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Post by kaz on Nov 27, 2023 7:10:45 GMT
POWER, POWER · THE LAW OF THE LAND She had backed herself into a corner here, hadn’t she? A simple, momentary lapse in reason for a second’s respite and it had led to this. Perhaps it wasn’t all bad. She was finding now how far Hollow’s loyalty to the pack would stretch, if at all, and thus far he seemed not malleable in the least. Rigid, unyielding. Or rather, unwilling. There were certain sacrifices one must make for the good of the people, and Hollow seemed unable to do so. As Akala’s eyes narrowed upon his form she realized a man such as this — one who had no altruism, no willingness to give in for his fellow wolf — would have no place in her final plan. Such was a wolf unbefitting her pack: an amalgamation more than individuals; a mass of those forsaking their identity in favor of a common cause. Au’Dar would one day be great and powerful if only the wolves within it could forget their selfishness, forget their meaningless quarrels amongst each other. Only then could their true purpose be accomplished. The land — theirs by right — reclaimed and protected for as long as Akala should live. And the Au’Dar wolves granted the respect they so justly deserved, all beneath the Empress’s careful administration.
Wolves like Hollow would never understand. They might think of Akala as brutal and harsh and unforgiving, but they did not know the true horror of being beneath, of being less than those you’ve been told are your equals. A healer. How could he know what it felt like to live beneath the claws of wolves who thought they were better than you with a gift such as his? If he only took the time to look outward and watch his pack slowly crumble away, become inconsequential, as she had — perhaps then he might understand. But likely not. They were not far in age and yet to Akala he felt like a child, so naive to the world. Had he ever thought to look beyond his own reality, his safe little space in this microcosm? Perhaps if she had been so revered in the Au’Dar, she might not have either. But she had been lucky to be an outcast. Lucky to have had her eyes opened to the sheep that their prior Centurion had made them out to be. Like fish in a barrel, begging to keep their place in their tiny little puddle of water — oh please, don’t shoot! I promise I’m happy with what little I have! Look how happy we are here, just so grateful we have this!
The thought left a bitter taste on her tongue. Her mind was beginning to wander even as she sat in this tense stalemate — might be the wound, thought the woman but gave it no more mind. Didn’t matter much. She’d suffered bites worse, some by her own fangs and some by others, and no doubt she would fare fine enough through this one. Still, the blood didn’t seem to stop pumping out steadily along with her heartbeat.
The healer said something but was suddenly interrupted by the voice of another, a soft, weak croaking from the den entrance. Akala’s piercing blue eyes shot to the intruder, found only Finch’s scared little form there. No doubt her tafa, who she felt just beyond the den, would have warned Finch of her presence. Arzanoth’s grim aura was not lost on Akala; she knew what birds like him represented. She knew to see them meant death was around the corner. In times like these, she did not turn away from the symbolism.
Finch stumbled over his words but Hollow insisted the young wolf stay. Listen. Learn. And then the healer was suddenly searching for herbs without finishing his prior argument. It seemed both Akala and he preferred to uphold appearances. Such was the burden of being an experienced wolf in the presence of youth, the unspoken responsibility of making things appear easier, less tiresome to them so as to temper the heaviness of maturity, the untold weight that it carries. Might have been they had different reasons for it but the invisible thread between them lie there nonetheless, its tension palpable. She and the healer did not meet eyes, looked at each other no more than necessary, simply following protocol, only donning the most obligatory politeness befitting their positions. Hollow inspected her injury briefly, gleaning no more than he probably already had, and she kept tight-lipped as he searched his supply for the needed ingredients. There was no love in the act, simply two beasts following a predetermined script laid out many years before them, prescribed in their fibers of being, learned from their peers, their parents, from wolves who lived and died a thousand years to bring them to this position here and now. To two foes who fought on the same side yet opposed each other fiercely. To such a complex relationship it could scarcely be described in written word.
When he returned to her, his eyes ablaze with hatred, she stuck out her paw for him. There was no doubt poor little Finch would feel the buzzing of tension in the air but it couldn’t be helped and Akala offered no relief, either. The meeting, the drought, this interaction with Hollow had done nothing to ease the exhaustion seeping up through her bones. She had nothing left for anyone today. Not that she was the type for comfort, anyway. And, besides, it was the healer’s job to heal. Nothing more. Finch would do well to learn that earlier rather than later. There was no shortage of awful wolves out there, many of whom lived among you day to day, and their best selves would not be revealed during injury and need of healing. Perhaps one day Akala might learn to soften and provide solace to her wolves but it would not be today, and likely not any day soon.
