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Post by kaz on Jul 6, 2021 19:41:33 GMT
POWER, POWER · THE LAW OF THE LAND
They gathered around her as if she were a circus animal performing some sick trick, some cheering, egging her on, others horrified, inhaling sharply, begging her to stop. She went on. And on and on until nothing was left of the man and it was only the victor rising, alive, panting and bloodied, and the breeze in the air matted her bloody fur and sent a chill through her. Her head down between her shoulders she caught her breath and with eyes glittering with the maddening fever of combat she stared up at the wolves surrounding her, her wolves now. Wolves she had dined and fought with and slept beside yet few of them she held any affection for. Then she stepped forward as a barrier between the usurper and the rest of the wolves, or perhaps she had already been there before, protecting her, her form lost to Akala in the fog of war. Akala regarded the woman, the closest she’d had to an ally in this forsaken pack, her eyes holding some amount of fondness, if one could call it that. Appreciation, perhaps. Or perhaps there was nothing behind those pallid blue eyes. She turned to the other wolves, watching each of their faces, until her gaze fell upon the Anima. A weak little girl. Her family had known it too. Yet she’d grown to be respected. Akala eyed her carefully. It would be a shame if that one were to leave. Could fracture the entire pack. She’d have to be careful. She licked the gore from her chops and took in a breath to address her new pack, but before she could speak, a snarl rang out, a shout, desperate. “I’ll never call you Centurion, you — !” Akala saw his form rising from the crowd, fangs bared, and though tired and battered, she stiffened, set her body in preparation. Yet his fangs never reached her. Wamika disposed of him as easily as one swatting away a fly. He landed harshly and called to his brother, “This isn’t right! We have to stop them!”Anger pulsed through the empress anew, setting her fur afire, blinding her. A hideous growl and she lunged toward the fallen Warrior, stopping short before him, staring down with wild eyes and lips curled furiously. “Stop me?” she snarled. “Stop me?” Her voice was rising, every word a booming roar. “I am Zarmir reincarnate! I am fire and I am death, and I will be the one to breathe life back into this derelict and pathetic pack!” She was spitting her anger was so intense. She turned her back on the wolf to address the rest of her wolves, trusting Wamika to protect her from the Warrior. “Who will join me and who will run with their tails tucked between their legs?” she howled. “Hmm? Who among you are warriors and who are but spineless dogs unwilling to fight for your pack?”“This is the path to retribution. This is our future. No longer shall we hide in the shadows of others whose blood runs hotter than our own. We have sat by and allowed this land to be infiltrated by infidels and blood-thirsty cretins. No more!” Her fur was standing on end, eyes wide and staring, bloodied fangs still bared and trailing spit in her fervor. Arzanoth flapping his great wings above her like some harbinger of death. “We will take what is rightfully ours. We will become a pack to be respected and feared.” She glanced back at Jet, the growl rumbling up in her throat, her words addressed to him and to all. “I ask again: who among you is truly strong?”
THOSE LIVING FOR DEATH · WILL DIE BY THEIR OWN HAND
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Post by kaz on Jun 20, 2021 9:32:48 GMT
The stranger was not taken with Murmur’s advances which only made Murmur all the more entranced with him. He quite liked a challenge, especially those of this wolf’s ilk; introverted, almost hostile. A character flaw of his, perhaps, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. Revan he had said his name was, after an unamused snort at Murmur’s lighthearted jest. Murmur tested the name silently in his head to ensure he’d remember.
Still, this Revan didn’t seem too interested in him, staring off into the distance with an emotion Murmur could not distinguish. Murmur turned to look and saw the approaching figure that had so enraptured the other. The stranger entered their midst, carrying with him an aura of friendliness much opposed to the red-pelted wolf Murmur had just gotten acquainted with. He gave a nod to Murmur, which Murmur returned with a smile. Meal forgotten, he watched as Revan greeted this wolf with some amiable familiarity; they had known each other for some time, he deduced. The only question was how?
“I will thwart him off if you wish to eat,” said Revan in a grave tone.
Murmur couldn’t help but chuckle. “Thwart away if need be. I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.” It was true, but he hoped his politeness would allow him to stay and see how these two had become such close friends. He looked at the newcomer. “My name is Murmur.” A courteous dip of his head. “A pleasure. Your friend here has so kindly allowed me to join in his meal with him, though not without some reservation, I think.” A playful smile danced on his lips.
