[P] [M] Reckoner
#1

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.
[html]



Do not cry out or hit the alarm
You know we're friends till we die


Boone Lykoi remembered his vow. A simple thing; a promise he'd made to himself as they laid the desecrated body of the reverend to rest. Never before had Boone felt so righteous in his wrath. All this time, he'd thought himself a monster of the highest degree -- killin' for gain, for spoils. He'd done things, made choices a young man shouldn't ever make, yet never once were the horrors committed by silver haired bowman motivated by hate. Greed maybe, for worldly desires often clouded the hearts of men, but never had hate moved his hand. It was that detachment that separated him from the savages.

These wolves -- these foreign invaders -- all they knew was savagery. He'd put them down, every last one. He'd show them what they were. Up against the mirrors edge, they'd know what they'd done. He'd show them hate.

The patrols were unrelenting. Bow drawn, Boone chewed on the butt of a cigarette as he and the cloaked Esquella woman pushed south, following a game trail. The wolves had so far stayed a step ahead, covering their tracks and scents, leaving no trace to track them down. Boone believed diligence was their answer. If there was no easy way to find their camp, he'd do it the hard way.

If he had to comb every square inch of Nova Scotia and slaughter every wolf he found, so be it.

Luck, however, tipped in the coyote clan's favor that day. On the trail, Boone picked up a scent. Two riders. Their scents were distinctly feminine, but that didn't matter. They were wolves. He'd put men, women, and children to the sword if that meant getting justice. He motioned for Evelyn to keep close.

They followed the scent for some time before intercepting their path. He kept low in the brush. Hidden from view, Boone knocked an arrow and followed the wolf bitch rider's trajectory.

He felt nothing as he let it fly.

OOC text here.

<style>.ryanPrize {
width:95%;
max-width:650px;
margin:0 auto;
font-size:16px;
font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', palatino, georgia, serif;
}
.ryanPrize .lyric {
font-family:'Coming Soon', serif;
text-align:center;
font-size:20px;
opacity:.75px;
text-shadow:#000 0px 1px 0px;
margin-left:40px;
}
.ryanPrize .ooc {
font-family:verdana, geneva, sans-serif;
font-size:13px;
margin:5px auto;
opacity:0.6;
padding:10px 2px;
border-top:1px dotted;
}
.ryanPrize .ooc:before {
content:'OOC →';
font-weight:bold;
padding:5px;
}
.ryanPrize p {
line-height:25px;
margin:0px;
text-indent:40px;
padding:5px 10px;
}
// put if you want to distinquish an NPC's speech
.ryanPrize b.npc { opacity:0.75; }
// for word of the day or some shit
.ryanPrize u { text-decoration: none; border-bottom:1px dotted #000000; font-style:italic; font-variantConfusedmall-caps; }
</style>
[/html]
#2
[html]

()



They were getting tired.

Their numbers had dwindled over the months as fools died and deserters fled, and now they were three—father and daughter, and Dolores.

Loyal and steadfast, the Boreas ex-soldier could not imagine desertion a second time, though the odds were mounted against them. It was different now; she was different. She had grown into someone appreciated by others, someone who could protect the ones that she cared about. She had someone to fight for.

She didn't question anything. Not until today.

Their ride was silent for a long time, the only sound the wind in the grass and the steady plod of horse hooves. Each jostle in the saddle ached; they had been both had bad luck lately, and there was no time for a proper rest. Even Donnie couldn't hide a wince, though her grimaces darkened into that familiar burning anger.

The wolves ducked their heads as they moved under branches, but some small white flowers drifted down and landed in the gelding's flame-colored mane. Dolores plucked the fragile petals free and held them in her hand, looking forward at her friend, then with a click of her tongue urged Red to ride up beside Kidd. She reached up and scattered the tiny blooms in Belladonna's hair, flashing her a tired grin.

Donnie rolled her eyes at the gesture, but tucked a wayward strand of hair back and let her fingertips rest over the flowers in contemplative silence.

"How's that wound treatin' you?" Dolores asked, glancing at the irritated bite mark on Donnie's wrist. That grey dog had put up a vicious fight, though in the end they'd left both mongrels in the creek; they hadn't been worth the trouble. It became important to pick their battles, measure risk and reward, as the injuries stacked.

"It's fine," Donnie replied dismissively. She stared at the trail ahead, eyes passing dully over the tangled brush. She didn't seem like she would say anything else. Red fell back a stride, and Dolores chewed on her inner cheek.

Then, uncharacteristically uncertain, soft: "Dolores?"

The silver-blue wolf pricked her ears.

"D'ya think we got a chance? It's— I want this, I want t' make those fuckers pay for what they did to Momma, it's only right, but ever since Arlo 'n' Pippin... I tried t' talk t' Daddy, but he wasn't hearin' none of it."

Belladonna picked one of the flowers from her hair, fiddling with it. Emotions darkened her pretty face: confusion and shame, guilt and grief. Her robin's egg blue eyes sought Dolores', vulnerable, almost afraid.