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Post by kaz on Apr 12, 2023 6:28:30 GMT
POWER, POWER · THE LAW OF THE LAND Whether the Empress knew it or not, she had, in her heart, wanted him to grovel. She had wanted her Avant Garde to lie down and cry out and ask for forgiveness. She’d wanted him to beg. There was in her regime no use for those who sought to fight against her will; how could a woman herd a pack of sheep when half of them wanted to flee the opposite way? She had no use for dissenters, especially those with a fierce tongue like Hollow who thought themselves better than her: smarter, stronger, more adept. Akala had done her best to keep her cool thus far, with calm, thinly veiled threats, but such subtleties seemed to be lost on men like Hollow, as they often were.
She had dealt with men like him much of her life. Men who thought themselves better than her because they were more skilled or more charismatic than she, or more sought after for their looks or what have you. Whatever it was, they thought themselves more than her. She felt her skin prickle at his words, all tinged with conceit and self-importance. “...you would be surprised just how quickly infection can spread… if not properly taken care of,” said the male, his words soaked in venom. She felt her lips curling but willed her expression to stay somewhat neutral. He continued on to challenge her and question her position. “But should you prefer, I could fetch some Apprentices to aid you. I’m sure they would be thrilled to put their amateur skills on display for their dear Centurion.”
Akala was losing her patience; already she’d decided the Avant Garde was not worth her time. “Why don’t you, then?” snarled the Queen. “If you feel you cannot – or will not – tend to this wound, then, go, fetch an apprentice. Perhaps they might be more willing to serve their pack than you.” She glared at the man. This wound was not enough to incapacitate her and she had no doubt that even an apprentice in medicine could treat it. If he did not want to do his job then the woman would find someone else who would.
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Post by kaz on Apr 9, 2023 4:25:50 GMT
POWER, POWER · THE LAW OF THE LAND He was jeering at her. It was plain and clear. Holding his position of knowledge over her and milking it for all it was worth. His scorn fell upon her like acid rain and she felt the burn of it on her pelt and it only served to ignite her fury further. The anger that had been festering within her was now burning so intensely it threatened to burst out of her, to take control of her body in the same way it had done when she had usurped the throne, to overtake her so entirely that she would have no choice in the matter at all. But even as her vision blackened with the fury she willed herself to stay in control. She would not let this mutt see her lose herself. She would not lend him that power.
She had but for a moment allowed her underling to make her feel as she had at the Pack's meeting, faced down by that Sanzin snake: alone, unsupported and small. But she remembered she had many Au'Dar members behind her, backing her right to the throne and her direction of the pack, and this gave her some assurance.
When he spoke again, it was with the smugness of one who thinks they are all-powerful. “It would be quite the shame,” said he, a smile dancing on his lips, “for the pack tyrant to fall at the clutches of infection or disease rather than some other actually noteworthy cause." This contemptuous display, so absolutely treasonous in his words, seemed, surprisingly, to make the Empress not feel angrier, but, somehow, incredulous, and somewhat amused. Perhaps, in a sick way, impressed. He had strayed fleetingly into treacherous territory before, but now he had boldly stepped over into blasphemy, to so brazenly call her a “tyrant.” Now he had given her no choice.
She laid her injured paw gently and purposefully back on the ground, immune to its pain presently. Her eyes were fiery, ablaze with newfound resolution. “Your tongue lacks the respect befitting one in your position. I know you don’t presume that an injury such as this would prevent me from putting you in your place, Hollow.” Her voice was low with the promise of the threat. They did not favor each other, she knew, but they both had a deep love for the pack. Should his lack of loyalty get in the way of that love — well, she would hate to find a new Avant Garde, but there were other promising wolves.
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Post by kaz on Apr 8, 2023 7:49:57 GMT
POWER, POWER · THE LAW OF THE LAND Akala watched the brute’s eyes as he studied her injury, watched his indecision, the thought that perhaps he shouldn’t offer his help to his Centurion, his Queen. She knew that there was a part of him that wanted to reject her and send her off to suffer her injury and whatever came next alone, to allow her wound to fester and infest her body and, she presumed he hoped, kill her eventually. He hoped she would die and he could be rid of her. Easier that way. And she, too, wanted to have him gone, but as fate, as cruel as it was, would have it, the two were stuck with each other, staring eye to eye, knowing each wanted the other gone entirely. He glanced down dispassionately at her wound before his gaze flickered back upwards to meet hers. “Attacked,” said the man.“Or self-inflected?”
