Where It All Began [Shea] [CLOSED]

[Varloc]

Varloc the Noble[/b][/size]

With the need for a home fulfilled, the male found himself extremely content. There was no need to wander, no desire to set out on some unknown journey that would lead him away from his new found family. Instead, he had made it a normal thing to walk parts of the boarder, learning his new home. At times he would step out beyond the protection of the territory line, but never straying too far. True, he had yet to meet all the members, but there would be the rest of his life to do that. So far he was entirely happy with the choice he had made. The pack was pleasant and the few members he had met seemed nice enough to him.

Today was no different, he had patrolled other areas before and this one was new. He took in each unique tree, enjoying the intricate maze of roots at the base of many, the gentle green moss growing on several of the rocks and the sides of tree. He weaved his way through brush and taller grasses, climbing easily over fallen logs and pausing every now and then to scent the wind. He felt a great need to protect his new pack and so during his rounds he would scout the area for any signs that might hint at danger. He took his title as warrior serious and was not willing to let anything slip passed his keen nose. As he neared the boarder, he took special care in scenting the area. He swept over every inch of the area, but nothing popped up. Feeling satisfied that there was no potential danger in the area, he drifted over the border and peered curiously out over the meadow.

It was there that everything had started. It was there that he had met Kai and had been invited back to the territory. It was then that he had realized the beauty of the place and had already made up his mind on the offer that Kai had given. He would make his home in Koran and he would spend whatever years where left in his life there. He cast one quick glance over his shoulder to see if he had been followed and then stepped out into the meadow, drifting into the tall grass, which by now had began to lose its golden sheen and once again turn into a lush sea of emerald. He had not seen the place in its full glory, but what he had seen of the surrounding land, he had no doubt that it would not be anything less they spectacular.

He floated forwards on calloused paws, strong legs propelling him forwards with the grace of a runner, yet beneath the coat of dark grays there were the muscles of a fighter. He was well proportioned for both, though he leaned more towards strength then speed. For a moment, things were silent all except for the soft swishing of grass as it brushed against his sides. Muddy hued eyes held a shine of thoughtfulness, yet deep within their depths was a sorrow that could not be forgotten. It was something that he had grown to live with, yet could never forget. Despite being surrounded by a new pack, he still found himself to be lonely. Varloc did not regret the path his life had taken, though he wished some nights that he still had his beloved at his side. Nights where the hardest. He would find himself longing for the warmth of her body against his. He wished dearly to see her eyes gazing up at him when he settled down for the night.

Varloc heaved a heavy sigh. It was something that he could not change and there was no use in lingering on memories of the past. He would not forget his love, but she would scold him and trash him for dwelling in self pity for the rest of his years. He wanted to laugh out loud at the imagine that formed within his mind. His delicate flower nipping aggressively at his flanks and snipping his ears and tail and scolding him for his foolishness. Yet he knew deep down, no matter how hard he would attempt to seem truly sorry, he only loved her more. The sight of her that way made him want to chuckle. She was adorable. The memory vanished and he found himself gazing blankly down at his paws. They were beginning to show signs of silver, just as his muzzle was. He was growing old, at least in his mind. It was a funny thing with him that he would over age himself, feeling as though he had just a year or two left to live when he was, in truth, at his prime. Shaking his head he set off across the field where he found a spot along on a slope to settle himself so that he got a look of the entire meadow, without being blinded by the tall grass. He would lounge here for a while and then make his way back towards his pack.

[Riona Shea]

The meadowland was nothing less than bucolic, a visual remedy for the previous night's wounds. The yearling she-wolf that was facing the verdure-filled terra was facing it with vacant eyes, their amber depths leading to nothing but an indistinct hint of melancholia. The remainder of her pretty young face, however, was nothing but emptiness; despite the occasional ear flick, she was perfectly still, content with simply surveying the outlying field. Her paws retained the footloose itch to wander; not necessarily because she reveled in instability but because she found that, if she stayed in one place for too long, anything positive about it would eventually wilt away. And so she did, never staying long enough to build foundations for anything- friendships, comraderie, or otherwise. There was a constant guard up, one built from the strongest steel, the hardiest brick, and the most transparent glass- that is, metaphorically speaking, her outward bearing was one of total taciturnity, complete introspectiveness, and utter visibility: it was typically painfully obvious that she had suffered something, but she incredibly unapproachable and her sense of aloofness was typically a put-off.

Yet this apparent muteness was equipoised by her unmitigated awareness of her surroundings. Sylphlike ears swiveled atop her small head and her keen nose swung about on its blunt muzzle, nares flaring with every wafting scent. It became evident that a hare (or something of the sort) was lurking nearby, and while her mouth watered, she kept her pace, padding slowly forward with no real purpose. It was a sad sort of ambling, one you would expect from a lowly sickla- and, indeed, she was not unlike one, despite the fact that she was a Kerl. Keeping her thin tail tight against her diluted hocks, the fae showed no sort of dominance, only a hard sense of persistence to “soldier on”, if you will. And it was in this downtrodden manner that she transversed the majority of the meadow, occasionally nosing the grasses beneath her paws.

As a whole, she was lacking any sort of a spark, and this went for her pelt and bodice as well. It looked thin, and unmanaged; she, too, looked the same way, as if she had been underfed and it was beginning to manifest itself. The notches of her spine were there, pressing along the curvature of her small back, as were the indentations of her ribcage, though less so. And her pelt itself- pallid, wan. Devoid of the patina that it should have held at such a tender age. And, in fact- if the color had been richer, she would have been stunning, for the hues that were lurking there were lovely. A gentle orange, tendrils of smoke-gray, little smudges of alabaster: together they formed a diluted calico of sorts, though the pigmentation did darken about her breast and her facial features. And her eyes- while “stunning” was too strong a term, they did have a certain something, if only because of their color- they were an odd amber, laced with bits of slate. She did not look her age; she was probably just over the half the size that she should have been, with elfin ears and dainty, cream-colored paws that, despite her dismal gait, carried her quite nimbly.

