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Post by Arthfael on Mar 16, 2009 15:37:21 GMT -5
Over the tops of the trees one could faintly see the stirring of the moon as it rose in the still-sunlight skies. It was nearly full, and the great face of Luna was visible even from the lowly spot on the side of a mountain where a watcher now stood. If he had not been taught to see her since birth, Arthfael would not even have noticed that the moon often made appearances in the daytime. He snorted at the thought of the goddess he had once prayed to every time the moon was full. This would be the first moon that he didn't pray to her. It was said in his father's beleifs that the goddess of the moon would strike down any Varg that dared howl to any but her in the nighttime. Arthfael had howled during the daytime frequently since leaving his home, and no harm had yet fallen upon him, that of a deity or any natural disaster. He laughed at the thought. "Hah! Look at that, Father! Your Luna won't ever harm me. That which does not exist can't harm me!" Boldly he lifted his head in the strong challenge he had sung on the night he'd left war and ruin behind him and fled into peace.
His chuckle faded when he realized that he might yet have far to go. The Varg that had told him of Tor and Fenris had said that his home was only a moon to the south. "Guide me to my new home," he whispered, then began to trot onward. Along his sides great ripples spread with the gait he had settled into. Black fur on top, silver on his sides, and white on his undersides, his coloring was one rare to the Varg. The last known had been called the same as he. Many lifetimes ago. Arthfael was fond of his name, which ment in some ancient tongue "strong as a bear." More often than not his friends called him Art, which was simply a word for bear. He grinned at the thought. Fighting his way free from the veteran that was his father had certainly earned him that name, no matter what his condescending mann had complained of in the past. Laughing bitterly he said softly, "I am no coward." He cast a scornful glance over his shoulder to where his sire was still fighting his wars. His father was a fool.
There was no time to wait around, but Arthfael saw no reason to run. There were a few points in time when his father was not completely unhelpful after all, and in all his military training the one lesson most often taught and best learned was to never go running into unfamiliar territory. Watch, observe. Move slowly, know your surroundings. He knew that under his thick fur was a scar from a wound that had nearly killed him when he was but two moons old. No, he would never make that mistake again.
Something was stirring in that Varg. As he was moving slowly south, down the mountainside and into the unknown he began to feel terribly lonely. The moon was still there in the sky, and the sun was dropping over the horizon. He was no Kerl. He had not been made to be a Kerl. With a sense of unease, he howled again, this time loud and long. When he needed to catch his breathe he paused, listened for a reply, then tried again. The message was a simple one. "I am here. I am alone. Please come to me."
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Snowflame
Sikla
Pup of Koran
Growing older, leaving my cubhood behind
Posts: 124
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Post by Snowflame on Mar 17, 2009 13:04:33 GMT -5
The nearly full moon peeped up from the tops of the trees as the young fae awoke. She noticed that it was still light, and trembled slightly. Her beautiful pelt shone and her bright, intelligent eyes searched around her. Where was her brother? He had promised he would return, but maybe he was still searching for food...
Snowflame knew the old belief of praying to Tor when she was full, but the fae never did, after her parents and other siblings had been killed. The thougth of them sent a surge of deep emotion through Snowflame, and she sorrowfully lay down and howled quietly to herself. She and her brother had been travelling South and he had gone in search of food.
Tor shone down on the Drappa and she followed her down the mountainside. Her pale grey pelt made her look almost ghost like, but in her mind thoughts were running amoke. Thoughts of her parents, their proud and caring faces always there, and of her two brothers, one of which had been killed.
Suddenly, Snowflame heard a howl from not far away. She thought it sounded familiar, and noticed which sadness that the wolf was alone and wanted company. Well, she needed company, so she gratefully lifted her muzzle and howled.
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Post by Dax Ehzno on Mar 17, 2009 20:28:25 GMT -5
OOC: Hope you don't mind me joining as well!
It was far colder in the mountainous regions of Transylvania and the thinner air was proving to be quite distasteful to the hoary Varg who was currently inhaling it. The intense frigidity of the terrain was something he had thought was finally beginning to pass with the obvious coming of spring, and this thought made him rather irritable as he completely rethought every reason for making the rather pointless trek this far north. Better to have stayed in the meadow, he reprimanded himself mentally. There there was not only some degree of warmth, there was a thick ring of trees that encircled the vast prairie and a decent amount of lera and herla. Here, he had yet to see s much as a field mouse scamper across the rocky under-footing. For some preposterous reason the mann had decided it might actually be a good idea to travel up, and while the going forward didn't prove to be entirely difficult, it was the coming back down that was nearly killing him. Every time it seemed an outcropping of slate-gray rock would suffice as a foothold, the seemingly granite would turn out -surpirse!- into shale and he would have to perform a series of ridiculous twists to regain any sort of friction at all. While his oversized paws made for excellence in speed and exactness of stride on solid land, this gravelly hillside was terrible. A wolf naturally has very tough pads, but he was beginning to feel the wear and tear of the few hours he had been here as little pockmarks of gouges began to send little waves of pain up his legs.
With a happily surprised smile he realized that perhaps Tor or Fenris had heard his mutters- the earth was quickly flattening, and, a few steps later, the rock did a complete three-sixty and he again trotting on mossy land. Hard, cold, ugly land, but still land. He hesitated in his stride and cast a quick look back toward the gruesome descent he had just made, eyeing it angrily and snorting before continuing onward. He wanted to get back to his beloved meadow, where the landscape was far more picturesque and not nearly as daunting. The wolf's pale blue eyes pierced through the ebony shroud of night; being so elevated, the earth had attracted a few bumbling clouds and the resulting fog was nearly impenetrable, even for a mann with hunter's eyes. Yet as he loped forward, the thick air would always part and the air began to change again the farther he moved, the fog subsiding to nothing but sweet wisps that would hang before his muzzle. He would bite through them, searching for some taste, wondering what the Gods' home was made of, and was severely disappointed when nothing came to mind from the resulting taste of, well, nothingness. Of cold, he supposed. Dax slowed once more to a slow sort of amble and dropped his maw to the ground, large black nose attempting to scout out any unaware lera and was met with disheartenment when the few scents he could find were stale; no lera had found themselves where he was in some time.