Was there the glint of mirth in his eyes when he said that, or simply her interpretation of his dissidence? She stared levelly at him, wanting above all to punish him for his obvious disloyalty to her, and thus, his pack, but knowing, as a dog chained to a fence, that her power was limited: she was, in this instance, all bark and no bite. Still, she intended to give her healer no glimpse as to whatever workings occurred inside her mind. She had fallen prey to primitive desire, punishing herself for her shortcomings in the meeting by tearing into her own flesh – a past coping mechanism that she was now learning was not befitting a queen at all – but she would no longer be a victim to her own whims. This, she knew, but all the same she was his Centurion. One ought not ask questions above their station. “You forget yourself,” said Akala in a growl. She could feel again the anger growing in her, a righteous fury hard and hot inside of her. She had fought to be where she was now and she would not let some little pup, knowledgeable as he might be, question her authority.
“Does the circumstance matter how the wound is treated? Or are you just sticking your nose where it ought not be?” snarled Akala derisively. She had no patience for this man who had seemed in her whole time in power to hate her. They need not love each other but he would do his job or else she’d find someone else to take his position (in her anger, this seemed this simplest choice, though finding another healer as adept as he may prove quite difficult.) Her fangs bared, she glared up at the taller man, daring him to refuse her.
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Post by kaz on Apr 8, 2023 6:23:52 GMT
POWER, POWER · THE LAW OF THE LAND Her gait was unsteady, the wound making her limp as it seeped blood in a trail behind the Queen, but the devilish anger in her eyes kept any from offering assistance. If looks could kill she’d have no packmates left. She turned the corner into enemy territory, dripping fury and blood, crimson red both. Akala, came his greeting, flat and displeased. Their eyes met and in his she found no great love, but he would find none in hers either. Theirs was a relationship of necessity, the well-being of the pack the only thing preventing pure truculence. He stared back at her, unmoving, daring her to state the reasoning behind her unwonted visit, defiantly insisting that she admit it, say it aloud. Already he had the upper hand: she’d had to come to him rather than the other way around. He had flipped the dynamic to his own favor and her pelt was itching with the discomfort of this realization. And worse still, he had refused to address her with any form of respect, which normally she would have confronted, but, and this she thought with a hint of embarrassment and shame, she had no choice but to accept his contempt with silent anger given her condition.
“Hollow,” offered the Empress in return, her tone no more friendly than his had been. They knew where they stood and it seemed there would be no pretending. When it came down to drawing the line through the pack, he would, she knew, stand staunchly on the side of anyone but Akala. She wondered with a hint of indignity how to move the conversation to her purposes, how to address her injury and need for his services while still holding on to whatever power remained in her paws. Perhaps the best way was to be blunt about it, to give no more thought to the words than she would any other fact. “Your services are needed,” said the woman brusquely, holding out her paw for his inspection. Her fangs had dug deep into the skin of her forearm, and the wound pulsed blood along with her heartbeat, dripping fervently. It was red, and angry, and painful, though she gave no hint of the pain upon her visage, staring forward with a lifelessness almost as impressive as her tafa’s. THOSE LIVING FOR DEATH · WILL DIE BY THEIR OWN HAND
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Post by kaz on Feb 23, 2023 5:53:48 GMT
Nycteus, the other said his name was. A name full of sharp edges and hard angles. A name befitting a spider, thought Mara, or something harsh and unyielding, like some war general from pup-tales or a vengeful god, but the man before her seemed to fit that profile in appearance alone. Otherwise, he appeared polite and well-mannered. Handsome, even. She looked him over, hoping to glean something but her skills in people-reading were quite lacking, she found. “You are not from around here, are you?” asked the man. She felt quite embarrassed. Had it been so obvious to everyone she had met? She tried to shake it off and muster up some confidence, putting a smile upon her face. “Why would you think that?” she asked coyly. The water lapped slowly against her legs, cold and relaxing. She felt a sense of peace over her. “No, I’m not. But where I’m from matters less than where I intend to go, I think, and the water here is just so lovely, and the birds here sing such a wonderful tune.” She was speaking now without really thinking which felt freeing in its own right. “Are you from around here?”alexandre
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Post by kaz on Feb 6, 2023 6:10:07 GMT
POWER, POWER · THE LAW OF THE LAND “A dam,” repeated the man as if stupid. Maybe he was just a dumb brute, after all, programmed with nothing but loyalty to the pack and skills of fang and claw in that head of his. That would be for the best, really. Uninteresting but it made for a good pack member. Stupid and unflinchingly loyal. She stared down at him (she was only an inch or two taller but in her power felt twice his size) and tried to discern anything from his visage, but he only met her gaze steadily, no hint at his thoughts. Perhaps there aren’t any thoughts at all, she thought with some feeling of superiority. Perhaps he is trying to remember what a dam is.