The familiar scent of another wolf drifted toward her, cloying and whisking around her. It was, quite obviously, a male, and he was not a Kerl. And he was close. She hesitated, ears and tail flicking in synch, before she continued onward, though at a much more cautious pace. After her last little run-in with a mann, she wasn't sure she wanted to meet another- not if he was anything like the previous, at least. Still, as always, her curiosity got the best of her, and she soon found herself a few lengths from the Varg, his fur a sort of silvery brown- thick, shaggy, and with dark eyes. Shea lowered her head, one paw in midstep, and glanced at him, shyness combating with her natural inquisitiveness. For several moments she remained where she was, though she sat, peering at the dragga with her (of course) unwavering gaze. It was lighter than usual- perhaps because a hint of something, some emotion, lurked there, or perhaps because she intuitively felt that he was not like Boreas. Still, she stayed quiet, except for murmuring softly, “Hello.” She dropped her gaze when she said it and pinned her ears; her presence was often disturbing and irritation was not something she wished to cause, if she could help it. But the loneliness had become an almost tangible thing, and any sort of contact was a prayer answered.

[Varloc]

ooc: Ugh. Sorry for the horribleness. You're posts are beyond amazing and I am giving you crap. Ugh. My muses are still sleeping this morning, I think. They fail me.

Varloc the Noble

The sun had moved to the highest point in the sky, chasing away the slight chill that had hung over the area during the morning. It was pleasant in the sun, a relaxing warmth washing down over his grayed body. It eased the tension that had been growing in his muscles. For a brief moment, he forgot about everything. His past vanished and his future meant nothing to him. All that really mattered was the present. The warmth of the sun against his coat and the gentle breeze that helped keep him from growing to hot under the rays of heat. He allowed his eyes to drift close, though kept his ears alert for suspicious sounds, not that he expected to find any. And it was only a matter of time before he began to doze, head slowly drooping down towards his chest then bobbing back up as he jerked awake. He lifted his heavy lids to gaze tiredly out over the meadow once more, yet saw nothing. Content that he was alone, he once again allowed slumber to work its fingers around his mind.

It was then, while he lingered in the realm just between consciousness and slumber that images of his family came to mind. He saw the loving gaze of his mate and the soft whining of his pups. He stretched out his neck to touch his nose to his darling love. At his touch, they blurred and vanished, leaving him standing alone in the make believe world. But within the empty world, the dark void, a voice echoed. He could not place it and for a moment, thought it to be his love, Hecate. The short, soft greeting echoed in his head. He attempted to call back, but his voice failed him. It was only as he struggled to make contact that he began to feel the unusual sensation of being watched. His jerked himself from the limbo, his eyes flicking open. He had not heard the female’s approach and if he was startled by her appearance, he did not show it.

For a moment he studied her closely, taking in her slender build, the obvious notches of her spine along her back. It was then that he felt a strange sense of grief grip his gut. He felt terrible for her state. She was young, that much was clear and perhaps, if his own family had survived, his own pups would be the same age. Rising slowly to his feet, he stretched before turning his attention fully on the female. His dark eyes where thoughtful and his jaws parted, allowing his deep, soft voice to flow free. “Greetings. Forgive me for not noticing you right away. I fear you stumbled upon me while sleep was fighting to take me. I am Varloc, warrior of the Koran pack. Even now, as he spoke the title of his rank and the name of his new pack, it felt strange on the tongue and it was almost unbelievable to his own ears.

He settled himself once again upon the ground, though this time he simply sat, curling his bushy tail around his left side so that the tip rested comfortably over his pack paw. It was only then that he studied her closer. He saw the strange expression on her face. It lacked any sort of emotion, though within her eyes, eyes that he found to be an intriguing color, he saw something, though he wasn’t exactly sure of what it could be. Perhaps sadness? Again, his gut clenched and he had to force him to remain seated so he wouldn’t frighten her by rising up and springing to her in an attempt to bring comfort. Something in the back of his mind urged him to seek out something for the youngster to eat, but for now, he kept himself rooted.

Hesitating, something that was unlike him, he spoke again, brown eyes darkening with concern. “Tell me youngster, why are you alone? You are in no state to be traveling these lands without someone at your side. He paused for a moment before continuing, though this time his voice was softer, dark eyes knowing. “Life has been unkind to you. I know not what has happened to you, but do not worry, you are among good company.

[Riona Shea]

OOC: Sorry it's so short. She's incredibly difficult to work with. And now Boreas has her all confused and feeling terrible about herself. I hope he's happy xD

The dragga had been silent, and for a moment Shea pondered if he was deaf; if she should simply turn tail- if he was indeed hard of hearing, he would never have known the difference. Yet, as she gave a weary, almost inaudible sigh and stood to retreat, the male's lids fluttered open and he seemed to start awake. He didn't respond straight away, and she felt his gaze lingering on her, studying her, but there was no animosity there, no revulsion. This came a tired surprise to Shea; she had been expecting at least some degree of aversion, though saying that she regretted seeing none would be a deep-seeded lie. She allowed her own eyes to graze his strong frame, noting his grizzled muzzle and graying paws. Her acknowledgement to his name, pack, and rank was momentary eye contact and a simple nod, though she still observed him warily. Koran? The name didn't strike any frightful chords; she had yet to hear stories of such a pack, and, typically, no news was good news- though, admittedly, the only canards she was privy to were the ones her previous pack's sicklas knew; the female (a middle-aged wolf named Cosa) was a sort of scandalmonger, if you will. His name- Varloc- was noted; she liked it, but then again she had found Boreas' name to be rather intriguing and he had inevitably further crushed what spirit she had. What had he called her? 'Fragile flower', or something of the like. And while Shea was not as fragile as she likely looked, the word 'wallflower' was utterly appropriate.

His voice was...unnaturally kind, one could say, and Riona Shea felt herself being taken aback by the gentleness with which he spoke. She would rather him have lashed out than have spoken with this uncharacteristic benevolence, and his obvious consideration made her anxious. She let a silence drift between them, though she gazed at Varloc with a sort of curious apprehension, perhaps laced with desperation. She simply wasn't used to this, wasn't used to- how had he put it?- 'good company'. And so she was left to sit there, seemingly mute, until she formed words enough worthy of talking. “I was essentially born alone; I don't mind. To say that I have been consciously looking for someone to face the world beside me would be a lie.” Chariness plaited itself in her demeanor and her voice; her thin tail twitched and her bi-hued eyes drifted to the horizon behind Varloc. “I would appreciate good company, Varloc,” She murmured, glancing down at her petite forepaws. “My name is Riona Shea. I'm sorry I woke you; I believed you to be awake.”