He was definitely a hunter, and a perpetually hungry one at that, though the task of being a Kerl had had no real physical strain on him (though, admittedly, he had had a nasty scrape with a hunting hound not more than two moons ago and while he had come out of it mostly unharmed his head was now sporting a rather deep hole, courtesy of his opponent's fangs). Naturally taller than the average male, though naturally slimmer as well, his armature was one that was rather aerodynamic. Built entirely out of lean muscle, Dax Ehzno was not your typical rough and unruly male; his thick coat belied his true hunter's form. His limbs were long and lanky, made not only for swiftness, but to a large degree strength as well, and his body ended in a rather thick, rather long tail that was usually found over his back- at nearly four years old, he could easily hold his own and was very proud for a loner, especially (of all things) of his pelt. Despite the harsh Winter months, it had suffered very little damage and continued to be sleek and thick and offering protection against both the elements and fangs. An agouti mixture of grays and silvers and charcoals and russets, he had a rather typical-colored pelage for a Carpathian timber wolf despite the near-red color that invaded his shoulder blades and traveled back down his spine and the saddle of his back, all the way to his hind haunches and hocks and ended finally at his tail, which was actually of a bright ginger hue. It was of this magnificent tail that he was most proud, actually. His head ended in a short muzzle and his auds seemed to be both too big and situated too far forward, and underneath nears a pair of cerulean eyes shone brightly, ringed beneath by half-moons of black. Dax was a handsome wolf, though he still looked much like an overgrown puppy in build.
An initial howl came as a sudden shock to him and his brow furrowed as he cocked his head to the tune, its echo confusing him in the deep bowl of the mountainside, though he set off toward the direction he thought it was coming from anyway, his long strides swallowing the loam beneath him. Moments later a second howl breached through the night, its message clear as well as its origin, and he tweaked his direction and continued, positive of his tracking. With a sort of incredulous growl he heard a third howl, one that was clearer and closer, though not from the same Varg, and with a grin he paused, inhaled, and let his light tenor voice carry over the mountains, a prequel to his arrival and a message that he meant nothing but peace when he did finally find the owner of the first two howls. Dax did not like the solitary life of a Kerl; he had been lucky enough in the past week or so to stumble across three very different faes and since leaving their company he had once again found himself seeking the company of others, whether mann or fae. He had thought several times of joining a pack, but had yet to make any alliances or bonds with any members of any pack whatsoever and disliked the idea of joining a pack as a total stranger. Dax had belonged to his home pack not more than a month ago, but a rift with the alpha's son had created such a gaping hole in his friendship with the leaders that he had seen it as best to leave, and so he did, willingly and of his own accord. His fate belonged to Tor and Fenris, now.
The wind had began to pick up, making it seem even colder as the temperature dropped in response to Tor and while this cut him to the bone it also proved to be helpful: a wolf was close, one that was obviously male and obviously a Kerl. Lowering his head, Dax picked up speed, his steps more exact and sure now that he was on normal land, and within a few minutes he spotted the large shape of a putnar. The fur pattern caught him off guard, and he halted, ears twitching in uncertainty and his tassel rising in a Kerl's proud display of dominance, though he dipped his head to the male as he approached, standing some distance away and gauged his size and intentions. This wolf was obviously younger than he, and smaller in height but far more burly in build, with overbearingly large paws and a pelt that made Dax intensely jealous, with its onyx and silver and white. He didn't seem to be a threat; Dax snorted inwardly at the thought, for what wolf would howl for company if he wanted none? Offering a smile, Dax stood before the second Kerl. "Hello," he spoke, "What brings you to the mountains? I'm Dax." Keeping his position- tail raised, head up, ears forward- Dax kept his cyan orbs on this mann's emerald ones, and waited, carrot-colored banner waving back and forth.
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Post by Arthfael on Mar 18, 2009 7:36:44 GMT -5
The mountainside was not silent for long after his second howl. It seemed that, just as the notion appeared to him of giving up and continuing on his way, a feminine howl breached the twilit expanse around and before him. With the quite military upbringing he had had, it was quite impossible for him to just throw caution to the winds and follow this ghost of a sound to whatever end there happened to be. Instead he allowed his keen night-vision to slice through the layers of shadow as he continued on his way, now with his path altered that he would locate the owner of that strong voice. His gait now was slightly lurching, with his muscles tensed and prepared for the danger that could yet be waiting before him. He allowed a growl that was more of a neutral rumble precede him into the presence of the pale grey fae. Seeing her youth, her stature, and her welcoming posture he thrust aside any ideas of this Varg wishing him harm, and he gave a crooked smile that pulled up the left side of his muzzle and caused the black and silver to clash momentarily before finding their peace. In the traditional greeting of his pack and family, before he knew what he was doing, he had cocked back his right ear, tilted forward his left and lifted a paw while touching his nose to the cold, hard earth. He straightened self-consciously, then spoke in a voice of husky baritones. "Why, hello--" he began, but his speech was cut off by a reaching tenor call.
That call was still fading on the still air as he whirled, the thick fur between his shoulder and neck bristling, more angry at being taken by surprise than anything else. With a conscious effort he flattened his fur and allowed his crooked smile to replace the grimace of anger that had, only moments before, mastered his face. The Varg that came was, undoubtably, older than the two that currently stood together, though not old by the standards of the wolf. He looked to be about the age of his father, but there was a light in those cerulean eyes that had never shown through the military coldness of his father. Arthfael watched with a vague amusement as a gauging look came into the other mann's eyes, evaluating for danger in the same way he had. The moment passed quickly, however, and the newcomer introduced himself in an easy, collquial way of speaking. The northern wolf shook himself in a gesture that seemed to send all unease flying from his shoulders.
