Realistic or Modern The World is a Dark Place

[Malphaestus]

This IC is meant purely for roleplayers apart of the Wolf Pack gang.
​

You have fought, long and tirelessly, for your place in this world. Unconciously, you have converged on this one point through your whole life. If you’d be spiritual, this might’ve been what you’d call fate- or destiny. All those sleepless nights wandering, those occational brawls and fights, have served this one purpose; to bring together the wolves from across the city.


Before you is the world, and behind you there is nothing. Where you once came from matters little, for in front there is a world to be bested and enemies to be defeated. People have pitied you, hated you, and put you down for too long. Around you are others much like yourself, standing in the dark alleyway far from common view.


You were summoned here by a letter; a summoning from the wolf. The name was no stranger to you; a King of the Night is known by all kinsmen. The question remains simply, what will happen now? Before you there is the future, but also the beginning.


An empty alleyway, full with garbage, and flickering lights seemingly on the verge of breaking. Around you are people, many of which you’ve never seen before, but maybe someone that’s crossed your eyes in the past. Maybe friends stand amongst you. Before you the night reveals it’s emissary. A tall man, respectable in his stance. Blood caught in his clothes, and the white of winter caught in his dead hair. With him, he brought the darkness. The lights flickered one final time and then exploded, letting the glass fall to the ground.


It was the Wolf, the Nightbringer. In his grasp was a man too scared to make sense of the world, another victim of the storm.

"Welcome to my pack, kinsmen"

​

The Wolf Pack

@Kami no Chikara

@Foxtails

@Rising

@Aldur

@Nai
​

 

[Aldur]

Melinda



Oh, and there she was, standing in the cold night within a shoddy alleyway. One sniff was enough to spark a flinch on her face. She grabbed the collar of her black leather jacket and covered her mouth and nose. Mel 'looked' around without much of a purpose. She felt the heat signatures of other people. Of course, she also did when she first arrived in the cozy little alley. Her empty eye sockets were revealed when she took off her pitch black aviators.


A certain someone broke the silence. "Welcome to my pack, kinsmen"


So, so cheesy. "Huh? Who said that?" Mel continued with a sly snicker. "Kidding, kidding... Nice seeing you guys again." She was hilarious, so much so that her snickering didn't even seem to stop for the following moments. Her voice was raspy and echoey. She folded her aviators with a clear grin on her face, looking into nothing. The sunglasses were tucked into a deep pocket attached to her [REDACTED] pants.


"So, what's this?"

 

[Rising]

Leon was among the first to arrive to the place the letter mentioned. He took things more seriously during the night and always liked to arrive early and finish his missions early. But this time around he had extra motivation, his interest was peaked and he was very curious about the letter he received. Or rather, the man behind it. The Wolf... If you were a part of the night then it's a name you would've heard many times. Leon had never met him and all he had to go on was the rumors. But one thing he was sure of, whatever this is... He was very interested in being a part of.


Leon carefully picked his position as he leaned on one of the room's wall, everyone that was invited was in his view. He knew so little about them, only the basic information. Leon generally works alone, mostly because his power has a chance of hurting his allies as well as his enemies, and he prefers the quiet. But one thing was for sure, they were all strong and dangerous, very dangerous. His deep blue eyes finally landed on the man who invited him. Everything about him made Leon uneasy, he could sense the power and authority behind him as he spoke. "Welcome to my pack, kinsmen." It made him both uneasy and in awe. his eyes darted to the helpless lad that grasped by The Wolf's darkness, the poor man picked a bad day to leave whatever hole he crawled from.


He observed as a woman broke the silence that followed The Wolf's welcome sentence. Melinda was her name, blind yet deadly. He would've laughed at her joke if it was day time. "You know how to pick your crowd, I'll give you that." He addressed the wolf with a steady tone.

 

[The Velveteen Rabbit]

You are making a mistake.





The sound of a lighter being flicked echoed out in the dead of night. An eerie orange glow scared away the darkness as a small flame emerged from the lighter, licking the end of a cigarette. With a snap, the lighter was flicked close, and all could be seen was the glowing end of the cigarette, the burning ember growing brighter and brighter as the woman took a deep breath in. She carefully gripped the cigarette between her two fingers, and released it, grayish smoke instantly clouding the air around her in a fog as it wafted out from between her darkened lips.


"A mistake?" She whispered. Her malicious, violet eyes stared forward, watching as the people of the night passed by ever so slowly. Briefly, a cold gust of wind swept through the streets, billowing her jet black hair like sheets on a clothes line. The cigarette was once again brought to her lips, smoke clouding the cool, night air shortly after.