She wasn't quite sure what she wanted; actually, she didn't have a clue. She had been mentally attracted to Boreas because his actions and bearing reminded her of her previous packlife, and so she was naturally drawn. Yet Varloc, with his immediately altruistic manner, didn't remind her of anything she had previously been exposed to- perhaps one of her pack's sicklas, who would, on occasion, tell her stories and allow her to share their space. The male, Kiel, was blind, and was prone to volatility, but the female was much softer (though still rather brusque at times). Not in his carriage, of course, but simply because he had yet to speak illy toward her. And it was something that she greatly appreciated, though it didn't show. It was rare for anything to show, really. Shea peered at Varloc curiously, still wary of his intentions, though she doubted that they were anything but kind. Feeling like she owed him something, some tidbit of conversation for his kindness, she parted her jaws, voice soft, though flat. “Do you enjoy Koran? Are they pleasant there?”

[Varloc]

ooc: He probably is. He's such a jerk. And no worries. Mine is crappy. XD And equally as short. Blah. Oh well. When I work out a story for Varloc to tell, then the posts shouldn't be so short.

Varloc the Noble

The gray male had lapsed into silence after he had introduced himself and as the silence continued, he wondered curiously if he had imagined her greeting. Perhaps she couldn’t speak. Feeling suddenly foolish, he cleared his throat, wondering sort of action he should take now. If she couldn’t speak, then it would be pointless to attempt conversation, yet he had already questioned her. Silently chiding himself for his behavior, he lifted his gaze to once again to study her face, his mind reeling as he attempted to work out what to do next. To his pleasant surprise she spoke an answer to his inquiry. His content mood was dampened by her words, finding her story to be dreadfully unhappy, yet for the most part she seemed unbothered. And it was this that concerned him the most. However, it was not his business to remark on it, everyone had their way of coping.

Instead he smiled at her words. Although he had been looking forwards to some time alone, lounging in the sun, her company was welcomed. He was not one to pass up a good conversation he if he could help it. And if things turned out well, then perhaps a chance for a story would arise. Her name was easy on the ears and he found himself repeating it out loud. “Riona Shea” He gave a slight nod, locking her name to memory so that if he happened to cross paths with her in the future, he would not would at least be able to recall her name. “Then good company is what you shall have, my dear. Though I will warn you, I do have a tendency to ramble on. He gave a soft chuckle, a deep rumbling sound that seemed very similar to thunder.

For a brief moment he removed his gaze from her so that he could study the clouds as a soft breeze rolled pass, pushing the fluffy masses away with them. Furrowing his brows thoughtfully, he returned his gaze to Shea as she spoke up again. Her question was fair, though at the thought of Koran, a genuine smile tugged its way across his features, dark eyes softening.”Indeed, I do. The members of the pack that I have met have been more then welcoming. It is a wonderful place, though I have not been there long. But I can tell you that I plan on remaining there the rest of my days, however long that may be. He twisted his head so that he could gaze out over his shoulder towards the distant tree line. Beyond those trees were the Koran pack land and his home. His eyes brightened as he returned his gaze back to Shea. ”Do you have a pack to call home or are you just a traveler?He avoided using the more common term, kerl, feeling that it had an insulting ring to it. No, loners were wanders in his mind.

[Riona Shea]

A rather incredulous look drifted across her countenance at Varloc's words, his friendliness pushing her farther into a bout of silence. A baratone laugh rumbled from his chest, and this didn't help her surprised silence. This dragga, one of Koran's warriors, was not only acknowledging her and providing decent conversation, he was offering her companionship, at least for the time they would be here. The effect was one that was, in fact, rather potent, and she nodded, eyes widening. She was more than ready to listen to whatever rambling he felt he would like to provide, and willingly so. Previous canons demanded Shea keep a low profile, and kept silence unless spoken to. She had obviously broken past the second tenet; initiating conversation was no longer a difficult task. In a way she had been brainwashed to believe that she was more insignificant than anyone else, and she trusted this. Her life, her actions, revolved around this idea. “I wouldn't mind listening to you ramble,” Shea said softly. “It's been some time since I've had any suitable conversations at all, so...feel free to talk as much as you'd like. It won't bother me.”

Varloc smiled, parting his graying muzzle to speak once more. Little orange ears swerved to better catch his words, though she had trouble fathoming a pack of such consideration. The mann turned his head round to glance over his shoulder, and Shea, fearing danger, rose up on her haunches a bit (in that comical manner, with her paws tucked against her thickly-furred breast and her amber eyes wide), peeking over his flank as well. Seeing and sensing nothing, she furrowed her brow and resettled herself, dropping her head to rub her muzzle against one patched foreleg. Raising her gaze to him once more, she smiled, though rather sadly. “It sounds like a marvelous place to live. Do you have many problems with the Balkar?” The question was one laced with a tone of sincere concern; a quick image of Boreas flashed before her mind's eye. Balkar. If Koran was close to them, and the meadowland was close to Koran, then by extension she was skirting a pack's territory that she desperately wanted to avoid. Varloc's gentle voice broke through her moment of flashback, and she shook his head as his inquiry, smile slowly fading. “I had a pack, but now home is wherever I can manage to find shelter and sleep. It's not so bad, though. I don't mind finding myself in different places every night; a change of scenery is never a bad thing.”

[Varloc]

ooc: Forgive me for the lameness of the story, but I was so hyped up about Varloc telling one and then I started typing and my muse again died. I don't know whats up with me. Anywyas the story is inspired by the story of Perseus.

Varloc the Noble

Laughter once again boomed from his jaws, dark eyes twinkling happily. Indeed, this youngster reminded him dearly of his Hecate, though she had been rather reserved at first, their time together had brought her out of her shell and she had become one of the greatest leaders he had ever met. She spoke of the Balkar and her travels, and for a moment, he struggled to remember his own past travels and what exactly he had enjoyed about them. For the most part, he felt neither real hate nor love for it. A change in scenery as she had said was one of the perks, though it was a lonesome life, one that he would not wish on anyone. For a brief moment, his joyous expression faltered, showing one of sincere concern as he spied her saddened face. “Come now, no need for such a sad smile. You are alive and well and that should be enough to bring a smile to anyone’s face. And I am more than positive you will come to rue your decision if you listen to me talk. I am told that my stories are silly and pointless.