Looking between the two new Varg that he had, quite fortunately, come across, he began his speaking again, though in quieter tones to begin with for the simple reason of letting the others know he meant absolutely no harm to them. They had forstalled his loneliness, after all. "Greetings to you, Dax, and you, fae," the name of the loner male felt unfamiliar on his tongue, but the act of speaking a solid, real wolf's name worked a magic on him in lifting the veil of solitude from his brow. He wondered for a moment what the fae's name was, but let it be for a moment. "My name is Arthfael, though most just call me Art. You may call me that as well." His ear kept twitching, waiting to drop into that gesture that comes without thought. That bow of sorts that he had given the female. It had been taught to him from the day of his birth, and it was quite difficult to override the instinct to repeat it to the mann.
To distract himself a moment, he turned his attention fully upon the female. "It seems we await solely upon your name," he said with a kind grin. He let his tail sweep the air directly behind him as it sat level with his back in a gesture that was not submissive, but not dominant either. It was nothing more or less than a simple show that he was relaxed with these two, that he felt no threat and was no threat. He tried to forstall the feeling of elation in his chest, but it became too much, and he laughed aloud. "I am sorry, if I seem rude, my friends. I have just been away from civil company for nearly a moon! It is quite the blessing that you heard my call, you see. I might have gone mad with the waiting, had you not." He smiled and wagged his tail more furiously, dipping his head to lick his chest in a nervous gesture. He was not quite sure if he knew how to act in the company of these southern Varg, as most that he had met before he had fought to the death. After this statement, he found himself hoping that he had not made a mistake.
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Snowflame
Sikla
Pup of Koran
Growing older, leaving my cubhood behind
Posts: 124
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Post by Snowflame on Mar 18, 2009 13:54:12 GMT -5
Light shone in the Drappa's eyes as the young male appeared. She blinked in surprise at his unusual pelt, but thought it was rude to stare. Her intelliegent blue eyes showed warmth and she smiled kindly at the male. The mann greeted her and she grinned happily, glad of the new company.
Suddenly, another male appeared, making Snowflame's fur stand on end. Her shimmering pelt not unlike a ghost reflected the light and she searched the two Vargs which had come into her company. The trees rustled gently as the young male introduced himself as Art, and asked for her name. He explained that he had been away from civil company for a moon. Snowflame studied the mann, then said boldly and clearly, trying not to speak her nervousness, " My name is Snowflame.."
Snowflame stretched and studied the other male, and raised her banner high. He comes from the South like me! she thought, then went over to the Varg and sniffed him curiously. She hoped that it wouldn't give the wrong impression. She looked at his features, noticing that he was unusually tall and slim for ordinary wolves his age. She estimated his age around about three to four years of age. She wagged her red tinged tail and turned to Art. She looked straight into his emerald coloured eyes, and felt something strange stir in her stomach. She let it pass, and lay gingerly down onto the hard ground and rested her silvery head onto her muddy paws.
Snowflame suddenly looked up at the Dragga's and said with sadness in her sweet voice, "Have you seen another wolf around? One that is my age, and has similar coloured fur?"
SHe knew it was probably hopeless, but maybe they had seen her lost brother...
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Post by Dax Ehzno on Mar 18, 2009 16:33:20 GMT -5
OOC: Sorry about the shortness; I was rather rushed >.<
It took but a moment for the wave of confusion to drift past him as he realized with a mental start that there was in fact a third Kerl, a femme, and Dax was entirely baffled as to how he hadn't noticed her before. Eyeing her with a small smile he dipped his head to the younger wolf, his orbs scrutinizing her features alongside the simple movements she made, though it didn't take him long to decide that she meant absolutely no harm. He caught her gaze for a swift second and was taken aback by their color; though cyan eyes were a trait of the Vargs in his family he had yet to see others sporting them, and the sight drew him in. He smiled at the fae and wagged his ginger tassel before turning his attention to Art and nodding at the introduction. "It's a pleasure," Dax spoke, settling down to his haunches and studying once more Arthfael's pelage. How quaint, he thought to himself, though he wished his own traditional fur was anywhere near as lucid as this northern Varg's.
With a frown his attention was brought to the second dragga's ear and he wondered if there was a sort of insect floating around that would eventually make its way over toward his own head. Can those things live in this altitude? he wondered, brow furrowing in thought, though this was broken as Art spoke again, this time to the currently nameless drappa. He offered the alabaster wolf a wide grin and Dax, too, thumped his tail on the ground and smiled sweetly toward her; when she finally spoke her moniker, Snowflame, the grizzled Varg's voice met the air with "That's a lovely name." in an effort to relieve the tension that seemed to be slowly building. The trio of wolves remained silent for a few moments- something that Dax, as cheerful as he was, couldn't stand the thought of- when Art broke out in a peal of laughter that both caught him off guard and greatly lifted the we're-all-strangers-here atmosphere before he preceded to explain any impolite (and apparently uncharacteristic) behavior or words due to his separation from civil society over the past month. Dax grinned widely as he watched Art's stature change and he wagged his own tail fiercely as a response. "Don't worry about it Art," he chuckled lightly with something of a shrug, "We'll get you back to civil company in no time; anywhere for certain you're headed? I'm a Kerl myself, but I can't say I'm too fond of these mountains."
Beside him, Snowflame stretched and her tail rose and Dax shifted his attention to the fae as she approached him. Unsure of her intentions as she padded closer and closer, the mann pinned his ears against his head and stood quickly, raising his own tail in response, uncertainty glinting in his gaze. This mild display of dominance was quickly brought to a halt as he realized that she was only testing his scent, and he hurriedly calmed himself and sat back down, remaining as still as he could until her inspection was over. No matter his size, he didn't want to be the origin of trouble, though these thoughts were pushed down as she wagged her tail and turned instead to Arthfael before laying down and resting her silvery muzzle on dirtied paws.