You know what will happen if you join him.


A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. With a flick of her fingers, the cigarette was thrown to the ground, spraying a small display of bright orange specks onto the concrete. Her boot slowly crushed it, killing the already dying embers. Alice began walking forward, following the darkness as she continued down the empty sidewalk alone. There was only one thing on that woman's mind.


A particular letter. An invitation.


And yet, despite her morals, she continued walking towards her destination, eyes filled with a certain ambition. The dark alleyway came up on her right, and quietly, Alice entered. It seemed she was one of the last to arrive, and like the silent killer she was, she appeared behind the others silently; unnoticed. Her violet gaze focused on the man standing a few feet before her, his white hair dead.


The Wolf, they called him.


A wave of uneasiness swept across the group gathered there as he spoke, affecting all but Alice. She continued to stare. Watching him, studying him; analyzing his every move. It was apparent she did not care for the other presences around her.


She was after all, only here for him.

 

[lazee]

SAM WINTERGREEN

​

Dark, dimly lit alleyways were statistically the most popular places to get shanked, mugged, shot by mysterious gunmen or a certain combination of the three. If Sam was in charge of things, this would be the last place to turn into a rendezvous point, but he wasn't so the firebrand had to just deal with it. At least he personally 'trusted' this enigmatic Wolf. When Sam had received the summoning letter, the first thing on his mind was, 'I have no quarrel with the Nightbringer now, do I?', followed by 'I probably don't'. This rather neatly explained his lack of reluctance to heed the summoning.


Sam was apparently one of the early birds, which could be a good thing or bad thing. That was the problem with Night Kin business. You'll never knlow what you were doing wrong until you get your skin flayed for it. But the company before him seemed reasonable enough, enough for Sam to find some modicum of comfort, at least. The scarfaced boy opted to sit on top of a lone dumpster, hygiene be damned. He remained silent where he sat, eager to observe where the situation would usher itself...


But holy fuck, did it smell like shit in here.

 

[Vaan]

Scatterbrain

The iridescent luminescence of the Cathedral had dimmed to a rather alleviating change of tonality, the mounted candles now subdued and softly burning in honor of none other than Ue Komagata, the young god. Kneeled before him, with a velvet cloaked back, was the supposed self-elected king of the city-state bathville. With a quiet, and shaky voice, the king wallowed in his own pity, “Ue, I have committed the greatest of all sins,” and to this the rambunctious, blood-thirsty followers of the church roared.


“What sin have you committed my poor, weak and penniless follower?” Ue responded almost mechanically, and beneath his breath chuckled the devil on his shoulder, or rather his belly, Gochiso.


The king did not speak a word, unable to break free from his despair long enough to formulate at the least, an apology; and on his behalf, would Ue instead speak, “You feel envy towards your great, kind and caring messiah?” The young god asked behind gritted teeth.


And to this, the King only nodded in agreement, as he, no different than any other past offender, knew the punishment for such a terrible, yet, surprisingly common crime. “Then so be it,” the young god muttered, “If you are envious of thy, you will face the same punishment as all three-hundred and twenty seven before you.”


The punishment came quick, and unceremoniously, the tongue of Gochiso bolting out and coiling around the dejected, and plastic king who was solemnly swallowed and stripped away from the other accessories on the bathroom countertop. And while this void consumption was enough to tear Scatterbrain from his delusion, it wasn’t enough to avert his freight when the familiar voice of his master, Ishihara Seiji, ringed from the living room. Startled, the king-branded hair brush was spit back out onto the floor, drenched in saliva and bearing a new set of gnaw-markings, the three foot nullman scrambling to lock the door.


Yet, despite his notably pitiful attempts, the door would remain unlocked and without arms, there wasn’t anything Ue could do about it. In fact, because it had shut behind him earlier, he’d been unknowingly locked in the bathroom all day. And only now that he knew, did it bother him, soft whines emitting from bathroom and awaiting Ishihara’s attention. And while it wasn’t implausible for him to simply have Gochiso create an exit, it was noted by Ishihara that, “The door of opportunity won’t open unless you do some pushing,”


And while he didn’t really understand the plethora of things that escaped Ishihara’s mouth, his delusional and unhinged master, he knew there was bound to be sense in those physiological words. Tossing his doubt aside, he propped his head against the door and pushed strenuously, and just as Ishihara said; the door of opportunity, swung open and pinned him against the wall, like magic!