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Post by kaz on Jun 20, 2021 6:38:00 GMT
POWER, POWER · THE LAW OF THE LAND When she woke the idea had already embedded itself into her brain like some parasitic worm, consuming and overtaking each part of her until nothing was left but what she must do. There it was in front of her like a prophecy or an inevitable event of which she was the perpetrator. There was no choice. There was only do. She had risen as some fiendish marionette, moved by an invisible force that had brought her here, to his quarters, to find her beloved leader still sleeping before the rising sun, to watch his chest rise and fall and rise and fall for what she knew was the last time. She hadn’t hesitated for fear or nervousness; rather simply to see the life of him before it was stripped away. She knew he must die. That much was clear. His inaction had only weakened their pack’s previous strength. They’d been something to be feared, to be admired and now they were nothing but weak shadows lurking in the darkness, hiding and never daring to take what was rightfully theirs, mere husks of the wolves they once were. The thought of what he had allowed drew her claws into the dirt, set her fur on fire with a fury she had set aside for so long. It only made it easier. She’d moved before she ever knew and suddenly her fangs were tearing into flesh and there was growling and snarling and teeth against fur and who was to say whose was whose. Fangs met skin, briefly they kissed and tore away again and crimson blood fell upon the ground; she did not know whether it was hers. But she could feel her teeth ground into his side and rip away and suddenly there was blood pooling into her mouth and it was thick and bitter but tasted like success and he tore away from her with a yelp that sounded more like some wounded prey animal than her leader and she knew she had the upper hand. Still, their eyes met and the exchange there of hatred and triumph was enough to summon her back into reality, and when he struck again in retaliation she was ready. But he pounded against her with newfound strength, his fangs against her leg, and she fell over backwards onto her side with such force it took the wind from her, but she knew she couldn’t let up. It was kill or be killed. He said her name, or something like it, she couldn’t tell, and he stood over her, his eyes pleading with her to stop but she couldn’t; she’d come this far, she must fulfill her destiny. She must save this pack from the jaws of destruction. The horrible pain from her limb forgotten, she thrust herself upwards. She bowled into him clumsily. Her injury was harming her abilities worse than she would admit but her foe was no better off. He tried to moved to dodge but could not in time and suddenly they were tumbling and she was latched onto his neck with her teeth and he was choking and begging her. Please, he must have said. You do not have to do this. There was fear in his eyes and in this she relished for this was the same fear she had felt when he had allowed their rightful land to be overtaken by usurpers and intruders, and it was with this that she allowed herself to deal the final blow. "You have no strength," she could hear herself saying to her leader, pinned to the ground beneath her paws, and in that moment she felt more powerful than she had ever felt before and her blood pumped so furiously she could hear it. She felt enormous, like some creature only from pup’s tales; fangs large as mountains, claws sharp as eagle’s talons. “You have no conviction.” Her nails dug into his pelt as she knelt to hiss into his ear: “You will die as the dog you have become.” With a hideous snarl, the woman ripped into his throat and tore, and continued on with her disfigurement until he was long dead and unrecognizable, mere indistinguishable bloodied flesh. The sun was rising, then, casting a blood red hue on her deed as the woman licked the gore from her chops, and slowly limped from the den of her previous leader, rising anew as the Centurion slayer, the Usurper. The taste of royal blood sticky in her mouth. Arzanoth stood perched upon a low hanging branch and stared down at her with beady black eyes, expressionless. He turned to look at the red sun glowing between the trees. Akala watched the feathered demon but could discern nothing from him; whatever he was thinking, she could not tell. She looked out through the trees, still dark and misty in the early morning, and sat and waited. THOSE LIVING FOR DEATH · WILL DIE BY THEIR OWN HAND
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Post by kaz on Mar 24, 2021 5:38:46 GMT
AKALA THE EMPRESS
PERSONALITYUNFORGIVING // POWER-HUNGRY // PATIENT // MANIPULATIVE Slow and steady; like the Earth wears down the mountains, so she progresses between them, leaving in her wake the evidence of her passing. One can feel her in the air after she has gone, like a ghost, the crushing weight of her presence never quite leaving your side. When she looks at you, you can feel your resolve crumble into nothingness; some demon from ancient times come to smite you down.
No stone unturned; progress is inevitable. She seeks not to change the world but to unravel it, turn it inside out. She knows all, or else, seems to, which is just as deadly. She exerts her power over all who dare to cross her path, unafraid of bloodshed, though there is power to be had in ways other than tooth and claw. She is not above such things. It seems impossible to glean anything from her but her immense want for power over the newly changed world.
APPEARANCEI WAS MADE FOR THIS // NOTHING CAN STOP ME Forged of the earth her pelt is dirt and sand and night sky; something venomous has snaked its way into her soul; eyes like lifeless stars, of some great void, somewhere far beyond this world. Perhaps she could be beautiful if not for the look in those unyielding eyes, something that says you may be next.
