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Post by kaz on Feb 28, 2022 23:56:18 GMT
POWER, POWER · THE LAW OF THE LAND There was silence for a moment after her introduction, and the Empress regarded her audience apathetically, reveling in their quiet, feeling their stares upon her fur. Look upon me, your new Queen. Look upon the one who will one day rule over you all. Then, a snicker cut through the silence, rising up to an uproarious laughter. Akala’s eyes shot toward the offending noise. It was the Suit, practically bowled over in a fit of laughter. First, confusion flickered through the Centurion. What could possibly be funny in this moment? Then realization crept through Akala and filled her with the same indignant shame she’d suffered through her whole life. All the laughter and whispers, all the times she’d never been taken seriously now coated her pelt like a heavy snow and she fought to keep her composure and keep the ignominy from showing. Her eyes widened as the fury swept through her like a tidal wave, icy blue gaze boring into the woman without really seeing her or anything at all. Unbridled anger burned through her like nothing she’d ever felt, muscles tensed so tightly later she’d be sore for days. you’ll regret saying that i’ll make you eat those words i’ll make you choke on them you disgusting sniveling wormShe was frozen there, trying to control herself, her jaw locked together, her fangs itching to dig into flesh and taste blood and receive justice for the indignity she had faced here today. It took every ounce of willpower to mold her face into something that resembled indifference and even then it would be hard to call her successful. The shame left a mark on her like a slap and burned all the same. Blood pumped so harshly in her ears she did not hear the words spoken, watching the smug lips of the Suit move so casually after the venom she had spewed; her breath came short and fast and only after some time did it slow. Behind her, Arzanoth shifted nervously. Finally her senses began to return to her, the red tide of anger ebbing slightly, allowing her control again. She could not lose her temper, not here. But it sat deep within her belly like a hard stone and she knew it would only be a matter of time before it came out. The others were speaking of some sort of solution to the drought; it felt impossible to care after the turmoil that had just wrecked through her mind. Like discussing decor after a tornado had just ravaged your home. She forced herself to listen, saying nothing, thinking little. She knew she must hear what they had to say if only to glean what she could of these packs and their ways to store away for future use. The Suit was right, despite the treasonous insult she threw Akala’s way. There was nothing wolves could do to change the drought, to miraculously bring water back to the valley. If the Vertok leaders thought otherwise then they were even dumber than Akala had realized. THOSE LIVING FOR DEATH · WILL DIE BY THEIR OWN HAND
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Post by kaz on Feb 13, 2022 18:11:06 GMT
on mobile, sorry for formatting issues
He was purely selfless, noble in his response. “…I’m grateful to have been able to assist.” Boring, came the thought in her head, unwarranted and unwelcome. He’s just so boring. She stifled the urge to shake her head at the thoughts, attempting to will them away silently. The resemblance between the two was uncanny; she felt suddenly transported to her former self, listening to Raj speak to her of duty and honor and all of those things she once thought so important, such pride in his voice. Standing there before him, trying to love him but being utterly unable to. The world around her blurred, the dark outlines of the trees in the dampened moonlight wavering, swimming. She felt woozy, overcome with a distinct sadness at her past choices.
But this was not Raj. And she was far from where she once called home.
Hawk’s voice helped ground her, yank her back into the present world. He told her about another situation much similar to the one she had found herself in where he had presumably followed up in a similar manner; Mara could imagine the Knight was this kind and selfless to everyone who crossed his path. She knew the type. He smiled at her before continuing: “Speaking of which, how does that leg feel?” In all honesty, she’d had so much trouble following what he was saying that she scarcely realized the question was directed at her. She blinked back at him as he told her of his pack and how they could help her, should she need it. Of course he took care to ensure she did not feel pressured to do so: “if you like,” he added. Perhaps if her night hadn’t already been so dreadful, she may have looked upon his friendly demeanor with gratitude and a polite smile. But it was becoming more and more difficult to do so, especially with how strongly the man reminded her of her previous… affairs. In fact, at his overwhelming kindness, she found herself becoming somewhat irritated which was not an emotion oft felt by the silver wolf. Still, she was a lady and knew to mind her manners.
