Sunday, 9 September 2012
- The Anarchist Federation is an organisation of revolutionary class struggle anarchists. We aim for the abolition of all hierarchy, and work for the creation of a world-wide classless society: anarchist communism.
- Capitalism is based on the exploitation of the working class by the ruling class. But inequality and exploitation are also expressed in terms of race, gender, sexuality, health, ability and age, and in these ways one section of the working class oppresses another. This divides us, causing a lack of class unity in struggle that benefits the ruling class. Oppressed groups are strengthened by autonomous action which challenges social and economic power relationships. To achieve our goal we must relinquish power over each other on a personal as well as a political level.
- We believe that fighting systems of oppression that divide the working class, such as racism and sexism, is essential to class struggle. Anarchist-Communism cannot be achieved while these inequalities still exist. In order to be effective in our various struggles against oppression, both within society and within the working class, we at times need to organise independently as people who are oppressed according to gender, sexuality, ethnicity or ability. We do this as working class people, as cross-class movements hide real class differences and achieve little for us. Full emancipation cannot be achieved without the abolition of capitalism.
- We are opposed to the ideology of national liberation movements which claims that there is some common interest between native bosses and the working class in face of foreign domination. We do support working class struggles against racism, genocide, ethnocide and political and economic colonialism. We oppose the creation of any new ruling class. We reject all forms of nationalism, as this only serves to redefine divisions in the international working class. The working class has no country and national boundaries must be eliminated. We seek to build an anarchist international to work with other libertarian revolutionaries throughout the world.
- As well as exploiting and oppressing the majority of people, Capitalism threatens the world through war and the destruction of the environment.
- It is not possible to abolish Capitalism without a revolution, which will arise out of class conflict. The ruling class must be completely overthrown to achieve anarchist communism. Because the ruling class will not relinquish power without their use of armed force, this revolution will be a time of violence as well as liberation.
- Unions by their very nature cannot become vehicles for the revolutionary transformation of society. They have to be accepted by capitalism in order to function and so cannot play a part in its overthrow. Trades unions divide the working class (between employed and unemployed, trade and craft, skilled and unskilled, etc). Even syndicalist unions are constrained by the fundamental nature of unionism. The union has to be able to control its membership in order to make deals with management. Their aim, through negotiation, is to achieve a fairer form of exploitation of the workforce. The interests of leaders and representatives will always be different from ours. The boss class is our enemy, and while we must fight for better conditions from it, we have to realise that reforms we may achieve today may be taken away tomorrow. Our ultimate aim must be the complete abolition of wage slavery. Working within the unions can never achieve this. However, we do not argue for people to leave unions until they are made irrelevant by the revolutionary event. The union is a common point of departure for many workers. Rank and file initiatives may strengthen us in the battle for anarchist communism. What's important is that we organise ourselves collectively, arguing for workers to control struggles themselves.
- Genuine liberation can only come about through the revolutionary self activity of the working class on a mass scale. An anarchist communist society means not only co-operation between equals, but active involvement in the shaping and creating of that society during and after the revolution. In times of upheaval and struggle, people will need to create their own revolutionary organisations controlled by everyone in them. These autonomous organisations will be outside the control of political parties, and within them we will learn many important lessons of self-activity.
- As anarchists we organise in all areas of life to try to advance the revolutionary process. We believe a strong anarchist organisation is necessary to help us to this end. Unlike other so-called socialists or communists we do not want power or control for our organisation. We recognise that the revolution can only be carried out directly by the working class. However, the revolution must be preceded by organisations able to convince people of the anarchist communist alternative and method. We participate in struggle as anarchist communists, and organise on a federative basis. We reject sectarianism and work for a united revolutionary anarchist movement.
- We oppose organised religion and cults and hold to a materialist analysis of capitalist society. We, the working class, can change society through our own efforts. Worshipping an unprovable spiritual realm, or believing in a religious unity between classes, mystifies or suppresses such self-emancipation / liberation. We reject any notion that people can be liberated through some kind of supernatural force. We work towards a society where religion is no longer relevant.
