolf symbol completely covering the previous brand that had been on her shoulder. A clear message to the wolf, and to Diorae herself. She was hís plaything now, no longer Longclaw’s.
The pain leaves her immobile and silently she has to watch him leave, unable to move forward to block his way or reach out to him in a silent plea. Eventually she’s able to move again. There is a slight limp in her step as the raw flesh of her brand stretches across bone, but she gets back to her circling nonetheless. Only sometimes stopping her endless pacing in favour of a small sip and quick bite.
Screams fill the air again, or had she simply not paid attention to it while he was visiting her, making it only look like the screams continued after he left. Like he was with his next victim. The sudden sound startles her nonetheless, making Marigold accidentally kick over the bucket that held the grain. Almost in slow motion she watches the thing roll towards the door, gently bumping into it and – to her own big surprise – opening her cell door a few centimeters before it fell closed again. She’s left gaping at the door in utter shock and surprise. He had left her door open?
No, that couldn’t be right. Why would he leave her cell open? That has to be a mistake, this shouldn’t be happening. Should it? Swallowing the dry lump in her throat the palomino mare slowly moves towards the door, step by step. Her hazel eyes widen as the door indeed moves at her touch, making way for her. With a sharp intake of breath Diorae – Marigold – stumbles backwards, crashing into the wall behind her. Her eyes never leave the door, her mind unable to wrap itself around this discovery. Was this a joke? To lure her out and to have her captured all over?
No, she decides, she won’t fall for it. Even though she’s uncomfortable and in pain and afraid and so incredibly alone, she won’t take the bite. She won’t fall for the trap, would she?
Of course she does. Staying locked up in a cell was one thing, but staying in a cell while the door was actually unlocked was something entirely else. And maybe, just maybe, she would be able to find another passed her door. But, what would she find at the other side? Swallowing the dry lump in her throat she moves back towards the door, one carefully calculated step before the other. A quick peek into the hallway makes it look empty, makes her think its empty. Of course it isn’t. The guards are there waiting to see if she would take the bite in their little game.
Like expected she does take it. Although she tries to be soft, all sounds sound extra loud in the eerie silence. Her hooves leave a rhythmic sound on the stone pathway, echoing into the distance. Marigold moves slowly, hesitant and unsure, wondering if it wasn’t better if she would turn back to her cell. But no, her desire to be with someone was bigger. And hadn’t Longclaw told her to come back to him?
A sound in the distance has her frozen, except for her nervously flickering ears, and holding her breath. Someone, something, was behind her. Had they noticed her already? Ever so slowly Diorae turns to glance across her shoulder – the right one of course, bending over her left would hurt too much – and she can see them right away. The guards grin at her, silently laughing at her stupid mistake, at their joke. She doesn’t need much more to bolt.
They hunt her down like a wolf wold hunts its prey. As she runs, tries to flee, her hooves slip across the ground, finding little to no grip. She bumps into a wall rather roughly, slowing her down before she’s able to recover herself. The guards much closer on her heels. Too close for her liking.
For a moment she thinks about surrendering, she had never been one to fight and go against rule. Marigold probably would have too, if not for the little opening that is offered to her. Another loud sound, echoing through the hallway, coming from somewhere behind her. It’s sudden and loud enough to make the guards pause and look back, she can even hear them mutter a curse under their breaths. The brief hesitation is enough for Marigold to sneak away, hiding behind a couple of barrels around the corner.
All she has to do is hold her breath and keep still as they rush by. What was left was to sneak out silently and unnoticed. Somehow the sun touched mare manages, without further obstacles, to sneak out. But it’s not Beqanna she escapes too. Not the eerie path Longclaw guided her down. A wasteland lies before her. Not that it stops her.
Her first steps into the bare lands are hesitant, but each step takes a bit of the hesitance away and before she knows it, she is running away from her captor’s lair. Right into the hands of her previous shepherd, or wasn’t that Longclaw?
Or not entirely. It’s a wolf, head dipped and ears standing up that’s growling at her, but he looks exactly like Longclaw. Instantly she’s aware of the eyes again, and on a clue, a couple of more wolves appear behind Longclaw. Unlike him they are bland, normal blacks and browns and greys. Nothing like the iridescent blue roan one in the front. Even the navy blue of Longclaw’s mane and tail is there, down the wolf’s back all the way from its head to its tail. And the way he looks at her, it’s all so the very same.