“Oh, I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” said Mara with the most genuine smile she could muster. “It’s already feeling much better.” With an over exaggerated gesture, the woman stepped forward and put her weight on the injured leg, fully expecting no pain to come from it. But as she put pressure on it, her leg suddenly buckled beneath her and with a shriek she fell humiliatingly forward onto her chest, the breath whooshing out of her. With her maw pressed against the dirt and forearm twisted under and behind her, she looked up sheepishly at the male, tears glittering in her eyes that she forcefully blinked away. “Perhaps I should take you up on your offer…”
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Post by kaz on Feb 7, 2022 23:41:18 GMT
“I don’t think my skills are that good,” said Timber. “I just speak to others the way they should be and if they decide to join me, well then so be it." He thought she must just be being modest. Speak to others the way they should be? She must mean with respect, he thought, for surely many wolves have not been treated with respect and kindness. Murmur had found that others were often quite receptive to new ideas should you approach them with a bit of consideration. “If either have us have a talent with words, I do believe that would be you." This he smiled at sheepishly, but offered no comment.She went on to speak of her little band of vagabonds, pausing here and there in thought. She said she’d been their leader for years, had been treading carefully among the other groups in the area. They were a loosely tied together pack, united only by their name and their leader, from what Murmur could gather. His ears swiveled forward as she spoke, caring little about the world around them, trying to catch her words and understand them. Very curious. He’d never heard of a group quite like hers. Mercenaries, it seemed. But her last statement caught his interest: “I got to be alone without feeling alone.” He pondered this sentence a moment. She had hit the nail on its head for him, he thought. The perfect medium. To be a part of something greater and yet not be totally committed to it. Murmur’s interest was piqued, though he did not let this on. He thought quietly for a while before speaking. “It sounds as if you’ve found solace in this group.” He spoke slowly, only rarely glancing over at the woman before him, instead choosing to look upon their surroundings. A small pause as his thoughts wandered, but quickly his grin was back and he looked over at Timber. “The ‘Mercurior,’ hm? I cannot help but wonder at what sorts of jobs your wolves are commissioned for,” said Murmur, an eyebrow raised in question.@bri
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Post by kaz on Jan 31, 2022 8:08:58 GMT
POWER, POWER · THE LAW OF THE LAND Time warped strangely for the new Empress. Days felt endless in the heat of the day, sticky with sweat, tempers rising with the feverish land. But when the sun fell away and gave the earth some reprieve, there was so much to do it felt as if she never had enough time or a moment’s rest. It was, then, with great relief that Akala found herself unencumbered at this hour, as the day faded softly into night and cooler winds blew through her fur. The dusty queen rose from her den and moved like a shadow from the Au’dar grounds, silent and intangible, her leaving unnoticed by any but Arzanoth himself, who sensed her transition almost before she did in that unnerving way of his. He cocked his head down at her, stared with lifeless black eyes, and followed only when she had nearly disappeared through the brush, his great wings whooshing through the air with a sound like waves crashing upon the shore. She paid him little mind. They had never been fond of each other in a way that others looking in might understand. It was an understated sort of affection, more akin to necessity than love; they felt for each other as one might feel for a limb: no real intimacy but one is undoubtedly glad it is there.
The vulture flapped behind her, landing clumsily on barren branches and allowing her some distance before following again. She knew he was hoping she was hunting as they were all quite hungry by now. The prey could move on to greener pastures but she and her pack had its land to uphold; perhaps it wouldn’t be long before she was sending wolves out into unowned territories in hopes of finding a meal. Things were beginning to feel somewhat bleak. But Akala knew better than most the importance of appearances and she maintained her composure well despite the challenges facing her. It was only when away from prying eyes that she allowed her shoulders to slump and her attention to waiver.
It was when she heard Arzanoth above that her mind instantly snapped back into the present, pale blues eyes sharp and attentive. The vulture was perched above her a few lengths ahead, murmuring in that strange voice of his, a gruff, rattling sound emerging from his throat; an alien language she would never be privy to. She recognized the meaning all the same. He had spotted prey. Akala sank down toward the ground almost instinctively, the fur of her belly brushing against the dry forest floor, and she moved slowly forward toward where his eyes were peering. Saliva dripped from her chops merely at the thought of a meal, an embarrassing display of her body’s needs, and she slunk forward through the trees until —
“…What’s the fuss?” A voice. Disappointment clanged through Akala, igniting her bones with primal frustration. She straightened hastily, assumed a more dignified posture lest someone see her slinking around abjectly. She pushed through the brush to find a somewhat familiar form greeting her. The grey-pelted, sour-faced male was easy to recognize, and she could already guess that it was his tafa that had garnered Arzanoth’s attention before; behind her, the vulture looked askance.
“Mikhail,” said Akala. She knew his name by reputation and proximity alone, having not spoken with him much if at all since taking her position as the Centurion. Looking at him, she could not decide what she felt toward the male. As the new leader of Au’dar, she felt some responsibility toward all of her wolves, but something about Mikhail had always rubbed her the wrong way. He was strong, loyal, and skillful in his duties; an unquestionably useful asset. She knew this must come before whatever prejudices she held toward him. Still, it was difficult not to think of the sidelong, judgmental glances he had cast her way or the times he and his friends had sniggered at her behind her back (even if these were perhaps all in her own head). Her eyes settled on him with a harsh gaze, feeling not the indignancy she had felt before but the righteousness of the one true Queen. “It seems you’re heading back toward the dens. Has your shift ended so soon?” Her tone held only the hint of accusation, a power play meant to remind him of who held authority now.