"Daddy is scaring me," she confessed. "I'm worried he's gonna kill himself—'n' us—fightin' a battle we can't win." Her ears dipped low with guilt. "It ain't right. I'm his daughter, I ought t' honor him no matter what he says, but..."

Dolores swallowed.
"Donnie, what are you sayin'?"

Her friend looked at her again, and this time there was something like hope in her eyes: hope, tempered by pangs of conscience, and a careful fondness.

She said, "What if you and I—" and she did not finish.

The arrow pierced behind an ear and thrust its point from the corner of an eye, and Belladonna soundlessly fell sideways off her horse and hit the dirt.

The fleabitten mare spooked and galloped down the trail. Red shied but did not flee, whinnying with alarm, and Dolores sat on his back, staring without comprehension at the space where Donnie had once been for one, two, three heartbeats.

She screamed. She threw herself down from the horse, her knees dropped to the earth, and she grabbed at Belladonna's limp body, the pierced head lolling with its slack jaw and pale eyes lost of light. She clutched her friend to her chest and cried.

With sharp, agonized sobs that wracked her whole form, with utter disregard to the murderers waiting in the brush, heart-broken, she cried.


<style>
.txtNotoSans p.ooc { padding:0px 5px 5px 3px; opacity:.75; text-indent:0px; text-align:center; }
.txtNotoSans p.ooc:after { margin:0 auto; content:''; filter: alpha(opacity=60%); opacity: .30; display: block; border-bottom: 1px solid; padding-bottom: 10px; }
.txtNotoSans p.wc { padding:0px 5px 5px 3px; opacity:.75; text-indent:0px; text-align:right; font-weight:bold; }
.txtNotoSans p { margin:10px 20px 0; font-family:Noto Sans; line-height:23px; font-size:15px; }
.txtNotoSans b.npc { opacity:.75; }
.txtNotoSans b.lang:before { content:'< '; }
.txtNotoSans b.lang:after { content:' >'; } </style>[/html]
[html]<img src="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/481581012573356064/586018744992661522/do_avi_1.png" style="max-height:170px;" />[/html]
#3
[html]

It had started with the grief, as though the two emotions had slipped into her heart togehter, hand-in-hand, with all the confidence and enthusiasm of a bull and rider. And, during that bitter and beautiful night that she had shared with Santiago after Calhoun's burial, Evelyn realized precisely what it was. Rage. Readiness. Resolve.


There would be no more running. There would be no more hiding. There would be no more cowardice.


And, should she fall to the very hands that had hacked away at her brother's golden neck, separating his head from his body with unnecessary finality, at least she would fall fighting. After all, aside from Santiago, she had nothing else left to lose besides her own life and, as far as she was concerned, their lives were synonymous.


Santiago might be able to survive without her, but Evelyn would rather perish than eke out a living without him – without anyone left to share the memories and the lives of Rattler's Gulch.


So, despite her limited ability to wield a weapon or fight tooth-and-nail, the Vicar put all of her energy into patrolling with the other coyotes of their two factions and scouting their territories for evidence of their quarry. But she never went alone, not necessarily because she was afraid but because she wasn't an idiot.


Shifting her eyes, Evelyn noticed a change in her companion and, moments later, caught the scent herself. Wordlessly, she followed the young archer, every nerve in her body prickling with energy and anticipation. She noticed them in the same beat as Boone did and, crouching in the brush, watched as he drew the string of his bow taught before letting the arrow sail.


It hit its target with a weighted thunk and the Vicar's thin lips curled up into a smile.


The chaos that followed was accentuated by the agonizing screams of the surviving wolf. Evelyn offered Boone a look of approval before she rose and, careful to take stock of the current situation, started for the two women. "Careful now," she warned the grieving wolf, her curled lips and yellowing fangs pinching and tugging at the pink, terrible burn scars marring her face. "Or we may decide t' do away with her pretty little head."


Maybe they still would.


[WC — 388]


<style>
.Evetext {padding:20px; font-family: 'Crimson Text', serif; text-align:justify;}
.Evetext p:first-child:first-letter {text-indent:60px; margin:0px; float: left; color: #000000; font-size: 75px; line-height: 60px; padding-top: 4px; padding-right: 8px; padding-left: 3px; font-family: 'Amita', cursive;}
.Evetext p {font-family: 'Crimson Text', serif; font-size:18px; margin:0px; padding:3px;}
.Evetext p + p {text-indent:60px;}
.Evetext .npc1 {font-style: italic; font-weight:bold; filter:alpha(opacity=65%); opacity:.65;}
.Evetext .npc2 {font-style: italic; font-weight:normal; filter:alpha(opacity=65%); opacity:.65;}
.Evetext p.ooc {opacity:0.7; padding:3px; text-align: left; text-indent:0px; font-size:16px; padding:10px 5px;}
.Evetext p.wc {opacity:0.7; padding:3px; text-align: right; text-indent:0px; font-size:16px; padding:10px 5px;}
</style>

[/html]
#4
[html]



Do not cry out or hit the alarm
You know we're friends till we die


The arrow struck true, piercing the wolf bitch's skull with a sharp crack. It gave Boone great pleasure to watch her slip from her saddle and hit the ground like a rag doll. Dull and lifeless, the coyote clan had nothing to fear from her anymore. The world was made a safer place for his kind with every dead wolf. Filled with righteous fury, Boone had never felt so justified in murder.

