I want to have faith to put away the dagger
#1
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Siiiebum. Central Waste, any time of day works?



The wound in his chest had been the most severe. Ezekiel had not doubted Enkiel’s confirmation of his luck, and was glad that it was only muscle damaged in the process. It was deep regardless and formed a jagged line under his left shoulder. Stitching had served to close it, but the pain was more irritable now. This was two-folded; the bitch had done severe damage to his leg. A careful eye would spot his faint limp, but as Aquila, the coyote could not allow himself to show weakness. Luckily, Viggo had not been wounded in the combat severely and riding him was still an option.

A bandage was wrapped around his thigh, but he displayed the wound on his chest plainly. It formed a sharp line against the strap of his quiver and bowstring, which he now (as he always had) carried everywhere. The only addition to his collection was the quarterstaff. It served to help hide his limp, though the weapon had proven useful in combat. Their enemy had come with swords, and as Max had produced, shields. They were well armed and well trained.

The cross had been the breaking point for him. Only one other group of canines had come to him brandishing steel and the sign of God, and they lived under his rule now. Kastra had been nowhere to be found—she had increased her patrols alongside Aemon, and Ezekiel had no patience. He settled on a large stone near the highest point of the territory and called for his brother. Below him, Viggo grazed uneasily, pausing often to lift his head and look about. Ezekiel frowned at the display. It seemed the coyotes were not the only ones on edge.

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#2
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(434)



Ithiel is by me!

The late afternoon sun beat down on Ithiel as he sat just outside of his cave. His knife worked furiously at the sticks he'd collected -- sturdy wood, already mostly straight. The dusky coyote needed only carve the knots and bumps from the wood and affix an arrowhead and feathers, and he would have an arrow. Zedekiah floated somewhere in the sky above. Ithiel did not allow the vulture much rest anymore: when the sky was bright, the big bird circled up above. This meant more treats, however, and Zedekiah took the added strain in stride.

Unease bloomed somewhere in his chest as a cry rose through the air -- a cry meant for him. The dust-colored coyote stood, listening to the call as it rose and then fell into silence. He determined his brother's approximate position, but bent to grab his own bow and quiver as he did so. The first attack left him mostly unscathed but for a few bruises, stiffness, and one good slice across his thigh. This was thanks to his indirect engagement of the attackers. Fighting with arrows from horseback was not cowardly, simply smart -- Ithiel was not as good a melee fighter as he was a shooter, and in drawing the big wolf away from the mansion and his fellow Infernians, perhaps he had saved them bruises and battering. The second attack had been more brutal, and Ithiel bore the markings of it.

The dusky coyote did not bother with his own horse -- Lystra had suffered worse than Ithiel. Her shoulder had been cut by one of the big wolf's swords, a glancing blow that might have removed her leg if it had been truer. Myrika tended the animal, as far as Ithiel knew -- should he need a horse in the coming weeks, the Bairre horse or even one of his cousin's two mounts might serve. Ithiel had discussed the invasion with no one, for he had nothing new to share -- or so he assumed.

His long Optime legs stretched into a trot, his stride lengthening as he headed toward the source of the call. These were the outskirts of Inferni's territory, but the land was flat and barren here -- easy to see an attacker coming a long time away. They were very much unlike the thick Dampwoods in that regard. The dusky man's pace slowed as he approached his Aquila, and Ithiel dipped his head forward, mouth set into a thin line. He did not understand why he'd been summoned here, to this particular place, but he didn't need to understand, after all -- he was meant to receive orders, it seemed, and this he comprehended perfectly well.

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#3
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He watched the man approach and regarded him with the eyes of his father. There was more of Gabriel in the dust-colored boy then in Ezekiel when it came to size, but the Aquila had taken Gabriel’s color’s—if only a shade truer, a shade brighter. Even this felt like a lie. It was he who should have worn the darker coat, he who should have been given colors that spoke of shade and deceit. Above all others, Ezekiel was a man with a liar’s tongue and the skill and violence to back it up. Aggression leaked through his body in subtle motions and more directly in the stiffness in his shoulders and stance. This was less apparent now, as he sat, but he believed that the scout would read him just as easily as Ezekiel read all others.

One hand, a red close to that of clay earth, fell to his side. Unceremoniously he hurled a broken rosary towards his younger kin. “Tell me,” he began, and paused as if considering his words. “What sort of men come carrying the sign of God?” It was not intended as a riddle, but he needed someone else to speak it aloud.

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#4
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Ithiel is by Raze!