As he was about to turn again to Art and ask if he would like to venture further into Transylvania, Snowflame lobbied the two draggas for information about a fourth wolf, and the sadness that ravaged her gentle tone pained Dax, as if her woes were turning into his; he was very empathetic as wolves go and with a frown he shook his head slowly. "No, miss, I'm afraid I haven't..." He trailed off, imagining all the possibilities of connections between them; he had yet to become acquainted with a Varg that hadn't experienced some tragic accident in their past and it always made him feel both incredibly foolish and incredibly lucky that he hadn't.
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Post by Arthfael on Mar 19, 2009 8:09:21 GMT -5
There was a moment after Art had spoken his introduction that was filled with silence, as Dax looked to the lightly colored fae. With faint amusement, he realized that the older Transylvanian mann had only just realized that it wasn't simply the two of them. That crooked smile made a brief return, and it swiftly disappeared when attention was returned to him. Dax spoke rather politely, though with his emerald eyes Arthfael could've sworn he saw envy, well hidden by those strangely blue eyes. With only a moment's pause, he replied in kind to the cordial phrase. "The pleasure is mine," he said in his husky voice. "Glad to meet you, both of you, to be sure." Now, it seemed, was a time to check over his new companions. His first measuring glance was aimed at the fae. It was with admiring eyes that he noted her coloring, her beautiful eyes, and her rather shy and reserved bearing. It seemed as though she were trying her hardest to get up a courage, and once it was enough she spoke with great pride and presence. "Snowflame," he repeated, if only to be sure he'd remember it. "A fitting name. Names should describe that which they name, if only viscerally. My name, it means 'strong as a bear' in my homelands. Does your name have meaning, Dax? It suits you, with or without meaning." He smiled at his opening to conversation while awaiting a reply. His ear twitched only once more, seeming to have given up on its instinctive need to flick back for the greeting gesture.
Very suddenly, the air became tense as Snowflame raised her tail and moved a little bit closer to Dax. Art saw it, upon first glance to be a threat, and so stood taller and raised his own slightly, more than a little prepared to assist where he was needed. But, as he watched, Snowflame tested the air before Dax, and the other mann relaxed as well. He thrust aside the automatic thoughts of calculating where to leap, and let peaceful thoughts calm him as he watched their subtle and brief exchange. The silence seemed to stretch between them following this moment, and, finally, he broke it with his statement of being a loner for a moon. He chuckled at Dax's straightforward reply. "Aye, we will at that," he intoned with humor. Here she looked up and met his gaze for a moment with a strange look in her eyes, and then looked away so swiftly that he thought he'd imagined it. She lay on the ground, and Art took it as an invitation to sit. The coolness of the earth made him nostalgic for a moment, but it passed.
He suddenly raised his head, prepared to ask a question of the two, see if one or both of them would hunt with him, or perhaps keep him company while he searched out a pack. But before he could, Dax gave a look like he was about to speak, only to be halted before he could start by the sudden question from Snowflame. "I have seen no other Varg, either, Snowflame," he answered calmly, with the subtle inflections of sympathy painting his tones. "A brother of yours?" He shivered slightly at the mention of the brother, for it brought fresh to his mind unbidden memories of his final confrontation with his father. He shook the memory away and crept closer to Snowflame, lying down beside her and offering his side as a comfort and a support for her to lean upon. Art knew only too well the pains a lost brother could give a Varg. "I'm sure he is around somewhere. I'll keep looking for him and tell him you are seeking him. I promise."
It was here that a chill wind gusted down from the mountain peak, and the promise of snow was on its very breathe. Although spring was coming, in the mountains know could still fall at any moment. Although the cold would not bother him any, he seemed to sense that Dax detested the place, and perhaps the cold would be more harmful to the others than to him. "I can scent some snow on the wind, and snow at night in the mountains can be treacherous. What do you say, that we move further down the slope?" Art knew that Dax would be familiar with that, for with age came experience, and if he knew it the older Varg would as well. But Snowflame was younger than he, and his father had instilled a sense of chivalry in him that drove him to want to protect this fae, though he only barely knew her. He gave Dax a knowing glance, with which he wanted to convey his concern for the somber young wolf.
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Snowflame
Sikla
Pup of Koran
Growing older, leaving my cubhood behind
Posts: 124
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Post by Snowflame on Mar 19, 2009 12:51:36 GMT -5
Her heart sank in a wave of turmoil as the two vargs said that they had not seen her brother. She looked up sadly at Art, and was comforted by his warmth as he lay next to her. Snow was on the way, so Snowflame knew they must continue down the mountain, to shelter and warmth. She could spot clouds coming towards them, and she imagined them to be in the shape of her dead family. She howled bitterly, and snuggled her muzzle into Art's soft fur.
She didn't know how long it had been, but all she knew was that her family were lost, and there was probably no hope of her brother ever returning. She was not even aware if the others exchanged words, for her mind was filled with memories. It became so unbearable that she stood up with a jolt and bolted through the trees.
Snow started falling thick and fast, but the young fae was paying no attention to it. "[Brother! How could you leave me all alone?"/i] she howled angrily, and she cursed Tor and Fenris and Wolfbane. Snowflame stumbled on a twig and surged head first into a tree.
She felt dizzy and confused, then a sudden wave of shock came over her as she realised what had happened. "You complete fool Snowflame! You ran away from the two Dragga's who could of been your friends!"
As the snow fell onto her pelt, making her even more cold, she thought she could hear wolves nearby. Was it Art and Dax? She hoped with all her might that it was. She remembered Art's emerald eyes, and Dax's unusual build, and how they had been kind to her. I wonder where they are now? They might come looking...but who would? I'm just a silly little Drappa, all alone-and hungry she thought bitterly, her empty stomach growling for the hundredth time. She couldn't hunt, for she haden't really learned how, and she hadn't eaten for about a week. Her brother had usually gone searching for food, and brought some back for her.
Now she knew that her destiny was settled. In the snowy mountain side, she was to die. She knew it. Only a miracle could save her now...