Violence begets violence -- it was a lie the weak told themselves so they look away from world's harsh realities. This was no cycle, but an effective means to an end. It was the only way.

The other wolf stopped, clearly shocked as she slid from her horse. She made no notion to fight back, but only knelt beside her departed friend to grieve. The Vicar made her approach first; the grieving wolf being her sole focus. Boone followed close behind. However, his gaze lingered long on the horse the grieving wolf rode.

It'd been his mothers.

Behind the beast's eyes, Boone could see a faint spark of familiarity. "No," he whispered, feeling the acidic bite of bile rising in his throat. There was only one explanation as to why the horse would have fallen to the wolf's ownership. He tossed his uncle's bow aside and pushed past the Vicar. He'd kill her. He'd kill her with his bare hands. She didn't deserve a quick or clean death.

Fists tightly clenched, Boone was fury ascendant. He wound up and stuck the grieving wolf in the jaw with such force that it split the skin between his knuckles. He led with all his weight.

OOC text here.

<style>.ryanPrize {
width:95%;
max-width:650px;
margin:0 auto;
font-size:16px;
font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', palatino, georgia, serif;
}
.ryanPrize .lyric {
font-family:'Coming Soon', serif;
text-align:center;
font-size:20px;
opacity:.75px;
text-shadow:#000 0px 1px 0px;
margin-left:40px;
}
.ryanPrize .ooc {
font-family:verdana, geneva, sans-serif;
font-size:13px;
margin:5px auto;
opacity:0.6;
padding:10px 2px;
border-top:1px dotted;
}
.ryanPrize .ooc:before {
content:'OOC →';
font-weight:bold;
padding:5px;
}
.ryanPrize p {
line-height:25px;
margin:0px;
text-indent:40px;
padding:5px 10px;
}
// put if you want to distinquish an NPC's speech
.ryanPrize b.npc { opacity:0.75; }
// for word of the day or some shit
.ryanPrize u { text-decoration: none; border-bottom:1px dotted #000000; font-style:italic; font-variantConfusedmall-caps; }
</style>
[/html]
#5
[html]

()



The keening heights of her sobs became whimpers became words, a quiet mantra as she quaked and supported her friend's pierced head.

"Donnie no, no no..."

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Dolores was supposed to protect her; Solomon had trusted her to watch out for his daughter. It had always been Belladonna who protected the weak Kasper girl, though, and even Donnie's death gave her a chance.

The arrow hadn't hit her.
Dolores could run. She could make it out alive.

She shut her eyes and buried her face against the 'kerchief at Donnie's throat, weeping wretchedly, fingers curling into that soft tawny fur.

Footfalls approached, but while the silver-blue wolf tensed at the shadow that fell over them, she did not react at first. She lifted her head only to look at Belladonna's ruined face, a rivulet of blood flowing from the arrow's exit point like a crimson tear, until the female coyote spoke. Her light teal eyes darted, white-rimmed with fear, toward the horribly scarred woman. She thought about a headless horseman.

"No, don't—"

The second coyote advanced without a word and slugged Dolores in the face.

She didn't yelp, even though the agony nearly knocked her unconscious. Fire bled through her neck where the nerves pinched from the whiplash, and the world slowly resolved from its sparking white into foggy vision. Donnie had rolled down into the dirt, knocked from her grasp, and Dolores slowly righted herself again—still on her knees, still shaking, numbly prying a tooth from her jaw.

She swallowed blood and looked up at the furious young man, her eyes dull.


<style>
.txtNotoSans p.ooc { padding:0px 5px 5px 3px; opacity:.75; text-indent:0px; }
.txtNotoSans p.ooc:after { margin:0 auto; content:''; filter: alpha(opacity=60%); opacity: .30; display: block; border-bottom: 1px solid; padding-bottom: 10px; }
.txtNotoSans p.wc { padding:0px 5px 5px 3px; opacity:.75; text-indent:0px; text-align:right; font-weight:bold; }
.txtNotoSans p { margin:10px 20px 0; font-family:Noto Sans; line-height:23px; font-size:15px; }
.txtNotoSans b.npc { opacity:.75; }
.txtNotoSans b.lang:before { content:'< '; }
.txtNotoSans b.lang:after { content:' >'; } </style>[/html]
[html]<img src="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/481581012573356064/586018744992661522/do_avi_1.png" style="max-height:170px;" />[/html]
#6
[html]

Oh, how she relished the power, the control, of looking down her long and ruined nose at the weak, broken, miserable heap of a grieving wolf. It felt just a little bit like retribution.


Lex talionis.


But Evelyn had little time to bask in her satisfaction before the sound of something hitting the ground drew a tattered ear back, breaking the magic of the moment. Only a beat later, Boone's solid frame edged her aside and, for the second time in as many minutes, another crack rent the air around them.