The opportunity, on the other hand, wasn’t so magical and left Scatterbrain, in addition to his master, in a poorly-lit, and amazingly crowded alleyway.

 

[Nai]

Ishihara Seiji

​

Beneath the orange sundial glow of the dwindling evening sun laid a note, crumpled and tapered, abused by an intangible grip of the mind. The letter in all it’s irrespective glory, suspended like a piece of flyer in afternoon October wind, haunted like prompt. A reminder of his differences, and a possessor of the truth he’d been so keen on hiding. The truth was, Ishihara wasn’t meant to live a life of savage intuitive skills, yet he’ll spend nights lounging in lone bars, sipping drinks that taste all too putrid, and flicking his wrist uncharacteristically blasé to a scene he’d already seen. Spending nights honing the pleasure-seeking rush he’d been too eager to gather since his days of volleyball ended. He felt like a child, in a body of a twenty-nine year old, who’d never had the chance to go out and discover the wonders of late-night party-goers. It became a dream, he’d seen go far too retributive to consider it now than just simple-minded fun.


Had Ishihara known he would’ve fallen so low after his first encounter with death, maybe he would’ve considered the aftermath and consequences of relinquishing in sybaritic criminal acts. How ironic, A doctor by day, and a murderer by night. Or maybe not…


Upon entering the condominium, he was met with the usual greeting of the receptionist, a woman with a peculiar set of hazel eyes that only ever caught Ishihara’s attention once, the very first day he met her as a junior resident doc. At the time, she sported a bob cut that left her brown hair and face springing with all the life of the morning summer sun, now, it was different. She’d long lost her bob cut, long hair replacing the drape on her shoulders, feigning a smile that only ever worked on her cheating husband.


“Evening to you too, Hana.” Ishihara replied back with a hum of acknowledgement and watched just as the doors to the elevator shut, the way the curves of her distilled face fell as she fell silent with a nod. “We’re all different, —in the same game, dealing with different levels but all with similar hells. Just different devils.”


Fishing the keys to his apartment, he paused for a moment before realizing he long stopped carrying his keys, a safety precaution he instated with himself to practice his abilities. The front door opened with a click and in he stepped through accompanied by his usual soft muttered, “I’m home,” that echoed warmly throughout the large expanse. Albeit, not too far in the distance, in the directional of the bathroom, Ishihara noted, a sound of familiar scrambling, thrashed hastily. Scatterbrain…


With a notable sigh he dropped his bag onto the glass-counter top, ignoring the fallen crumbled invitation of nights previous, and the rather large gnawed parts of his expensive, once well-furnished furniture. He didn’t need a reminder of his differences, he told himself, passing the horribly scripted drawings of crayon decorating his counter tops and blatantly abused furniture. ‘We all have similar hells, just different devils.’


He ignored the voices in his head as he made a beeline to the kitchen, but paused right before whispering cityscape. It’s lights bleeding before the grand windows, an even bigger expense that added to his budget of this well-acquainted home, yet to Ishihara it was worth it. It was like an ever-changing canvas, where the dark harmonious blues of the lustrous moon blended meticulously against the luminous city lights. It was his muse in the faithed, sleepless mornings, head pressed expectantly against the cold glass wake, awaiting the rising sun with dreary eyes.


Ishihara let out a rather exasperated sigh, his hands tousling messily at his own dark messily-driven locks, his thinking was starting to irritate him, and it didn’t help that he started to hear Scatterbrain whining from behind closed bathroom doors.


“Must you always be scatterbrained?!” Ishihara practically yelled, as he opened the door to the bathroom and swung it open in Scatterbrain’s general direction, completely disregarding the fact he was behind the door pushing, “Hurry up, we need to— Oh god damnit.”


They arrived not too shortly after their predicament, Ishihara disregarding the stares of the fellow kinsmen upon entry, and giving his own progress report of each individual. —Yet, regardless if he addressed each character with a mindful interest, his attention would be predominantly stolen from the man before them, a familiar face he couldn’t place a name too and whose presence was undoubtedly the leader.


This wasn’t at all what Ishihara had in mind, this was far worse.

 

[Nai]

Alaric Strüm

​

“Welcome to my pack, kinsmen,” Alaric Strüm, The Wolf, greeted warmly with open arms, and a leg perched cleanly on top a tired, wasteless victim. His heel accentuating his enthusiasm with a battered kick to the man’s side, and watching as the latter rolled lethargically towards the group with a pitiful, weak grunt. “If you’re standing before me, that means I, have handpicked you, Nullmen, to aid in the development of the Wolves, or in better recognition, the Pack.”