The moment passed with only his tafa’s shifting in his fur breaking the silence – Arzanoth perched statuesque behind her, unmoving — and then the man spoke. “There is no task too large,” said he, and Akala felt her chest rise with satisfaction, felt the fire alighting in her eyes at his fealty. This was where she belonged; this was truly who she was meant to be. Wolves should be bowing at her paws. Once they had sniggered behind her back, but now they would bend to her will or else break beneath her power. She would create an empire to be feared and respected. And Mikhail was an essential player. “When do I depart?”
Akala steadied her heavy gaze on him for another moment longer, hoping to impart on him the importance of this mission — though if his words were to be believed, he knew, already. Perhaps any task to him from his pack was of the most dire importance. Perhaps he was the perfect soldier. Time would tell. Akala let the hint of a smile dance on her lips. “Soon,” said the Empress, and turned, signaling with her tail for Arzanoth to follow. “Find me when you have chosen.” The vulture took another longing look at the snake curling around Mikhail’s neck, imagining his last meal, then turned to follow his wolf, bouncing gracelessly on the uneven forest floor.THOSE LIVING FOR DEATH · WILL DIE BY THEIR OWN HAND
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Post by kaz on Feb 5, 2023 5:11:59 GMT
Coming back up into the world, cold air stinging her now wet face, panting hard, water dripping from her mouth; she gasped desperately at the air and relished in the sharp pain of it in her raw throat. She must have looked insane, a wolf trying to drown herself, or else utterly failing at fishing, but thankfully no one was around. Rather, no one had been around. But of course there was always someone there to witness her shortcomings, whether it was screaming at a lake, or tangling herself up in bramble, someone was there to point and laugh. But the shouting had released some of her tension, and she was feeling a bit less sorry for herself than before, so, looking over at the other wolf, who surely was confused or amused or both (though gave no hint at either upon their countenance), Mara smiled sheepishly, hoping to save face. And though she could have said she had been fishing, or cleaning her maw from a kill, or literally anything reasonable, the first thing that came to mind was to quickly say, and perhaps too loudly: “So many lovely rocks beneath the surface!” And she could feel her cheeks heating with embarrassment (thank the Gods for fur!) at having spoken such a silly thing out loud, even if it was true that there were lots of pretty stones under the clear water. Presuming she was far enough from the other so as not to dampen them, too, Mara would shake the water from her fur and wag her tail lightly in a show of friendliness. “Good day to you.” A small dip of the head in polite greeting, for one’s manners may never truly dissipate completely, even when one has otherwise lost all of their old self, seemingly. “My name is Mara.” alexandre
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Post by kaz on Jan 26, 2023 6:14:34 GMT
She stood upon a precipice. A line between two choices; or better, two unknowns, for she could only feel the weight of choice upon her shoulders, but could not see what exactly it was she was choosing. To run, to hide? To continue on, to return? To cry, to smile? It felt as if she were two halves, each being pulled in opposite directions. Sometimes further one way, sometimes the other, and she somewhere between. Out of control, unsure of herself. The lines were blurring more and more each day. She felt she was being dramatic, though that too she couldn’t be sure of. Was this an overreaction or under? Others had gone through worse. Either way, it felt good to think of this as just dramatics; a young girl taking herself too seriously, rather than the alternative: that she had made a grave and irreparable mistake It was the same idea that plagued her day in and day out. But there was no turning back now, was there? Was it really just the illusion of choice? Because, truly, what choice had she? She could not turn back now, her tail between her legs, and flee back to her old home. The shame of it alone would cripple her. She could only move forward, continue on in these unknown lands and face whatever may come, though the thought made her throat close up with anxiety, made it feel as though the whole world was coming crashing down upon her. There was no way to describe the loneliness encompassing her. Nothing to quell the bomb about to explode from inside of her, every day ticking further and further toward implosion, toward inevitable doom. And in the same token, Mara sat here, at the edge of the lake’s waters, and she felt so blessed to be alive, so thankful to breathe the fresh, new air, to see the world around her that sometimes it felt so childish to ever worry about something as trivial as her past. When she felt the cool winds against her fur, the sound of birdsong, smelled the new foreign scents, she couldn’t help but feel grateful. After all, she was alive, and she was in love with being alive for all the trouble that it brought. She had worked hard to be where she was and she had better enjoy it — and it was easier if she just tried to forget all of the guilt she had lingering over her like a curse. Easier to ignore. With a sudden burst of energy, Mara launched herself into the lake, padding out until the water reached her belly. She stared over the waters feeling everything and nothing at all, wholly unsure of her emotions but knowing at the same time that they were completely overwhelming. Then, without thinking, the woman submerged her face into the lake’s water and screamed. alexandre
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Post by kaz on Jul 16, 2022 5:25:20 GMT
POWER, POWER · THE LAW OF THE LAND Ah, so there it was. This new member had made her intentions plain and clear with just one simple statement: “Why would we go on to break down this dam without any other benefit?” She posed the question as if it were so reasonable. Why, of course she would not allow her members to break up this dam! Why do that when she could hemorrhage the existing packs for all they were worth when she knew they were suffering in these dry lands? She and her pack, or guild, or whatever, could, ostensibly, go wherever they pleased. These were not their ancestral lands, the grounds upon which generations and generations of wolves had lived and died; where their gods had blessed. Why not attempt to gain some sort of advantage while encroaching upon these already occupied lands? Akala felt the disgust rising up in her throat. She felt no less attached to this ground than any Au’dar — such was ingrained in her very being. The Au’dar had lived here for as long as anyone could say. This was her home, as much as it was the Vertok and the Sanzin, though in her own mind, they had less claim to it than her own pack. Still, in these terms, the valley belonged solely to the three packs. There was no room for new additions.