She was bristling by the time the young man's knuckles connected with flesh and bone, but whether that was from her own irritation or the electric heat of the moment, Evelyn couldn't be sure. "Boone," she snarled deeply, reaching her bandaged arms out for him quickly in an attempt to keep him from clocking her again. "Hold your damned horses!"


Not because she cared about the wolf, but because she cared about what the wolf knew.


"There's things this bitch knows," she continued, giving the woman a long and dangerous look before turning to Boone again. "You keep on sockdologerin' her an' she ain't gonna be able to tell us much."


There was something in the young Lykoi's eyes that made her wonder and the Vicar held her fiery eye on his hard face a beat longer, trying – and failing – to decipher it, before she flashed it over the wolf's bleeding face. "Ain't that right?"


[WC — 254]


<style>
.Evetext {padding:20px; font-family: 'Crimson Text', serif; text-align:justify;}
.Evetext p:first-child:first-letter {text-indent:60px; margin:0px; float: left; color: #000000; font-size: 75px; line-height: 60px; padding-top: 4px; padding-right: 8px; padding-left: 3px; font-family: 'Amita', cursive;}
.Evetext p {font-family: 'Crimson Text', serif; font-size:18px; margin:0px; padding:3px;}
.Evetext p + p {text-indent:60px;}
.Evetext .npc1 {font-style: italic; font-weight:bold; filter:alpha(opacity=65%); opacity:.65;}
.Evetext .npc2 {font-style: italic; font-weight:normal; filter:alpha(opacity=65%); opacity:.65;}
.Evetext p.ooc {opacity:0.7; padding:3px; text-align: left; text-indent:0px; font-size:16px; padding:10px 5px;}
.Evetext p.wc {opacity:0.7; padding:3px; text-align: right; text-indent:0px; font-size:16px; padding:10px 5px;}
</style>

[/html]
#7
[html]



Do not cry out or hit the alarm
You know we're friends till we die


Boone felt the Vicar's hand slip around his wrist as she tried to pull him back, but Boone wrenched his arm away. Emotion ran hot under the Lykoi's skin. For what this wolf bitch had clearly done to his family, he'd show her ten times worse. However, his companion did succeed in her goal of keeping Boone from landing another, perhaps lethal, blow on the downed, dazed woman. Instead, he loomed over their captive with fists clenched.

He'd kill her. But by god, he was going to make it slow.

"Oh, she'll talk," Boone told the Vicar. "She better talk." Yet, it truly didn't matter what the wolf girl said. Nothing but an act of God could save her now. Her fate was already sealed in Cartel and the Posse's hands. Vindication was sweet.

Boone took the wolf's broad jaw in hand and jerked her head roughly so she could her shaken vision focus on Vicira's horse. "That horse --" his voice broke with strain. While his mother had abandoned his kin on her own accord, this wolf had stolen all hope of reconciliation. Perhaps she'd killed Redtooth too. Maybe he did find her, and they both shared the same shallow grave. "--Belongs to someone dear to me."

He knelt down to the wolf's level and turned her face toward his own. He stared in her eyes as he drew a dagger from his belt. "You're gonna tell me how it came into your possession -- or I'ma make you wish you were your dead friend there." He turned her head then to Donnie's body to let the stakes truly set in.

Teensy bit of PP. Just let me know if you want me to change anything Raze <3

<style>.ryanPrize {
width:95%;
max-width:650px;
margin:0 auto;
font-size:16px;
font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', palatino, georgia, serif;
}
.ryanPrize .lyric {
font-family:'Coming Soon', serif;
text-align:center;
font-size:20px;
opacity:.75px;
text-shadow:#000 0px 1px 0px;
margin-left:40px;
}
.ryanPrize .ooc {
font-family:verdana, geneva, sans-serif;
font-size:13px;
margin:5px auto;
opacity:0.6;
padding:10px 2px;
border-top:1px dotted;
}
.ryanPrize .ooc:before {
content:'OOC →';
font-weight:bold;
padding:5px;
}
.ryanPrize p {
line-height:25px;
margin:0px;
text-indent:40px;
padding:5px 10px;
}
// put if you want to distinquish an NPC's speech
.ryanPrize b.npc { opacity:0.75; }
// for word of the day or some shit
.ryanPrize u { text-decoration: none; border-bottom:1px dotted #000000; font-style:italic; font-variantConfusedmall-caps; }
</style>
[/html]
#8
[html]

()



Iron pooled in the empty socket in her mouth and trickled down the back of her throat. She swayed on her knees, awaiting another strike—but it did not come, and her hands braced on the dark-speckled earth. The coyote with the ruined face was holding the other back from hitting her, although Dolores knew it was not an altruistic act. White noise rushed through her ears, static filled her head, as they exchanged words.

Rough hands grasped her jaw and twisted her head around, focusing her blurred gaze on the flame-colored horse that retreated to the edge of the path. Red stared at her with trepidation, his ears swiveled back, his nostrils flaring.

