What do You do with a Trickster in Tow? {Open}

[Roanoke]

The soft crunch of ice echoed through the otherwise silence forest. Frost had touched the vegetation that surrounded the Western demon, but snow still had yet to come to the woodland area of Transylvania. Milky white eyes glance briefly to the canopy to attempt to see the glorious sun that could give the ebony varg a hint of where to go. Roanoke had wondered aimlessly for years of his life and frankly he was tired of the mess. The mann had long ago lost the taste for the sensation of terra beneath his thickly calloused paw pads. Yet here he was, trotting around as if he actually like the feel of cold earth under his chapped feet. Wind danced through his thick winter pelt, drawing his eyes away from the leafless tree tops and back to the frost-bitten foreground that lay out before him. Light glittered in front of his face, and as he re adjusted his sight he saw the faintest snow crystal. Bleached eyes followed the tiny flake as it drifted closer to the ground. And he watched the fragile structure melt on impact with the earth. The mann let a soft sigh escape his furred ebony lips. He had wasted his time watching a snow flake fly and he had watched it's tiny flicker of life go out. What was Roa to do to fill in all those empty spaces in his flicker of life. This puzzled him so. With a quick hard jerk of his skull, Roanoke returned to the present, untouched by his complicated though processes.

Winds picked up again and more tiny snow crystals came into view but he paid them no attention now. Taking a breath through his slate hued nose, Roa found something strange. Some he didn't know was in the area. but this did not befuddle him, after all he was new to this country, and knew only few. But it was the direction, it was all around him, the scent danced it's waltz on the same breeze that those delicate bits of rain floated on. Roa, covering his milky white eyes with dark color lids opened his ears listening for anything and everything. Waiting for the creature to appear.

[Absinthe]

[You really need to make your text normal sized. I can hardly read it and it's just a hassle to have to fix the font on your browser so that you can post.]

A lunatic known as Absinthe had been watching the larger Mann's approach for a good while, toxic-green eyes bright in unprovoked excitement. He knew not who the traveling stranger is, nor did he care; the only thing that mattered was that he was no longer the only Putnar in the area. As the obsidian varg drew closer, the young lupine felt himself growing antsy and, as if it were casual as could be to do such a thing, he began to move. First, it started as a simple bounce of his body, then energy pushed him into a full-fledged dance - he was light as anyone on his feet, and the movements were freakish and flowing, a maddened devil's waltz. All at once, however, the adolescent realised that his target was drawing terribly close and flit into the brush, bouncing here and there as he struggled to keep his sights on the daydreaming Kerl.

Somewhere, a squirrel leapt off of a branch abouve Absinthe's head, driving a heavy rain of snow onto the youth and he yelped once in surprise, head and back blanketed heavily with the alabaster substance. Forced to move, the oddly-marked little male pranced to a new hiding spot. The area surrounding the two varg was dark from the heavy, sun-shielding treecover, and his lithe form was well-hidden. However, his hellborn markings stuck out like a sore thumb, and Absinthe appeared as if a ghost, the contrasting bleach-white stripes and spots contorting and moving as he gamboled about. He was as if a playful spirit, begging to be given attention.

Unfortunately, nobody is perfect, and the small male found himself confused with his surroundings, unsure which way faced towards Roanoke. Somehow, he found himself stumbling and landing on his face in a most ungraceful fashion - just before the much larger wolf's forelegs. Psychotic sights stared up at the beast and with a grin, the trickster spoke.

"Large varg cannot escape the eyes of the gods and lonely varg cannot escape the eyes of Lera, aye. But can black pelted varg escape the eyes of anyone in the winter?" Another grin. He was young for such words, but with such odd behaviours and such unusual brands, did he even understand what words escaped his maw?

[Roanoke]

{I'll fix the font issue, and you have my apologies to not informing you about Zwi : ( But I shall learn from this and I now shall consult all that I rp with if I wish to add another to the thread ^.^}

A muffled stumble, and a two toned silka tumbled into the clearing, just about smacking Roanoke's long legs. Milky white eyes gazed into blazing emerald ones, black furred ears picked up the systematic rhythm to the kerl's speech. Roa's eyes studied the pattern of white spots that dotted the other mann's coat. Thoughts drifted into his mind about the wayward demon, how he had presented himself to Roanoke and his talk. His grammar puzzled the ebony varg from the west, the way he said things and how he placed his wording. All the things were strange to him. With a errand thought the varg's eyes lite up like a fire. Roanoke opened his jaws and let his gentile but haunting chord fly. Ahh, but we who dress ourselves in black may hide in the shadows of the snow dons and that of the trees. To lye in wait of an attack so we may feed till are bellies can be filled no more. And our large size may seem to make hiding difficult but we may sit in the snow for the longest of times to find and stalk our kill with our bright eyes. Snow fell steadily now as if it had no agenda to follow, no track to run to. What would it be like to be a snow flake? and with that silly un-needed thought but the sighed as if he told himself to put a halt to the philosophical debate that took place in this head. Eyes of white returned to lightly stare at the adolescent that sat before him, all tumbled in a knot, his speckled pelt still shown brightly in the light of day.

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[Zwi]

The still remaining brilliant emerald and earthy browns of the forest were fading under a blanket of soft white that fell from the sky in tiny pieces, covering the land bit by bit. Zwi was not suited for this sort of scenery. Her tawny pelt stood out against all the vegetation here, and she was sure the only season she had a chance of hiding in was fall, and that was well past. But she was not the only strangely colored varg in this land. Since she had arrived she had met a few interesting characters. The two strangest both wore a pelt of red, black and white. She wondered if that was some weird rule. “Varg born with a pelt of blood are destined to a life of insanity and hardship” She could hear the rule echo in her head in a strange tone that did not belong to her. Was she hearing voices? Ghosts of the past informing her she was right? Or perhaps her imagination was livelier then she expected, and she was now discovering it. But what did it mater, such silly thoughts. But now she was thinking of the varg she had met since arriving, and wondered what other characters she would encounter. Were all the varg here strange?

A Varg’s yelp rang through the air, breaking the silence of the woods, and distracting her from her thoughts. It didn’t sound pained, more like startled. They cry meant there were other varg in the area. Were they friend or foe? She was lucky until this point; no varg she had met had tried to kill her, even after meeting the lands cannibal. But how far would her luck take her? The yelp could have been surprise from pain, meaning there could be more than one varg ahead. That being the case, it would be smarter to turn and run then to press forward. But Zwi was not smart, she was curious. And curiosity always won out over smarts in her case, and so she pressed on, determined to find the reason for the sudden noise.

Golden orbs watched the two mann from a distance. She had approached with stealth to avoid being noticed after realizing there were indeed more than one varg sharing the forest with her on this day. One, a large dark varg, thick in structure and posed in stature, the other smaller and two toned, with more of a spindly structure, and a dance in his step. They were conversing now, both talking in riddles. Something about variations in varg’s coats and their ability to hide, what would they think of her appearance? The smaller mann’s pelt was painted in a strange pattern, and his bright eyes practically glowed framed by black and white. She wondered whose pelt was stranger, her herla pattern, or his spirit like one. She didn’t want to give herself away, so she slowly lowered herself to her belly, trying to not to make a sound. It was better to observe for a moment.


(Well, I don't think its nearly as well written as your guys', but it's a post.)