and onward we go (Leader needed)
#1
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-ooc-

I'm a little confused as to what exactly is desired as far as ooc information... if you want the info from my initial application here, let me know and I'll edit o.o;;.


Desired Tier: Cavalry.
Canine NPC: Nope.
Non-Canine NPC: Nope.


-ic-

It was getting on toward early evening as Jimson stepped out of a thick wood to find himself presented with a gently rolling plain. He could not see the ocean from here, but he could smell its salty breeze. He blinked a few times; it had seemed that night had already descended as he had trekked through the thick, coniferous forest, but as he emerged onto the plain he realized that the sun had not quite settled in for the night and was, in fact, just now beginning to dip below the western horizon. He took a deep breath of the cool, briny air and leaned on his staff for a moment, taking in his new surroundings: to his right he could see a treeline in the distance, while to his left there were only fields with the unseen ocean beyond them. Straight ahead -- more of the plain, as far as he could see. He'd need to bed down soon, but he still had a bit of daylight left, and didn't really want to spend more time fighting his way through the dense forest. And so he propelled his towering white bulk forward, going southwest, with the plan of reaching the treeline eventually and setting up camp right inside it.


The giant dog did reach the treeline, but before he had paused long enough to set down his pack and quiver, another scent stood out from that of the sea. He knew that this was a populated area, and had been careful to skirt around the numerous wolf territories. He knew wolf scent -- he'd kept them off his sheep enough back home. He felt confident he could defend himself against one or even two, but there really was no reason to go tramping through their territories and inviting an entire pack down on his blocky head. But the territory he was near now -- he could smell wolf, but stronger was the smell of dog. Interesting. Well, he could settle down here, just outside this packland, anyway. He wasn't encroaching, and maybe one of them would scent him and he'd have some company for the night. Or maybe they would even invite him in -- it would be so nice to have a place to rest his feet for a while. The Pyr didn't know exactly what it was he'd expected to find when he'd set out from his family's ruined stead, but he'd yet to find it, and was getting a bit weary of aimless wandering.



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#2
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(423) I'm not a leader, but as far as I know that's all you need. Smile Anyway, welcome!

His mother’s condition was worsening, and Cour des Miracles had yet to find the man responsible for the assault. That fact burned in the growing boy more than anything other than a growing sense of distress. The youngest litter of the King and self-proclaimed queen would be turning a year old in only a couple of weeks; would his mother even be alive for their birthday? It was thoughts like this that brought the young wolfdog to his knees, hunkering on the ground and fighting back grief when it wasn’t yet time to grieve. Yet was the strongest word he knew.

Until then, the main way for Skoll to fight these emotions was to patrol so much that he couldn’t do anything else. The Captain stomped in the neutral territories around the pack and traveled along the border and kept his ears and eyes open for danger. He made use of the endurance that came from all his breeds—wolf and dog—and worked even as his namesake chased the sun below the horizon.

It was moments like these that the Haskel desired to trade off with Hati, but he didn’t know how his darker brother was coping. Maybe he was working the horses as hard as Skoll was working himself, or maybe he was spending every instant with their mother as he could. For once, Skoll couldn’t begrudge him his actions. There was no time left for petty fights anymore, not when the world was like this.

Usually, the boy’s patrols did not pay off, and he would go home without seeing or smelling anything. Tonight, as the last sliver of the sun winked from the sky, he caught a whiff of scent that did not belong and that was close to the borders. His hackles rising, he set off in that direction, loping along on four paws. Suspicion was the normally optimistic teenager’s first instinct, but he swallowed any overt aggression as he came to the edge of the territory and spotted him—a mass of fluff, visible in the encroaching darkness by the stark whiteness of his thick pelt.

“You there,” Skoll called, and was pleased by the authoritative sound of his voice. “You’re close to the borders of Cour des Miracles.” His mouth remained open, but the next question slipped his mind (something about asking him what he was doing here? His purpose? It all sounded so formal), and so he shut his jaw and stood there trying to be as strong and important as a yearling could be.

