The Filth-Strewn Hero

[gratz]

No one who had ever met Gratz could say that he was very smart. Nor could they call him handsome, or, for that matter, could anyone even comment on how good he smelled. But what everyone who had ever met him could say was this: Gratz was one of the meanest fellows this side of the river. He was brutish and large, with thick rope-like muscles, and sandy, greasy fur that was always lumpy and matted. On good days he smelled like rotten fish, or rotten eggs, or anything else that was quite pungent when it decayed. And everyone who had ever met him could say, without embellishment, that Gratz would probably lose a game of wits with his own shadow.

That is, if was ever interested in playing games, which he wasn't. Nor was he very keen on grooming himself on even a semi-regular basis; nor was he ever content to roll in something that didn't smell like it was at least a week old and crusted with maggots. What Gratz was actually interested in wasn't that difficult to find out at all, really; especially if you happened to be the one he was pummeling, or threatening, or biting.

He grinned. Yes, biting. He remembered that last wolf he'd beat up - his sister, incidentally, trying to steal his food when he wasn't looking. She won't try that again, he snickered, then paused as a thought took hold of him. Well, I mean, if I was still there she wouldn't, he corrected himself. He wondered what she looked like now: still ugly, no doubt, but now with a floppy ear and a brutal scar across her bad eye. He could just imagine the stories they told about him back there, how he was the meanest of the lot. And scariest too, by a wide margin. Unless they included old Trendl in that list. Trendl had a terrifying temper and appearance. He had a crooked muzzle and one of his ears was mostly missing. He had so many scars that Gratz couldn't even count them all. Still, Gratz frowned. Even though Uncle Trendl looked about as scary as he acted, what with his mind going and all, Gratz was still the meanest, right?

He stopped in his slow march across the sandy banks of the river to consider this. He cocked his head and rolled his eyes back, contemplating, then flinching when the bright noon-day sun hit him in the eyes. He shook his head, then looked down at his paws, which were slowly being engulfed by the sand. Gratz, being far too busy thinking to notice this, actually sank down an inch. No... They were all pansies. Well... most of them were. Maybe Tronk and Falla were actual warriors like me. And maybe Gron too. And the Dragga and Drappa, too, I guess. He frowned deeper. Well, it doesn't matter. They just lost a great warrior, that's all. He snorted and, after pulling his paws out of the wet sand with a loud squelching sound, started ambling off slowly again. Well, nobody could deny that he was a good warrior in his own right, either: he had the strength to fight for a fair length of time, and to take on many blows, and he had the stupidity to keep fighting, even when it was a smarter idea to quietly run away and save his own skin.

[Lucius]

((hope you dont' mind me joining))

The lands of Transylvania were approaching spring, that was one thing that was certain. The days were becoming longer, as the skies began to stay clearer longer, and the rivers rose with the melting of the ice and snow. With the shedding of winter came the shedding of the winter coats, and Lucius’ grayscale coat was no exception. It was actually quite a relief, the mann could do without the extra weight.

Growing up as a kerl meant traveling from place to place, visiting different territories around Transylvania. Lucius’ main goal was to find the Balkar, but he knew they would accept no pup. No, instead he would have to teach himself the ways of life, becoming stronger ever day and pushing his body to the limit. To him, this was the way to a more decent life, instead of living the lazy life like his mother in a pack. 'Pft, who needs ’em,' Lucius growled under his breath.
Every time he thought about his poor mother, it made him sick. She was worthless, a real sign of weakness- even so, Lucius couldn’t bring himself to praise the bastard that left her with cub. Mostly because what Lucius and his brother really needed, was a father in their lives. Or, at least Lucius did- who knew what Havoc needed. 'Probably needs a whole new brain,' Lucius chuckled to himself. His brother was crazy, that kid would lash out at a blade of grass if it got in his way.

Light charcoal auds flickered at the sound of running water, making Lucius alternate his direction a little. Where there was water, there was fish and lera around. Not to mention, the mann could use a bit of a break, he wasn’t in any hurry. Large light gray paws were carefully placed as Lucius slid down the banks of the river, squishing in the mud the river’s banks licked. Lowering his head, gold oculars sparkled at his own reflection before his pink tongue penetrated the reflective surface. The cold water was quite refreshing running down his hot trachea, yet stung once it hit his belly. Still, he was thirsty, and knew it was best to keep hydrated.

Inhaling the scents around him Lucius’ black nose wrinkled at an unfamiliar and very unpleasant scent. Looking up, his piercing oculars spied another creature, one who looked like some kind of large matted mutt walking his way on the opposite side of the river. Lucius let out a low growl in his own defense, before realizing this creature was just a filthy mann varg. Still, Lucius wasn’t one to bound up and down like a peevepot puppy and obnoxiously bark greetings at the sight of another varg. Instead, he pawed the water noisily, hoping to catch the stranger’s eye.

[gratz]

Gratz instantly spun around, actually achieving a moment of vertigo. He waited a moment for the world to stop spinning, and then looked all around for the splashing noise. Which just so happened to be another wolf. In true idiotic fashion, and with all the grace of a giant rock, Gratz slunk up to the very edge of the water with his hackles raised and a look of suspicion in his piggish orange eyes. "Looks like Fenris decided you weren't pretty enough, and he was too much of a lazy jerk to go back and pound your face into a more appetizing shape." Gratz barked testily, completely missing the irony. In one swift moment, he had successfully challenged, defied, and defiled the name of the stranger and the god. Neither of which would likely look down upon him with favor ever again - if they ever had to begin with.

But it wasn't as though Gratz even cared, whether he understood the implications or not. He simply stood there, braced against the sand, blinking. A smug grin was plastered to his face. Which really didn't look like a grin at all - more of a grimace, as if he had just eaten one of the rotten carcasses he occasionally rolled in. That last one had left him in its tender mercy for nearly two weeks. Enough time for him to understand that eating bad things is bad.

Bad. Like the beating I'm about to give that stupid wolf if he so much as blinks funny. Gratz snorted. He didn't doubt that something might happen, but he figured if the stranger tried to run, the pummeling he'd get would be ten times worse for having Gratz make the effort to chase him down. Heh, but usually you only have to teach 'em that lesson once. He thought, once again happily recalling the brief little occurrence with his sister. Not only had she gotten uglier and a little meaner since he'd bit her for trying to steal his food, she'd also gotten more docile around him. It had been easier since then to make her do things for him. Which always worked out best for him in the end. So, by comparing his sister to this stranger, Gratz was fairly confident that this meeting was about to work out in his favor. That's brains for you.