Paradoxical Being
Introduction (unfinished)
Who is this body that stares at its
flesh in a mirror and curses its own existence, when the mountains of skin and
bone are wholly self-inflicted, the only creature liable for its current subsistence
in life lying behind its own weary eyes? The heart beating within its chest is
feeble and weak, metaphorically speaking. If
only that was literal, it screams, for
what better excuse to die than an unfeigned glitch on a screen? No, the
torment roils undetectable and malicious, within the contours of its own mind.
Excerpts and responses to a contextual RP I run, called The Dystopian Wars
-As Caillech ran she thought of the city
and all it held, the hearts within that she had plagued her life to keep
beating, even if only for one more day. She tore through the rain, her face a
mask of practiced nonachalance whilst a deluge of screaming water raged and
wrought destruction upon the flesh within. Her body nursed the flames that
burnt through the muscles of her thighs, her chest, whilst her soul threw back
its head and roared for more, for pain, for the agony to rise into an
unbearable heat. She cursed herself for being so weak, for desiring nothing
more than to fall to the ground and quench the need to survive, to protect and
serve. The wind howled, pushing the rain into great arcs as the darkened skies
thundered above, raging a war that was beyond her comprehension, but a sign
that the Gods understood and had unleashed a storm that would ignite the hearts
of her pack into preparing themselves for battle, a battle of the likes that
they had never seen before. She pulled back her lip, teeth exposed to the
piercing rain, to better catch the scents in the air as she ran, the sound of
the blood of her body singing powerfully in her ears. Caillech saw the crater
despite the sheet of rain that fell so heavily from the sky and forced her body
to brace against the the rocks as she skidded, in a shower of stones that fell
to the waterfalls below, twenty feet to a stop. It was there she stood, her
dark form visible on the precipice of Mactire's haven, with her eyes boring down
upon the walls of the great temple as if for all the world a terrible and
unyielding beast raged within.-
-As the Alpha considered Serra, a sudden
bolt of sordid guilt flared in her chest; she should not have been gone so
long. Admittedly the months apart from her pack and sanctuary had taken its
toll on the both of them, and she now observed the changes in her Beta. The
muscles of her body were refined to a new and terrifying extreme, a detail,
while speaking volumes of the strain Serra had clearly gone through in her
absence, that pleased Caillech greatly and her chin tilted upward in
appreciation. Ever the Lycanthrope warrior, the woman that stood before her was
a powerful display of superior strength and discipline, the power that strained
against the skin of her body alone was impressive, and, coupled with her
extraordinary height and size, she was a force not to be reckoned with.
Something burned in Serra’s eyes, and Caillech wondered what the motive behind
it could be, but as she looked upon the fighter that bore her neck in greeting,
she knew an answer could not be given at such a time. The Alpha too had changed
in more ways than one; her skin, though ever pale, was now wan and ashen. Two
discoloured half-moons framed the lower rims of her eyes and the bones of her
cheeks protruded somewhat further than before, a fresh blood wound forming a
deep split on the flesh of her lower lip, purplish and swollen. Though her body
was encased in a black suit, it concealed other injuries that she had neglected
over the past months, refusing as was her adamant nature to acknowledge them
until she had returned to Mactire and ensured everything was well. Despite
these changes, she remained tall and formidable in her stance, and reached out
a muscular arm that strained against the binding leather to rest a gloved hand
on Serra’s hard shoulder.- Serra. –Her voice was low and rumbling, ringing with
a mixture of controlled emotion, but above all a steadfast and required
authority, for they were in the company of others.- It is good to be home. –At
that, two lucent eyes, suddenly potent with the force of anger that betrayed
her soulless facade, shifted to follow the scent of shame that spread from the
skin of the Lycan as Serra’s kick connected with his body, sending him crashing
to the ledge of the bridge. Shot with tendrils of blood, they widened
fractionally to stress the rage that burned behind the cold exterior, but her
expression did not falter; a mask of impassivity, only the slightest crease in
the corner of her lip giving way as she watched his body convulse, blood