The dusky coyote regarded the rosary, broken and stained with a rusty color that could only be blood. His red eyes did not lift with his half-brother's inquiry, direct as it was, and instead Ithiel regarded the symbol with seeming indifference across his face for a moment longer. When he lifted his gaze to regard Ezekiel -- respectfully, without meeting his superior's eyes -- this indifference had turned to anger. The man bent to pick up the rosary, finding its place in the dirt unsuitable. He brushed it off and looked down at it a long moment, contemplating its existence.

False believers, those who justify hatred with faith, he answered automatically, the answer that had been ingrained in him back west. There was no truth in that way of life: his path was one of necessary defensiveness. The dusky coyote had suspected a similar, albeit mollified, system was in place within Inferni, and he had almost looked forward to a quieter life. The symbol in his hand was proof those brief dreams were all but shattered.

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#5
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For all of his life, Ezekiel had known God privately. There had been no others around him to justify or deny this faith until his return to Inferni. Now more and more he saw the signs and heard the words of men that fell against him like stones. Never had he used the name of the Lord to kill, and Ithiel’s robotic answer only fueled his anger. His upper lip pulled away from his teeth, revealing a sharp row of ivory. “Until now,” he said slowly, forcing himself to remain calm. “Our battles have been with madmen and fools. Yet,” Ezekiel paused, curled his hand and extended the razor-sharp talons from within. “Now my father’s enemies stand on our doorstep.”

He looked at Ithiel evenly, amber eyes gleaming. They were so different—Ithiel was the perfect soldier, who obeyed and who did as demanded. A cannibal ghost filled his own soul, chipping away at a carefully crafted mask that would not served him much longer. The claws retracted from his hand and it fell to the bag on his hip. “Why did you really come here?” Ezekiel asked, no longer looking at the scout. He was focused now on the rolled tobacco in his hand, spiked with clove and opiates to ease the pulsing ache above his heart. While he did not use matches regularly, a small box served to help with this self-medication. A flash of light, a flame, and he breathed in smoke and finally looked back to his half-brother.

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#6
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(--)



Ithiel is by Raze!

His Aquila's answer was surprising to Ithiel. Did Ezekiel not consider these madmen, then? Ithiel certainly did. He thought he knew their origin, though he did not know why they had come quite so far. There was no reason for a contingent of warriors, supposing there was a contingent (which Ithiel suspected was the truth), to follow himself and his brother, lowly scouts and warriors. Kastra -- maybe. And, perhaps, too -- he misrepresented his father's importance, and how the wolves near Scintilla might view progeny of such as Gabriel de le Poer.

The dusky-furred coyote watched the other man with his substance, a faint sense of distaste falling over Ithiel. Smoke lead to weakness, and was itself a weakness. It was this distraction which caused Ithiel to overlook his Aquila's accusation, silent and implied as it was, and answer the man's question forthright. I came looking for my father. He was -- and is still -- needed out west. I stay, hoping he returns, but I serve Inferni loyally in the meantime, he answered, momentarily perplexed.

Then, the gears in his mind churned slowly, and he understood. For once, he was quick to speak, adding to what he'd already said. That loyalty cannot be questioned, he said, remarkably evenly for one defending his very honor. Maybe you do not understand what our father meant to us, back west. He has the same meaning to the wolves he burned out. This was his place, too, before Scintilla, and Inferni is no secret. My mother helped with that.

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#7
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The familiar burn in his lungs was aided by the drug. While his blood pressure rose to compensate, his brain began to numb the circuits that spoke of the pain in his leg and chest. Even though he did not miss the faint and almost invisible twitch of muscle movement in Ithiel’s face, he did not speak of it. Whether or not his half-brother thought of something as minor as smoking as distasteful was beneath him. Ezekiel answered to no man, and certainly to no morals beyond his own.

He breathed out smoke, eyes narrowing as they regarded the dull colored coyote in stoic silence. “Gabriel is gone,” Ezekiel said sharply. The fact he had left like a thief in the night only served to further irritate his eldest son. Talitha would have been the one to stop him, but not Ezekiel—he had thought that the elder de le Poer might understand that, but he had been wrong. “I don’t know where he is, but he isn’t coming back. These wolves are now my—Inferni’s—problem. They came for you,” he added, and sneered in an unfriendly way. “And your brother. I suspect by now they know my name as well.”

Then, as suddenly as he had stopped the Aquila snorted bullishly and shook his head. “You know these wolves better then I,” he admitted, and a savage smile showed his teeth. “They will not settle for our blood alone, will they?”

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#8
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(328)



Ithiel is by Raze!