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Post by Dax Ehzno on Mar 19, 2009 20:14:44 GMT -5
From the east, a sharp and unwanted gust of wind broke against Dax's hunched back, causing the cherry fur to bristle and his jaws to clack out of sheer frigidity. The sensation ended as quickly as the gale and a watery smile curled itself around his muzzle, aimed at Art, and he followed the second mann's gaze as it moved to Snowflame, though he quickly readjusted his focus; recently he had met several femmes and they had all put him under a scrutinizing gaze for extended periods of time and the sensation was not one he wished to press upon others. He relied only on the rather bold hope that they had seen something they liked, and not detested, as a reason for continuous gazes.
At the question he shifted uncomfortably, one ear flicking back and a frown forming across his muzzle. ”Well, ah, you see,” he began quietly, ”The Varg who named me- my mother and the Drappa, as my father and the Dragga were both on a hunting trip- had a bit of a rift during the process; my mother wanted to name me Daxton, which, if I remember correctly, means 'leader', and my Drappa didn't really appreciate her insinuating that I would take her son's rightful place, or something along those lines, so in all actuality, I have two names- the second is Ehzno, which means 'he walks alone'. It's all rather stupid, if you ask me,” he muttered. ”Doesn't even make sense...so, anyway, I just go by Dax.” He finished this with a sheepish smile, drawing circular motions in the grass (albeit it was moreso mossy gravel than anything else) with a grizzled paw.
”Is it too much to assume you're looking to join a pack?” he directed the question to Arthfael; Snowflame had begun to make him a bit nervous and though he saw her as anything as a threat, the younger wolf's eerie state of dysphoria had begun to be rather unsettling. He didn't want her under the impression that he disliked her, he was just unsure of how to lighten her mood and he knew that he nearly perpetual state of cheerfulness could get to be annoying; out of pure uncertainty he smiled warmly to her and wagged his tail, finding once more her orbs to be familiar and welcoming than anything else. Beside him, Art mimicked his answer and he watched as the more burly mann made his way to the poor fae's side, comforting her and Dax felt foolish for not doing more. Not unlike a young whelp would do, the ivory drappa buried his muzzle into Art's flank and howled mournfully, sending shivers grating down Dax's spine.
A secondary draft clawed at his fur with icy talons, the vague scent of snow an immediate warning. He tipped one ear back and turned his head toward the distant peaks; just before he was about to suggest that they continue their trek together, Art did the very same, leading Dax Ehzno to nod his head emphatically and stand, not about to waste time. From his place beside Snowflame, Art looked up at Dax and he registered something in his gaze and his own pale blue eyes glanced down quickly to Snowflame, who didn't seem to listen or have any real concern about her at all. ”Snowflame,” he prodded gently, ”It's probably best if we move further south...” Yet the she-wolf did nothing, and if she heard him, she didn't show any emotion at all.
Suddenly, and without any warning at all, the little drappa unfolded herself and shot off, causing Dax to both recoil from the unexpected movement and to snarl out of surprise. As if on cue, heavy flakes began to fill the air, and Dax whipped toward Art, his eyes wide, before pivoting back and looking in the direction she came. ”Snowflame!” he cried. ”Snowflame!”[/i] With the knowledge that the fae would likely not survive unless she found shelter- which was unlikely in these mountainous conditions- Dax bolted after her, his hunter's body low to the ground, long limbs proving their worth as they swallowed the frigid loam in great strides. With a ginger tail streaming behind him, Dax slowed his fleet pace only to lower his muzzle to the ground, acute senses searching desperately for any trace of Snowflame.
Slewing in an effort to locate Art- he couldn't be far- Dax raised his voice to be sure he was heard. ”Art! Can you see her?” [/color]
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Post by Arthfael on Mar 23, 2009 8:00:53 GMT -5
At the moment a blast of icy wind raked down the mountainside from the cruel and thoughtless north. Brusque fingers tried to dive into his thick coat like a dog had once told him of the strange paws of mankind felt like. He enjoyed the feeling, even though he could see that it chilled Dax right down to the marrow. To him it was little more than a cool breeze, the fingers of which were useless in penetrating the layers of decorated fur. With a look of intense pleasure, Art leaned into the wind, letting it comb through the fur on his face, and there was a definite look of loss as it filtered away, its rage spent. A sheepish grin turned his carriage into one of a nervous embarassment at his obvious delight at the wind. He dearly hoped that neither Varg had taken much note of his abandon at that thoughtless moment.
Here, he turned his intense focus on Dax as he spoke of his naming, and a strange naming at that, looking at his chest rather than in the eyes, knowing that he risked arousing the four-year-old's anger. Though he know he could more than hold his own, Dax and Snowflame were now filed away in a spot in his mind clearly marked: FRIENDS. There was nothing he wanted less than for this chance meeting to turn into battle. "An unusual naming, my friend," he intoned in his husky baritone. "Mine is not so strange. My father is a fighter, in every meaning of the word. When my mother whelped me and my syblings, he gave each of us a warrior's name. Before I was six moons old I was fighting battles for him. You have heard of the wars in the north, haven't you?" With a pained grimace he shrugged off the pain those memories brought. Memories of a warlike father figure giving orders to fight and harsh scoldings when his fighting left anything to be desired.
When Dax spoke again, he risked a quick glance at the mann's face, noting the nervous way he eyed the fae. He, too, could sense a strange feeling radiating away from the female, though he knew not what it meant. Before he could let that consume his thoughts he answered the question that hung, perhaps a little too long, in the air. "Yes. Yes, I seek a pack. Loneliness does not agree with me so well." He smiled that smile that pulled up the left side of his face more than the right. His kind green eyes sparkled with appreciation at the question, for it opened the way for him to ask about the packs in this area. "Do you know much of the packs in this area? I do not want to find myself in a pack similar to the one I left."