But, alas, Vertok in their never-ending naivety or pure stupidity stepped up to say how much they trusted this new guild of intruders, how kind they’d been when trespassing onto their territory. It took all of Akala’s strength not to scoff or laugh in response. So they’d trusted this so-called ragtag guild to walk around and shit all over their territory? It was a wonder how the Vertok had made it this long, allowing loners to wander around their land doing who knows what. Akala forced herself not to roll her eyes, looking back with what she hoped was passive disinterest at the new female. “You speak of prey being stretched thin,” said the woman, looking directly at the Empress. “Will you continue to do nothing and let it continue to die out or will you work toward a solution that will lead to a prey increase?” The words felt like a threat, but Akala found it difficult to take it seriously seeing as she could not take this woman seriously at all. It all felt so farcical as to be a play. Really? A new pack barging in on this "sacred" meeting to spew insults in her direction? It was amusing. Akala merely turned her gaze away with a snide smile on her lips. “If nothing is done then everyone here will die and this valley will join the deserts.”
“Well I suppose you and your guild won’t die,” said Akala, staring off into the distance. “You could always move elsewhere, into someone else’s territory.” This she said somewhat under her breath, impudently, not expecting a response, and her eyes flickered back to Timber, vaguely and unfocused, as the woman continued speaking. She cared little for what the newcomer had to say in response; as far as Akala was concerned, she had heard all she needed to: Timber had come into their lands with a new group of wolves who were hungry and thirsty, same as all of them, and expected some sort of compensation for discovering a fucking beaver’s dam in the mountains. Briefly the idea occurred to Akala that she and Au’dar — and perhaps even Sanzin, if they were keen on it — could simply kill off this new band, break down the beaver dam and go on living their lives as they always had. She looked briefly to Artemis, wondering vaguely if the woman had the same idea on her mind.
“But I leave the decision up to you all if you wish to save your packs and land.” Akala looked away, annoyed. Why shouldn’t she just let Vertok and this woman deal with the dam themselves and reap the rewards? What, were they planning on setting some sort of limit on water resources based upon how much each pack contributed in breaking up the dam? Such a ridiculous argument. Still, Akala held her tongue and listened as the Sanzin Suit responded in turn.
Artemis spoke some sense, which Akala suspected would be the case. She held no fondness for the brutish Sanzin but at least they understood the dynamic of the packs, and weren’t foolish enough to accept a new group so willingly. “It comes as no surprise that prey has grown even further scarce, for you have allowed even more hungry mouths of whom are hunting what remains of our prey to take root within our valley,” said the Suit and Akala’s gaze drifted from the white wolf to the Vertok accusingly. Her blue eyes were sharp and she had no doubt that the Vertok and this newcomer were feeling the hostility they deserved: the Vertok for their naivety and past transgressions, and Timber for having the audacity to intrude upon already taken territory, lands which had history she could not so easily become a part of.
The Suit continued to speak, voicing many of the concerns Akala also had. Though the Empress did not want to agree with her, she had to: Artemis seemed to be the only other wolf of sound mind among the group. There was no reason to trust this Timber or her “guild.” However, when Artemis said she would lend her support in dismantling the dam, Akala had to give pause. What on earth was the Suit hoping to accomplish by offering up her own wolves to help? Surely this Timber and Vertok alone would be enough wolf-power to accomplish the task. Then the idea hit her: of course, Akala could send her wolves perhaps as spies, to learn what they could of the others, to see how they worked, what they were thinking. Especially with new leadership here in the Au’dar, and with a new pack to contend with; she needed all the information she could obtain. It might not be such a bad idea to send wolves she trusted on this journey.