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#3
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-ooc-

Thanks! Big Grin


-ic-

Jimson began to settle in, removing his pack, quiver, and unstrung bow, setting his staff down to do so. He would not make a fire; it was still only a little cool this far north (nothing like the scorching heat that would be drying out the crops back home) and his thick mass of fur served to keep him suitably warm, if not a little uncomfortably so. He laid out his bedroll, lowered himself on it, and laid his staff next to it, within easy reach should he need it. He did not string his bow; to be honest, he really wasn't that good with it. He used it mostly for hunting, and he wouldn't trust his aim if his life were on the line, not when he could be so much more effective with the ten-foot staff he carried. Hunting with a bow was something that his family had been good-naturedly teased about by their neighbors back home. The Morrises would shrug it off and laugh; no real harm was meant by the teasing, and they really were poor hunters when it came to tooth and claw. The breed, with its massive size and bright coat, was meant to blend in with sheep, not prowl through the woods. Jimson was likely to scare off any game before he could even think about getting close enough to attack it with the weapons nature gave him -- at least with the bow, there was a chance he could bring it down before he gave his position away.


He felt his heart grow heavy as his mind replayed hunting trips with his brothers and his father. Every now and then his mother or one of his sisters would come along, too, just for a change of pace. He shook his head and actively tried to force his mind elsewhere; he'd done his grieving, and it was past time for him to move on. It did no good to sit and mull over his loss. Thankfully, a distraction soon presented itself in the form of a wolf, a pale form approaching him from the distance. Jimson remained seated; he tended to be a bit bigger than most wolves in his four-legged form, and shifted as he was he would tower over the approaching stranger. He didn't want to be seen as intimidating, just in case the wolf was from the packlands he camped near. Placing his hand on his staff just in case, he waited patiently for the approach.


The breeze shifted just a little as the wolf was just outside of hailing distance, and clarified to the dog that the ivory sentry was not pure wolf -- he couldn't tell the mix from just scent, but the approaching male had dog blood, as well. Jimson relaxed his shoulders just a little; the stranger might still be dangerous, but it seemed less likely to be the case now, even though the Pyrenees thought he could discern raised hackles. It was getting pretty dark now, though, and he couldn't be sure. Jimson raised his free hand in a friendly gesture as the stranger called to him. "You there -- you’re close to the borders of Cour des Miracles." The voice was tenor, with a pleasant pitch, and full of authority; an authority mirrored in the raised head and tail -- whose fullness almost rivaled Jimson's -- that the young wolf-dog proudly displayed. Jimson raised his eyebrows and widened his chocolate eyes as though this news surprised him, but lowered his head and thumped his tail against his bedroll in a gesture of appeasement as the male came to a stop in front of him. "Oh!" he said innocently, allowing his hand to slip from his staff. "I'm so sorry! I din't realize I's so close t'claimed terr'tory. I c'n move further out if y'like, but I dun mean ya no harm, sir." Jimson gave his best friendly, goofy smile.



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#4
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(308) ^^

Hati had once excused his lack of ambition, opting for a slow and steady pace, because he wanted to be ready for the duties of a higher rank before he reached it. The words came back to Skoll now as he stared at the stranger with all the posture of a prince and none of the sense of direction. It was true that he’d advanced quickly, being a dominant and active personality in the pack, but he was still young and didn’t have the experience to know how to operate like the adults of the pack did.

He didn’t let any of that slip through too obviously, though, as he stared at the little setup of the fluffy dog. The sleeping roll and the items strewn about didn’t seem like the tools of a serial killer, and he frowned as he guessed this loner probably only wanted a place to stop and rest, as bad a place as he’d chosen. He let his hackles lay flat, even if his tail remained proudly curled over his back.

The white dog withdrew a hand from his staff—which Skoll was embarrassed to not have really noticed until now, as long as it was—and quickly explained his intentions. His accented voice was quirky and pleasant to the hybrid’s ears, but he fought off a smile in response to the other’s silly one.

Slightly uncomfortable, he twitched his ears and glanced at the bedroll again. “Well, normally I wouldn’t care too much, but—there are dangerous luperci around these parts.” He didn’t speak of the attacks, which instinct told him would be too much weakness to reveal to a stranger, however jovial, but made his point clear enough. He scowled, curious but cautious. “Have you traveled very far, then, sir? I mean—you don’t really sound like you were born here.”