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Post by kaz on Jan 30, 2022 5:19:43 GMT
POWER, POWER · THE LAW OF THE LAND The Vertok King spoke of the laws and whatever else; it was difficult for Akala to listen as she cared little for what he had to say. Her eyes wandered to the Sanzin bitch, measuring her. She had not spoken yet after Akala’s arrival but there was something glittering in those golden eyes that irritated the new Centurion. Conniving, duplicitous creatures, the Sanzin. She couldn’t stand to look on the white wolf long. Her gaze turned back to Conri sharply. “Change is in the air,” said Akala slowly, “and it would behoove the Vertok to acknowledge it. Progress is inevitable. One must accept it or be buried beneath and lost to time.” She had little else to say on the matter. The “sacred laws” meant little to her and she wouldn’t waste another breath on them. Wamika was her most trusted ally and as such deserved a position at the meeting regardless of whatever asinine rules had been put in place before her leadership.At Akala’s next words, anger spiked in the Queen and she momentarily lost her composure, crying out in that shrill voice of hers. Her outburst was brief, cut short by the King’s more steely collectedness, but it still gave Akala no small amount of pleasure to witness. But then it was the King’s turn to speak, and the Empress felt her hackles rise once again under his cool and measured gaze. Hatred was too light of a word for what she felt. The blood on the Vertok’s paws — blood of Au’dar’s own tafa, slaughtered in cold blood — could never be washed away. And meaningless traditions and rituals could not absolve them of their sins or make it any easier for Akala to stomach their presence.In an attempt to dissolve the tension, the King changed the subject. “You have not introduced yourself,” said he as calmly as he could muster. She glared back at him as he spoke. “I assume you are Xanfried’s daughter? I do not think he would approve of your behavior today.” Akala had to force back a laugh, his statement was so utterly absurd. How preposterous it seemed, as if the prior leader’s approval meant anything to her — as if he had any thoughts concerning anything at all anymore. She composed herself quickly without any expression of her amusement outwardly. Now was the time for her grand introduction as the new ruler of Au’dar; now they would see her as she was: the Empress Akala. She’d imagined this moment in her head again and again on the trip here and her heart leapt in her chest as she sat straighter, leveling her gaze over the wolves in the clearing. Behind her, Arzanoth sat grooming his feathers impassively, one great wing outstretched.“Xanfried is dead,” said Akala, her voice unwavering and emotionless. She paused a moment to gauge their reaction before continuing. “The end to his reign was long overdue. The Au’dar are ready to usher in a new era, with me as their leader.” With her cold blue eyes and stolid disposition, and with Arzanoth spreading his wings behind her, she looked more an omen of death than a wolf. “I am Akala, the Centurion of Au’dar.” She felt more powerful than ever before at these words, a great and terrible force shadowing the land like a thunderstorm. Unstoppable, she felt shadows whispering in her breath, and death dancing upon her fangs.THOSE LIVING FOR DEATH · WILL DIE BY THEIR OWN HAND
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Post by kaz on Jan 18, 2022 9:20:38 GMT
Now standing here before the gentleman, Mara felt quite absurd. Her earlier mindset forgotten, the outburst seemed silly at best. When presented with reality in the form of another, Mara realized how childish she must have seemed. The cloud dissipated, vanished altogether when faced with actuality, and the embarrassment set in. She felt her skin warm; she would have blushed if nature had not blessed her with fur. It was as waking from a dream: one instant you could have sworn it was all real, the next it was so ridiculous you could not understand why you once believed it to be true.
“Hawk,” said the other, and until he continued Mara looked at him, puzzled, her mind still hazy in that hypnagogic way. “Vertok Knight.” The words made little sense to her but she understood at least that this must be an introduction. He was surely a pack wolf. For a moment she wondered if she had crossed into pack territory without realizing, but she doubted it based on his kindness. He — Hawk, as she assumed his name was — went on to say he was passing no judgement on her for her unsuitable appearance before, and for that she was thankful. ”In exchange, all I would ask is that you... pay it forth, with a good deed of your own to someone else, someday,” he continued. Mara looked at him curiously, still trying to collect herself.
“Well that’s very altruistic of you… Hawk,” said the girl, pausing a moment before speaking his name, being a bit unsure if it was truly his name or not. She looked down at the ground, sniffled once again, then glanced upward toward where the highlight of the moon was behind the clouds, feeling somewhat awkward and exposed. It didn’t help that this wolf reminded her so much of who she had left behind; so selfless and polite, with fur white as snow. Her eyes reluctantly landed back on the other after a moment’s silence. “A knight, you said?” she asked, her voice finally beginning to hold some of its usual life again, buoyant and playful. “Do you knights often end up saving damsels in distress like me?” She smiled. “I hope there are usually more exciting things going on for a man in your position.”