“You have come here to tell us that this dam exists, and that you have not destroyed it — not out of any incapability of your own members, but simply because you seek some recompense from the packs,” said Akala slowly. “I suppose you hope we will compensate you by allowing you to stay in our valley and perhaps commission your members for some of their… services.” The Centurion looked away, pausing momentarily to think. She weighed in her mind the benefits of sending her wolves off into this mission, versus the potential consequences, though she could see few. This guild and the Vertok could perhaps have plotted some sort of ambush to, what, kill off a couple of members of the Sanzin and Au’dar? That didn’t make much sense in Akala’s mind. The Vertok were stupid but not that stupid, and certainly not so rash. Perhaps they wanted the same as Akala, to learn of the other packs, to gain whatever valuable information they could? Well, Akala would be sure to only send wolves she could trust to stay silent, who were loyal to Au’dar, at least, if not to her. The Empress glanced to Artemis then back to Timber. “I will lend my own wolves, if it is so needed,” she sneered, implying heavily again that Timber’s pitiful wolves could not handle such a feat on their own.
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Post by kaz on Jun 6, 2022 1:59:16 GMT
oops been mia for 3 months lol It was embarrassing enough to have been found in the position she had been in, doubly so given her state of mind and lack of manners. Now to top it all off with her falling gracelessly onto herself — all dignity had left her at this point, and the woman could feel her face burning with humility. She supposed at this point she ought to give up on the idea of being elegant and poised; she was, after all, not the same woman who had left those snowy mountains many moons ago. Still naïve, to be sure, and unworldly to boot, but real change had taken place beneath her silver pelt. She had ventured out beyond the bounds of safety, had spoken to strangers, had traversed countless (well, it felt like countless) landscapes she’d never seen before. Mara said this all to herself, hoping to convince herself to be not embarrassed but proud of her journey, even if it led here. She tried, but still when one finds themselves faceplanting into the dirt, one tends to be quite self-conscious regardless of whether or not they are embarking on an unprecedented journey of self-discovery. Still, it brought her some solace, and when the male came to offer himself as support, Mara gratefully took it, feeling less shameful than before. “Substantial?” asked Mara, looking wide-eyed to the great mountains in the distance, so far-off they were barely visible in the night. Suddenly Mara felt very sure that this was an injury that would work itself out with time. The she-wolf looked over at Hawk, and with a small, grateful smile, moved to sit down on her own, careful not to place pressure on her hurt paw. “I think that an arduous journey may not be the best idea for me, right now,” said Mara slowly, still choosing her words carefully in a way that she hoped seemed polite and well-mannered. Old habits die hard. “But,” she added, a long pause following as she considered. “But maybe you could sit with me awhile? Perhaps this knight has some stories he’d like to share?” She smiled up at him. Some rest would surely help her injury, and though Hawk made her feel uncomfortable through no fault of his own — merely a coincidence that his genetics and disposition should remind her so much of her former partner — Mara had never met a knight before. She wondered what tales he had beneath his pelt. “In turn, I suppose I could offer you some stories of my own, though I doubt they would be even half as interesting as yours.”Molo
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Post by kaz on Jun 6, 2022 1:24:46 GMT
When the two spoke to each other it was hard not to feel an outsider — that much he was, Murmur knew, but still, the words shared between them felt intimate enough that his presence alone seemed an intrusion more than anything else. He stood there, his mouth secretly watering at the prey before him, watching the wolves before him converse like two lovers whose conversation he ought not be listening to; it was all the man could do to avert his eyes as they spoke and pretend he was focused on something else (not that there was much else to be focused on, but a man does his best.)
“…But I do hope you have been faring well,” said Arsa and this, Murmur knew, was directed at himself. He felt grateful; the conversation had been playful, perhaps mischievous until just moments ago and now he suddenly felt he was trespassing. But thankfully Arsa brought it back round to him. He smiled amiably at the man.
“I am fed, watered and creating poetry,” said Murmur after a beat. “I am doing the best a man like me could hope for.” He paused a moment, looking wistfully out to the snowy fields before returning his gaze to the two men. “I will say... I’ve heard tell of some sort of guild of wolves among these lands, though. I met the so-called leader of these wolves, whose title escapes me now, but Timber was the woman’s name. A determined wolf, hardened by life and its struggles,” said Murmur, looking somewhat pointedly at Revan; perhaps the man could find some relation there. He turned his gaze back to the landscape. “It was a curious idea the way it was explained to me: wolves connected not by loyalty or love or familial bonds, but simply by necessity or convenience — I could not tell; drawn together only occasionally, loosely tied to each other by the contracts which they take out from other packs. Doing their dirty work, I suppose.” The man was speaking now only to fill the silence and to offer something up of value to the two strangers, but the more he spoke, the more fascinating the idea of this guild became to him.