He knew these things, too, he supposed -- it was unlikely his father would return here. The best course had been decided for him, though, and Ithiel was needed here until Ezekiel decided he was no longer useful. And then what? He would return to Scintilla, he supposed, and inform them of his failure. As his half-brother spoke, Ithiel found himself nodding, then shaking his head, and then nodding again. The movements were slight, minor agreement and minor disagreement.

They will not. They will want all of Inferni gone, and any coyote sympathies with us. But it was not me or Aemon they came for. They came for the same thing I did. Failing to find Gabriel, they will settle for his sons and his old clan, yes, he admitted, squaring his own shoulders. It did not matter why they'd come to Ithiel -- the fact was, they were here, and they needed dealing with. Their motivations meant little to him. It was disquieting to see the symbols they wore and to know from whence they'd come, but he did not think it mattered in the long run -- their blood or Inferni's own must stain the soil now.

Let me find them, he said. There are at least three -- that means there are more, maybe ten, he said. Give me my brother and two more who can ride and fight, and we will kill them all, the man said, knowing such might be folly. He had no way of knowing how many there were, and he had no way of knowing where they were -- but he was a scout at heart, made to track after his foes and find their secret spots in the world. He was confident in his ability to discover them, should they prove even slightly careless with their trails and hunts. Eradicating them was another matter entirely, of course, but Ithiel thought he might do well to cripple their numbers before perishing.

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#9
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Smoke filled the air around his head. Despite the drugs, it gave him clarity. Ezekiel was a man chased by both figurative and literal ghosts, and he was a man whose paranoia had grown to such an extent that he trusted none with his life—even after Helotes’ action, he could not forget that there was a weakness in him, a poison that allowed for folly. All men had faults, and he would be blind to expect them to come through without a moment, a chance, of failure. One day someone would fail him and leave him dead. This he could not allow, and so the retreat into the beast from the earth had begun.

Ezekiel slid from the rock, landing on his favored foot alone. There was an apparent shift in his step as he approached the dusky man. He regarded him for a long moment, and then smiled in a way that did not meet his eyes. “I think you would ride to hell if I so ordered,” he chided, and then squared his shoulders and stared hard at Ithiel’s face. “Twice, now, they have come. They follow our God, brother,” the Aquila added, and for the first time, truly meant it. “They will come again. We increase patrols and we increase our weapons. Even three warriors is too great a risk to lose if you fail,” he went on, amber eyes hardening. This was an order he did not wish to see disobeyed.

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#10
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(--)



Ithiel is by Raze!

Ithiel paid little mind to the smoke, and instead kept his eyes glued to roughly chest-level with Ezekiel, awaiting the man's command. Part of him itched for conquering, the bloodshed and adrenaline that was sure to come with it. These were the only times he felt anything stronger than a twinge -- it was joyous to ride and hunt and kill the enemy, and the most honorable death one could endure to die doing just that. As his Aquila slid down to the earth, Ithiel's eyes watched his gait, unsurprised to find it altered by injury. There were few in Inferni these days without injury or marking, himself among them, and he supposed they were lucky to have suffered no casualties as of yet.

Hell or the jaws of these wolves -- little difference, he said, perhaps Ithiel's version of humor. Theywill come again, and we will be ready for them. Prepared, the man agreed, nodding his head slowly. He saw the better sense of this plan immediately -- there was no doubt they would attack again, and if they attacked while the clan's best warriors were off and away, the blow might be terrible. What good was eradicating a threat to a clan that no longer existed?

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#11
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Some concepts failed Ezekiel. He did not understand art, nor did he know how to admire pretty things. Like this, he too did not understand honor as it applied to his half-brother. There was no room for honor in his world. There was only room for blood, and for faith, and this served as his true religion. Deep in his psyche there was a place for brave deeds and stories of myth, but he was too primitive, too feral in his nature to truly exist with this lie. To live was to struggle, to fight and survive, and to hunt and kill. Above all else, he was a wild creature who often spoke like a philosopher king and whose world struggled to bear the weight of these nightmarish dreams.

“It might ease you,” he began again, and paused to breathe in smoke. “To speak with our grandmother. My—our—father once followed her as you follow me. You did not get to know him as I did,” he added, though there was no mercy in his tone. “But his blood runs strong.” With that cryptic appraisal, Ezekiel turned towards where his horse was grazing. A single motion summoned the attentive stallion. The staff was used to help boost him up where his leg failed, and once atop the massive horses’ back he shifted the stick across his lap. “And tell Halo I will speak with her soon,” the Aquila added, and then urged his horse off at a trot.

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