pooling at his knees. For the moment she would let this pass, and instead felt
the rising revulsion that had been festering within her at the sight of such a
foul and despicable beast: the female.- ...Vampire. –The word shot through the
silence, broke through the relentless rain, and ended in a feral hiss, her lips
parting to accommodate the plosive and vulgar crash of a word that gave name to
the creatures she so ardently despised. Her eyes slid, lingering for an
excruciating length of time on the lips that veiled monstrosities capable of
ripping soullessly into the flesh of innocents, across the contours of the
Vampire’s physical existence, drinking her in for all she was before spitting
on the ground at her feet. Caillech wiped roughly at the rivers of rain that
cascaded from the sky, removing the water that stung her eyes, before stepping
closer. Skin crawling, her fierce gaze bore down upon the female; the sickening
abhorrence that tainted the ethereal hue of Caillech’s eyes, the disgust that
writhed like a beast from the very pits of Satan’s hell, almost forcing bile to
rise in her throat.- Do you think so low of me, do you insult my intelligence
so, that you boldly slither, from the stinking hole that gave you birth, to my
doors and expect me to open wide my arms and embrace you as one of my own? You
soil the ground beneath your feet, my ground, the ground I of Mactire reign
with the sole intent of ripping your kin from the shadows of the Earth with a
force that will challenge even the Gods. –At that her eyes seemed ablaze, and a
low rumble began to rise from the deep chambers of her chest. Her gaze shifted
to the male, narrowing as she took in his large yet unmistakably youthful Lycan
form, and wondered for a moment if this was some kind of pitiful joke sent from
whatever deity she had inadvertently insulted. She had not travelled thousands
of miles only to return to this. This, her citadel and safe haven, put into
question by the very species that drove her kind back into the mountains from
whence they were born. The anger that began to flare within threatened to crack
the cold and unyielding nonchalance of her controlled expression, and she
turned away from them, meeting Serra’s gaze.- An explanation, if you will.
-Two lucent eyes, potent with the force
of anger that betrayed her soulless facade, shifted to follow the scent of
death that spread from the skin of the Vampire. Shot with tendrils of blood,
they widened fractionally to stress the rage that burned behind the cold
exterior, but her expression did not falter; a mask of impassivity, only the
slightest crease at the corner of her lip gave way to the revulsion that
festered within her at the sight of such a foul and despicable beast.- ...Vampire.
–The word shot through the silence, broke through the relentless rain, and
ended in a feral hiss, her lips parting to accommodate the plosive and vulgar
crash of a word that gave name to the creatures she so ardently despised. Her
eyes slid, lingering for an excruciating length of time on the lips that veiled
monstrosities capable of ripping soullessly into the flesh of innocents, across
the contours of the Vampire’s physical existence, drinking her in for all she
was before spitting on the ground at her feet. Caillech wiped roughly at the
rivers of rain that cascaded from the sky, removing the water that stung her
eyes, before stepping closer. Skin crawling, her fierce gaze bore down upon the
female; the sickening abhorrence that tainted the ethereal hue of Caillech’s
eyes, the disgust that writhed like a beast from the very pits of Satan’s hell,
almost forcing bile to rise in her throat.- Do you think so low of me, do you
insult my intelligence so, that you boldly slither, from the stinking hole that
gave you birth, to my doors and expect me to open wide my arms and embrace you
as one of my own? You soil the ground beneath your feet, my ground, the ground
I of Mactire reign with the sole intent of ripping your kin from the shadows of
the Earth with a force that will challenge even the Gods. –At that her eyes
seemed ablaze, and a low rumble began to rise from the deep chambers of her
chest. Her gaze shifted to the male, narrowing as she took in his large yet
unmistakably youthful Lycan form, and wondered for a moment if this was some
kind of pitiful joke sent from whatever deity she had inadvertently insulted. She
had not travelled thousands of miles only to return to this. This, her citadel
and safe haven, put into question by the very species that drove her kind back
into the mountains from whence they were born. The anger that began to flare
within threatened to crack the cold and unyielding nonchalance of her
controlled expression, and she turned away from them, meeting Serra’s gaze.- An
explanation, if you will.