“I do wonder how such an unusual pack will fare here in these lands — not that I know much of these lands myself.” He looked to the two men before him, smiling a bit for the first time in awhile. “Might be worth keeping an eye out for them. I suspect that Timber is the tireless sort, bound to make a mark. I smell change on the wind.” Murmur paused, then shrugged nonchalantly. "Or perhaps nothing will come of it. Wolves like to talk, and I've heard much wilder tales before."
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Post by kaz on Apr 25, 2022 5:44:33 GMT
POWER, POWER · THE LAW OF THE LAND The bow of his head was enough to bring some solace to Akala; perhaps she had imagined some resistance in their meeting beforehand but there seemed to be none. He, like the others since her usurping, appeared to be subservient enough. Still her eyes glittered with skepticism. She could not bring herself to fully trust him or any one among her new wolves — besides Wamika. Not just yet. His eyes shifted up toward her and she fixed him with a hard stare though she said nothing.
”Drier winds are blowing in,” said Akala after a time, turning to stare off into the distance, her gaze unfocused and almost dreamlike. “Prey is scarce. Something must be done.” She stood in silence for a long moment, her words stagnant and unmoving in the hot air. She seemed in a reverie and perhaps unaware of the wolf in front of her until suddenly she snapped back into the present and her sharp eyes turned to him. An idea came to her. With what had been discussed at the meeting — the thought of which still caused her blood to boil — she might have an opportunity to make Mikhail useful.
“I will have you venture out in search of a solution.” She stared at him with eyes that didn’t seem wolf at all but something more sinister and devoid of emotion. “I’ve already presented the idea to the other leaders who have agreed to send off their own wolves in turn. There is word of a beaver’s dam built in the mountains; that could be the source of the issue. I assume this is not too large a task for you.” She barely paused, leaving no room for his reply before continuing on. “Bring with you another of your choosing but inform me of your decision before departing.” Her tone was suddenly present and authoritative, a vast contrast to the detached manner with which she was speaking before. A rapid and uncomfortable switch that made even Arzanoth, the closest creature to a friend that Akala had, stand at attention and look at her queerly. “You are to tell me of any and all information you gather from the other pack’s wolves. When possible, you are to extract what you can from them without drawing suspicion.” Her eyes now were staring daggers into him. “I trust you are loyal to your pack and capable of such.” There was no question; either Mikhail would prove loyal or he would prove fatal to her cause, that much she hoped she made clear.
THOSE LIVING FOR DEATH · WILL DIE BY THEIR OWN HAND
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Post by kaz on Apr 6, 2022 8:45:43 GMT
POWER, POWER · THE LAW OF THE LAND
The announcement of a new member was enough to draw the embarrassment out of Akala. She perked up immediately, all attention drawn to the figure emerging. The irony of the Vertok leaders announcing a new member when they had just shamed her for bringing her own was not lost on the Empress, but it wasn’t pertinent. Not only was there some new pack only now showing its face to their valley, but its leader was being allowed into their meeting, without any other alpha’s consent. Akala glanced quickly to the Sanzin leader whose eyes narrowed with suspicion; the Empress could only assume that she had not been informed of this prior, either. So the Vertok had once again conspired behind the backs of the other packs? Akala’s mouth tasted sour.
The new she-wolf stepped in and spoke as if she had been here before, as if she had a right to her place here when none even knew her name. Akala felt the anger bubbling up again and willed it away through pure survivalism alone; if she was to make it as Centurion she must listen and collect all information. This new wolf — Timber, as she was called — spoke of a beaver’s dam blocking the water supply in the mountains. Some wolf in her so called “guild” had spotted this conundrum and reported it to her, supposedly, though this wolf had done nothing about it. Some guild, thought Akala, if its members cannot even break up a small dam.
“And you believe that this rumored dam would be restricting enough water to provide for multiple packs?” came the question from the Sanzin Suit. It was a valid query. Akala had seen beaver’s dams before and, yes they were quite effective, but to stop up the supply for all of the packs in the valley? She doubted as much. They were small creatures and thus their effects couldn’t be quite so large as that. Akala laid a cold and emotionless gaze upon the newcomer.