6 YRS // FEMALE // 110LBS
DO NOTHING AND YOU DIE LIKE A DOG
Suffering endlessly between her loyalty to her pack and this darkness inside craving something more, Akala drew further and further into isolation. It wasn't a shock when she left, denouncing the pack viciously for their lack of ambition; for allowing other packs to grow and swell like a virus around them. It was only a matter of time before Au'Dar would fall to its belly and beg for their tiny scrap of land from other packs like the dogs they were. Now, free of her shackles, she roams and searches for where she may take her rightful place as the true leader of change, of freedom, and of power.
ARZONOTH // HIMALAYAN VULTURE
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Post by kaz on Feb 20, 2021 4:21:45 GMT
The gentleman stood - he was larger than Murmur, but the same could be said for many the poet had met on his adventures, him being on the smaller side of wolves - and said a greeting in return, though no emotion was detectable in his smooth voice. There was the glimmer of something unfriendly in those crimson eyes of his; untrusting or vengeful or perhaps unemotional entirely, Murmur could not tell. The smaller wolf kept his distance, but held his tail somewhat low behind him, waving lazily in an amiable fashion.
With his next words, however, Murmur could see that he had perhaps made a faux-pas, and presumed too much, too early. “A date?” came the response from the male, his brow furrowed, expression puzzled in what seemed to be genuine confusion. Was he unaware of the meaning or had Murmur’s soft attempt at humor failed so utterly? After a moment, the man said: “Not a date,” and Murmur smiled - less excitedly - and gave a soft nod of his head.
“Not a date then,” he said.
“Alright,” said the male. His voice was deep and wholly uninviting, but Murmur had to admit that this was the type that interested him the most. There was something quite gratifying about prying open the iciest of wolves. It was a challenge. “Don’t eat the heart, or I’ll rip out yours.” The words came out quite serious, and Murmur had no doubts as to the truth of them. He certainly wouldn’t test his luck.
Still, he couldn’t resist the goofy grin that was more often present than not. Something about this man amused him so. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” said Murmur, unable to help himself. He drew his gaze away from the stranger, not wanting to linger on his peculiar coat and eye color for too long lest he come off as rude or ungrateful. The man took a few paw steps away from his kill, still regarding Murmur with a look of regal indifference. A king regarding his people. Murmur moved toward the carcass, sniffing at it, but he was more interested in the man before him. Now began the game he was quite accustomed to playing.
“What are you called?” asked the stranger. Murmur sat beside their meal, not biting into it quite yet though he was rather hungry, but he didn’t want to appear overly eager and he craved something more than meat now. He eyed the other passively, the small smile still upon his lips. “Murmur,” he replied. He leaned down now to tear a small piece of flesh from the body where it had already been torn open and exposed and he swallowed it almost without chewing. “And yourself?”
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Post by kaz on Jan 29, 2021 6:56:58 GMT
There was a certain appeal, one had to admit, to the openness of a snow-covered field; a blank canvas, waiting to be painted on. (Murmur had, once, amused himself with carving out something that appeared to be the form of a wolf in the deep snow, only to realize as he stepped away, that it was misshapen and crude, and he hadn’t attempted it again, though the idea was ever present.) That was what was most beautiful about it, he thought: the emptiness, the nothing; whiteness meeting a white sky. Still, as romantic as the man was, he couldn’t handle it for too long. Coming over a crest and seeing a featureless blanket lying upon the land, rendering it colorless, one had to stop and stare. Traveling over the snow, watching the pawsteps appear behind you, trailing endlessly into the distance; yes, it was satisfying. But then the shine wore off and one was left with just bright nothingness, interminably stretching to the horizon. At least, still, far off he could see the shape of mountains, their details indiscernible but nonetheless it was something to look at.
And then, a shape. It was his nose that had alerted him first, but as he turned to look, he could see the form of something to his left. Red fur, starkly contrasting the white landscape; but that hadn’t been what Murmur had smelled. It had been the deer, lying dead before the other creature, its crimson blood he could just barely make out. A bear, maybe? Murmur stood there for a long moment, considering his options. The red-furred figured didn’t appear to be big enough to be a bear (though from this distance, he couldn’t be sure, but comparing it to the shape of the deer - which, he thought, could also be half eaten…) and they were just lying there beside their prey. Or perhaps they were dead too. He couldn’t be sure, but whatever the case was, even though the meat smelled fresh, it could have just been preserved nicely in the cold; could be that the hunter ate his fill and left the rest, maybe killing a… bear… cub in the process?
Now he was just sounding ridiculous. Chances were it was another wolf, really, not a bear, though he hadn’t come across any wolves of that particular coloration (no bears either, but, still.) And besides, if it wasn’t, he could outrun a bear… probably.