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Post by kaz on Jan 7, 2022 6:52:00 GMT
POWER, POWER · THE LAW OF THE LAND She sat with shoulders rolled back and head held high, her eyes blank and all-seeing like some queen of the undead. Her pelt shivered deliciously beneath their gazes. Let them look. Let them behold the new Empress, the usurper, the bringer of the revolution. The hint of a pernicious smile played at her lips. Already her arrival seemed to be making some large ripples; the presumed Vertok queen jumped to her paws and shrieked at her, seething with anger. Akala glared back at her, feeling nothing more than vague condescension, as of someone looking upon the misbehaving children of a stranger. Her eyes flickered toward the king, awaiting his response. Would he too scream and shout like a pup? If so, nothing would get done. The new Empress would not stand to be in the presence of such infancy; it was an annoyance beneath her now. The Vertok king kept collected, though she had seen the confusion in his eyes when she had appeared. He attempted to calm his partner. “Only the pack leaders are allowed to attend an Emergency Meeting,” came his words. He looked to Wamika, and Akala’s eyes narrowed. “Your guard is free to wait outside with the others.” His tone was calm and mediatorial. Your guard. The fur on the back of her neck began to rise with irritation and she willed it to lay flat with some resistance. Her gaze sharpened. “Such childish traditions,” said Akala after a moment. Her voice was smooth as honey despite the anger boiling up inside of her. Best not to let her temper bubble over now. “Haven’t we moved past the need for antiquated practices from a bygone era?” Besides, Akala hadn’t been reigning when such rules were created. Now was the time for change, not stagnation. “She stays.” With a look of distaste, as if she had smelled something rotten, the new Centurion added: “She is as valuable to my pack as that yowling bitch you call a queen is to yours, so she shall be welcomed just the same. Otherwise, I’m afraid we have nothing more to discuss.”
The woman settled back into herself, tail wrapped neatly around her paws, staring down the Vertok leaders, daring them to challenge her. It was time the cowards learned their place in this new world; the previous Centurion had been too craven to do so but Akala was not him. And they would know it. THOSE LIVING FOR DEATH · WILL DIE BY THEIR OWN HAND
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Post by kaz on Jan 1, 2022 0:36:18 GMT
While Arsa had responded well enough to Murmur’s platitudes, Revan did not appear to share his friend’s opinion. Unsurprising. The red-maned wolf seemed to have a darker outlook on life than his bearish companion. “How callow,” said the man, barely seeming interested in the conversation at all, merely offering up his opposing opinion on the matter and letting it hang there, uncaring as to whether it reached its intended audience or not entirely. Murmur found this amusing (truly, it irked him but he had in time come to find irritation amusing in its own way.) Especially since this wolf seemed to think he knew just so much about life and how it ought and ought not to be lived.
“Naive, perhaps,” said Murmur, feigning contemplation. He didn’t think it naive in the slightest. He had made it this far with his way of doing things and seemed much happier for it than the wolf before him. “But better than a life of loneliness and hunger.” After all, hadn’t Revan perfectly played into Murmur’s earlier words by offering up his meal, and some conversation? The poet became aware after speaking of his hunger but made no move toward the kill between them even though its sweet and appetizing scent filled his nostrils and made his mouth water. “Isn’t this so much more enjoyable than eating alone?” This he said with a cheeky, knowing smile. He was sure Revan was regretting his decision more and more each moment.
And even more so at Murmur’s jape it would seem. A switch flipped inside Revan, and his friend’s laughter seemed to only intensify whatever storm was brewing within the man. Confusion and anger flashed across his face in turn and settled into something between petulance and indignance. Murmur couldn’t help but feel a tickle at this childlike reaction he’d received though he tried to mask it. Especially when he felt the heat of Revan’s glare boring into him, threatening to burn right through him. “Don’t antagonize me.” The words were ripe with warning. Murmur knew better than to question whether he’d make good on his threat.
“Forgive me,” said Murmur as sincerely as he could, glancing downward in what he hoped would appear to be embarrassment. “A mere jest, is all. I did not wish to offend.” He couldn’t be sure what in his words had been such an affront to have caused the reaction it did, but he didn’t dare push further, backpedaling now into what he hoped was safer territory. “May I be so bold as to inquire about the purpose of your travels in this weather? I suppose you two aren’t affiliated with any pack, being so far from their territories,” said Murmur after waiting a moment to let the dust settle. “Nomads like myself, perhaps?”
murmur's just like uhhh so crazy weather huh? ??
