Land of the Impure

[Nuki Rakezael]

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OOC Yay Nuki debut! WC 1,013

This place was a lie.

How could she have been so foolish as to believe the rumors? The men who spoke them were all broken down husks of the Luperci that they once were, entered into an early old age long before their time because that is what End-World did to you. The mutated orphans would tell you anything you wanted to hear in exchange for tin, and in their blissful denial, the drunkards in the battered saloons clung pathetically to these fairy tales and spread them like mange. You couldn't trust anybody in End-World. If they weren't drunk, traumatized, mad (or all three), then the poisonous air would soon take care of that, warping even the youngest, fittest mind until it was little more than blistered jelly. Everyone in End-World had a vice to cope with their fate, most of them only staying alive any longer out of love of their drug. She had once seen a man who should have died a year prior, but was still alive out of sheer stubbornness, for he did not want to miss the next hit of opium.

Most people were destroyed shortly after coming to End-World. Children would mutate or simply die from the toxic air. On a good day one could hope for a coma, but on any given day the adults would all become like the rest. Of course, just as there had been in human history, there was always the occasional Luperci that would not succumb to the deadly atmosphere. If you were a survivor, then you joined one of the warring gangs that were rampant in the city. Then at least your life expectancy would have been 6 months.

Somehow, the Rakezael woman had been one of those whose mind was untouchable by the lethal vapors in that rancid place. No one was completely resistant, but she had survived her three years in End-World without mutation or dementia. She was rogue and managed to fly just under the radar of the mafia for a time. It was when she began to earn a reputation as a vigilante and stories about her percolated in the speakeasies that the mob leaders began to sniff her out. They did not like the thought of a lone wolf on their territory (for all of End-World was owned by one gang or another), and were determined to either recruit or destroy her. When it became evident that she had no desire to join any of the mafias, they began to hunt her, trying to destroy the thing before another gang had the chance to make her a better offer and strengthen its ranks.

No packs in 'Souls... she shook her head. 'That is why they call it 'Souls. It is for the loner.' Bullshit. She spat on the ground in disgust. As the rumor went, there was a place in the Americas, in Nova Scotia, where the wolves roamed free. Free of toxic air, free of mafias, free of packs. It was every man for himself out there, and there was plenty of territory to roam and settle.

“If 'Souls is so free of packs then why the fuck am I looking at one right now?” She growled to herself as her crimson eyes stared at the borderlands nearby. This place wreaked of organized membership, the scent of a unified pack permeated the air and for a moment she thought she would prefer the acrid air of End-World to this. Was this the exception to the rule? Or would it be like this all throughout this place? There was only one way to find out.

The tawny pelted Rakezael woman rose to her feet and gathered herself up. She had just arrived the previous dawn and had not had time to settle a place in which to keep her things. Burdened as she was by various packs, rolls, pouches, and other things, the fit woman still moved with precision and speed. She tried to walk softly, quietly, but even the best king of thieves would not have been able to keep this many items from clattering on occasion.

There was another woman. Nuki knew she was there, she had been watching her from a distance, and though they could not be seen, where one pack wolf was, others could be found. It would be delightful to take down a member of a pack – it was like an honorable duty to destroy the drones of the gangs – but Nuki did not know this place. Although it did not seem as harsh as End-World, it was best not to underestimate the new lands. She cautioned herself against doing anything too rash.

Once she reached the place that she identified as the true border, she stopped and walked along it rather than entering this foreign place. Setting paw into the claimed territories so soon felt like betraying herself. She would, soon enough, and would have to many times in the future, but for now she traced the outline of the place called Dahlia de Mai. She did not move long, though, for she was now surely within the sights of the pack woman. Nuki's fingers twitched, wanting to grasp the bow on her back, but she resisted. She had not survived this long as a rogue in End-World only to forget all tact and be destroyed before living a week in this soft world.

Even at a closer proximity most of her packs were wrapped so the items were not visible. The bow slung over her shoulder was quite clear, though, as were the bolts in the quiver. She had various pouches hanging from her belts that criss-crossed her chest, but one in particular had something odd about it. It was a brown linen sack of meager size that seemed to writhe as though something were inside.

“Hail,” Putting on a diplomatic air, Nuki tipped her head in greeting to the woman. She was gruff and halting, but friendly enough to pass the ruse. “Spare a moment of your time for a stranger?”