Post by Phyco on Jul 17, 2006 15:48:28 GMT -5
Soft, silent pads forced a bulk of a large, brute-force built varg onto the lands. Roving, intelligent and cunning dim yellow eyes surveyed all around itself. Little over a full moon since the varg had been on these lands, he knew he was not forgiven. The name of the beast was Volund, with a hulking figure he was the doom of many varg, including one of the previous Deor. Alegriae the guard. Mistaken for Sariah, the she-varg whom followed and pestered Volund, he had killed her in her sleep. When arising to become aware of his unfortunate mistake, he was driven out with no mercy of teeth from the pack lands. Sariah had followed him, he had later slain her in Kerl lands when his soul thirsted to be doused in blood of another beast. He thought himself a good varg, sly and smooth in his actions, he never ran into a situation. Always thinking over his options carefully whenever faced in battle he would always be more strategy than force, even though he had a great advantage in such.
Volund was a killer, though, it was through his blood and rose high in his veins from time to time, when the urge to kill was always settled. It had blood poured from many terra onto it, his intelligence warned him to keep away from packs, until he'd made that fatal mistake. He knew none of the strong, good, tarrato's blessing abiding packs would trust him. He had, in a way, avenged his adopted-mother and exile in the blood of Sariah. Though he knew he had also slain and severed possibly the very last of the threads in Alegriae's old bloodline. They had fallen in his paw-steps, each seeking to avenge the other. None seceding. Though each one left is marks, a nick in the left ear, Who?, a arching scar across his stomach, Tahmores Slash, a scar along the back of his neck, Blight. But Khan had not been concerned with the slaughter of his family, as the father of Blight, Tahmores Slash and Who? Volund thought him to be the most arrogant and self-centered varg ever to stalk the land.
And yet, here he stood, prowling inward to the lands where he was not welcome, exiled from the pack and an ex-member. The Deor had not let the murder or Alegriae go lightly, she had been a loved and useful member in the pack and he had stolen that away. Of course, he had the courteous sentence upon departure that he would go to the Red Meadow for good if he returned. But his smooth, slippery way of getting out of tight situations assured him that he could survive a trespass. He knew they had done the one thing they all knew Alegriae would appreciate when she died, they had buried her underwater in a stream, pebbles lain over her soft, glossy black pelt. The two looked so alike it was easy to mistake Volund for Alegriae's son. But as he had left, he had felt sorrow, he too had not forgotten the pain he had caused both himself and the Deor. He just wanted to assure that he was still unwelcome, then pay respects to the burial grounds of Alegriae. His eyes glowed as he scented the air, now rather far into the territory the Deor's marks stung the roof of his mouth, making him want to turn tail on the hostile territory. Suddenly he felt the instinct of being stalked, hunted. Some varg was approaching him with all stealth, it was mere luck he had sensed them...
Volund was a killer, though, it was through his blood and rose high in his veins from time to time, when the urge to kill was always settled. It had blood poured from many terra onto it, his intelligence warned him to keep away from packs, until he'd made that fatal mistake. He knew none of the strong, good, tarrato's blessing abiding packs would trust him. He had, in a way, avenged his adopted-mother and exile in the blood of Sariah. Though he knew he had also slain and severed possibly the very last of the threads in Alegriae's old bloodline. They had fallen in his paw-steps, each seeking to avenge the other. None seceding. Though each one left is marks, a nick in the left ear, Who?, a arching scar across his stomach, Tahmores Slash, a scar along the back of his neck, Blight. But Khan had not been concerned with the slaughter of his family, as the father of Blight, Tahmores Slash and Who? Volund thought him to be the most arrogant and self-centered varg ever to stalk the land.
And yet, here he stood, prowling inward to the lands where he was not welcome, exiled from the pack and an ex-member. The Deor had not let the murder or Alegriae go lightly, she had been a loved and useful member in the pack and he had stolen that away. Of course, he had the courteous sentence upon departure that he would go to the Red Meadow for good if he returned. But his smooth, slippery way of getting out of tight situations assured him that he could survive a trespass. He knew they had done the one thing they all knew Alegriae would appreciate when she died, they had buried her underwater in a stream, pebbles lain over her soft, glossy black pelt. The two looked so alike it was easy to mistake Volund for Alegriae's son. But as he had left, he had felt sorrow, he too had not forgotten the pain he had caused both himself and the Deor. He just wanted to assure that he was still unwelcome, then pay respects to the burial grounds of Alegriae. His eyes glowed as he scented the air, now rather far into the territory the Deor's marks stung the roof of his mouth, making him want to turn tail on the hostile territory. Suddenly he felt the instinct of being stalked, hunted. Some varg was approaching him with all stealth, it was mere luck he had sensed them...