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Post by kaz on Jan 1, 2022 0:03:39 GMT
i'm sorry for the late response! i didn't see this until recently and have been kind of on a hiatus haha. happy to be writing with you though ^^ still getting back into the swing of things so excuse the roughness She floated there in that deep well of sadness and suffering for a time, feeling the edges of herself blur into it, feeling herself become shapeless. If not for the pain in her leg when she moved jolting her back in between the lines of her form, she may have diminished entirely, blending into her sorrow as seamlessly as day falls into night. A monstrous overreaction but the young girl had never felt a sadness so great before, and could do nothing more than hopelessly and unyieldingly give into it and the unpleasant comfort it provided.
But a voice broke her from her reverie. “Miss,” it said. “I’m here to help you. It’s going to be alright.” For a short moment in her daze Mara thought it might be one of her gods speaking to her. Perhaps the Mother come to save her from her ensnarement and her guilt, erase her past mistakes as she had done for the Daughter in the old tales. The idea vanished as quickly as it had come. You are such a fool, she thought to herself and stifled another sob. Such a damned fool.
The girl looked up now at the source of the voice and was struck with shock that speared her through her belly and rendered her unable to speak for a moment. Through the cloud of tears in her eyes, the wolf before her almost appeared to be… Well, no, that would be an impossible coincidence. Very impossible indeed. She blinked thoroughly to clear her vision, staring up at the man with a face that must have looked so pitiful and helpless and completely unbecoming to a woman of her status. Previous status. “Okay,” she whimpered. She moved her entangled leg again without meaning to and cried out.
The stranger wasted no time and began to work at the fiendish plant trapping her, an effort that was not entirely painless. Necessary nonetheless. She wouldn’t have been able to reach it in the position she had fallen in, and if not for the wolf helping her now she may have been stuck here for a lot longer. She ought to be grateful for that much. Soon, the pressure on her foreleg began to ease and eventually disappear altogether, and she was free. Mara pushed herself back onto her paws, careful not to put too much pressure on her injured leg, and turned to face her savior.
“Thank you,” said the girl, her voice still quivering from her earlier spell. “You’re very kind to have stopped for me. I… I’m sorry for how I must appear. I’m not usually like this.” A sniffle as she composed herself. “My name is Mara. Is there any way I can repay you for your kindness?”
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Post by kaz on Nov 2, 2021 21:42:37 GMT
As the night came, so too did Mara’s fears, unabetted by the new wonders about her, unavoidable. She shouldn’t have been surprised, yet somehow she was every sundown when old worries gnawed at her like termites on a tree, wearing her down until nothing would be left but the skeleton of a girl once so bright and full of life. Every night she became lesser, every morning reborn with the promise of the day. Like a flower retreating into itself, and those dark recesses that one would rather not explore if given the chance. Then come the sun she was whole again. A perplexing routine, and wholly unenjoyable.
And so the restless she-wolf had given up on slumber, instead picking her way along the edges of the countryside in the darkness. Even the moon seemed to wish not to see her, only rarely poking its face out from behind a heavy layer of clouds, suffocating beneath them, perhaps. Mara was not a wolf prone to such sadness typically, but after leaving her home those months ago it seemed she and tonight’s moon had something in common: night fell and suddenly she too was weighed down by heavy clouds not of rain but of doubt and guilt.
It hadn’t begun that way, her journey. At first she had felt so light and free: the bluebird was relinquished of her chains and cage and allowed to fly. She’d seen all manor of things that she’d never before, things unheard of in her homeland. She’d seen the ocean, in its terrible, inexorable greatness, like some great god punished to live upon the earth forevermore, raking its anger upon the shores in fits of tremendous, foamy waves. She’d felt that way once. The wolf had stopped and stared for a very long time, taking it in, feeling the fury of it beneath her paws and out into eternity. She knew how it felt to be trapped, but not to lash out, to thrash against the bounds of ones confines.
But then she had known it. She had fled, escaped to the better life she knew was beyond her home and her family and Raja and all else who had her pinned down and preened her and assembled her like some tidy little doll ready to do their bidding. She was free! Until the weight of it all crushed against her chest and she felt heavier than ever before and sleep was an impossibility at night and it felt more taxing to try and escape this feeling than living with her responsibilities had felt before.
Surely these feelings would abate with time. She had to believe that or it was all she could do not to curl up here in the dirt and rot here.
Mara stepped gingerly as if not wanting to leave any trace of her passing, to disturb the earth below or else to become aware of the effects she would always have on the world however much she fought against it. To her left, wide open plains, revealing; they made her feel all too vulnerable tonight. She did not want to be seen. The dark forest to her right offered more coverage but not much more comfort, with its canopy of sharp, angry branches curling over head and beneath her like the mouth of some creature waiting to bite into her. She walked the line between the two areas, occasionally dipping further into the forest or the plains but never wandering far from the border. Her eyes to the sky, she was hardly aware of her surroundings, instead studying the clouds where they were illuminated, watching their forms ebb and flow and change shape entirely. Perhaps this is why, when her foreleg became entangled in a nasty vine, the girl almost didn’t notice. And perhaps her continuing on unaware was what caused her paw to become so badly twisted up in it that she humiliatingly fell right onto her face, her tangled leg pulled back behind her at an awkward and somewhat painful angle. She cried out in surprise and pain and then, realizing the hopelessness of her present situation, and of her new life which had held such promise before, she began to weep quietly in both frustration and self-pity.