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#5
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Jimson's father's words echoed inside his head: Dun act as smart as y'are, young'n. If y'lay all yer cards out on th' table at once, it's pretty easy fer yer opponent t'see yer hand. Jimson couldn't remember exactly what it was he'd done to initiate the old man's advice, but it had been something he'd thought himself very smart for, and he'd run to his father eager to brag about it. The younger Pyr had taken those words to heart, and had gotten fairly proficient at playing the game. And he saw the advantage of it, as well -- knowledge was valuable, and it was easier to gain knowledge if people thought you didn't understand them. So when the young wolf-dog relaxed his hackles, Jimson pretended not to notice, though he did indeed take note.


“Well, normally I wouldn’t care too much, but—there are dangerous luperci around these parts," the stranger said, his green eyes flitting for a second time to Jimson's bedroll. Ah, were there, now? The dog wondered how he should interpret this statement; most likely, the other male meant that there had been encounters with unfriendly shifters, and he had wanted to make sure that Jimson wasn't one. It could have been intended as a threat, but the tone of voice wasn't right for that, not to mention it wouldn't have made sense with the young male's body language. And Jimson very much doubted that the sentry was concerned about a strange dog's safety. Still, he chose to respond as though the stranger were; playing the game. He chuckled and said, patting his staff, "Thanks fer the warnin', sir, but unless y'all have some weird breed o' giant wolf up here I think I can prolly protect m'self jus' fine."


With a scowl, the creamy male inquired as to Jimson's travels. Why was he scowling? the dog wondered. It almost seemed as though he were putting on a show -- he was pretty young, and what with that stature and his tail up like that, perhaps he was doubly interested in communicating that he would truck no funny business, young'n or not. Well, that was fine. Jimson wanted the stranger to be confident that the giant was no threat to him. He allowed his genial grin to fall just a little -- though not completely -- as he didn't want the strange canine to feel that Jimson was mocking him. "Yeah, I been walkin' 'bout six months or so. I's born south a ways." He paused for just a moment. Give information in order to get it. "M'name's Jimson. I'd shake yer hand but y'don't seem to have any right this minute," he said with a wink and a crooked smile.



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#6
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(--) I apologize for the shortness of this one; let me know if you need more sustenance to reply to. I just wanted to get a quick post up for ya. :3

The dog brushed off his warning, and Skoll had to bite back the urge to yell at him—one of the pack’s great hunters had been mutilated, and even the best warriors ever still scarred. He instead followed the other’s movement to the staff again. “You can fight?” he asked, sizing the other up in a new way. He looked big and fluffy, but his hugeness reminded the boy of Adelle, a young giant and a warrior in her own right. Considering the dangers lingering in the south now, Cour des Miracles could use all the fighters and protectors it could get—but this thought was folly, and he ended it before he could ask childish questions.

“That’s a long time,” the wolfdog remarked (not adding, of course, that that was half his life). His eyes lit with curiosity. “Why’d you leave?”

Finally, the dog introduced himself as Jimson, and despite himself the boy smirked a bit at his remark about handshakes. He shifted his paws in the grass then replied, “My name is Skoll Haskel.”


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#7
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-ooc-

It's fine! :3 Also, please let me know if I go too far with Jimson noticing mannerisms, etc. He's supposed to be particularly observant and a little scheme-y, but I don't want to misread anything and have him notice something he's not supposed to ^^;.

-ic-

The young male's eyes flashed in response to Jimson's glib remark, though he didn't chastise the dog for brushing off the warning. Jimson had expected that the wolf-dog might get a little irritated when Jimson responded so flippantly, and this was fine -- he didn't necessarily wish to irritate the stranger, but he found himself hoping to be invited into the packlands, and he didn't want to seem desperate to do so. Th' best way t'get people t'do what y'want is t'make 'em think it was their idea t' begin with, his father said. Then they ain't doin' you no favors an' they dun feel like you owe 'em anythin'. And it seemed that the Pyr might be on the right path, for instead of voicing his frustration, the younger male wondered, “You can fight?” Jimson was sure the other male had tried to hide the interest in his voice -- and for the most part he had succeeded; any dog but Jimson would likely have just assumed he was making conversation. So there had been encounters with violent shifters -- possibly even injuries or death? Regardless, they had been serious enough that this young'n was interested in someone who could protect the packlands. "Yeah, I can hold mah own, anyways," he said. "Ain't many got a size advantage on me, an' I'm pretty decent with mah staff."