Again his expression faltered, a soft sign slipping from slightly parted jaws. He did love telling tales, ones of make believe monsters and wondrous heroes. Perhaps she would indeed enjoy one. His heart lifting with the thought, he suddenly recalled her earlier question. The Balkar? The name was familiar though his knowledge on the pack was not as great as the wolves that had dwelled here longer. He allowed his eyes to roll upwards in serious thought and then smiled once again back down at the female. “No, the Balkar don’t dwell close to here. Across the river some ways, but I don’t believe they offer any immediate threat. If they did, well they would have to come through me first. He offered a light hearted grin, his tail thumping once against the ground before he continued. “Now, if you are truly serious about listening to me ramble, then I shall reward you with a wonderful tale of an unlikely hero.”

Again he paused, though only for a moment to study her face, trying to decipher what thoughts and feelings might be lurking beneath the mask she had so craftily created. Satisfied, he gave a slight nod, clearing his throat and lowering his voice. “Long ago, there lived a great pack, far greater than the Balkar itself. A pack so great even some of the Gods envied the wolves below. The land in which the pack resided was lush and game was abundant, allowing hundred of wolves to thrive in the one single area. The old leader of the pack was a strong male, wise and frightful, though caring with times called for it. However, he was willing to do anything to make sure that he stayed in power, even if it meant destroying the family that he had raised. Again he paused, though this time for more of a dramatic affect then anything, glancing briefly into the female’s unwavering gaze. Again satisfied, he continued.

”The old male had gotten word from a prophet that his daughter would bare a single pup, a male that would be his downfall. The male would bring about the old leader’s death. Determined not to let that happen, he cast out his daughter into the harsh unforgiving world outside the pack territory. The land beyond the boarder was barren and empty, the exact opposite of the utopia that she had grown up in. Nevertheless, the pup was born. He was dubbed Erus and he grew up in complete ignorance of what had taken place. Now at an early age, Erus and his mother had been taken in by a small rogue pack, the leader having had an eye on his mother now for some time. Erus’s mother rejected the leader’s advances and so, deciding he would simply force the mother to be his, he conjured up a plan to rid himself of young Erus. Knowing he couldn’t out right kill him in fear that his plan for his mother would fail, the leader sent Erus out on an impossible task, knowing full well the youngster would undoubtedly fail. Young Erus was to seek out the greatest of grizzly bears and destroy him, returning to the pack with the old bear’s tattered left ear as proof. It is true now, that wolves cannot single handedly take down a full grown bear, but Erus was determined and set out immediately. On his journey, he prayed each night to the Gods, Gods that no longer exist in our culture today. It seemed like an eternity before young Erus finally discovered the grizzled bear’s den. Hesitant at first, he stepped forwards before the entrance and barked out a challenge, yet nothing answered. Disappointed, Erus turned to leave only to find that he was face to face with the monster himself. The giant rose to his hind legs, tiring over the poor male and gave a mighty roar, shaking the ground like an earthquake. And then he charged. He fell to all fours and rushed the wolf and it was certain that Erus would stand no chance. In a desperate attempt to avoid the oncoming rush, Erus leapt sideways, the bear rushing past him and slamming shoulder first into the side of the cave entrance. He stood there, disoriented and then gave a mighty grunt as he again rose to his hind legs. Again the earth rattled, though this time now because of his roar. Above there came a horrible crashing noise and several large boulders that had been trapped above the cave tumbled down, crushing the large bear below. Perhaps it had been luck; then again, maybe the Gods had taken favor in Erus and had granted him that gift. Erus snatched the tattered ear from the mighty bear’s head and rushed away never casting a second look back. By the time Erus returned home, he was an adult, strong and mighty just has his grandfather and father had been. And his arrival back set the pack into chaos. The leader, fearing selfishly for his own life quickly relented in his advances towards Erus’s mother and the two left the pack. It was then and only then that Erus learned of his true beginning. Angry and outraged, he led his mother back to his birth pack only to discover his grandfather already deceased. Being the rightful heir to the pack, Erus was warmly welcomed back for the stories of his bravery had reached their ears.

Varloc gave a heavy sigh as he concluded his story and then smiled down at Shea. Perhaps it hadn’t been the most exciting story, but it had shown that even if you aren’t strong or powerful, you can still make a difference. Erus had and he had been just a youngster when he had set out to face the bear.

[Riona Shea]

Shea offered him a smile with upturned corners, albeit a rather watery one, and nodded. “In that regard, you are correct. I don't want you under the impression that that much, at least, doesn't matter to me- I am more than content to still be here. And I don't mind stories that are silly, or pointless; I was subjected to many, many tales that, looking back, likely did me more good than harm- although, at the time, I only stayed long enough in the teller's presence to listen because he was the only wolf that would allow me to do so.” The yearling fae nodded- her expression rather grave, a look that should not have been on the features of one so young- and once more offered Varloc a smile that was of decent proportions in her book. “And I have no doubt that you would be quite the formidable adversary; although I do hope that your skills as a storyteller will match your apparent strength.” The sentence would have had more of an effect if it had been back with some tone besides dullness, but she couldn't really conjure it up yet. Still, it was obvious that she was trying, if for nothing else than as a sort of thanks for his kindness.

It was then that the grizzled warrior began his epic tale, and while Shea wouldn't tell him so, she was almost immediately enthralled, staring less at Varloc's face than at his lips. As he hesitated, seemingly weighing whether or not she wanted him to continue, she leaned forward, her method of reassurance. Throughout the story, she began to react- slight movements, you must realize, trifle little expressions. For instance, her ears flicked back in a listener's fear as Varloc described the frightful bear, as they had done when he had first described Erus' grandfather. Twice she had tried to interject- simply, “But-!” - But had found herself instantly silenced by the strength in which the Koran warrior told his story. For the remainder of the myth Shea had kept quiet, though she was mentally bursting with questions that- though haltingly- poured from her mouth as soon as Varloc seemed finished. Her voice was faraway, and confused, but she was determined to figure out the answers to her mindless inquiries.

“Why didn't Erus' mother tell him what had taken place? Wouldn't it have helped him to know that he was to inherit a great pack? And why did the gods help him?” Shea, you see, felt a great envy toward the hero of the story, but at the same time, a sort of repulsion at the fact that he seemed to be so content with his life, when all he had known was misery. But, unlike Shea, Erus had grown up with some degree of family...perhaps that was the root of her jealousy. Looking once more at Varloc, she added, “I think you're a fine storyteller. Are you known for that in Koran?”