The moon stayed hidden behind the clouds.
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Post by kaz on Oct 29, 2021 1:48:14 GMT
mara ! Gregarious and vivacious, Mara is the epitome of youth. She is fun-loving, adventurous and trusting, willing to talk to anyone with hardly a shred of anxiety. Having grown up in a very sheltered home where she was expected to follow certain rules and customs, the young wolf is now just enjoying her newfound freedom to the fullest extent she can. Innocent and carefree, it could be quite apparent to those more worldly exactly the type of girl she is, but she is seemingly unaware of her ignorance.
Perhaps her overly extroverted exterior might in some way be a façade meant to cover up the guilt she feels at having abandoned her home and family, running off alone to escape the responsibilities that so overwhelmed her. Perhaps she only tells herself that she is as happy as she is because she does not want to face that feeling that claws up inside her chest every night as she tries to sleep, threatening to bring tears to her eyes, to make her choke with the horrible thing she has done.
But probably not. appearance Of average size and weight, what stands out about the young wolf above all is the care and grace with which she carries herself. There is a hint of uncertainty in her stride, as if she is aware of her presence but unsure what to do with it, or where she belongs. A light grey pelt, well kept, is draped over a healthy frame, strong muscles visible beneath. Still, someone more perceptive might gather she hasn't ever had much reason to use them much. Her thick fur hints at the life she held before, in the north among the snowy mountains, once, long ago. Soft golden eyes give off the impression of innocence and trusting; or perhaps, naivety, some might call it. history Having abandoned her family, Mara now wanders listlessly hoping to find a new purpose in life, something to fill the void left by her actions. She fled simply to avoid a matrimony that she herself had been excited for, once, yet could not bear to go through with in the end. Fearing retribution for her reluctance, the princess ran off in the night, passing borders she'd never been permitted to pass before, and exploring lands she had never known existed, all without informing any of her family, who would surely face some sort of penalty for her actions... other
relationships??? threads??? who knows
❇ ❇ ❇ ulla img by razza
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Post by kaz on Oct 21, 2021 9:00:51 GMT
There was an interesting dichotomy between the two men which was plain to see in the way they carried themselves and spoke. The curiously pelted Revan, for instance, had smiled ever so briefly upon seeing his companion but had sought to stifle it, or so it seemed to Murmur, lest he appear… what, happy? Murmur couldn’t assume based on the short time he’d spent so far with the brute but that seemed to be the easy conclusion. Or else, perhaps, warm? He’d given off a cold enough demeanor thus far, perhaps that was how he preferred to be viewed: cold, aloof, unforgiving. Like winter in the mountains. Make no mistake lest you want to wind up dead. Murmur certainly felt he could make no misstep in Revan’s presence.
And then there was the new wolf, Arsa, as he’d so warmly introduced himself. Much in contrast to his accompaniment. Arsa’s ears had twisted over toward Murmur, his eyes glinting in his direction; friendly, familiar. He was a large man but he carried himself not as someone of strength but of someone who had only more body with which to carry affection, sympathy. He and the man seemed to share that trait in common, though Murmur was much lesser in mass to be sure; a fact that he had not forgotten in the face of two large, strange wolves in a stranger still land. “And you are welcome for however long you wish,” said Arsa, with a dip of his head. It was as if he was hearing the same language for the first time since Murmur had entered this country, so comfortable did he feel. Arsa even offered for him to eat more if he so wished; he would have acquiesced were it not for Revan, standing there with that inscrutable expression upon his face, perhaps judging him or sizing him up — Murmur could not tell. Either way, he felt that to eat further would be to face some sort of judgement from the red and black wolf; good or bad, he could not tell. Safer not to do so at all.
As if on cue, when Arsa had offered up the food to Murmur, Revan turned away with something of a scoff. Murmur could not decipher the meaning of it, but was glad he had not greedily wolfed down the meat before it had occurred. And something passed between the two wolves, some expression. It was indistinguishable to Murmur the difference between Revan’s typical indignance and this expression but he felt there must be some meaning to it. Whatever it was, Revan didn’t seem to approve of the kindness Arsa was offering. What a starch contrast between the two! A part of Murmur wanted to slink away, to realize that he was meddling in some business he ought not to. The other, slightly more powerful part, was desperate and unashamed to try and see what lay beneath this dynamic. Murmur himself was often drawn to types like Revan: the removed, angry, unemotional, or else altogether too emotional. That type was alluring and fascinating to him. But to see this relationship in action was fascinating to say the least.