After speeking thus, while lying at Snowflame's side, he felt her muzzle bury into his this pelt, so far that he fancied he felt the wet of her nose on his shoulder. In response to her heart-breaking cry, he lifted his own head and howled softly, then licked behind her ears in the comforting way his mother had done to him when his father's "lessons" had taken more violent twists. He was distracted, for a moment, by the second blast of wind. A glance skyward told him that snow was coming, whether they were ready for it or not. He shifted his shoulder in a way that softly nudged Snowflame to get her attention. "Snow is coming, we must find shelter, Snowflame." It worried him that she didn't seem to notice.
Green eyes looked towards azure ones, trying to communicate his worry and puzzlement to Dax without words. It was then that the graceful, ghostly form moved up from the ground and began to run. Hard. And as if the gods themselves had turned against them, snow began to fall. With a snarl of frustration, he noted that, though this storm would do little to freeze him, the other two would need shelter, and soon. His paws left the ground at a dead run, though not the swiftest pace he could manage. He could hear Dax somewhere of to his left calling Snowflame's name. He sent a worried prayer skyward, to whatever god would bother to hear, and began to track. The air was cold and burned the inside of his nostrils as he took in a deep draft of frosty air. There was a trace of the fae in there, so he tried again, first clearing his nose of cold by burying it in his own fur and breathing deep of his own musky scent. It was with a twinge of satisfaction that he caught her trail.
"This way, Dax!" he cried loudly, and soon he could see her ghostly pelt against the cool mountainside. He ran to her left side and pressed his warm flank to her side to warm her shivering frame. "It's alright, Snowflame, we're here," he comforted, looking about him for shelter. By some stroke of luck, just a little further down the mountainside was a cave. "Dax! Check that cave down there!" He gestured with his muzzle, not caring if the older mann was insulted by him giving orders.
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Snowflame
Sikla
Pup of Koran
Growing older, leaving my cubhood behind
Posts: 124
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Post by Snowflame on Mar 24, 2009 11:24:14 GMT -5
The bitterly cold wind battered at her weak body as she slowed down to conserve energy. She started to tremble like there was an earthquake. The snow fell thick and fast, and she had resigned herself to her fate.
Snowflame blanched out as a warm body pressed against her left side. She snarled for a moment, then realised with glee that it was Art. She snuggled warmly up to his warm flank and was glad of his body heat, warming her up.
Art pointed his proud muzzle to a cave not far away and told Dax to check it out. Snowflame suddenly felt nervous. What if this other mann didn't like being told what to do by somebody younger than him? What if he got angry and turned on Art? What if he turns on ME?
All these questions buzzed through her mind like a hive of bees. She slowly and wearily lay down on the rock hard ground and silently studied the landscape around her, thinking hard. She was quite a sensible Varg, for even though she was relatively young, she had been alone for quite some time and had been thinking alot.
She was barely aware of Art, or Dax, or if they were talking to her, because she had suddenly heard a twig snap nearby. Snowflame was unaware if the others had heard it, but all she knew was that it could be her brother. Her bright blue eyes studied everything around her, looking for any sign on the Lera that had made that twig snap.
She turned to face Art and she said with joy, "Did you hear that twig snap? It could be my brother!"
She carefully and slowly got onto her wobbly legs and stretched, and was about to go and investigate when she tumbled forwards, her legs given way. She smacked her pale head onto a rock and whimpered pathetically, drops of blood oozing down onto her ears and eyes. She blinked out the blood, then suddenly felt dizzy and then everything went black.
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Post by Dax Ehzno on Mar 24, 2009 14:09:16 GMT -5
OOC: Uh oh Art, don't mess with the Daxster! Dax turned a cyan gaze toward Art, listening quietly to his short story of the origin of his name and frowning at the phrase 'wars of the North'; in all actuality Dax, a Southern Varg, had heard of no such thing. With something like an apologetic shrug, his light voice directed to the second dragga, he spoke. ”To be honest, my previous pack was never much for all-out wars...of course, we had skirmishes every once in a while, with neighboring packs, but we ended those rather quickly. I'm not one for fighting, myself, but to each his own I suppose. Fights are bound to happen, especially among our restless species, but if it's avoidable, I'd prefer another method of problem-solving. Hate only spawns more hate, and it's because of such ruthless hate that we have such packs as the Balkar, and Sarnes.”
At the notion of Art joining a pack, Dax watched as a crooked smile wound its way about the onyx and silver mann's maw. Over-concentrating on Arthfael helped Snowflame to sort of fade into the background; both the tangible scent and the prickling sensation her woefulness created diminished, leaving Daxton feeling very much relieved. Focusing on the mann's words, Dax hesitated before nodding. Technically, he did not know “much”- only the basics (pack names, alliances, and the like) but he supposed that something was better than nothing. ”Indeed, I believe I may know enough to help you make your decision, or at least give you ideas. There is Deor...they're smaller than the rest, but I have met their Drappa Mist, and she is exceptionally kind; to be honest I plan on venturing there soon myself in hopes of acceptance. If I remember correctly she said that Deor's Dragga is named Chalos.” He stopped for a moment, as if trying to pull information from his brain and lay it out in a decent order; the packs sort of ran together, only distinctly identified by scent or reputation. ”Then there is Ge-Rad. I have no reason to believe that they are any less amiable, though they are prominantly larger. Next comes Koran, I think that they are rather neutral...and then List. List is less “good” than the others, than Deor and Koran and Ge-Rad, but they aren't evil.” There were still two packs left, two packs that he doubted would spark Art's attention or interest if he was true to his words and wanted away from mindless fighting, but, still- if he were going to make a home of Transylvania, he needed to know the dangers. ”Last, but not least, are Sarnes and the Balkar.” A little shudder ran through him automatically. ”They are evil Vargs, looking to kill any Varg that so much as looks as them funny. The Balkar is an all male pack. If you ask me, they're just a bunch of pathetic wolves who overcompensate for a contemptible past by attempting to prove they are insane.”