-Shifting the rifle higher, Caillech
turned away her head pithily. She had lived over four thousand years, and in
that span of time she had mastered the vital control of all sentiment, and
though she had certainly found the frequent occurrence of emotion to be a
dangerous inconvenience on more than one occasion, it was in these moments that
her tolerance ran thin and dry. It often surprised her that she felt vulnerable
to them in situations that did not pose any extreme physical exertion to her
mental frame of mind, like the simple matters of negotiation rather than during
battle when will power alone was the key to survival and it would only make
sense for one’s mind to thrive and proliferate violently in such a time; then
again, she had not been born and raised accustomed to the acknowledgement of
emotion, and therefore she grudgingly admitted that this was a field she was
not and would never be an expert in handling, other than to numb herself
temporarily to the torrents of invoked feeling and have done with them later. As
her eyes closed briefly to the sound of Serra’s acquittal, it was this reason
alone that forced her to take a moment of controlled silence to consider the
circumstances she had returned to. If she were to allow entrance to the female,
simply put it could turn around and bite her in the ass; who was to say this
vulgar creature was not simply playing on their hospitality, only to disappear
later to inform others of the strengths and weaknesses Caillech’s pack
possessed, or worse, what if it prayed on the more vulnerable of the family
with slow, calculated deliberation? Anger flared behind the veined lids of her
eyes, and she effectively doused the compulsion to rip out its jugular and feed
on its flesh. The fiend would be dead at the slightest inclination of
duplicity, and in the confines of her mind she spat into the void with disgust.
Regardless, Serra would have eaten the distasteful little imp if she believed
it posed even the slightest of threats, and Caillech trusted her Beta to the
bone. The Alpha stood as the moments passed as if for all the world she were
frozen in time, knowing that an answer she did not enjoy was rising from the
darkened corner of her mind that she despised, and had trained herself
vehemently to ignore, for its unrelenting sentiment, however undeveloped and
chastised such a weak defect in a creature was. The female in question’s own
words were not lost to Caillech either, if not for its insubordination in the
presence of what will become her Alpha more than anything else. This she chose
to ignore; it would not do to have another injured addition to the pack of
Mactire, they were already vulnerable enough with Hunter gone, she deduced from
the almost nonexistent scent of him that inferred a long period of absence. Opening
her eyes, Caillech turned once more to the pitiful form of the male Lycan, her
forceful gaze ever austere in its scrutiny. And what, she wondered, was a young
pup doing so far from his territory of birth? The mountains that loomed
forlornly around her city, cradling it in an unforgiving and perilous embrace,
were unsafe to those who did not know them well, inviting only injury and
starvation from their vindictive planes, as food was hard if not impossible to
come by for several hundred miles in every which way. The Vampire’s fate
decided, and Serra’s account completed, Caillech strode towards his paltry form
and took him roughly by the jaw.- And to what do I owe this pleasure?
- Entrance to the underground Lycanthrope city of Mactire
-Caillech inhaled, her chin lifting only
slightly as the white lids of her eyes closed. The scent of Mactire and all it
held filled her lungs, the howl of their Beta turning her skin to gooseflesh as
the sound resonated powerfully against the bones of her chest, a welcome home.
Her face momentarily turned to the sky, Caillech’s skin was slick with rain and
shone in the pale light of the monstrous clouds; a flare of thunder followed
suddenly by spears of light scorched across the darkened gorge that lay like
the yawning mouth of some terrible beast beneath her. The white of her lids,
shot with the pale of blue veins, withdrew to reveal the shock of silver that burned
with an obstinate fury as they gazed upon her home. Here lay a powerful species
that would fight to the ends of the Earth for ultimate survival, and the
rejuvenation of all that had been devastated under Man’s greed, and Vampiric
vehemence. Throwing back her head to expose the great muscle and vein of her
throat, Caillech roared in answer, a crash of lighting illuminating her
powerful form as she stood strong on the canyon precipice, allowing the sound
that ripped through her throat to pierce through the howling winds and carry
deafeningly towards them. Head snapping forward to cut short the guttural cry,
she watched for only a moment more before turning, her silhouette disappearing
behind the unforgiving crags of rock and stone. She leapt into the rain from
the dark heights of the ravine, arms thrust outward as she fell, to land hard
against the rough grounds below, brought down to one knee in a shower of rain
and fragments of rock. A rumble issued from deep within her chest as she rose
and approached the bridge with a cold, calculating gaze. Her eyes sought Serra
through the rain and, licking her lips to expose two terrifyingly large
canines, they spoke volumes; before her stood Caillech’s most powerful warrior,
the woman who had fought beside her in the Great Wars, a terrifying Lycanthrope
that could tear the very flesh from a beasts bones with an single blow, who had
remained loyal for countless years. Here stood a true Lycan. Caillech’s voice
was a formidable growl, deep and rumbling from many months of silence and
solitude, but the acknowledgement held a softness that was almost
imperceptible, and would be understood by the Beta and the Beta alone,- Serra.
–The name sung through the air and held there, broken only by the sudden roar
of thunder overhead. She did not react to the others just yet, so intent was
her focus on the woman that stood before her, second to none.-
-Caillech's footfalls pounded against
the rock as she ran, taking great leaps over the dark almost obscure boulders
that got in her way. The rain crashed down around her, soaking her hair into
thick ropes that jolted behind her back, lighting illuminating the ground
ahead. She kept her arms locked at 90 degree angles, pumping at her sides, her
breath controlled, face impassive save for the crease between her dark brows.
Thunder roared overhead in great resounding booms that seemed to shake the very
foundations of the earth, as though commanding for all to yield beneath the
monstrosity of its ethereal strength. As she raced through the dark mountain
pass, the earth churned and spat beneath the soles of her heavy boots, coughing
up a grim mixture of rain water and mud that had formed a fast-flowing river
upon the face of the mountains. Caillech, her face slick with the beating of
the rain, raced towards Mactire with news, her heart beginning to pound heavily
in her chest. She leapt over yet another fallen rock and, hitting the ground in
a cacophony of water, she growled as her boot snagged the roots of a fallen oak
which brought her hard on one knee. For a moment she gripped the soaking earth,
claws sliding from their fleshy sheaths to dig deep into the dirt in a sudden
fit of frustration. Caillech never shifted. Not unless there was no other way.
But the more she built her rage, the harder it was to control the monster she
was born to be. She did not simply prefer to be alone when the anger became too
much, no. It was mandatory. Far from the pack, far from the old walls she had
come to call a home, they did not need to see the writhing beast that tore at
its own bones and flesh, screaming as its limbs disjointed and snapped into a
body that defied evolution, so great and so massive in size that, when her body
was once more returned, Caillech would lie blooded and trembling upon the
ground days later, weakened by the force and power of the beast that had rolled
back its eyes and spread wide its jaws in guttural, terrifying howls. She shook
her head, trying to clear the anger away as the rain beat at her back, and
launched herself forward into a powerful sprint once more with a roar of
irritation. Within the hour she would find herself at the height of the great
gorge that cradled her city, and until then she would not stop until she could
behold the site of it. As Caillech ran she thought of the city and all it held,
the hearts within that she had plagued her life to keep beating, even if only
for one more day. She tore through the rain, her face a mask of practiced
nonchalance whilst a deluge of screaming water raged and wrought destruction upon
the flesh within. Her body nursed the flames that burnt through the muscles of
her thighs, her chest, whilst her soul threw back its head and roared for more,
for pain, for the agony to rise into an unbearable heat. She cursed herself for
allowing her exhaustion to slow her stride; nothing held such heightened
importance than to survive, to protect and serve. The wind howled, pushing the
rain into great arcs as the darkened skies thundered above, raging a war that
was beyond her comprehension, but a sign that the Gods understood and had
unleashed a storm that would ignite the hearts of her pack into preparing
themselves for battle, a battle of the likes that they had never seen before.
She pulled back her lip, teeth exposed to the piercing rain, to better catch
the scents in the air as she ran, the sound of the blood of her body singing
powerfully in her ears. Caillech saw the crater despite the sheet of rain that
fell so heavily from the sky and forced her body to brace against the rocks as
she skidded, in a shower of stones that fell to the waterfalls below, twenty
feet to a stop. It was there she stood, her dark and arresting form visible on
the precipice of Mactire's haven, with her eyes boring down upon the walls of
the great temple as if for all the world a terrible and unyielding beast raged
within. Below she saw the hazed impression of Lycans, and tasted the unfamiliar
scent of a foreigner on the furious winds, but the all too proverbial air of
Serra provided enough information to calm Caillech’s sudden fury; she did not
appear defensive towards the male, and must therefore be already acquainted,
the presence of the Vampire Lynx was also not one to cause alarm. In the
darkening radiance of the thunderous skies, the Alpha’s silhouette was
terrifyingly still as she observed from the precipice of the great gorge, a
fearsome sight to any who happened to turn their eyes to look.-
-Caillech did not incline her head in
return, but paused instead, her eyes locked on Serra's. Striding towards her,
her boots crunching against the crumbling stone, Caillech took hold of the hem
of her shirt and ripped as she moved, winding the cotton around her hand and
thrusting it outward beneath a leak of fresh water that fell from the ruins
above as she passed it, her stide never faultering. As she reached her Beta,
she drew her hand upward and rested it, in a suprisingly gentle gesture, upon
Serra's cheek. With her other hand she touched Serra's arm and guided it
upward, the motion swift and wordless, to take the wet cloth from Caillechs
hand and hold it for herself.- It appears there is something you haven't told
me. -She said, her voice stern. Caillech did not need to express her gratitude
and care of her greatest friend and warrior with words, for she well knew it
herself. They had been through much together, and fought visciously side by
side. They had seen each other at their worst and likewise at their best, and
that would lie between them unspoken but acknowledged for the rest of their
days. Caillech moved to lean against the wall of the bridge, her eyes tilted
upward to scan the skies above. She looked for all the world as tough and
composed as she should be, as Alpha, but inside her mind and body was wracked
with tormented thoughts and memories, a constant battle within herself that
shook the very foundation of her existence; she feared for the lives of her
pack, of the ones she had spent her entire life defending and fighting for; she
cursed herself for the hardship she forced daily upon her Beta, and upon her
Tracker; she knew in her heart that it should not have to be so difficult, so
horrifically dangerous, to just live, to just stay alive. But she did what she
had to do. She made the orders that would keep each of them safe, at whatever
cost. That was her job, and none would carry the burden of it but she. Her face
remained forever impassive and cold as she waited for Serra's report.-
-The large entrance door swung shut
behind Caillech as she stepped into the bright light of day, the force of its
impact causing loose debris to fall from the temple walls, cascading to the
ground. It took a moment for her mottled silver eyes to adjust to the brilliant
glare, before they fell on the powerful form of Serra and, beyond her, the
smaller Agatha. She descended the steps, inhaling the cold air in silence,
tasting their scents on her tongue and that of another, her hair catching in
the breeze. Spray rose from the waterfalls in a thin mist so that every now and
then vapour would settle on her skin, akin to soft rain. It was refreshing, and
in her nature as a Lycanthrope to desire the call of the wind and the freedom
of the skies, but not now. Caillech threw back her head and released a howl as
she paced at the foot of the temple steps, before snapping her head forward to
assess the stranger before her with a cold, calculating gaze. This must be the
Lycan creature Serra had reported, the one that got in the way of a fight
between Vampire and their kin, an injured weakling that should not be in the
open. Blood could travel for miles around, pungent on a high wind, and if
anything other than beast or Lycan caught the scent of a wounded female, they
would come running. It was endangering to the pack. Caillech watched her,
ignoring for the moment Serra and Agatha whom she had no qualm with today; it
irked her that the young one and the wounded were interfering with her Beta’s
watch and for a moment her eyes flashed to Agatha, considering her smaller
form, before returning to focus on the yet unknown female, waiting.-
- Mactire's central chambers, beneath the mountain.