"That's a long time," the sentry remarked in response to Jimson's travel time. "Why'd you leave?" he asked, dropping his authoritative tone for a curious one, just for an instant. Jimson paused for a moment, lowering his eyes. He didn't really have a problem with sharing the events that had led to his disembarkation -- he'd have to tell someone, sooner or later, if he expected to be trusted enough to be allowed in -- but it pained him to talk about it. So he kept his reply succinct, as though to spare himself the pain of thinking about it in too great of detail. "Mah family, we was sheep farmers. We had a string o' tornadas come through, destroyed ever'thin'. Weren't no sheep left t'farm after, an' no farm either, fer that matter. Wouldn't much t'stay fer." The great dog nodded as the stranger shared his own name. "Good t'meet ya, Mister Haskel."



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#8
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(--) It's all good; I've always intended Skoll to be a bit of an open book -- especially when he's trying not to be. x3

Skoll nodded with what he hoped to look like detached interest as the dog expanded on his fighting ability. His size advantage was obvious, and the concept was one that Skoll used to his own benefit although he wasn’t nearly as large as this monstrosity of a dog. He’d make a good wall, at any rate, and that he fought with a staff was—“Cool, I mean, interesting.” He gave his head a shake. “My half-sister uses staffs to fight but I’ve never actually seen anyone use them. I prefer using my own teeth and claws, personally.” He grinned, one of the few overt signs of friendliness he’d displayed so far, but the topic of discussion was one that brightened his mood. He craved to be a warrior, both for the protection of his vulnerable family and, less importantly but still a factor for the yearling prince, the esteem that went with it.

He wondered if he’d crossed the line asking about the stranger’s old home, though, and he shuffled his paws awkwardly as the other answered. The creamy-furred boy didn’t know what a tornado was, maybe a big animal or the name of a faction of aggressive luperci, but he did know that it had to be hard to lose an entire home.

“I’m sorry that happened to you, Jimson,” Skoll said after nodding in acknowledgment of the other’s last statement. “Is that why you traveled here? Looking for a new home?”

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#9
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Ah, and so here was the truth of young Mister Haskel: he was young and eager, just like any other canine his age, though it seemed he desperately wanted to be seen as an authority. Jimson had an idea that perhaps the wolf-dog had been promoted in whatever hierarchy the pack had before he was quite ready. Not to say that he wasn't capable -- he probably was, from what little Jimson had observed -- only that his place in the world outranked his experience. Well, Skoll handled it better than many would have, anyway -- many in his position would try too hard, being unnecessarily mean or obnoxious in an attempt to show off the power they'd been given. Jimson had no way of knowing exactly what the young male's rank was among his pack, but he figured that in time, once he had become seasoned, young Mister Haskel would become quite a formidable leader. For now, though, he'd allowed his stony demeanor to crack just a little, and that youthful exuberance shined through as the discussion turned to fighting. We've found his passion, Jimson thought to himself as Skoll spoke of his preferences, grinning back at the young wolf-dog. "Dun get me wrong," the dog conceded, "Y'can do some major damage w'just th' weapons Mama Nature gave ya. Th' staff, though -- it's good fer putting some hurt on yer opponent and keepin' outta arms' reach at th' same time, an' y'dun even gotta have good aim like y'do with a bow. Trust me, I smack someone anywhere on 'em with mah tree trunk here, they're gon' know it right quick." Time to reach. "Mebbe I can show ya sometime."


Jimson gave the other male a reassuring grin as sympathies were expressed, dismissing them with a wave of his massive hand, a gesture which portrayed much less concern than what he actually felt. "I 'preciate th' thought. It's done now, though, ain't no going back'n changin' what's happened." He cocked his head as Skoll asked the all-important question, the one Jimson had been angling for almost this entire time. "I reckon I left more jus' t'leave then anythin' else," he said. "Dunno exactly what I was lookin' fer, other'n t'get away. But if someplace along th' way started t'look like it might be home, well, I dun reckon I'd pass it up too quick."




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#10
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(346)

Skoll was almost as happy to talk fighting as he was to actually spar; his sharp mind was tuned not only to straight action, but to information such as that in storybooks. He still worked best when he just did, but he drank up everything he could in hopes that it might suit him someday. The tips about staff fighting brought a thoughtful cast to his yet-youthful features, and he nodded with understanding; there was more to it than just whopping someone with a huge stick.