“With that being said,” he commented swiftly, and clapped his hands together proudly, an electrical spark cracking wildly beneath his clasped palms, “Let’s begin with the initiation,” He sneered farcely, before a static crackle rippled through the air and conducted the poor man before them. The rise of the man’s spasming body served as The Wolf’s muse, a low chuckle emitting from his lips as the poor dupe was fried, and rejoiced pleasantly beneath the man’s seizuring, agitated howl.


It was long before the death-lamented air hung heavy above the rest of the Nullmen, watching scarcely as the man before them breathe gratingly against each jag of inhaled, acrid air. And only adding to the froth that pooled messily around his cornered quivering lips; his blown dilating pupils, only serving as a dreaded reminder of his wasting breath.


“So,” Alaric paused, before scouring the group and noting the sparsity in numbers, as if his invitations had been halved. —It did little to waver his position, with his hands tucked languidly into the slits of his dark-cloaked robe, he made a notable hum that sounded far too serious comparably to his first introductory jeer, “... Who’d like to do the honors of ending this ol’ chap’s life.”

 

[Aldur]

Melinda



Mel's lips puckered up into a slight pout. She was so sure her jesting would be killing it and all she got was silence. Quite unfortunate, but what can you do? She, again, looked around as two new heatbags entered the alley. Her empty gaze was following their movements. Before she knew it, the bodyguard was being welcomed to a certain "wolf pack". She would have just up and left had it not been for the powerful figure standing in front of them, arms widely spread. Welcome, welcome!


One victim. This Wolf had tried to maintain a certain image of strength by continuously torturing the helpless man lying at his legs. Mel crossed her arms. It wasn't until the mention of an initiation and a certain display of corny evil chuckling that Mel's interest was sparked. Of course, The Wolf continued and by the time he was finished with his sadistic proposition Mel approached the "ol' chap" and drove a hand through her fringe. Her expression was one of indignation. The woman grabbed the victim from around his upper torso and tried to make him stand in spite of his cries.


"Shh..."


Once he was at a reasonable height from the ground, Mel put her hands around his neck and snapped it. The sound that came from the motion was enough to give anyone a chill down their spine. Her expression had not changed even as the now lifeless corpse of the former ol' chap hit the ground.


Mel wasn't directly looking at The Wolf. In fact, her empty eye sockets stared deep into nothing. "Now... would you mind explaining why I just did that?"

 

[The Velveteen Rabbit]

Things were finally getting interesting.


The Wolf's introduction to his newest members went from dull, to ecstatically pleasing. Wisps of lightning crackled in between the crevasses of his fingers like a deity entertaining the devoted. Watching with malevolent eyes, Alice's mouth curved into a small, yet subtle smirk as she watched the man in front of her scream and shiver on the cold ground. It reminded her of a worm squirming helplessly beneath an awaiting bird. A bird with dead, white feathers.


The amusement in her eyes seemed to disappear at the sound of his neck breaking in two. A woman with lifeless black pits for eyes had sealed the deal, taking the man's worthless life in mere seconds.


A simple snap of the neck. How uncreative.





The smirk on Alice's dark lips had long vanished now, and her expression returned to an emotionless state, only her eyes twinkling with the slightest hint of malice as her arm snaked down towards her foot. She ducked slowly and without drawing attention to herself, slipping her nimble hand into a boot harboring a particular item. Her pale fingers found their objective, gripping a sleek, thin handle. Like a child playing on an arcade crane machine, Alice slowly pulled up on her prize, revealing a single serrated throwing knife hidden away by the shadows of the night.





Why don't we make this more interesting, shall we?


Alice continued to rise the knife higher and higher, until it was pressed against the back of her thigh; waiting ever so patiently for the surrounding feel of warm flesh. She took a step closer, remaining unnoticed by the corrupted crowd of people in front of her. Another step forward. Alice changed her grip on the knife, the blade facing down and the handle clasped tightly in her palm. She never took her eyes off of the Wolf.


3...


The knife was at her hip now.


2...


She pushed her elbow backwards, bending her knee slightly.


...1


The muscles in her arm tensed suddenly, her wrist flicking forward as quick as lightning and her grip loosening on the handle in slow motion, preparing to watch the Wolf fall with a knife lodged deep into that twisted brain of his.





If only she had noticed the particular individual standing behind her.