Murmur moved toward the two shapes, stepping slowly and carefully, tongue lolling from his mouth, steaming in the brisk air. He was careful to keep a close eye on the figure, though his gaze kept shifting slowly to the deer in his hunger. When he was within speaking distance - though he had to raise his voice - the man called out: “Greetings,” he said, and now could see clearly that this was in fact a wolf with just a peculiar coat color. He gazed admiringly at it. It was quite gorgeous, as was the male wearing it. Murmur grinned amiably. “Don’t suppose you need a date to help you finish this meal? I can offer good conversation and bad jokes.” After all, one must never show up to dinner empty handed.
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Post by kaz on Jan 29, 2021 6:17:36 GMT
“Oh please,” said Timber. He watched as her eyes moved back to his form coquettishly. “Flattery or honesty?” Ha! Murmur couldn’t help but be a bit surprised; he hadn’t expected any of this warmth to come from Timber, who had seemed so reserved before. No complaints on his end, though. This was precisely the kind of conversation he was most happy to entertain. “Well, I’ll take what I can get,” said Murmur modestly, shrugging and grinning.
Soon, however, their talks turned to less cheerful matters. His question had struck some sort of chord within the woman; he could see it made her uncomfortable, or just perhaps… sobered her. Still, when she spoke, her voice was somewhat softer, less authoritarian, more personal and bereft. “I wish I hadn’t had the wool pulled over my eyes in the past,” she said. By whom? Murmur wondered, but before he could think on it much, Timber continued on rapidly, “If I had kept up a better guard then my pack would still be alive, as would my pups.” Oh. So it was trauma that he saw behind those eyes. Murmur looked away respectfully (as it always felt uncomfortable to look at someone directly as they admitted something so personal to you) choosing instead to look upon the trees surrounding them, the sharp details of the leaves against the sky, his expression solemn.
“Even with all the beauty, strong will, and sound mind, the world still plays cruel jokes on those who dwell in it.” Yes, he supposed that was true, to an extent. Murmur was of the mind that what you put out into the universe was often what you received, and her admission did little to lessen that belief; still, he understood how one who had faced such hardships - had lost children - would think of the world as a sadistic beast, who beguiled those upon her surface just for the sake of it. It was easier that way, he thought, though perhaps that was just a way for him to justify his own edifices. And he understood, too those who thought much of life's events happened by chance, or luck. He supposed there was some truth in that. He had known wolves who had breezed through life with little consequence, or on the contrary, had been seemingly haunted by some nebulous entity hoping to impose as much despair as possible. It did sometimes appear that some wolves just... got the lean end of the deer. (Though, and he didn't think on it long as he was in the presence of company, it did occur to him that in this case, surely that would mean that his life had been wholly, or at least partially, a consequence of luck, and not his own hard work at being cheerful and optimistic; a thought that he would have to return to later, reluctantly.)
“I cannot blame you for being upset at the world,” said Murmur after a long moment. “No wolf should have to go through the trauma of losing their own children. I won’t pretend I can relate, as I have never suffered a loss such as that. But I do extend my condolences, for whatever they are worth.” He knew his words were somewhat meaningless, simply polite solaces, but he dipped his head out of respect still. “It is, however, admirable that you have continued after enduring what you have,” said Murmur, slowly looking up at her. “I cannot imagine how difficult that must be. And I hope the world is kinder to you, now, than it has been.” They were probably empty words, he knew, as this was what one said out of courtesy in such a situation; coming from a stranger he imagined they must be even more hollow. Still, he attempted to convey his sympathy through his tone, which he hoped came across as genuine, as it was.
He offered a sympathetic half-smile. He lowered himself to his belly, damp fur resting on the dirt and grass. Somber, he continued: “But you’re a strong woman, Timber, that much is plain to see. There will always be that wound inside of you, never fully healed, but one must continue on, racing the sun ‘round the world. Carry on, as you have. The same could not be said for many in your position. I find it impressive.” He rested his head on his paws, still looking at her thoughtfully. “But shall we leave the past in the past, for now? What do you do with your days, other than talk to handsome vagabonds?”
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Post by kaz on Jan 19, 2021 7:56:08 GMT
Something transpired then, in the eyes of the woman Murmur was facing, but it passed so quickly, he couldn’t identify it, or even know if it had happened at all. A small quiver, or a twitch; just a hint of something unsaid drifted by and Timber drew her gaze back to the water. “We could say the life chose me too, but not of my own free will.” There was a certain sadness, or else, bitterness in those words - nothing good behind her statement. And the woman slowly sank into the water before her, much like Murmur had done just moments ago, the same water rushing over her form and drenching her coat. He wasn’t sure whether to smile or frown, but couldn’t contain the gentle wagging of his tail behind him. He could see, though, the water working its magic through her, as it had done him, and this did give him some joy. He knew it may sound silly, if not superstitious or overly optimistic to many, but any small amount of happiness one could gain from simple things such as these, well, he was grateful to share it.
