Post by Rokk on May 25, 2007 9:24:58 GMT -5
It was a typical mild spring day. The trees rustled their green leaves in the slight breeze, the birds chattered and hopped from branch to branch, hunting for bugs in the eaves of the sheltering trees. Overhead the eye of the sun god hovered in the sky. He had not yet reached the mid-point of his journey across the heavens. Right now he spread warming rays of light across the lands of Transylvania.
Deor looked particularly magnificent, especially to one who was jsut returning from nearly a year in solitude. Rokk had not quite been in his right mind, but of his experiences, his nightmares, and his demons of the past year, he did not want to speak on them. Or even think about them.
Shutting out these thoughts, Rokk concentrated instead on wondering how much Deor might have changed since he had been gone. Would the same old vargs still be around? Would he even be remembered? Would he even be welcome?
Rokk had never been, and still wasn't, a very socialable varg. All he was, and still is in his mind, is a warrior. Tooth and claw was all he knew. That, and revenge. For he hd journeyed to Transylvania in the first place in search of his father's killer, whom he knew was a Balkar. But the first Balkar he had found - or rather, found him - had tried to actually recruit Rokk into their foul ranks. Rokk had been an arrogant youth at that time. And he had paid for it dearly. He still carried the limp and the scars on his right hind leg. And the nihgtmares of nearly being sacrificed to the Evil One still persisted. One of these days, he would face up to those demons.
Padding across the lush green grass, Rokk began to slow. His brown fur rippled in the slight breeze, and he drank in it's scents greedily. Someone was coming, but being alone for so long had made him too much like a kerl. He could not tell if he could recognise the scent or not. Hell, he barely remembered his own name at times. Brown eyes scanned his surroundings, waiting. Well, whoever came first might give him some idea of how he would be received. Would he be, accepted, or rejected? Would Deor even remember the warrior?
(this could have been better. I'm out of practice RPing as Rokk.)
Deor looked particularly magnificent, especially to one who was jsut returning from nearly a year in solitude. Rokk had not quite been in his right mind, but of his experiences, his nightmares, and his demons of the past year, he did not want to speak on them. Or even think about them.
Shutting out these thoughts, Rokk concentrated instead on wondering how much Deor might have changed since he had been gone. Would the same old vargs still be around? Would he even be remembered? Would he even be welcome?
Rokk had never been, and still wasn't, a very socialable varg. All he was, and still is in his mind, is a warrior. Tooth and claw was all he knew. That, and revenge. For he hd journeyed to Transylvania in the first place in search of his father's killer, whom he knew was a Balkar. But the first Balkar he had found - or rather, found him - had tried to actually recruit Rokk into their foul ranks. Rokk had been an arrogant youth at that time. And he had paid for it dearly. He still carried the limp and the scars on his right hind leg. And the nihgtmares of nearly being sacrificed to the Evil One still persisted. One of these days, he would face up to those demons.
Padding across the lush green grass, Rokk began to slow. His brown fur rippled in the slight breeze, and he drank in it's scents greedily. Someone was coming, but being alone for so long had made him too much like a kerl. He could not tell if he could recognise the scent or not. Hell, he barely remembered his own name at times. Brown eyes scanned his surroundings, waiting. Well, whoever came first might give him some idea of how he would be received. Would he be, accepted, or rejected? Would Deor even remember the warrior?
(this could have been better. I'm out of practice RPing as Rokk.)