Sand, carried by the harsh wind, scratches across her now healed legs, as she backs away a few steps. It’s him, but at the same time it isn’t, and she doesn’t know what he will do. As to apologize for his covered brand – not that she really had a choice in that matter – she dips her head. Her ears flick back and there is this sudden need to lie down and roll on her back, to show her stomach in submission. Exactly what a wolf would do. But Marigold is no wolf. And it’s not Longclaw who stands in front of her. The growl followed by a loud bark snaps her out of that haze.
A rollback is all she needs to dash away again. Sand kicks up all around her, some directly into the wolves’ faces, but it doesn’t blind them for long and they are nipping at her heels before she can get far. Her nostrils stand wide as her breathing quickens, ears flat against her neck and eyes widened in fear. Not knowing what else to do, Diorae – because Marigold would never even think of hurting Longclaw – kicks out. The blow lands, she can feel her hoof connect to a sharp canine jaw, but it gets her too. Claws slice up the calf of her left hind leg, but the claw disappear upon the impact of her hoof. All it lacks is a ‘poof’ when the wolf disappears.
Her new injury makes it impossible for Diorae to continue her attempt to flee. There was no way she would be able to keep ahead of the couple of wolves that are left. The Longclaw one is gone, but that doesn’t stop the other two from approaching her. Now facing them she backs away again, ears still back and head dipped slightly. Her blonde tail is up in the air, her muck trampled underneath her hooves and mixed right with the wasteland’s sandy ground and she nervously dances on the spot.
She doesn’t really know how she makes the other two wolves disappear, but they just go like the Longclaw wolf had gone, only lacking the ‘poof’. The first had gone after she had tried to evade the coming attack, but failing due to her hurt hind leg. Diorae had been forced to keep her weight on both her right legs, her left foreleg kicking out and hitting the wolf on its shoulder. Not without a couple of clawmarks across her left flank, but unlike the injury of her hind leg, this one is only superficial.
That leaves one wolf. Would he disappear just like the prior two? Well, not just like that of course. She guessed she would have to land a hit on this one too. One to one now, the wolf snarls in rage and hesitance. This time Diorae doesn’t try to evade, instead she dashes forwards herself too. Determination is in her eyes and her teeth are bared to take a bite out of the wolf. She does, the fur in her mouth proof of it even when the wolf has poofed. Just as the small superficial wounds on her face, scratching her face.
Diorae stands in the middle of the wasteland panting. Her sides heave with each breath she takes, head dipped towards the ground. Each time she breath out, the sand moves a little, to fall down somewhere else. She doesn’t know how long she stands there before she has caught her breath, but when she looks up, hé stands beside her. The shock and surprise – she hadn’t heard him coming – startles her and she freezes. For a moment she can only look at him. Little does she know he’s only a imagination of her own mind – fuelled by the dark god himself. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t have to. Marigold is back and would go back without a fight. And thus she turns without him having to mutter a word.
In submission her head drops as she moves in the way she thinks is back to his lair. Emphasis on the ‘thinks’. Instead of going back, she walks into the opposite direction, only thinking that she’s going back. Hé has disappeared, though she can feel his eyes still on her, which makes her not look back. For all Marigold thinks Carnage is following behind. They journey is long and slow. Only now she realises how far she has gotten, how close she had been to … to what exactly?
She definitely hadn’t had this oasis in mind. A pair of hazel eyes take in the sight. Water, in the middle of the wasteland and trees growing and providing a little shade. The sun burns down on her back, as Marigold simply stares ahead amazed at the oasis. A shudder runs down her back. Not like before, not because of watching eyes, but simply because of the beauty of it.</p><p class="DVC_quote">A beautiful face is a mute recommendation.</p></div></center>
OOC: The Wolfsangel is a German heraldic charge inspired by an actual historic wolf trap consisting of two metal parts and a connecting chain. The top part of the trap, which resembled a crescent moon with a ring inside, used to be fastened between branches of a tree in the forest while the bottom part (the brand), on which meat scraps used to be hung, was a hook meant to be swallowed by a wolf. The simplified design based on the iron "wolf-hook" was often heavily stylized to no longer resemble a baited hook hung from a tree or an entire wolf trap.
I figured to have Carnage brand her with an anti-wolf symbol
. Not to be mistaken for the Nazi symbol.In summary:
- Wolfsangel brand that covers Longclaw's paw brand
- Injury to her left leg calf, slash of wolf claws
- Small injury on her left flank (superficial wolf claw slahs)
- Small injury across her face, superficial scraps of teeth against skin.