The woman listened patiently to him as he spoke on and on; he bored even himself in his speech’s lengthiness, but she was quite polite and after a moment, she said: “Every wolf does crave safety and certainty. Though that could look different for every individual.” He wondered if she was agreeing with his own lifestyle with those last words, or if she was making a gentle argument for her own viewpoint (which, to be fair, hadn’t been stated, but he’d still assumed, without evidence, that she was a traditional pack wolf.) She continued to say that she didn’t think he was selfish, and that she respected those who lived their life differently; not all wolves were born the same, after all. Some preferred a life in a pack, others not. But then, just at the end, as if an afterthought, she added: “I suppose it isn’t a bad thing, your whims, for I don’t completely despise your company.”
He stifled a chuckle, his lips parting to reveal his toothy grin again. No wolf was immune to compliments, not even those as stoic as Timber. “Your flattery is enough to make a man blush,” teased Murmur. After a moment, and somewhat more seriously, he went on, “So then, this life that you’ve been given: are you not satisfied?” Though Murmur often thought that one’s lot in life was strongly influenced by their outlook, he had met wolves with such tragedies that could not be remedied with mere optimism. He wondered if she may fall into this category, but he tried not to press too hard. “Forgive me if I am being presumptuous but…” A short pause as he thought carefully about his words. “What is it that you wish had gone differently? You’re a beautiful woman, of seemingly strong will and sound mind - I would think the world would be bowing at your paws, ready to behold whatever you may desire.”
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Post by kaz on Jan 18, 2021 22:03:38 GMT
Steadfast. Enduring. The cold, winter winds did little to thwart his descent upon the water. He had made excellent progress, and would continue to do so despite the complaints of his limbs, crying out in soreness and stiffness. He did not like the winter. But he kept up his pace, warming his muscles through movement, deftly traversing over the difficult terrain that mountains made for. He had already nearly slipped and fallen on rocks wettened by rainfall, still damp in the cold weather, and had to remind himself to stay vigilant. Mother nature was a cruel mistress and did not look kindly on those injured by their own indiscretion.
Coming down to the water’s edge, Atreyu dipped his head and lapped up the icy water, the sting of it slithering down his throat. Down the shoreline, to his right, he could see deer with their heads turned slightly, staring at him in that scared way they did, almost completely motionless, like statues, the only signal of their life an occasional twitch of an ear. He stared back at one of them, the two locking gazes for a long moment, neither moving. There was a hunger in him - not in his belly but somewhere deeper, a hunger that could not be satiated by consumption, though of its cure, he couldn’t say. Still, it urged him forward, at a slow, predatory pace, his head low between his shoulders, the scar of his muzzle which exposed his teeth giving the appearance of the beginning of a snarl. Still the deer stood, though the one who had not met his eye had now lifted a hoof in apprehension, as if to begin to move away.
He moved slowly enough that the deer seemed unsure of what to do, and he was still far enough away so as not to illicit their flight. And then, suddenly and without warning, Atreyu leapt forward with a vicious snarl, landing and skidding to a halt, spraying snow everywhere; simply a show of power or aggression, seemingly, and it sent the deer into a scurry, nearly tripping over themselves in their panic. They fled, casting one glance back over at the now still wolf, their eyes wide in that lifeless, insentient way; still, Atreyu imagined he could see fear in that strange black gaze.
Seemingly satisfied (though one would be hard-pressed to determine this from his expression, void of emotion) the great wolf turned his attention back to the water, drinking up greedily. When he’d had his fill, he lifted his head up to the mountains from whence he had come, ice dribbling down his chin and chest and igniting his pelt with a sharp cold in the breeze. Then, where to next, he said quietly to himself as he traced the sun’s path in the sky. It was beginning to set in the direction he was headed, which he made a note of. He turned to continue his journey, but something about the stillness of the lake gave him some pause, and he stopped for a moment to sit in the tranquility of it, not quite admiringly but… just basking in it, thinking of where he had come from, and where he would soon be.
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Post by kaz on Jan 5, 2021 5:20:37 GMT
His compliment seemed to have somewhat brightened her mood, relieved a bit of that trepidation from her body, though she did not seem to whole-heartedly accept it - somewhat self-consciously thanking him - and he knew to take care in the future not to overstep any further with his flattery. There was a thin line between being seen as charming, and being labeled a sycophant, and he often walked it readily and, by his own admission, rather adeptly.
“A fresh perspective, yes…” said the woman, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. He wondered what it was that she was thinking of; had his words struck something within her? It had only been talk - sometimes even he knew not what he was saying, for his tongue often moved quicker than his mind - but perhaps this woman could use some reflection. Maybe she had more insight than her battle-worn pelt would have led him to believe. One must be careful not to cast dispersions too early; even the most brutish of wolves had proven to have great intellect hidden beneath their scars. And this woman did have a manner about her that implied something greater than simple strength of tooth and claw; an urbane composure and poise. She spoke well, too. Simple-minded creatures did not often carry themselves with grace, caring little what those around them thought. Other’s opinions don't matter much when your greatest assets are of the deadly variety.
“May I ask just why you chose the life of a loner?” asked Timber politely. This took Murmur somewhat by surprise, and he had to take a moment to think on the answer. He hadn’t given the decision much thought before, though, he supposed, that was because it hadn’t been much of a decision at all. It had felt like the natural progression of things. Often, Murmur felt as if life moved around him, and he, like the water of a stream, flowed through it without complaint, accepting and relishing in each moment given to him. He had been a part of his small familial pack, and, even before feeling any sort of stagnation or dissatisfaction, had moved on to greener pastures, so to speak. He had felt the ache of exploration, and had, without second thought, ventured on to relieve that ache, as a nomad following the migratory patterns of their prey. This is how he went on, seeking easy pleasures of flesh and mind and not thinking much on his own future or past, except to relive good memories, or else fantasize about this or that. He was a simple man, in that regard, not prone to melancholy like many poets and thinkers tend to be. Lucky, really.
He thought of how to respond. “You could say the life chose me,” said Murmur slowly, still contemplating his next words. Living as a loner didn’t feel all that different from life with a pack, albeit a bit more dangerous and he was certainly hungrier, though his stomach had shrunk to accommodate. And it was certainly no issue for him, who could be kept occupied for hours with thoughts and observations, especially with so much new land to tread. “I heard the winds of a new country calling my name, and I had no choice but to follow.” Perhaps that would be difficult for a more traditional wolf to understand - he got the impression this woman was that sort, though he couldn’t be sure. Wolves were meant to want company, to want to weave their existence with others, to work with a group as seamlessly as if they were a singular organism. This, too, he understood, though it didn’t feel as natural to him as to many others. Still, he had integrated into his home pack just fine, having been born into it.
“And the solitary life suits me well, I’d like to think, though it is not without its difficulties." He continued. "And I am not set on being alone for the rest of my days; this, I think, alleviates many of the stresses of this lifestyle. I am not without pack for having been disgraced, or cast out, nor am I against pack-life as a whole - and can, in all honesty, see being a part of one again. Every wolf craves that safety and certainty.” He smiles softly to offset some of the seriousness of the topic, for he doesn’t like to talk about such matters for too long without some manner of humor. “But for now, it just feels right to be free to wander, to travel, to speak to who you wish, when you wish; to think freely on what you’d like, without the restraint of responsibility or the weight of your fellow wolf’s wellbeing bearing down upon your shoulders.” It was the truth; he did better thinking alone and without having to worry about any obligations other than his own survival, which could often be ignored for long periods of time, anyway. He gave a small chuckle. “Perhaps this makes me sound awfully selfish - and, perhaps I am. But the truth of the matter is I am a mere servant of my whims, and as they have brought me here, to this stream, and to you, my dear Timber, I think that isn’t quite a bad thing.”
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Post by kaz on Jan 3, 2021 12:12:39 GMT
She was hesitant, worried even, looking around constantly like a prey animal who had just smelled wolf upon the wind. This did give Murmur some pause, heightening his senses ever so slightly in turn, paying more mind to the sounds and scents surrounding them, though he did do his best not to show this, wanting to appear cavalier and comfortable, as always. It did occur to him that perhaps it was he she was nervous of, and so he took care to make no sudden movements - maybe appearing too casual in the process, but he was wont to seem that way, regardless; such was his nature.
However, she offered a soft laugh at his words, and this cheered him greatly - ah, so the lady does have a sense of humor! He grinned at her compliment, ignoring her cautious glances at their surroundings; she would warm up to him, he was sure of it. “Why, my darling, you flatter me. And I can assure you my parents knew at quite an early age how off base they’d been.” He watched her movements across the river; scrutinized the scarring along her muzzle, studied her tall and lithe limbs as they carried her precariously nearer to him - though not by much. “My name is Timber,” said the woman, who now had a name. She gave a slight, courteous bow of her head, and he stifled a chuckle. So polite! Again, that urge to curtsy, or perhaps kiss her gently offered paw. He felt underdressed in her presence, so formal did she appear.
“Timber,” he repeated. “A beautiful name for an equally beautiful woman.” Ah, he couldn’t help it. The words just slipped right out (though he hadn’t done much to stop them.) He gave a half-apologetic smile, hoping he hadn’t been too bold. “You enjoy morning swims in the middle of winter? You are a strange one,” said Timber, and he had to laugh. “I assume that you’re a loner, or are you part of a pack that enjoys freezing in the river?” This last bit was said with some amount of dryness that amused Murmur quite a bit.
“Is there such a pack nearby? Where do I sign up?” He grinned at her, then quickly continued on. “I suppose I am a loner, though only in the most literal sense of the word. I’m never truly alone - who could be with all this life surrounding us, all these endless thoughts in our heads?” Suddenly more serious than he had intended, Murmur wiped the pensive expression from his face, and smiled toothily again. “But no, my dear. I just enjoy the refreshing cool of the waters. Sometimes it is all one needs for a fresh perspective. It can wash the veneer from the most reserved of wolves. You might try it sometime.” He gave a slight, suggestive raise of his eyebrows at her.
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Post by kaz on Dec 30, 2020 14:35:24 GMT
strangers passing in the street
by chance two separate glances meet
A roll of her eyes; she was distant, but he spotted it, and his lips twitched upward in response. Immune to his charm, perhaps? So it was, as it had been before. Nevertheless, these types were no less fun than those who would partake in his games. Maybe it was that she hadn’t been flirted much with before - the scarring of her pelt told tales of many battles fought, flesh between fangs. That type of life didn’t lend itself to such follies. A war-worn woman, who need not bother will silly flirtations from strangers. He could understand it. “There is no need to speak in such ways,” said the woman, though there was no real sharpness behind her words. Perhaps just common courtesy: one does not accept a gift immediately, not without some resistance, so as to be polite. He grinned, looking off-ways sheepishly; a soft shrug of the shoulders, her words rolling off him like water off a duck’s feathers.
“Forgive me, darling,” said Murmur, having to raise his voice a touch to reach across the barrier between them. “My tongue is a disobedient little fellow that often runs of its own volition. It’s gotten me into terrible trouble, as I’m sure you can imagine.” His tail wagged behind him slowly, that cheeky smile of his never leaving his lips.
She stepped closer, somewhat cautiously, rightly so. But in a movement that exuded all the grace and confidence of royalty, the woman moved to the stream, drinking the cool water, quickly, though with no outward hint of urgency; all the while keeping her senses on him, and keeping her distance. This he watched through curious eyes, studying her shape and how it twisted and moved along with her. After a moment, she spoke, and his ears perked up to catch the words. “There is nothing to be intruded nor is there a need to… curtsy.” He tried to hide his amusement at her response, her discomfort palpable. He shouldn’t press further, he knew. This was a woman unaccustomed to his particular manner of speaking.
At her suggestion that she’d been the one to intrude, he shook his head lightly. “You needn’t worry - I never object to good conversation.” And especially not from an attractive woman. He turned a bit to face her head on. “I was merely enjoying the morning's waters. I find them especially rejuvenating this time of day." He smiled, glancing upward at the sky and the world around them. "My name is Murmur - an awfully ironic name to bestow upon someone who enjoys talking as much as I do,” he said with a small laugh. “May I have the honor of knowing yours?”
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Post by kaz on Dec 30, 2020 6:59:09 GMT
more to be added... eventually atreyu
the insatiable | grey wolf | loner | 35in | 165lbs | lawful neutral | male | heterosexual | single |
appearance + tall and muscular, though not overly bulky + ashy fur with black extremities + deep brown eyes + many scars, including a deep one on his muzzle and a chip in his ear
personality + serious + traditional and law abiding + unemotional + violent when he deems necessary + ambitious and a born leader; relentless + never satisfied with his position in life, always wants more
history born into a large pack that valued strength and loyalty. quickly rose up and challenged the alpha for leadership, killing the previous leader in the process. he reigned over that pack for many years until he was defeated by a young wolf that left his muzzle marred permanently, exposing a small bit of his gums and canine tooth; gruesome, but also makes him appear more imposing. ashamed, atreyu left his previous pack and wandered, surviving alone and searching for a new life, a new pack to rule over.
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Post by kaz on Dec 23, 2020 6:17:06 GMT
strangers passing in the street
by chance two separate glances meet
He may have never noticed the woman if his eyes hadn’t already been upturned, studying the sky, the vultures overhead as they made those slow arcing patterns across the blue. He wondered what it was they smelled or saw from up there; something dead or soon to be? So much of their lives spent in the skies, birds-eye - did they know what the world looked like from down here, what it felt like? The feeling of grass beneath you, a soft breeze through leaves, the sounds of prey pitter-pattering through the brush? Then again, he’d never know how the world looked through their eyes, top down, detail-less. Big picture.