He was a sweet animal—the cause of so much trouble.

Like the one-eyed coywolf, this ashen-haired one wanted to know where he came from. There was something in the greys of his fur that rekindled her memory.

She stared emotionlessly into his wild, angry eyes.

Then she was pointed toward Donnie, and hers shut tightly to shut out the sight—squeezing a single tear that coursed through the dust on her muzzle. Her body trembled with pain and exhaustion and her voice, when she spoke, was hoarse.

"We saw her. Tall grey coyote. Huh-high as a kite." She winced back, her ears pinned, her eyes still shut, as if she expected to be hit again for this. "Liked the look of her pinto but the horse was mean. Underestimated it, her." They'd both worn welts from the blue-eyed mare's teeth and the coyote's quarterstaff, inexpertly wielded was it was. "Donnie couldn't shoot her, might hit the horses. I don't know what happened. I don't know what happened," she said more roughly, agony behind her eyes.

"No," she said, to try to pause, bide more time, and it came together: "She got thrown. Just long enough for us to grab Red and go. He's the better horse anyway."

The gelding nickered lightly at the sound of his name. He started to walk toward Dolores, stopped, turned his ears back again, glanced at his master's boy.

"She ain't dead. Could've broke her arm. But not dead. Saw her get up."

Tentatively, she opened her eyes again. Her breath hitched painfully.


<style>
.txtNotoSans p.ooc { padding:0px 5px 5px 3px; opacity:.75; text-indent:0px; }
.txtNotoSans p.ooc:after { margin:0 auto; content:''; filter: alpha(opacity=60%); opacity: .30; display: block; border-bottom: 1px solid; padding-bottom: 10px; }
.txtNotoSans p.wc { padding:0px 5px 5px 3px; opacity:.75; text-indent:0px; text-align:right; font-weight:bold; }
.txtNotoSans p { margin:10px 20px 0; font-family:Noto Sans; line-height:23px; font-size:15px; }
.txtNotoSans b.npc { opacity:.75; }
.txtNotoSans b.lang:before { content:'< '; }
.txtNotoSans b.lang:after { content:' >'; } </style>[/html]
[html]<img src="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/481581012573356064/586018744992661522/do_avi_1.png" style="max-height:170px;" />[/html]
#9
[html]

With her eyes holding the wolf's face dangerously between narrowed lids, Evelyn considered Boone's response with neither reaction nor comment. But within the confines of her mind, hidden away from judgement or scrutiny, the Escuella woman found herself wondering. There was something in his threat, and in the gleam of his eyes before that, that seemed to her beyond their shared prejudice or mutual loss.


After all, she had more reason than he did to kill her if it was found out that this woman had anything to do with Calhoun's murder. And what could possibly overshadow that?


With neither cheer nor displeasure altering the hard look on the coyote's marred face, the Vicar watched as Boone took the creature's chin between his fingers and wrenched her head toward the chestnut gelding, all but forcing her to look at the fine beast. When his voice broke, Evelyn shifted her eyes to look at him.


Ah, she thought without evidence of surprise tweaking her cold expression, though she still managed to feel it. After all, it wasn't always she was found to be right. A lover, then. Lovers had a way of influencing the needs of their sympathetic devotees.


Silently, Evelyn looked back at the bleeding woman and waited for Boone's response.


[WC — 218]


<style>
.Evetext {padding:20px; font-family: 'Crimson Text', serif; text-align:justify;}
.Evetext p:first-child:first-letter {text-indent:60px; margin:0px; float: left; color: #000000; font-size: 75px; line-height: 60px; padding-top: 4px; padding-right: 8px; padding-left: 3px; font-family: 'Amita', cursive;}
.Evetext p {font-family: 'Crimson Text', serif; font-size:18px; margin:0px; padding:3px;}
.Evetext p + p {text-indent:60px;}
.Evetext .npc1 {font-style: italic; font-weight:bold; filter:alpha(opacity=65%); opacity:.65;}
.Evetext .npc2 {font-style: italic; font-weight:normal; filter:alpha(opacity=65%); opacity:.65;}
.Evetext p.ooc {opacity:0.7; padding:3px; text-align: left; text-indent:0px; font-size:16px; padding:10px 5px;}
.Evetext p.wc {opacity:0.7; padding:3px; text-align: right; text-indent:0px; font-size:16px; padding:10px 5px;}
</style>

[/html]
#10
[html]



Do not cry out or hit the alarm
You know we're friends till we die


Boone handled the wolf roughly, and though he could feel her try to pull her gaze away from her fallen friend, Boone would not relent. His grip on her jaw tightened. He wanted her to see -- to know that happened to those who crossed his people. It was a violent fate they'd all share, all of her damned kind.

Her stammering strained, she struggled to speak. Boone stared down with wrath alight in his eyes, waiting for an admission of guilt, or for her to give him any reason to snap her neck. Yet, even that was a mercy for the underserving. Too quick. He couldn't grant the wolf who'd killed his mother a clean death.

She weaved a story for him. Though, Boone knew not to trust the words of a wolf caught in a trap. She'd say anything that she thought would save her life. Nothing more.