[Varloc]

I apologize now for the horribleness of my post. ;-; Blah. I’m distracted. I am actually trying to get my dad to cave and allow me to adopt this puppy—it looks just like the dog we have and it’s the same age and my mom thinks it’s my dog’s sister because they’re both mutts of the same mixture and they’re nearly identical.

Varloc the Noble

Varloc had allowed a flicker of a smile to light up his face each time he heard the female before him utter “but”. At times, he had wanted to chuckle, forgetting his tale entirely as he watched her reactions. For once, he had an audience that appreciated his tales, though they had been in his own home pack, but during his wandering he had come across only a handful of vargs that had taken an actual interest in his stories. But nonetheless, he continued his story, at times his voice deepening at the intense parts and lightening during the more peaceful sections. He had kept his face relaxed and at times, void of any emotion, though it was clear that it was difficult for him to not get wrapped up in his own tales. He enjoyed his stories and stories of others. If there was one thing that he loved, it was new tales.

He was surprised by the outpouring of questions, though he gave a soft chuckle to cover up his surprise. They where questions that he could answer, thankfully. Otherwise he might have felt foolish. Clearing his throat, he attempted an decent answer to her first question. “Erus’s mother did not want to dampen his spirits by telling him that his grandfather had feared more about his power then he had loved his own grandson. She feared the anger that might have developed within Erus’s soul. She had also feared that if she did tell him that he was to inherit a great pack that perhaps a desire for power would also grow in him like it had his grandfather. So raising him in the life that they had lived humbled the young wolf and gave him a sense of being. He learned that life was difficult and that even the simplest things were important.” He smiled, his tail thumping softly against the ground and then he remembered her second question, his brows furrowing slightly in thought. The Gods where a tricky bunch and he had learned that the hard way and there was no real answer to what they did and did not do. However, he attempted a decent answer anyways. “As for the Gods, it is difficult to understand their workings, but perhaps young Erus had won favor in their eyes. Or perhaps his father, who had not been with him at birth, had been one of the Greater Lords. That would give him special treatment. But such creatures, born from Gods and mortals, are still required to earn their way into the God’s favor.”

Satisfied with his answers, he gave himself an approving nod, before turning his thoughtful gaze to the female before him. Her earlier words had hurt him, not personally, but he felt a deep grief for the life that she had been forced to live. It was unfair and she was so young. There had also been times that she had offered an expression far too old for her face. But he kept silent. She again spoke, offering him praise and he turned his head away in slight embarrassment. “Nonsense, anyone can tell stories and they can be just as enjoyable. As for being known in Koran for that, I am sad to say no. I have yet to get the chance, though I do hope that I do. I am a sucker for a comfortable resting spot and a good story. He paused, returning his gaze back to Shea and offered another gentle smile.”Come now, why don’t you give it a try?

[Riona Shea]

Shea made a sort of grumbling noise, looking away as Varloc answered. She wasn't sure whether or not his answers were truthful, but in the silence that followed her gaze was intent on her paws, though mentally she was reeling. Why did his mother expect him to be overrun with a power trip? Wouldn't she trust him enough to believe that he would know better? Despite her rather keen curiosity, she didn't further push her questions or request deeper answers, until Varloc brought up the theory that by some manner Erus had gained the Gods' favor, and then she spoke quickly, her voice scornful. “How had he possibly gained the Gods' favor? All he did was bounce around his entire adolescence , not preventing his mother from being seduced by his pack's leader, and take the ear from a bear that he hadn't even managed to kill. That's not fair.” The anger in her voice was not directed toward the storyteller, but instead toward the Gods' themselves- if they were actually there, that is. They had so flippantly given their luck to Erus, who had cheated, but they couldn't find it in themselves to save her from a harsh life.

She turned her amber and gray eyes sadly on Varloc, smiling slightly at his words, though her face quickly turned surprised, and she hurriedly looked away. “The only stories I know are ones from my previous pack's male sickla, and he would often run me off halfway through- not to mention, they were rarely enjoyable. But there was one that, as a younger cub, always gave me a spark of hope until I came to realize that they truly were only tales. It starts with gods, probably ones close to the ones in your story, and their making of the wolves.” Shea hesitated, trying desperately to remember the tale; she didn't want Varloc thinking less of her, especially when she had yet to rile him. “Before, long ago, wolves used to be much bigger, with eight legs and two tails and one head with two faces. These great wolves were so cunning, and so smart, that they decided that they should rule the world, and so a plan went underway to climb up to the Gods' domain and replace them. But because they were children of the gods, and could keep nothing hidden from their makers, their plan became apparent, and it made the gods angry, and left wanting to destroy the wolves for their insolence. Instead of destroying the entire Varg race, however, they decided to simply cut each wolf in half, so that they would be too weak to act on their original plan.

And so every Varg was cut in two, and flung opposite of their other half. They became crippled, and uncertain, and ever since, Vargs have been searching for their “other half”- that is, their one true love. True love, as I was told by the wolf before me, is when you finally find your own proper half and are reunited with them at last. And once one does find their other, it's a feeling unlike any other, one of complete wholeness that cannot be satisfied in any other way.” Shea's voice had been quiet, if not tainted with sorrow throughout her tale, and so she continued looking down. “I may have missed something, in the middle there, but that's all I can remember.”

[Varloc]

ooc: BLAH. I know its a horrible post. And the story was based loosely off the Antiogne story. O: Lalala

Varloc the Nobel

Varloc settled back comfortably as the female began her tale, his eyes locked on her face trying to pick up on any change in expression or a gleam in the eyes. To be honest, he had never actually heard the tale before and it joyed his heart to have the chance to hear a new story. He mentally locked her words away in the back of his mind. As she wrapped up her story and then adding on, in his opinion, sheepishly, that there was a possibility that she might have missed something in the story. From what he could tell, she had not. It had flowed and made perfect sense and it was a wonderful way to explain the idea of a better half. He attempted desperately to hide the sorrow that was bubbling up inside him as his mind drifted back to the past, molding an perfect image of his lovely mate. His other half was gone and he was left unwhole for the rest of his time.