“So it—extends your reach?” the boy asked, trying to think of the right phrase. Besides their sharp edge, that was one explanation for swords; it was another thing between you and the opponent. That wasn’t quite his style, but it was good to know if he ever faced someone like that. So enraptured by the image of the furry brute battling with his “tree trunk” that he almost accepted the other’s offer right away. As it was, he hesitated just briefly before nodding. “Yeah, maybe.” Even if Jimson went off again, he might be able to find him and learn from him, same as he had Anatole and Adelle and others who weren’t part of the Kingdom.

Jimson dismissed his sentiments, using the trite phrase about leaving such things in the past, and mentioned that he’d look into a home if the opportunity presented itself. The words out in the open, it was a critical moment for Skoll, who scowled contemplatively before rolling his shoulders.

“It isn’t up to me, but maybe Cour des Miracles could be that home?” Skoll frowned harder as he realized that was too much to really hope for; why was he so eager to bring even more canines into the pack, anyway, considering how his last recruitment turned out? “I mean—well—at least you shouldn’t stay out here tonight, with the danger and everything, even if you’re big and you can bash people in the head with your stick. If, uh, if you want. I can call a leader if that’s the case.”

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#11
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-ooc-

Aw, Skoll is adorable, lmao. <3 the awkward.

-ic-

“So it—extends your reach?” Skoll asked, and Jimson nodded. "Pretty much, yeah. Y'just gotta be careful not t'get too attached to it, 'cause if someone does get past it'n at you wi' their teeth'n claws, it don't do y'no good up in close like that -- y'gotta be okay w'droppin' it'n takin' care o'business wi' yer hands. But if y'can keep a person far 'nough away t'use the staff, it hits a li'l bit harder, too, 'cause y'got the weight 'o th' stick flyin' at 'em as well's yer own." It was advice given freely, because Skoll had said "maybe" to Jimson's offer -- and so Jimson sensed that the male might be about to invite him in. And wielding a staff was something at which the dog was proficient. The wolves back home were uncivilized, and everyone in his family was trained in some matter of weaponry to protect themselves and the sheep. It was, as the stories went, how the humans managed to rule before their extinction, even without terribly noticeable teeth or claws.


And then to the heart of the matter. “It isn’t up to me, but maybe Cour des Miracles could be that home?” Skoll ventured, before seeming to check himself, as if he'd overstepped his bounds. “I mean—well—at least you shouldn’t stay out here tonight, with the danger and everything, even if you’re big and you can bash people in the head with your stick. If, uh, if you want. I can call a leader if that’s the case.” Jimson chuckled a little at the wolf-dog's wording, and nodded his head. "That'd be real nice, Mister Haskel, iffen y'don't mind. I sure do 'preciate it. Be nice t'spend the night without worryin' over whether one o' them big ol' bears y'all got up here's gonna try'n make a snack o'me. He'd have a helluva headache the next mornin', but I dun like losin' sleep 'less I gotta."




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#12
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(--) lol yeah xD and you can edit "leader needed" into your thread title now; one of them should be along shortly I'd guess. ^^

Skoll continued to nod and look thoughtful as Jimson described the uses of the staff, as well as its weaknesses in closer combat. That was where the golden-furred boy excelled: fighting tooth and nail as close to the other luperci as possible, getting past that staff so it was no longer a threat to him. He wondered if Jimson could show him how to defend against his very own specialty, or if that was giving away too many secrets.

His ginger ears snapped back awkwardly at the great dog’s chuckle, but his words teased a smile out of the teenager. Jimson would stay the night, at least, and maybe longer if he really liked the Court—but again, that was far from up to him, and he didn’t even know if the leaders would accept a stranger for just a night. He was normally optimistic, and he viewed his pack as kind, but if anyone was as rattled by the attacks as he was, the welcoming might be more than a little suspicious.

“I need to call a leader, so they can decide whether to let you in,” Skoll said, gesturing with a paw for the other to wait. He pivoted slightly then tilted his head up, the pale fur of his throat bunching as he howled—a howl that spoke clearly of his mixed heritage, soulful like a wolf but not quite as cultured.


