12-04-2011, 12:49 AM
Tristan was never what one would call clever. In fact, were his half crazed brother here to say anything, he would say Tristan was quite the dunderhead when it came to being clever. It truly was amazing that Tristan had managed to make it this long as a loner, a loner on the run, a loner on the run without the ability to shift. Where Tristan lacked in problem solving, he excelled in pure dumb luck. He'd arrived to 'Souls eight days prior, finding the dreary lands known as the Withered Realms. There, he'd met a white wolf, and while he was, at first, in despair, he had found the motivation to continue his adventures here.
The brute had travelled quite a bit throughout the days, even managed to catch himself a couple paltry meals of half-starved animals. Content in the fact that he was fed and far from his sibling, he was intent on learning everything there was to know about this place. Perhaps he would make a few friends. Perhaps even settle down, odd as that sounded. The male chuckled to himself as he continued his walk. Long claws clicked and echoed down the pavement. Dusk was falling in the horizon, melding hues created beauty in the skies. It was silent. It was peaceful. Nothing could ruin this day. At least, he'd thought that. A familiar scent wafted into his nose, making him shiver involuntarily. Blood. Blood of a strange wolf. That life liquid never bode good things.
The brute was half tempted to leave and turn the other direction, but intrigue and worry spurned him forward. The trail led him to an alleyway, and again his instincts sent warning thrills through his flesh. He ignored them. If the wolf was hurt he knew a bit about herbs and healing. There was a good chance he could help them. His mind made up he stepped into the alleyway, taking only a few steps before he suddenly was flung forward, slamming his face into the pavement with a surprised yelp. He could hear metal crashing down around him, sounding like some metallic demon roaring into his ears. Halved vision looked up only when the echoes of crashing cars faded away. The exit was blocked off. He whimpered in confusion as he pulled himself up on shaking paws. This was a trap. A clever bloody trap. Slave traders, perhaps. Or some sick game. Ignoring the blood dripping from his tongue, Tristan investigated the cars. Just this once he wished he could transform, get those lovely thumbs. But no. Instead, he stood staring at twisted metal with a lolling tongue and a dumbfounded stare.
The brute had travelled quite a bit throughout the days, even managed to catch himself a couple paltry meals of half-starved animals. Content in the fact that he was fed and far from his sibling, he was intent on learning everything there was to know about this place. Perhaps he would make a few friends. Perhaps even settle down, odd as that sounded. The male chuckled to himself as he continued his walk. Long claws clicked and echoed down the pavement. Dusk was falling in the horizon, melding hues created beauty in the skies. It was silent. It was peaceful. Nothing could ruin this day. At least, he'd thought that. A familiar scent wafted into his nose, making him shiver involuntarily. Blood. Blood of a strange wolf. That life liquid never bode good things.
The brute was half tempted to leave and turn the other direction, but intrigue and worry spurned him forward. The trail led him to an alleyway, and again his instincts sent warning thrills through his flesh. He ignored them. If the wolf was hurt he knew a bit about herbs and healing. There was a good chance he could help them. His mind made up he stepped into the alleyway, taking only a few steps before he suddenly was flung forward, slamming his face into the pavement with a surprised yelp. He could hear metal crashing down around him, sounding like some metallic demon roaring into his ears. Halved vision looked up only when the echoes of crashing cars faded away. The exit was blocked off. He whimpered in confusion as he pulled himself up on shaking paws. This was a trap. A clever bloody trap. Slave traders, perhaps. Or some sick game. Ignoring the blood dripping from his tongue, Tristan investigated the cars. Just this once he wished he could transform, get those lovely thumbs. But no. Instead, he stood staring at twisted metal with a lolling tongue and a dumbfounded stare.