Hope had died a long time ago.

Gritting his teeth, he bore down upon her, every fiber of his being demanding Boone to accuse the wolf of lying to him. Yet -- yet... he wanted to believe. The last vestiges of innocence cried out, longing for the truth. "Where," He demanded. Too many questions went unanswered. He couldn't dispose of her yet, not until he knew everything.

"WHO WAS SHE WITH?" Boone shouted, shaking her head with rage. "A man. A man who looks like me" He knelt between the wolf and the corpse and let her see deep, forest green eyes. The eyes of his father. "Tell me where my parents are," his voice broke, emotion pouring through the cracks.

OOC Text here.

<style>.ryanPrize {
width:95%;
max-width:650px;
margin:0 auto;
font-size:16px;
font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', palatino, georgia, serif;
}
.ryanPrize .lyric {
font-family:'Coming Soon', serif;
text-align:center;
font-size:20px;
opacity:.75px;
text-shadow:#000 0px 1px 0px;
margin-left:40px;
}
.ryanPrize .ooc {
font-family:verdana, geneva, sans-serif;
font-size:13px;
margin:5px auto;
opacity:0.6;
padding:10px 2px;
border-top:1px dotted;
}
.ryanPrize .ooc:before {
content:'OOC →';
font-weight:bold;
padding:5px;
}
.ryanPrize p {
line-height:25px;
margin:0px;
text-indent:40px;
padding:5px 10px;
}
// put if you want to distinquish an NPC's speech
.ryanPrize b.npc { opacity:0.75; }
// for word of the day or some shit
.ryanPrize u { text-decoration: none; border-bottom:1px dotted #000000; font-style:italic; font-variantConfusedmall-caps; }
</style>
[/html]
#11
[html]

()



His grip tightened on her jaw, and blood trickled onto his squeezing fingers. He asked where, and she could only say, "West, in the oak savanna."

They'd traveled for hundreds of miles, for months, through towns whose names had been long forgotten. From her mountain exodus to that journey across the prairie to their mission in the moist, cool forests in the northeast, she couldn't tell him what the territories were called or their significance to anyone but herself.

The tallgrass prairie where Donnie taught her to ride. The summertime woods where they witnessed their first winking fireflies.

The coyote screamed in her face, and the nerves in her neck bled white-hot fire as he shook her violently. Dazed, tears welling in her eyes, she gaped at him with growing panic, and the genuinely confused look of the clueless. There had been no man with the grey coyote, and certainly no one who looked like this boy.

"Sh—she was alone, I don't know, I would tell you but I don't know!"

At the keen of her voice, Red pricked his ears. He hesitated for several more seconds, but at last made his decision to walk forward, trying to lean in to sniff curiously at Dolores' muzzle grasped cruelly in the boy's hand. Feeling his warm breath disturbing her hair, Dolores wept again, doing her best to curl in on herself.


<style>
.txtNotoSans p.ooc { padding:0px 5px 5px 3px; opacity:.75; text-indent:0px; }
.txtNotoSans p.ooc:after { margin:0 auto; content:''; filter: alpha(opacity=60%); opacity: .30; display: block; border-bottom: 1px solid; padding-bottom: 10px; }
.txtNotoSans p.wc { padding:0px 5px 5px 3px; opacity:.75; text-indent:0px; text-align:right; font-weight:bold; }
.txtNotoSans p { margin:10px 20px 0; font-family:Noto Sans; line-height:23px; font-size:15px; }
.txtNotoSans b.npc { opacity:.75; }
.txtNotoSans b.lang:before { content:'< '; }
.txtNotoSans b.lang:after { content:' >'; } </style>[/html]
[html]<img src="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/481581012573356064/586018744992661522/do_avi_1.png" style="max-height:170px;" />[/html]
#12
[html]

She did not expect to hear the way Boone's voice cracked and, with another silent flick in his direction, the Vicar watched him instead of the wolf. Parents. Everyone had them and, eventually, everyone lost them. A true and awful pity to be sure, particularly if they had been lost to wolves as her own had been.


Silently, Evelyn turned toward their quarry again and she thought the look in the girl's panicked, bewildered eyes to be telling. Perhaps there was truth to this wolf's denial.


Too bad for her that it meant nothing to the Vicar.


"So you ain't done this man's mama no mortal harm," she confirmed slowly, her voice flat and her face sharp. "But you took my brother's head." Her lips peeled back away from her teeth and the bridge of her nose rippled. "Or do you deny that too?" She snarled, poking her tongue from between bared teeth and drawing it in again.


As far as Evelyn was concerned, the wolf deserved the same fate. But there were things yet that she was convinced the woman could help them with. "You best be tellin' us what you do know," she growled deeply, softening her face while keeping the look in her eyes fierce. "And real fast now."