“I thank you for your kindness,” he said, dipping his head in response to Arsa. The words were only partially out of spite toward the equally unwilling Revan, though Murmur held no ill-will toward the wolf. It was all only a game, after all. “One must rely on the kindness of strangers to make it through such harsh winters as these.” Even still he made no move toward the kill at his paws.
“Are you from a pack, Mimic?” asked Revan without much curiosity in his voice. Murmur had to stifle a laugh in response. Had he been so uninterested as to forget his name, or was he making a show of his carelessness on purpose, to show that he was so definitively indifferent to Murmur’s presence? Either way, it quite amused the small wolf. He managed to keep only a grin upon his lips, not allowing the laughter to spill out of him.
“I am not, though I wouldn't be opposed to the idea,” said Murmur, glancing between Revan and Arsa. “And, are you, Revenant?” Though he knew the male’s name, he couldn’t help but jest. Mischief glinted in his eyes as he spoke, glancing between Revan and Arsa with that smile still upon his face.
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Post by kaz on Oct 13, 2021 1:05:37 GMT
In her words he could feel the weight of her grief. There was no consolation. The air around him turned sour and thick and he wondered how to traverse this conversation that felt much more like an obstacle course than the casual talk he had intended. Still it was a relief in some ways to him, to speak so candidly with another. To listen to their emotions, their past — to learn what made each wolf tick. It felt to him both as a puzzle and an opportunity.
The woman before him gave a wan smile. “We’ll see what the world has in store,” she’d said, and all Murmur could offer was simply a consolatory smile in response. How else could one reply?
In the end, the woman sent up a flirtation of her own, and Murmur had to sigh in relief, being again back in a territory of his understanding. As she stood from the morning waters, Murmur was reminded of the power and strength that lied beneath her pelt, in the muscles that he could see under her fur. She was taller and larger than him, though that was no surprise; many wolves were, and it could be no wonder why the man relied so heavily on his wit and swift tongue. As if aware of this disparity, the woman lied before him, all casual in stance, her paws crossed before her as an empress before an audience. Murmur was all too aware of this feeling.
“…I take the lead of a group of wanderers new to the area,” said the woman, voice perfectly even. She turned to the sun, basking in its warmth. He could feel the sunshine on his own face. ”…We mean no threat, we mean simply to see what this land has to offer.”
Murmur couldn’t help but chuckle. The seriousness of their early talk had left him feeling a tad bit awkward and he sought to make up for it. “Although it does worry me that you felt the need to clarify you and your ‘group’ mean no harm,” he began. “I can’t help but be curious. What exactly would motivate so called ‘wanderers’ to band together? Other than your obvious persuasive skills,” added Murmur with a smile.
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Post by kaz on Jul 23, 2021 4:45:57 GMT
POWER, POWER · THE LAW OF THE LAND
Her blood pumped hot and furiously through her body, throbbing against her ears like some raging river, so loud she scarcely heard the Anima Silver, who had taken up position before her brother, speak up. Her eyes gave nothing away as Akala stared down at her sharply, breath ragged, the fever from battle still burning within her. “History has been made,” said the girl. “Make it known that today the Au’Dar are lead by Akala.” The Empress fitted her with a narrowed gaze, perhaps attempting to decipher what lay behind the white wolf’s eyes. Was it true fealty or simply a hope for peace? The new Centurion would need the Anima in the future, she knew; but if in the future Silver proved herself disloyal, there were ways of convincing her. Or of making the problem disappear altogether.
Akala could see that this would not be too big a task for Wamika, could see it in her eyes and the way she protectively stood beside Akala, muscles tensed, prepared to fight on behalf of her new leader. Prepared to do anything, seemingly. “Of course, Anima. There’ll be no further need for bloodshed.” A dip of the head. Akala could feel a growl rising in her throat watching Wamika bend to Silver in such a way, but she couldn’t risk losing Mika’s loyalty here and now. Claws digging into the dirt, she turned away from the two she-wolves, fire raging within her.
There before her stood a wolf, white-pelted, wearing upon his neck a snake like some medallion. Akala stopped and looked at him. Leocadio was his name. She hadn’t known him well, hadn’t really known any of the shepherds well. They often held such soft-hearted, naive dispositions. But there was something about this one that she respected, perhaps it was that she could never really decipher his intentions. She’d heard whispers about him and his sister, especially after their father was killed. A peculiar family. “If you protect the tafa, then I pledge my loyalty to you,” said the wolf, the snake’s skin around his neck glittering occasionally in the sun. He bowed his head. “Centurion Akala.” Her skin shivered upon hearing it; how it befit her.