The biting cold was hell against his muzzle and Dax snuffled along the ground, picking up her scent barely a moment before Art and lunging in the direction that they both knew to take. Adrenaline, known to do strange things to the body, not only created a sort of boundless energy but was also offering a false sense of warmth. Less than a hundred paces before them was Snowflame's crumpled little bodice, and Dax couldn't help but think that she was incredibly foolish. Art rushed to her side while Dax decided to stay where he was, head whipping from side to side as he scanned his panoramic surroundings for any sort of shelter. Beside them was a semi-thick stand of trees, but the branches didn't begin along the trunks until farther up and though they looked appealing he knew that they wouldn't break the wind or save them from the impending blizzard.
From Snowflame's side Art suddenly barked out a command to Dax and he turned glinting blue eyes to Arthfael, meeting his emerald orbs with a sort of you're-testing-your-luck glare, though, if for nothing else than self-preservation, he moved into a slow lope down the mild slope of the hill, leaving Art and Snowflame behind him. He had often dealt with yearlings and even two or three years olds in his previous pack and had run into a handful of exceptionally unruly draggas (and the occasional drappa) and had learned quickly that if you let them get away with something once, they would continue to do so until it was forcefully brought to a sudden halt, and Dax was having thoughts that Art would be no different. While he may have been raised to battle for an overbearing father, out here he was nothing more than a Kerl and Dax would not allow him to exercise any sort of dominance. Though the silver-hued dragga was not exceptionally dominant, he was extremely proud, and that was the reason he held little to no standing friendships with other males. Art may have been built far larger than himself, it took nothing but pure instinct to fight and Dax had no problem holding his own; if it brought nothing else age brought experience. Another thing? Because of his slender build, Dax Ehzno was often underestimated and he hoped that Arthfael was not committing the same error. When he was put to the test, the lean mann was something to be reckoned with.
As he reached the mouth of the cave he gave one short glance back over his shoulder and gingerly extended his muzzle into the large den, inhaling deeply and feeling rather satisfied that there were no lingering scents, only faint traces of fox and...herla? Stepping onto the earthern cave floor he peered around, hunter's eyes piercing the shadow of dark. He continued moving and found that, while it wasn't exceptionally capacious, it would be warm and they would be well-protected from the elements. The top tapered near the back; they could lead Snowflame to the rear of the den and it would work rather well. With a satisfied smile and knowing time was of the essence, he turned back the way he came and bolted up the hill. Little did he know that in his short absence- he had been gone for three, four minutes at the most- Snowflame had once again run off. As he reached the place where the two had been, his eyes grew wide; the fae was sprawled a few pawsteps ahead of Art, twin rivers of blood streaming from her forehead, staining his once-pure-ivory pelt with a sickly crimson tinge. ”Are you serious? Oh, for Tor's sake!” he snarled.
Moving grudgingly to the fae's side he roughly nudged her unconscious form before he turned his teeth against her ears, not biting too hard but attempting to cause enough pain to rouse her. ”I am NOT carrying you to that cave, Snowflame!” he threatened, though she couldn't hear him. Out of desperation he turned his gaze to Art. ”Maybe we should carry her...” spoke through gritted teeth, annoyance obvious. Unlike this femme, he actually wanted to save his energy and not die out here on this godforsaken mountainside, and he doubted Art did either. ”I have some knowledge of healing and the like,” he spoke quickly. ”I can staunch the bleeding with spiderwebs; it's not very deep, just a scrape. Do you want to move her into the cave while I try and find some?” It was less of something he actually wanted an opinion to than something that he needed to do, and while he waited for the mann's answer he peered again at her wounded head, parting the fur with a tentative paw. The skin was broken and it would form an angry bruise, but it was nothing serious.
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Snowflame
Sikla
Pup of Koran
Growing older, leaving my cubhood behind
Posts: 124
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Post by Snowflame on Mar 24, 2009 16:49:47 GMT -5
ooc;sorry that i'm replying before you, Art
The ground was as hard as a rock, and the snow was settled on her back like a white blanket. She blinked, her eyes groggy, and looked straight into the eyes of Dax.
She froze, afraid of what he might do, then she slowly closed her bright blue eyes and carefully turned her sore head.
Her head was pounding with the pain, and there was dried blood on her pale grey pelt. She glanced nervously at Dax, and instantly knew that he didn't really like her that much. She could sense it. She was good at sensing things, like when her father said that the Balkar were not after them, then she didn't believe him. He had not wanted to frighten them.
For some reason, she tried to get to her feet, but was suddenly overcome by dizziness and she fainted again.
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Post by Arthfael on Mar 25, 2009 8:23:17 GMT -5
OOC: It's alright, Snowflame. And to Daxster, touche.
With his head cocked slightly to the side, Art listened to Dax's opinions on war. Perhaps word of Northern wars had not yet reached the ears of some of the Varg in the area. He twitched his ear slightly to one side, and his face betrayed a look of puzzlement. The mann had assumed that the wars that had stolen his childhood would be well-known in the area, but he could be wrong. It was with a rueful expression that he explained himself. "In the north, the wars are not for kith and kin, pack and mate, family and friend," he spat, angry at even the thought of it. "The wars there are not as they should be, my friend. In my pack, we were raised to believe in a plethora of gods and goddesses. Then came Varg preaching of Tor and Fenris, and Sita too. Draggas such as my father is were not pleased with this blasphemy, as they saw it. Who-so-ever spoke of Tor and Fenris with anything except condemnation was an enemy. My father was a true believer in all those things. Even his sons and daughters were not spared if they tried to tell him of the wonder of this faith." For once, it seemed, the chill wind penetrated the thickness of Art's coat, and he shivered for a moment on that mountainside.