[WC — 218]


<style>
.Evetext {padding:20px; font-family: 'Crimson Text', serif; text-align:justify;}
.Evetext p:first-child:first-letter {text-indent:60px; margin:0px; float: left; color: #000000; font-size: 75px; line-height: 60px; padding-top: 4px; padding-right: 8px; padding-left: 3px; font-family: 'Amita', cursive;}
.Evetext p {font-family: 'Crimson Text', serif; font-size:18px; margin:0px; padding:3px;}
.Evetext p + p {text-indent:60px;}
.Evetext .npc1 {font-style: italic; font-weight:bold; filter:alpha(opacity=65%); opacity:.65;}
.Evetext .npc2 {font-style: italic; font-weight:normal; filter:alpha(opacity=65%); opacity:.65;}
.Evetext p.ooc {opacity:0.7; padding:3px; text-align: left; text-indent:0px; font-size:16px; padding:10px 5px;}
.Evetext p.wc {opacity:0.7; padding:3px; text-align: right; text-indent:0px; font-size:16px; padding:10px 5px;}
</style>

[/html]
#13
[html]



Do not cry out or hit the alarm
You know we're friends till we die


The wolf bitch gave her answer -- however, it mattered not. The whereabouts of Boone's mother, wherever she had run to, was a mere pittance. The Oak Savanna, he'd never heard such a name. After all, Nova Scotia was all Boone knew. It was likely that she was a world away by now. Boone could not pursue her, or rather, he would not pursue her. The mistakes of Vicira Tears were beneath Boone, so he believed. If he abandoned the ones who needed him most, especially at a time like this, he would be no better than her and history would repeat itself.

However, her answer was enough to silence Boone. Vicira had been alone, confirming Boone's suspicions that Redtooth had died in the wilds on his fools errand. He loosened his tight grip around the wolf's muzzle, until ultimately relenting. He let go and began to think hard on how to repay the wolf for her information.

Perhaps an arrow to the chest.

In the natural lull, Evalyn took her opportunity to squeeze the information she desired. She too had a personal stake in this one. What the wolves had done to the reverend had been barbaric. Boone took a step back and let her take the reigns. Justice could come later -- only when the wolf spilled all the information she had.

In the meantime, Boone knocked another arrow.

OOC Text here.

<style>.ryanPrize {
width:95%;
max-width:650px;
margin:0 auto;
font-size:16px;
font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', palatino, georgia, serif;
}
.ryanPrize .lyric {
font-family:'Coming Soon', serif;
text-align:center;
font-size:20px;
opacity:.75px;
text-shadow:#000 0px 1px 0px;
margin-left:40px;
}
.ryanPrize .ooc {
font-family:verdana, geneva, sans-serif;
font-size:13px;
margin:5px auto;
opacity:0.6;
padding:10px 2px;
border-top:1px dotted;
}
.ryanPrize .ooc:before {
content:'OOC →';
font-weight:bold;
padding:5px;
}
.ryanPrize p {
line-height:25px;
margin:0px;
text-indent:40px;
padding:5px 10px;
}
// put if you want to distinquish an NPC's speech
.ryanPrize b.npc { opacity:0.75; }
// for word of the day or some shit
.ryanPrize u { text-decoration: none; border-bottom:1px dotted #000000; font-style:italic; font-variantConfusedmall-caps; }
</style>
[/html]
#14
[html]

()



The sweetgrass breath of the horse tickled her hair as she sobbed, until the fingers left her muzzle and the female coyote spoke. Dolores choked on spittle and blood, struggling to meet the mismatched eyes of the snarling woman, her lips drawn back and her tongue flickering in aggression, not unlike a snake. She opened her mouth to reply, but the telltale creak of wood and sinew as a bowstring was drawn rocked her out of the moment, her breath catching again with fear.

There was, Dolores understood, nothing that she could do. She was helpless—just like everyone thought she always was.

"I don't deny it," the silver wolf said, her drawl rushed, her ears pinned. "I didn't do it myself but I helped catch 'im, I know that's as good as swingin' the sword." She swallowed and exhaled in distress, almost a sigh, as Red stepped closer and tried once more to nuzzle her out of concern, the stupid, stupid animal. "Solomon James leads us. That's his daughter right there. Y'all killed her momma 'n' that's why they're after you, that's what they told me." Maybe that was the start of things, maybe it wasn't, but life was a terrible cycle of vengeance—as it was in Zion, so it was here.

"Our camp ain't far. You can follow the tracks. Think he's the only one left."

She was such a coward. She should have spat in their face. She knew it was futile no matter how many secrets she spilled, and yet, and yet—

Red hung his long muzzle over her shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her face against the warm ruddy fur. There was only one thing left for her.

"Our Father, who art in heaven," Dolores began to murmur into Red's neck, and he nickered softly.