“Is it that your guild,” began the Empress, the last word slipping off her lips with no lack of disdain, “has such ineffective members that they could not dismantle the thing themselves?” Now upon speaking she felt some strength return to her, some semblance of dignity that had been lost before. “It would seem to me that a dam would be quite an easy thing to remediate. Certainly not a task that requires all packs of the land to send out their own wolves for.” The idea felt nearly laughable. The Au’Dar had always depended on themselves and never the hospitality of other packs to survive; surely they would have never come to a meeting such as this with an issue so simple.
“Not only,” said Akala, her tone lilting upwards suspiciously. She took a step toward Timber. “But how are we to trust the words of an outsider, one who says they are encroaching on our land, our territory, where prey is already stretched so thin? Who are you to build this… this guild, here?” Her blue eyes shifted briefly to Artemis who felt suddenly like her only ally here. They did not and should not trust each other — so why should they trust this she-wolf who barged into their meeting spouting words of some guild and dam in the mountains?[/span][/font] [/div][/div][/div] THOSE LIVING FOR DEATH · WILL DIE BY THEIR OWN HAND
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Post by kaz on Mar 29, 2022 23:23:29 GMT
Khashayar the chosen one
PERSONALITYsoft-spoken • gentle • self-serving • charismatic
And the followers looked upon their speaker, And they knew he was Good, And they knew he was Kind, And they knew he was All-knowing, For his words were the words of the Gods.
His voice is soft and quiet, but when he speaks one cannot help but listen. He always wears a kind and compassionate smile, his lips just slightly upturned, giving the impression that he would not judge you, would not turn you away, would give the fur off his back if you needed. It would be an impressive facade if he did not fully believe himself to be this person. But beneath his amiable exterior lies a certain darkness, an unrelenting sense of self preservation. After all, one must preserve the voice of the Gods. But more than that, as his word spreads, so too does Khashayar’s ego. Why shouldn’t the One True Prophet receive special treatment? Why shouldn’t He be revered and feared as are the Gods He speaks for? It is a dangerous path he walks, but he does not walk it alone.
APPEARANCE95lbs • 30in • small frame
He looks more fox than wolf, his features narrow and unassuming, and he steps precariously, as if uncomfortable just by his own existence. Long, lithe legs hint at athleticism — or, would, were he not missing one; his front right forearm ends suddenly beneath the elbow and this leads him to have a strange, bobbing step which he does his best to subdue with little success.
His pelt is the color of ash and soot, but his face is a silvery white “as if he had stepped from the fires of hell and seen the light of the gods.” When possible, he anoints himself with blood or grime upon his forehead to mark himself as the Prophet. His eyes are a bright gold and as large and wide as an innocent child’s, but more than that, they look at you queerly, look through you like glass.
repentence for those who have sinned
As a young boy, he was fond of stories. His mother, having grown up with similar fascinations, would regal him with every story she knew, often religious in their leanings. Many wolves grow up with some religion in their lives, so it couldn’t be helped that much of her storytelling had theological roots. After all, those oft made the most exciting stories, and Khashayar was eager to lap them all up.
It might have turned out alright for the boy if not for a vicious war that broke out between his familial pack and another. The others, the Shifting Stone pack, were secular and brutish, always warring amongst themselves and occasionally tearing away to bring their violence upon the outside world. The battle was brief and fairly bloodless, but his mother had become older and pregnant with her third litter and the fight had proved too much for her. She died quickly after suffering an infected wound. Additionally, Khashayar received an injury that would later result in his losing much of his front right leg. This served only to reinforce young Khashayar’s beliefs; in a sick way the child blamed himself for his mother’s death. After all, the old gods from her stories were constantly smiting down those who did not believe the way they should; why should he be immune to their fury?
It wasn’t until one unseasonably cold spring day, when he had ventured out to the lake as a young adult wolf, that Khashayar had realized his destiny. He’d looked down into the frozen water, sending a silent prayer to the gods that he be forgiven, when a crack had appeared right where his foggy reflection had been. No where else had the ice cracked but directly beneath him without his influence, right across his face. He froze in place for a long time. Then, very slowly, the young wolf ventured out onto the ice, his legs shaking, his breath ragged and cold. The frozen water stung his paw pads, sending sharp pangs up his legs. Still he continued on until he was in the middle of the lake. Normally at this time of year, the water would have begun to thaw and would never have supported his weight. But somehow it held. He stood there, eyeing the land around him — his land, no more — and with the cold winds penetrating through his coat and to his very core, he heard the voice of the gods speak to him and he knew then what he must do, what his purpose had been from the very start; how all events had culminated in his being here, his being the One, the true Prophet. It was the will of the gods that he spread their word, and prevent the senseless violence of the nonbelievers.
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