Shaking his head, both at her comment and to clear his mind, he offered a gentle smile, his gray tail thumping gently against the ground to show his enjoyment from the tale. “Nonsense. Your story was wonderful. I don’t think you missed a thing. It makes perfect sense and I can personally vouch for the feelings that come with finding your other half.” He lapsed into silence, pondering over her earlier question and then smiled once more, nodding seriously. “You are full of questions aren’t you? He gained the Gods’ favor by showing the courage to do something for another without concern for his own safety. He did it unselfishly. True, none of the things he really did were that heroic, but the Gods don’t always bless the heroic. They bless the ones that do what is right.”

He rose once again, stretching and then settling himself on the ground again. He studied Shea face thoughtfully, seemingly deep in thought before speaking once again, dark eyes lightening up with an idea. “I will tell you another tale, one of a female that reminds me of you.” Again he paused, his gray ears slightly speckled with hints of silver flicking back as he tried to determine where to start. Finally, nodding slightly to himself as he settled on a place, he smiled once again to Riona, his strong dark muzzle parting allowing his deep musical voice to flow freely.

“There was once four siblings – and the way they came into this world was terrible, but that story is for another time. Simply, their father was their elder brother. Now females were looked down upon for this, but the two brothers of the group were not. They were, in fact, inline to inherit the pack, a powerful pack. However, the brothers could not agree who would take it and so the pack fell into a civil war. The brothers ended up killing one another and the Beta took over the pack. He ruled that the one of the brothers who was fighting under his name would be given a proper mourning and placed safely into a cave where no creatures could feast upon his fallen remains. The other was to be left out where scavengers could devour him. A law was made that any that tried to give him the proper burial would die. One of the sisters, Airlia, was enraged and set out to give her brother what he deserved. She gave him the burial, locking his remains away in a small cove, but was caught. The Leader had her trapped in the cove with her brother’s remains as her punishment, however the pack, moved by the sisters determination and love she had showed wanted her to be released , so giving in, the Leader ordered the stone removed, but to their horror, she was already dead. But it is not a sad ending for her, because the Goddess of Love took her soul and brought her up to the heavens to live with the Gods where she would become one of the lesser Gods, watching out for the mortals below.”

Taking a breath after his story, he studied Shea's face, his tail flicking lightly back and forth much in the way a cat's might, though it was not out of irritation th at he did this. He knew that she would have questions and so he decided he would attempt to answer some before she got the chance to ask. Smiling softly, he again spoke, his voice as deep and as musical as ever and his tone friendly and light. "Before you ask why Airlia reminds me of you, I will tell you that its because I feel that there is that caring and nobel characteristic in you. You might not agree, but I think its hidden deep down and it just needs a chance to rear its head."

[Riona Shea]

At her story's conclusion, Shea had been left staring rather dumbly at her paws, her rangy tail curling about her paws- perhaps a subconscious way of protecting herself from any harsh critique. True, she was wrong to think this about Varloc, who had proved himself to be of substantial character, but after a full year of emotional abuse and brainwashing in the aspect that she was always wrong, it was no less than what she expected. And so when Varloc instead wagged his tail and offered her praise, her gaze slowly rose, amber and smoke-colored eyes brimming with gratitude. “Th...thank you, Varloc. Those words mean a lot.” There was nothing but sincerity in her voice, and she smiled, unsure of what else to say. As he initiated conversation once again, she felt the warm rush of embarrassment spill through her and she flattened her ears, though she still listened intently to his answers, and was, surprisingly, satisfied with them. “So, you're saying that the gods' didn't grant Erus luck because he completed the task, but because he did it without concern for his own well-being? What about Tor and Fenris? Would they grant someone luck because they did something courageously?” The grizzled male seemed to inspect her, and she just lowered her eyes until he was finished, or satisfied, whichever happened to come first.

Varloc stood, stretched, sat, and began speaking again, much to Riona Shea's inward glee- she had enjoyed his last tale, though the fact that something about the protagonist mirrored her made Shea nervous. Still, she said nothing, choosing instead to first listen, and then ask questions later. It was shorter than the last, however, and so the time Varloc was given between her silence and her torrent of words was relatively slim, but she was as curious as ever. Before she could inquire as to why the mann felt that she resmbled Airlia, however, he answered the question for her, although his response was one that made her look away. Caring? Noble? Sure, she was caring if she truly needed to be, but growing up amongst nothing but hate had all but totally driven kindness and courage from the comely young fae. She didn't disagree, however, and instead began asking questions- again. “In older times, were drappas always looked down on for things that males weren't? My old pack was that way, I suppose...we had no female warriors, and only one female hunter.”

The idea that there might be an explanation for her pack's behavior sparked a keen interest in the willowy femme. But what had sparked her interest even more was Varloc himself- how he had come to know these stories, why he was telling them to her now, and, especially, why, earlier, he had spoken that he could 'vouch' for the feelings that her own story spoke of. And it was these exact questions that she said, speaking her thoughts. ”Varloc?” Shea began , rather hesitatingly at first. “Who told you all of these tales and stories? Will you tell more to me, eventually, perhaps? And...and what do you mean, about earlier, about knowing about your other half? I suppose you've already found her, then. What's her name?”

[Varloc]

Varloc the Nobel

The old male gave a slight nod, uttering a soft hmm as he pondered over her first question. Dark eyes narrowed slightly as he attempted to work out a decent question, but his knowledge on Tor and Fenris was limited and he felt slightly downcast at the idea of having to admit it. He had always taken pride in knowing just about everything about anything, but this was a subject he stumbled over. He couldn’t just say he didn’t know, feeling that it may dampen the youngster’s mood. Wrinkling his nose in concentration, he allowed his gaze to drop to his paws, jerking it up suddenly, dark eyes bright. “I will admit, my dear, that I do not know much about the Gods worshipped here but I do believe that, from what I have heard, they would bless a being if one so deserved it. Maybe not in the ways one might expect, but I will tell you more about that in a moment. As for your other question…”

He paused, allowing his dark eyes to settle upon Riona Shea’s face, admiring the pleasant intermingling of colors upon her brow and muzzle. If she would only smile more and she allowed her past to be just that. The past. Then her smile could brighten up even the darkest days. And she, he was certain, would be able to snag whatever young brute she wanted. For a moment, he looked down upon her not as a stranger, but as if she were his own daughter and he felt a strange heaviness on his heart. There was pain in her that would take years, he feared, to sooth and it was unfair that such a young heart had to carry the burden. Smiling slightly, he shook his head, finally breaking the silence. “No, my dear. Females weren’t always looked down upon. That is only in some areas, some packs feel that it is the right way, but they’re foolish and you will learn that they generally don’t last very long.”

