Post by ' ' K.O.T.O.R.I. on Sept 14, 2009 8:41:54 GMT -5
He howls, you come, you watch, you stare, caught up in his intensity, in the bristling anger that rolls under his flesh, makes him see red, taste red, be red. The anger is its own thing, the passion it's own weapon and his wings shift, the Black-And-Blue before you, smiling though there is nothing nice or gentle in it. Full of fang, full of pride, he stares and stares, walks past you, around you, stares, stares and tilts his head back and howls.[/color]
You watch, you listen, you know in your heart he is true, so true. And so he speaks, and speaks well as he watches you, catching you in his gaze. He knows, he knows -- there is so much certainty in him, could he be wrong? Was he ever truly wrong? Has he ever wronged you, hm, hm?"Listen up my minions, my friends, my enemies, There's a decree that needs to be made, a decree that'll be so much fun, so very much fun. So few of us around, so very, very few but we're vicious, strong and well fed, and we have a purpose in this life. Cats. You hear the words, you know the species -- vile creatures, plagued creatures, dying creatures. The land was made for wolves! But where are the wolves? This is our land, and we will defend it, expand it, live it.
The cats must die, and our wayward brothers and sisters over the border, named Traitors, need to be rescued. What do I mean? Look at each other, go on, do it. We're few but strong and what are the cats but mangled pieces of a dying animal? You see one on the lands, you kill it, put it out of it's misery before I find it, and destroy it. If you have compassion for the mangy beasts, kill it quick, for I swear to you, if I come across one roaming our territory I will take a long time in killing in, savoring each mournful cry.
You hear me? LETS BE WOLVES!"
His voice rises, encourages you to add yours to the twining song that rises so powerfully up in the sky. He's here, your here and he knows your hearts and his own as if they were calling cards in his pockets. Wings shift, flare out in a rainfall of feathers. He knows, he knows, and he wants, and his howl resonates within you, without you.
He has spoken. Armageddon has spoken.