The movement of her caught his eye, the glint of her fur in the sunlight; her white pelt was out of place against the greenery. He turned his head and saw her and rose to his paws in a somewhat sheepish manner, the soft, dreamy smile of his transforming into something friendlier, more inviting. She had a puzzled expression on her face, staring at him. It wasn’t the first time he’d elicited such a response from others. He was, after all, quite an odd man; he knew better than most. The cool air bit at his wetted limbs as he studied the woman briefly, caught eye of her scarred pelt (though only the most prominent he could see from this distance,) and that imposing way in which she held herself; confident, like a queen walking her lands. She had the air of a leader, or of someone of great import. Or maybe he was reading too far into it.
“You make quite a presence,” he called over the water, slowly moving sideways - not closer or further to or from her - so as to remove himself from the stream. “One feels the urge to curtsy in your company.” This he said with a touch of mirth, sitting back on his haunches, hoping to make himself - though he was rather small and unimposing - seem as unthreatening as possible. “I hope I haven’t intruded; these lands are quite beautiful and I, being a simple man, can’t help but appreciate beautiful things.” A pointed look in her direction; a hint of a flirt.
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Post by kaz on Dec 20, 2020 4:52:38 GMT
strangers passing in the street
by chance two separate glances meet
The night had been dark, uncertain and all-consuming; unseen clouds covering the moon and stars, hanging low and heavy, pregnant with the threat of a rain that hadn’t ever come. Murmur had woken early before the dawn, peering into the darkness unmoving, thinking, searching for something, perhaps, but what he did not know. Long he could live in nights like these, the only sounds the gentle breeze through the trees beside him; the only life the thoughts in his head, and the blood in his veins. There was a certain poetry to the nameless dark, but still, when the sun finally began to rise and give shape to the world again, the man was grateful. He moved to his paws slowly, muscles aching from having been statue-still for so many hours - he had felt as if he could not stir through the night for fear of shattering the peace, the silence that went on around him; as if his presence were somehow unwelcome, a glitch that went unnoticed, and if it were, would have shattered the illusion entirely.
The sun poked between the sparse trees over the horizon, setting the landscape alight and tearing the cold dark from the sky in bursts of golden rays. For another long time, Murmur sat admiring it, staring upwards at the cascading colors: red, orange, yellow, blue, all fading away behind him into a rapidly receding deep blue of night. It was the day’s turn to hold dominion over the earth now, to breathe back life into the greenery; give form and substance. The break of dawn may well be the best time to view the world, Murmur thought, gazing at his surroundings, watching the haze slowly lift, the frosted foliage steam with warmth. Everything coming back from the dead, ready to be beheld again. He thought, with a hint of amusement, that on a night such as the last, everything around him could have uprooted itself, moved away or disappeared completely, and just before day, as if on cue, could have come back into position, as of actors in a play, exactly the same as before, and Murmur would be none the wiser. Is anything really still there if one is not observing it? If so, would that really make the world any different than it is now?
Such thoughts to ponder! He could spend the entire day within the confines of his mind, thinking, wondering, regarding, dreaming; but alas, he was still tied to this mortal body and all its bothersome needs. He could feel the hunger working its way through him now, reaching even his mind, making his thoughts wander in that hypnagogic way, tireless and somewhat senseless and following no real pattern. It could be quite enjoyable, worthy of exploration if it did not come with such irksome side effects. The hunger could not be ignored today - how long had it been since he’d had a proper meal? - and after much procrastinating, watching the sun on its slow rise upward, the man set out forward into the countryside.
It was pleasurable to stretch his legs, to feel the muscles moving beneath his pelt and to work them. This was, after all, his body and what it was made for: a vessel of sensations; of the grass beneath his paw pads, the wind in his fur - there was something to be said for even the aches and pains. What else was a body for but to provide stimuli to the mind? What would he be without a form, sightless and unfeeling, only a mind? Ah, there went his head again - focus! A stream up ahead; he could hear it before seeing it and realized only then that he was thirsty as well. He moved to the bank of the water, his gait confident and dreamy, his eyes never staying in one place for too long - perhaps giving the appearance of someone overly cautious, or nervous, but really only immensely curious; his senses hungry, voracious, even, and never satiated. Dipping his head, he lapped up the cool, clear water greedily, and, without thinking, splashed his front paws into the stream as well, spraying the cold water up his forearms and onto his belly and he stifled a gasp at the chill of it, exhilarating as it was. That was certainly a way to wake up! After a brief moment of adjustment, Murmur moved deeper into the water, letting it softly rush against his legs and tail and then, in an instant, dropped down onto his belly and relished the shock of his nerves against the cold, his tail waving in slow arcs behind him in the stream, his usual grin never leaving his face.
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