<style>
.txtNotoSans p.ooc { padding:0px 5px 5px 3px; opacity:.75; text-indent:0px; }
.txtNotoSans p.ooc:after { margin:0 auto; content:''; filter: alpha(opacity=60%); opacity: .30; display: block; border-bottom: 1px solid; padding-bottom: 10px; }
.txtNotoSans p.wc { padding:0px 5px 5px 3px; opacity:.75; text-indent:0px; text-align:right; font-weight:bold; }
.txtNotoSans p { margin:10px 20px 0; font-family:Noto Sans; line-height:23px; font-size:15px; }
.txtNotoSans b.npc { opacity:.75; }
.txtNotoSans b.lang:before { content:'< '; }
.txtNotoSans b.lang:after { content:' >'; } </style>[/html]
[html]<img src="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/481581012573356064/586018744992661522/do_avi_1.png" style="max-height:170px;" />[/html]
#15
[html]

And so the doomed woman spoke and her sins and her secrets spilled out of her mouth like puss from a ruptured abscess. Evelyn regarded her with disgust when she admitted to having helped catch Calhoun, her nose crinkling until her incisors and her canine teeth reappeared from between dark lips. The hate in her eyes burned, hot and hard. But she was silent, allowing the filth to carry on talking until it seemed there was nothing else left to tell.


All the while, the horse – a feeble-minded creature with little in the way of sense, so far as Evelyn was concerned – neared and nudged at the wolf until its presence had become a nuisance to her. She blew a fizzle of breath from between pursed lips when the woman wrapped her arms around the horse's neck and clicked her teeth in annoyance.


"Save your breath," she growled softly. "There ain't no god to hear your damn prayers."


She turned to Boone then, and regarded the notched arrow with an approving dip of her nose. But it was the young man's decision, and so she deferred to him. "Your call." She was tired now, her grief having found her again with renewed vigor, and her voice reflected as much. "But them loose ends ain't gonna stay loose forever." She looked pointedly at the wolf. "I reckon th' day will come when she'll be back fixin' to tie 'em herself." But a dead wolf couldn't come back for revenge.


[WC — 255]


<style>
.Evetext {padding:20px; font-family: 'Crimson Text', serif; text-align:justify;}
.Evetext p:first-child:first-letter {text-indent:60px; margin:0px; float: left; color: #000000; font-size: 75px; line-height: 60px; padding-top: 4px; padding-right: 8px; padding-left: 3px; font-family: 'Amita', cursive;}
.Evetext p {font-family: 'Crimson Text', serif; font-size:18px; margin:0px; padding:3px;}
.Evetext p + p {text-indent:60px;}
.Evetext .npc1 {font-style: italic; font-weight:bold; filter:alpha(opacity=65%); opacity:.65;}
.Evetext .npc2 {font-style: italic; font-weight:normal; filter:alpha(opacity=65%); opacity:.65;}
.Evetext p.ooc {opacity:0.7; padding:3px; text-align: left; text-indent:0px; font-size:16px; padding:10px 5px;}
.Evetext p.wc {opacity:0.7; padding:3px; text-align: right; text-indent:0px; font-size:16px; padding:10px 5px;}
</style>

[/html]
#16
[html]



Do not cry out or hit the alarm
You know we're friends till we die


Boone had heard enough to decide the wolf woman's fate, however, he gave Evelyn the breadth to find all she needed to know. Oh, and how she sang too underneath the threat of pointed arrow. Either way, her story was over. She did not stare death in the face with bravery. Her loyalty was as fickle as fresh spring breeze. She would die a coward's death. Her god could not save her now.

A whispered prayer passed the wolf woman's lips. Infuriated, a low rumble blossomed from Boone's throat. However, it was Evelyn that cut her plea to the divine short. "Pathetic," Boone chided. The bowstring was pulled back with great strength and he took aim for the wolf woman's head. She would join her friend soon enough.

The final decision regarding the wolf woman's life fell upon Boone's shoulders.

Evelyn made her case; cold and logical. Boone was inclined to agree. It was to invite disaster upon their people to let the enemy live, nor was Boone in the business of taking prisoners. His mother's horse, however, implored Boone to show mercy to the woman who stole him away from his true owner. Innocent as the creature was, lesser animals had not the rational forethought to fight a war. The display would sway Boone not.

"Go on then, meet your God," Boone muttered. A beat followed, and he let the arrow fly.

OOC Text here.

<style>.ryanPrize {
width:95%;
max-width:650px;
margin:0 auto;
font-size:16px;
font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', palatino, georgia, serif;
}
.ryanPrize .lyric {
font-family:'Coming Soon', serif;
text-align:center;
font-size:20px;
opacity:.75px;
text-shadow:#000 0px 1px 0px;
margin-left:40px;
}
.ryanPrize .ooc {
font-family:verdana, geneva, sans-serif;
font-size:13px;
margin:5px auto;
opacity:0.6;
padding:10px 2px;
border-top:1px dotted;
}
.ryanPrize .ooc:before {
content:'OOC →';
font-weight:bold;
padding:5px;
}
.ryanPrize p {
line-height:25px;
margin:0px;
text-indent:40px;
padding:5px 10px;
}
// put if you want to distinquish an NPC's speech
.ryanPrize b.npc { opacity:0.75; }
// for word of the day or some shit
.ryanPrize u { text-decoration: none; border-bottom:1px dotted #000000; font-style:italic; font-variantConfusedmall-caps; }
</style>
[/html]


Forum Jump: