EYES BLACK, BIG PAWS -- hellhound. wandering servant.

tw // gore and mild vampirism //

There, among the vines and crawlers of the crypt and cemetery, epitaphs carved into broken and crumbling stone, nature's grip cradling the forgotten dead, laid to eternal rest. One would think the silent peace would remain unbroken, but they were wrong. It wouldn't be long until a creature thought to have been dead for untold time, the bearer of a forgotten legend, would rise from it's slumber to walk the lands of the living once again.

In the darkness of the tomb, eyes closed and breathing so shallow, body long unmoving, they would have been mistaken for the dead, old remains of linen bandages resting as debris in their fur, body curled up upon a stone slab, the light from old long-shattered windows showering over their sleeping form, the only change being that of their eyes behind eyelids long closed to the world, heavy dust coating their fur and giving them the appearance of a statue. Their bodily needs were left to time, much like that of a bear, the deep unrelenting slumber similar to the hibernation of the creatures that they were similar in stature to.

Eyes rolling so slightly as they were once again enraptured by the darkness of their memories, the sounds of a battlefield and screams slowly beginning to swell and echo in their ears, the sounds of metal screeching against metal a lovely wake-up call. There, in the scape of their mind, they stood on a field of battle, drenched head to toe in gore, mouth stained with the blood of the guilty, those who deserved his judgement. The winds were cold and blew with them the stench of the enemy, re-enforcements on the way, but not for his soldiers. They stood alone, enemies bodies piled around their legs, fur and gore caught between teeth meant to tear at flesh and crush bones, panting and trying to catch their breath as their chest and neck burned, their own body trembling and filled with a hot sensation around their heart. They felt like shit, and they knew that they'd been injured badly. Blue eyes could only watch the battle as their soldiers fell, like flies to slaughter. They had taken the form of their liege, forbidding him from riding into battle following a premonition, a premonition of betrayal and death. The fall of The Mad King.

Taking a deep breath to fill their lungs, the beast would release a roar to shake the heavens, filled with frustration and fury. They had to retreat, they'd lost far too much blood to make it back to their liege. They must warn him of their defeat here, the last man standing. They didn't know if they could make it through the waves of enemies coming to slay them and put their head on a pike. If that was what fate had in store for them, then they wouldn't mind to die for their Master's cause. They could die there, in honor, dying on the battlefield. Lowering their head to stare at the oncoming re-enforcements for the enemy, knowing his own would not come. This would be his resting place, and he would take them all with him, all those who would challenge the monster.

There, on the battlefield of his last stand, dripping of his own life essence, his ears would rotate and a rich, rich scent of blood would flood over his tongue and nose, stomach snarling so suddenly that it brought the beast from it's rage, turning it's head to observe him, The Mad King, standing before him with his paw outstretched, cornflower blue ichor dripping from the wound opened on his wrist. Swallowing, the beast would stare, his stomach snarling in hunger, bringing him to his senses as a shudder ran through him.

"Awaken, Undertaker. Your services are needed once again.", came the voice that reached him through the fog of his dreams, from the unmoving mouth of his Master as he gave in to temptation and sated his hunger from the wound that ran without end, his eyes closed before finally beginning in reality, to stir for the first time in untold years.

"I ... accept the Call."

[align=center]"speech" .. 'thoughts' .. attack