Varloc allowed his grizzled muzzle to part, soft pink tongue rolling forth in a yawn. Her second question pricked his interest and he snapped his jaws together with a soft click and twisted his ears forwards. He enjoyed her questions and found it a wonderful change from the constant silence that he seemed to find himself. He had grown tired of wandering about alone and although he had a pack now, he had yet to find someone as interested in his presence as he was of theirs. “The stories and tales have come from my many years of traveling – but my father liked to tell tales to my siblings and I when we were just pups. And of course I’ll tell you more, whenever you’d like. Again he paused, trying to keep the sorrow out of his eyes. Forcing a soft smile, he sighed heavily. “And as for my other half, yes, I have already found her, but unfortunately, she left me far too early. I inherited my father’s pack and I took a mate. She was beautiful, wise and loving. Her name was Hecate and it was only a short time before she had our first litter, our only litter. Unfortunately, they perished because of a sickness and then shortly after, so did Hecate. After her death, I felt no great desire to lead and so I stepped down from the position, allowing a younger male, one I trusted, to take over. But instead of being grateful, he ordered my banishment and I was forced from the pack because I was still a potential threat to his leadership. I was so heartbroken, so lost that I felt that I could not go on. However, in a dream one night, the God, Zostar visited me and inspired me keep going. So here I am today. And although I miss Hecate dearly, I won’t let it crush me, but instead, I keep her memory fresh in my heart and mind and live my life. That’s what she would have wanted anyways. He paused, laughing softly, his dark eyes twinkling. She’d give me a good thrashing if she saw me wallowing in self pity. And trust me, she is not the one to get angered. She was small, but boy was she a handful and could send any male running with his tail tucked tightly between his legs.

[Riona Shea]

OOC: “Old male”...bahahaha.

Shea remained still, her bi-hued eyes trained intently on Varloc, though they glinted with a soft curiosity; Varloc was intriguing, to say the least. It had been quite some time that a Varg she had stumbled upon had caught her attention as a fish would to a baited hook, and she wasn't one to relinquish such adamancy. Her gaze flickered as his dropped, and she wondered if she had spoke something against him- the thought made her physically shrink, worry creating a haze in her lit eyes. “You don't have to answer any of my questions, Varloc,” She spoke quickly, lifting a paw anxiously and pinning her ears. “I know I pry too much.” Her worries were soothed, however, when the gray dragga parted his grizzled maw and spoke, his gentle voice a panacea. She knew better than to interrupt him, now; he would likely answer all her questions in due time and she felt it best to simply wait for the results- though she did not have to wait long. Still, at his words, she blinked, confusion obvious, and a hint of sorrow further tainted her face. “My previous pack was rather like that, though.” Her voice was again flat, void, though it was only to hide the wail of bitterness that she knew so well- she had never failed at holding it back, however. Shea was afraid that if she allowed what emotions she felt the most to rule her behavior, she would end up much like Boreas- angry, hateful, arrogant, and more alone than she was now.

Yawns are of a rather contagious nature, and so she mirrored him, her blunt muzzle opening in a cavernous exhalation; though her eyes involuntarily closed, she pricked her ears so that Varloc would know that she was still listening, and intently so. His father? “Was he there a lot, your father? Did you have any siblings?” She lowered her eyes, blinking in a shy sort of manner. “Would you mind telling me another, maybe” It was then Varloc's demeanor went through a change of sorts; it was subtle, but his words were sad and she actually let out a long, low whine, hesitating before crouching and shuffling a bit closer toward Varloc, keeping well alert for any hints of negativity toward her as she inched. She stopped a length or so before him, regretting the fact that she had asked him such a question at all. It wasn't her place to know; they were simply strangers.

And then Varloc laughed, a sound that initially made her cringe before she pricked her ears and gave him a look filled with wonderment. “She sounds wonderful...how can you live life so fully with that memory fresh in your mind? I think it's amazing that you were able to get past it...to remember her, without giving up. How do you do it?” Her voice was pleading, there at the end, and she looked down, gaze locked on her own petite paws before her glance returned to the dragga's face. It was full of pain, her eyes. They were seemingly glazed with it, and she felt so small as she hunched before Varloc, quiet, decibel one that was almost mute. “I was born the only drappa – the runt- in a litter of seven...I told you, my pack, Elden, didn't really appreciate the fairer gender. My parents weren't terrible to me; I was allowed to suckle, and I have mediocre knowledge of hunting- but my brothers enjoyed using me as their ragdoll. I....I don't really know why they hated me, only that they did. I was kicked out of the den before my brothers; I usually stayed with the sicklas, Costa and Kiel. I was invisible...I was allowed to stay within the boundaries of the packland, but I didn't exist. No one spoke to me. I was offered no words of encouragement, and the only words that I did receive were the ones from my brothers, and I suppose you might be able to deduce what sorts of words those might have been. I spent a year there before I left. I received no goodbyes, not from my mother, or my father, or even from Costa or Kiel. I had no one. I was always- I suppose I always will be- alright with the situation because I didn't know otherwise.” Throughout the story, she had reverted back to her original state- almost entirely withdrawn, with a toneless voice and a gaze that was no longer strong enough to remain on Varloc's countenance.

[Varloc]

ooc: He is OLD! Or at least he thinks he is. He's such a loser. XD And I am so sorry for this post. Its so boring and rambly and... yeah. Forgive me. O: But he talks alot specially when he enjoys the conversation. If you don't get him started he'll be realitively quiet.

BY the way, the story was based off of Odysseus. Losely. I left out all the adventures he went ono and what not, mostly because I wanted to do soomething along the lines of what his wife, Penelope did. O: She was cool.

Varloc the Noble

Varloc blinked, slightly overwhelmed by the amount of questions pouring forth from the young female before him. He recomposed himself, fearing that she would take it to mean that he was displeased with her inquiries, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. In all honesty, he was more than happy to have someone asking questions---talking with him. True, he was one who normally kept to himself, but if the time presented itself, he would willingly talk until his voice gave out on him. He ignored her first words, giving a shake of his head as she spoke of him not having to answer. Nonsense, he had nothing to hide, nothing to painful that he couldn’t speak of. He was not ashamed of what happened, not to overcome with grief that he had ever found himself incapable of speech. No. He was merely a wolf who had been dealt an unfortunate hand by Mother Nature. True, Hecate’s name always brought a stab of pain to his heart and his mind never failed to construct an image of her, so vivid and realistic that at times he had called out to her only to have the image fade away and leaving him once again, alone.

He realized suddenly, that she was still probably waiting for his answers and he again chuckled, his mood lifting. “Yes, my father was around a lot. Although I was to be the one to take his place when he stepped down, he treated all of us pups alike. He did not favor any of us over the other. As for siblings, yes. I had three. A sister and two brothers. Frosty, she grew to be a rather nicely built female, larger then some but I suppose she got that from Father. She was silver in color with some of the hairs of her coat tipped in white giving her the appearance as if snow had settled upon her coat. My father had chosen her name. She was first born and she was a rough sister to have around, always bullying us others, but we were close. She left the pack when she reached the age and I haven’t heard from her since. He paused, his gaze lowering slightly as his mind pondered over the outcome of his sister’s fate. Perhaps she had a family of her own and a lovely pack to protect her and her young. Though the idea of her lounging in a cave with pups at her belly seemed far from something she would do. She was without a doubt, a leader, but pups were something that just didn’t fit into her plans.

Finally, Varloc lifted his dark gaze back up to the female and gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “But she is a survivor and I do not doubt that she is off somewhere leading a pack of her own. Then there was Caedo. He was a black male and rather quick and withdrawn. He grew to be a skinny one but an excellent runner. He always took our play fights to far and he left much earlier than Frosty did. I have no idea whatever became of him, though I wish I did. Lastly, there was Andonis. He was the youngest and got picked on the most. But he never made it to adulthood. When we were but a few months old, having just been able to leave the den and romp and play out in the open, a large eagle snagged him up.” Again, his gaze drifted and his voice faded as he was lost in his own thoughts, recalling that day with surprising clarity. He remembered the painful cry of his mother, the vicious, rage filled snarl of his father as he made a desperate leap into the air after the eagle. But it was already too far gone and there was nothing anyone could do except mourn the loss. He remembered though, that night as the he and his remaining siblings lay together in the den, they huddled closely sharing sad glances and soft whines. It was the only time he could recall Frosty looking so upset and Caedo, the normally expressionless little whelp looking lost and confused.

He gaze shifted back up to Riona Shea as she began speaking of her pack, his heart breaking as she recalled her experiences. It hurt him to see her face and to hear her speak and he wondered angrily, why would anyone treat their young in such a manner. He wondered, suddenly, why it seemed that the ones unworthy of parent always had young and yet, he who had done everything possible for his son and mate had lost everything he had ever loved. When she finished her tale, he remained silent, allowing it to settle over them, unsure of how to speak. He was slightly concerned by the state she had fallen back in. Finally, deciding on a course, he spoke softly, gently. “You do not need to lock your feelings away… Do not be frightened to let them loose. You asked how I had survived and carried on…It was because I had let myself go. I wanted so badly to destroy anything I came across. I cursed the Gods and I felt a grief so horrible that I was certain my heart was truly ripping in too. It was when I was at the point of giving up, when I had finally exhausted myself that Zostar came to me. And the reason I go on is because I know I will rejoin Hecate soon. And if I leave to early she will be less then pleased when I arrive. And believe you me, she is not one you want to make unhappy.”

Varloc had attempted to lighten the tone at least briefly, hoping that he could possibly coax her from the withdrawn state she had fallen into. Lowering the rest of his body to the ground, he watched her closely but then finally spoke, his voice remaining soft and gentle just as before. “It seems to me, that although your brother’s were harsh to you, they were still willing to give you attention. To them, you existed which to me, makes them far better than your parents. They were obviously unaware of the gift they had been blessed with. But let the past be the past, my dear. And do not be frightened to feel anger towards your pack. Anger and bitterness are not too be feared—it is only when there is too much of it is it dangerous. And as for another tale, I would be more than happy to share one with you. Varloc lapsed into another cloud of silence, his dark eyes lifting towards the sky as he probed his brain for another tale, one that ended happily, feeling that it was indeed a time which one would be more than welcomed. Even if Riona Shea didn’t need uplifting, he did. Suddenly, his eyes brightened and he returned his attention back to Riona, a pleasant smile settling upon his grizzled muzzle. “I have the perfect tale.”

He hesitated for only a moment, allowing himself to get everything in order within his mind and then composing himself so that he could better deliver the story. “There was once a leader of a great territory, filled with hundreds of wolves and he was beloved by all, but mostly by his dear mate. His name was Recudo and he was a powerful yet kind leader. However, trouble arose in an allied territory and he was called to aid them. He left behind his family but promised that he would return. However, moons passed and nothing was ever heard of him. It was rumored that he had perished in a fight and so, suitors began pouring in to court Recudo’s lovely mate, Tenera. They became so persistent that they threatened the life of Tenera’s young son, so she promised that when she dug a new den for herself that she would pick a new mate. So each day she would dig, but during the night, unknown to all, she would fill in what she had done. Again, time passed and the males were growing increasingly impatient and where to the point where they would simply force Tenera to choose, den or no den. It was when of the males made an attempt on her that a grizzled beast of a wolf leapt forwards and pinned the other male down to the ground. It was Recudo, he had been faced with many perils during his battles and journey and it was only then that he had finally managed to return to his love. But even he had to prove himself to Tenera before she accepted him back fully. She had been loyal to the end, even if it meant destroying what life she had. Recudo had given his word and she had kept on going believing that, even if it meant she would not see him again in life, but instead in death. As he concluded his tale, he stifled another yawn, though it was not entirely because he was tired. True, he was starting to feel a bit weary but not of Shea’s presence. In fact, he was not looking forwards to parting ways. He enjoyed his conversations with her. She had mentioned being a kerl and knew the dangers that kerls faced and he wished not to leave her alone. He wondered curiously, what sort of backlash he would face if he were to invite her into the pack territory, after all Kai had done it with him.. But then again, Kai was the Beta and he was nothing but a simple warrior. He would remain here as long as possible and even help her find a place for the night. Then possibly return to the meadow to keep an eye on her, if she so wished to remain, until he could figure out a plan of action.{/color] “Tell me, do you want to find a pack? There are several good packs around here that I can show you. Perhaps even the one that I come from. It is lovely and the wolves that I have met are welcoming. They do not judge on past deeds, for if they had, I am sure I would have remained a kerl myself.