-Caillech moved through the East tunnel,
passing in and out of the lamp light, her shadow thrown menacingly against the
floor and walls. Her pace was fast, but she was in no hurry, the only sound was
that of her soles against the black granite. She toyed with the knives at her
hip, her finger running the length of each steel blade, inadvertently examining
the surfaces for abrasions. Moments ago she had stirred from within the belly
of the mountain, the faint rumble of heavy footfalls intriguing her, and had
risen with the intention of checking on Serra’s watch. Caillech wondered what
Serra was doing; the steps were foreign, and she was not pleased.-
-Her frame was tall and imposing in
strength, her silver eyes wide. Two large canines pressed against the soft
flesh of her lower lip, which trembled in anger. Still she paced, her fists
clenched so tightly her skin prickled with the heat, the knuckles shining
white, her biceps flexing until two dark veins pushed against the thick
colourless skin of her arms. The fury rolled from her body in infernal waves,
the tendons in her neck taught and flaming red as she withheld the urge to
shift. Caillech's gaze saught the male's and held it, the whites of each eye
diminishing beneath tiny red tendrils of pounding blood.-
-The large entrance door swung shut
behind Caillech as she stepped into the bright light of day, the force of its
impact causing loose debris to fall from the temple walls, cascading to the
ground. It took a moment for her mottled silver eyes to adjust to the brilliant
glare. She descended the steps, inhaling the cold air in silence, tasting blood
on her tongue, her hair catching in the breeze. She had heard a disturbance,
and it displeased her greatly. Spray rose from the waterfalls in a thin mist so
that every now and then vapour would settle on her skin, akin to soft rain. It
was refreshing, and in her nature as a Lycanthrope to desire the call of the
wind and the freedom of the skies, but not now. Caillech threw back her head
and released a howl as she paced at the foot of the temple steps, before
snapping her head forward to assess the stranger before her with a cold,
calculating gaze-
Fenix wouldn't hold back the attack. He
didn't care to. This was his vengence for his family. This was the only way to
protect every one through out the world. Each and every human wouldn't be
allowed to feel the pain he had been infused with since that day. As his punch
extended, his knife would puncture her abdomen first, tearing through organ
after organ until the tip of the blade finally found bone. The tip would
penetrate the bone and upon feeling the sudden impact with the dense tissue, he
would twist the blade clock wise to snap the tip off before pulling his fist
back and the blade free. His eyes intent on the lycan before him as he had hit
her. He showed no remorse for this, no pain. Nothing. It was as if his eyes
were that of the dead. Letting his hand fall to his side, he would take a step
back as his eyes lingered upon her for a few moments more before turning his
attention to the other. He didn't look down at his weapon to make sure of
anything, he had felt the difference in weight and the chipping of the silver
inside her. With his intention fully on the other now, he would take a few
steps further from the lycan behind him. He was aware of the sensitivity of the
spinal cord due to his years of fighting. The nervous system was pumped through
it and in all likely hood, she would probably be paralized from the wound down.
A light drip sounded beside him as a single drop of lycan blood dripped from
the blade, landing on the stone. He spun his katana around in hand causing the
sound of wind being cut to echo off the walls around them in an extremely high
pitched tone.
ValenciaTeek: -Serra smiled at lucid,
the man was good and he had gotten her, ripping through her insides, but he
handnt counted on Lycan bone, tougher than the strongest metal it was
impossibly hard to break, and due to the delicate nature of the lycans change
their spinal chords were wrapped in flexible bands of bone, like plating to
protect the spine whislt they changed. The knife was in her allright, but she
could move and he had turned her back on her, wrong move. . . . . . always make
sure a Lycan has not head before you dimiss it. The pain of the silver burnt
through her body, making her eyes water and her skin instantly feverish. Serra
reached her own hand inside herself grabbing the silver blade she pulled, with
it sizzling in her hand she thrust it at his calf, aiming for a downwards
ripping motion he was less than 4 inches away, she could not be certain but she
did not think he would dodge it. With her almost silent attack coming from
behind and his attention on Lucid she knew her Alpha could finish this fight-
-Caillech stilled. As she exhaled the
world shifted, every breath and moment languid. Her blood, coursing and
pounding through the great labyrinth of veins within her body, sung in her
ears, the beat of her heart loud and resonating against her chest. Tiny hairs
prickled at the back of her neck, the beads of sweat along her spine cooled the
skin there as the wind picked up. She inhaled. Caillech’s vision honed in on
the human’s arm, its movement protracted, and each fine detail patent and
excruciating in its clarity. She exhaled. The sound of tearing flesh caused
gooseflesh to explode along her forearms, a nauseating ripple cascading through
the vertebrae of her spine as she watched Serra’s lips part in agony before
mutating and spreading in a smile, her eyes sliding to meet Caillech’s. She
inhaled. Her own lips twitched in a delayed reaction, eyes shifting to the
human. In a great surge of blood and pounding, time erupted. The adrenalin
caught up with her, all movement accelerating to its normal speed. The human
would die. Caillech shook back her head, throat distending to accommodate a
hideous, guttural bellow. Head snapping forward, eyes locking onto him, she
ripped her blades from their sheaths, the sound tearing through the air, and
dropped into a low crouch, elbows locked, knives poised and glistening toward
her kill-
- Human embodiment of one Lycanthrope god, of which Caillech is re-incarnate.
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