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#13
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here, have mister depressed face!

The golden prince's howl was met with a deep bark that ended in a howl, the dog King's close proximity to the borders working in his favor. If he were not already there, Vigilante did not think he would have answered the call. If he had been home, or closer to it, he would not have thought of going to the borders. It tore him apart to leave the house; he could see it, smell it, feel it. Being home was just as painful as being away from home.

This pain was destroying the dog King, his massive body drawn down to the ground, his face aging in a matter of days. There was more grey around his muzzle now, the white spot spreading out to cover most of his muzzle now. He was breaking under the weight of Ayita's attack, so much so that he had not even gone out looking for vengeance. First, it had been out of concern, the refusal to leave her side in hopes of her swift recovery. Now, when the prospects looked so bleak, he could not bring himself to do it. He did not care about what happened to her attacker. He didn't care about anything anymore. Just her. He couldn't think of anything else.

Jade eyes looked to his son and the strange dog, but he hardly saw them, his mind's eye distracted. "Skoll?" he asked blandly, gruff tone quiet.

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#14
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-ooc-

Short! :o Jimson's not doing anything, lol.


-ic-

Jimson nodded as Skoll allowed that he needed to call a leader. Well, he'd passed the first test, he supposed, and impressed the first canine to stumble upon him enough that the younger male was willing to let him have an audience with his ruler. And it really didn't take very long at all for Skoll's call to receive a response; in only a few minutes, a figure padded slowly out of the gloom. The male nearly rivaled Jimson in size, and he had the same fluffy, curled tail the Skoll did. However, unlike Skoll, whose stony demeanor disguised the youthful exuberance, this one -- who couldn't have been much older than Jimson, if at all -- seemed weighted down by his own existence. His green eyes passed over the white dog, barely seeing him, as though he registered Jimson's presence but such a thing was very low on his list of priorities. Still, Jimson averted his own eyes to the ground, lowering his head and thumping his tail again.





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#15
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(352) :3

Truthfully, Skoll had expected the new Constable to respond to his call rather than the King himself. Part of that was because it would be Silvano’s job to impress the rest of the pack after the trainwreck of the meeting (and he’d been working hard as a new leader anyway), but part of the reason was evident before him in the King’s grizzled, tired features and bland green eyes. Out of all of them, it seemed, the attack on Ayita had affected her mate the most. It went to show just how much Vigilante loved her, and Skoll was reminded of her deteriorating condition even as his father approached.

The boy would not allow himself to look too melancholy in front of the prospective joiner, however. He wept openly among his family—he had no need to hide how he was feeling around those who loved him—but he needed to be strong for the rest of the pack where his father, perhaps, could not be.

Skoll acknowledged his father with a little bow of his head, and he was pleased to see that Jimson showed some deference, too. He cleared his throat and gestured to the giant with his nose. “This is Jimson; he came from the south and he needs—he needs a place to stay, whether for a night or for a long time.” He was aware that they hadn’t worked the terms out among themselves, but he would be blunt with both of the dogs: he might stay, he might go, and no one knew right now.

“Jimson says he can fight, though, with that staff of his. Maybe that can help him earn his stay.” He looked a question at the loner, wondering if he’d be fine with that; they weren’t going to let him stay for more than a few days in if he did nothing, of course. Jimson had offered to teach him a bit about the staff, though, so he was optimistic that there’d be some use once he joined. He cleared his throat again and fell silent, glancing curiously at the older Haskel.


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#16
Sorry for the wait! We're accepting you now but if you'd like to continue this thread, feel free.
-Gen

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Welcome to Cour des Miracles!

You've joined a bunch of misfits in a pack of freedom! There is plenty you can do to get started with us. New member should do some of the following;

  • Visit our maintenance thread thread to add your character to our member directory. You can also turn in points and request rewards.
  • Check out our laws and rules pages to see what you should know about the Court.
  • Take a look at the game, which could net you titles, icons, and other prizes!

Check out the open threads list to see if there is anyone who would like someone to join them. You may also start your own open thread, welcome to anyone in the pack. If that isn't your cup of tea, start a thread request or check out their posts to plot with other members!

Do you still need help with Cour des Miracle things? Feel free to contact Meghann or Gen with your questions and concerns.
Welcome to the Court!

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