She glanced upward through the trees to meet eyes with Arzanoth who stared back down at her blankly. There was nothing in his black eyes but still she felt she could sense his thoughts better than her own at times. She was not a sentimental woman but the bond between wolf and tafa was strong and, she knew, must be protected no matter the cost. It was a wonder how wolves of other packs could get on without them. “You are truly a wolf of valor, Leocadio. You have my word.” She turned as if to leave, then paused and faced him again. “It is such a shame your sister seems to have run off somewhere,” said Akala slowly, watching to gauge the man’s expression. She didn’t think they were close, but familial bonds may push even the most loyal wolves to committing acts of treason. “But perhaps courage was only passed down to the one of you.”
THOSE LIVING FOR DEATH · WILL DIE BY THEIR OWN HAND
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Post by kaz on Jul 23, 2021 2:19:00 GMT
POWER, POWER · THE LAW OF THE LAND In the dawn, before the rising sun had once again wrought its fury upon the world came the news. She sat alone in her new quarters the new Empress, her shelter protecting her only from the earliest and latest parts of day; the heat could not be avoided anywhere when it reached its apex. What horrible irony to have to endure such a drought so early on in her already turbulent and fragile leadership. This morning promised a difficult day; the air was dry on her tongue like sand and she felt she would rather lie here and wait it out than have to drag her body up and out into the light. And perhaps she would have, given the chance. Arzanoth sat overhead, preening his feathers and occasionally fitting Akala with a look of curiosity. She thought he must not know how this was affecting her and the others; his kind was much more fit to survive without fresh water, flying high in the mountains, gaining most of their hydration from their prey. Down here in more fertile lands he was spoiled for water. Wolves too gained much of their hydration from prey, particularly wolves living in the arctic where running water was far less common. But the prey had felt the dryness of the land, had felt the earth cracking beneath them, opening up to swallow whatever it could. The sun had turned against it, had turned its gift into a weapon. And many of the creatures that once called this home had left for greener pastures. Akala was not a particularly religious wolf, but still, one had to wonder. It was Wamika who broke Akala’s reverie, snapped her back into reality, a reality that was dry and desolate and hopeless. A meeting, she said, a wolf at the border, Vertok, messenger, drought. Akala listened, seemingly unperturbed, flicking her ear in acknowledgement. She sat for a moment, staring out into the trees, watching Arzanoth lackadaisically cleaning his feathers, the terrible sun rising fast and hot behind him. Her gaze turned back to the Wamika, and behind her to the den site, to the wolves who were all as hungry and thirsty as she. She knew already she would be attending, if only to assert herself as leader of the new Au’Dar. An introduction would need to be made. There wasn’t anything these wolves could do about a drought lest some wolf among them held communion with the gods, whatever gods those were. Though the thought of interacting with the Vertok scum made her pelt burn, Akala lifted herself to her haunches and moved past Wamika, motioning with her tail for the woman to follow. Their exit elicited some curious looks from some of the more prying Au’Dar wolves, but Akala paid them no mind, and disappeared into the trees. · · · She was vaguely familiar with the route to the great oak tree, having once been invited as a young wolf to sit amongst the brush and wonder at what could be going on behind those immense roots. Even then she had felt an itching to be there, to speak and be heard, to have her words hold power and weight. And now here she was. Ahead, she could see the bark, massive and sprawling in every direction; it seemed even larger to her now and she did take a moment to marvel at it, but the fancy passed quickly. Arzanoth flapped lazily behind her, though had to land and awkwardly walk and hop beside her as her pace slowed. It was not a flattering look for the beast, and she imagined he knew it. Lining the exterior of the oak were wolves from other packs, somewhat hidden between the brush and in the shadow the great tree cast. Guards, surely. Akala glanced briefly at one if only to discern their purpose but gave the others no attention, her gaze set only on the entrance to the meeting. She paused a moment just before, her heart lifting within her. “Wamika,” she murmured. “You will come with me. You are no guard.” This last word hinted at some disdain. She did not hold Wamika as something so lowly as just a simple guard. And with that, she pushed through the entrance. It wasn’t difficult to discern who was who. The pair were obviously Vertok, and these two she regarded with an especially cold look, but kept the emotion from her face. Calculating gaze turned to the other wolf who appeared to be getting acquainted with the Vertok snakes. Sanzin, surely. More friendly than Akala would have expected from such a delinquent pack of wolves. Perhaps just a farce. Akala didn’t trust the lot of them, regardless. She moved, slowly, to a spot unoccupied and sat, wrapping her tail around her paws, and looked on the scene with a disinterested expression. Arzanoth landed upon the large root behind her, his black eyes casting damnation onto the wolves below. Let the games begin. THOSE LIVING FOR DEATH · WILL DIE BY THEIR OWN HAND
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