Art's eyes flickered continually as they spoke to the young fae. Although she was not contributing much to the conversation, Arthfael felt the need to keep an eye on her; to watch over and guide her, if only for a moment or two. His attention never wavered from Dax, even when he was looking away, but he watched Snowflame with an unimpaired amount of focus as well. Perhaps it was his military training, or perhaps it was his instincts, but Art had never encountered any difficulty in splitting his attention between two things. He listened as Dax explained the basics of packs in the area to him, listening carefully and filing away the useful information. "This, Deor," he pronounced the word uncertainly, "sounds like a good pack to me. As does Koran and Ge-Rad, though perhaps not List. Do you know the locations of them as well? I would much desire to speak with their members." At the mention of those last, though, he growled in a deep rumble. "This Balkar," he growled. "I have heard word of their evil even as far North as I am from. Them I would not mind to fight against, for the safety of the rest." His hard eyes turned eastward, though he did not know that they were looking in the direction of the very pack he wanted to avoid.
Even as he yelled to the older mann, Art saw a glimmer in his eye that told him Dax had caught the scent as well. The trail led toward a rough patch, where sharp and dangerous rocks made the going treacherous. Art hissed with frustration when he realized that this was where Snowflame had stopped. She couldn't have picked a worse spot, unless it was on a frozen lake. Dax stood some distance off, but Art felt her wake and lean into his warmth.
There was a light of defiance in Dax's eyes when Art had ordered him, and the mann put his ears down and looked away shamefully from the warning glare he had been given. "Sorry," he muttered, uselessly because Dax was too far away to hear. Thankfully the older mann turned to investigate the cave at that moment. Art watched as the mann turned away and entered the cave. He turned his attention on Snowflame. "What do you think you're doing?" he scolded, "You could get yourself killed in a storm like this. You're being a right fool." The words slid off Snowflame as though she hadn't even heard. Just as he began to snarl again in frustration, she stood on unsteady legs, and he growled a warning to stay put until Dax returned. "Snowflame, I didn't hear anything, now sit down!" he hissed. He could do nothing but watch helplessly as her strength failed her and she collapsed in a heap and the thick, cloying scent of blood filled the air and stained when snow that had managed to stick. Art almost began to wish that he had not howled to begin with and started this whole mess. He was inspecting her for serious injury when Dax finally returned.
The older mann was, quite effectively, following in kind to the curses that he himself had muttered the moment the ghostly fae had risen. In any other circumstance, Art would have been amused by Dax's brusque attempts at awakening the foolish fae. All he felt now was a sort of cool satisfaction, thinking that the mann's less gentle approach might frighten Snowflame into some sense at last. "I don't know if we should carry her. I'm not sure if we can, she is too large to carry by the scruff, and I know no other forms of carrying a senseless Varg." He watched Snowflame with a mixture of frustration and puzzlement, and it was then that her eyes opened. He saw, with no small amount of satisfaction, the fear in her eyes at the sight of Dax standing over her. He watched her try to stand, and suddenly he was roaring again, "No, you fool, don't stand-" But it was too late, and she fainted again. "By Fenris, if she doesn't use her brain soon I will drag her across these rocks to that cave. Perhaps the bruises would do her some good." It was only after he had spoken that he realized that he sounded like his father.
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Post by Dax Ehzno on Mar 25, 2009 10:23:09 GMT -5
OOC: Bahahahaha xD And sorry for the shortness >..<
It was with a seemingly seething heart that Arthfael furthered his explanation of the wars he had grown up trained to fight in, and the reason behind them brought a baffled look to Dax's visage. He wasn't an ignorant wolf; he knew that Tor and Fenris were not the only set of gods to believe in (Look at Zostar, for instance) but the idea of a religious war was not one that sat well with him. ”Who...who did your father believe in?" It was a serious question; he wanted to understand the motives behind Art's sire's ruthless murderous streak. Surely what one believes is not for belittlement? But, alas, that is rarely true.
Dax was beginning to hold some sort of respect for Art, and if not for Art himself, than for whoever had trained him- from the moment the trio had convened, he had not yet felt unwatched by Art's jade-colored gaze. It wasn't one that put him under any undue perusal, but he knew that any move he made would be caught and registered. As the stalwart mann spoke again, Dax nodded in full-hearted agreement. ”I haven't yet ventured to an territory borders; different packs treat Kerls in different manners and I'd rather not stumble into one that ends in a scuffle. I have a pretty good idea of where they are, though. But, seeing as we're having so much fun on this oh-so-charming mountainside,” he spoke dryly, ”I suppose we'll have to wait until we can get down.” He dragged his line of vision from Dax to Snowflame in attempt to pass her the hint: anytime would be wonderful.
Little did Daxton know, but at the very moment where all his thoughts were going into a little pit full of indignant choice phrases he wished to lay on the ivory drappa, Art was doing the same thing, though slightly less harsh. Had he known, however, he would have felt the driving need to have his own tidbits of input. As he climbed back up the gentle slope, he realized that his initial going down had upset the balance that the shale and granite had been keeping; twice rocks crumbled beneath even his lighter-than-normal weight and he was only kept safe from a potentially deadly tumble by a scrambling that would find him a momentary foothold that he could push off of and leap farther up to what would seem to be solid ground.
During his attempt (not an attempt, technically, as it seemed to worked)to provoke the drappa to consciousness, restraining himself from putting his frustrations into his actions. It was then that she blinked her cyan orbs open and turned her rigid gaze upon Dax himself. The flash of fear that filled them resulted in Dax pinning his ears out of a momentary sorrow-filled emotion; had he hurt her? Beside him, Arthfael had unleashed a small storm of words (perhaps he wouldn't pose a problem after all) as the femme tried to stand, and Dax snarled viciously as she collapsed again. He raised his head, livid snarl still curling his lips as he looked over at Art, and, surprised by his frustration-filled words, tilted his head a little. ”We can't carry her, you're right, but I to be honest, if this snow worsens-" it wasn't too bad yet, just a small warning of harsher things to come-" I personally do not want to stay out in it just because some thick-headed femme is too keen on finding a brother that's probably already made his way south. Besides, she isn't that big...should we, ah, put her up on one of our backs?” The idea sounded foolish in the open air and he felt the typical heat of embarrassment crawl through him, but it was worth a shot. ”All we'd really have to do is move down the slope diagonally, and the cave's not too far from here.”
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