[P] [m] thou cream-faced loon
skoll
#1
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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.
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(589)

mature for potentially creative insults??

Brickface, already a person whose natural talent's lent itself well to banditry, had some notion that the pack's call for increased contributions ought to involve theft from those outside the Gang. Sure, sure, she made weapons, but there had to be something that the pack was missing for them to need more of whatever it was. Look, she wasn't a merchant or a quartermaster, she just thought that stealing luperci-made goods and trading them for whatever the Gang needed would be more efficient than hunting down a bunch of deer.

Besides, trading the weapons was a bad idea. Who knew who they could be arming? It was smarter to keep stuff like that to oneself.

The crooked path her mind created to solve problems made logical sense to her, even if it didn't to anyone else. Sometimes it told her that she should try whittling a spear with a tiny sliver of rusty metal instead of first carving a knife, and at other times, it told her that she shouldn't be selling to weapons to outsiders. It all evened out, didn't it?

Not that she knew it yet, but others were making the same calculations, trying to pay off the debt to the Del Mars with theft rather than hard work.

The coyote was past the Gang's borders, her scent muted under the smell of dead possum and rotting leaves. The stench gave her anonymity, but she didn't have a mask or the clothing to complete the illusion of a different persona. Still, she wasn't concerned. She didn't plan to start a fight, not today. She was going to scout out the possibilities. That was different.

Even so, she still carried her spear with her. Opportunity and misfortune could strike at any time.

Charmingtown had given her a basis for where she ought to start; she had followed the trail outside of the packlands and then random branching paths until her decision narrowed between two directions: north and south. Today, she chose north, and meandered alongside the faint hoof prints and trampled grass of a horse's passing. When she walked, she kept herself out of the mud so that she didn't leave a footprint. She walked across grass that had already been trampled and wouldn't mark her passing.

The light from the sun broke through slits in between the trees, and then widened, and then finally the trees faded altogether. Forest became plains, but unlike the warm plains she was familiar with, this one welcomed her with a cold wind that made the fur bristle like a porcupine. The fur on her chest and back was growing back, but lightly. It didn't keep her warm. She missed the desert. She would always miss the desert.

The land beneath her feet rose upward, and then dipped. The wind didn't blow anymore, but neither did the morning sun touch her fur. A tree here and there provided further shade. Mud and stagnant water pooled into the ground, from last night's rain. It was not a choice location, but being between hills made it hard to see what was on the other side; an advantage she could use if the trees had more foliage. If she had someone she could station up high, as a look-out for approaching travelers...

This would still be better if it were summer. Or if it were desert. The coyote frowned, looking upward. On a day like this, she'd sooner climb a cactus than huddle in a bush where the sun couldn't touch her.

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#2
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The aged wolfdog couldn't recall a time that he'd traveled this far north. Even the isthmus had once been an exotic destination for the man born on the peninsula's sunrise-facing shoreline, wanderer though that Skoll was. Now, however, he didn't have a pack or family to tie him down; he could travel on for years if he wanted (and if he indeed had traveling years left in him).

And yet he couldn't keep the dense southern forests or the low-rolling hills near the coast out of his mind.

Still, a brief trip wouldn't hurt him. A lot had changed over the years, with new packs forming a comfortable distance from others' hunting grounds. Rumor had it that some coyotes had banded together again, which meant trouble. It was responsible of him to check everything out, right? An upstanding guy like him?

He traveled in his Secui form, the trade-off of endurance and stealth worth it for additional bulk to ward off would-be muggers – not that he had anything to steal but his mother's deathbed gift around his shaggy neck. Large and almost leonine, he bared his teeth at any shifty figures he passed and was rewarded with quickening steps. One would have to be desperate to prove something to harass him.

He was confident in that, but when the hills rose on either side of him, funneling him through a muddy pass, Skoll grew tense and wary. His head turned to keep his singular eye on the high knolls, ears twitching for the telltale snap of a bowstring or whistle of an arrow.

When he spotted the coyote along the path, he assumed the worst.

The large wolfdog rumbled a low growl and lifted wide head and curly tail as he loped closer, cautioning the coyote to get out of his way.

313

The title? Love it.


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#3
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(305)

While reading that, I had a vivid image of Skoll as a little wolf avatar exploring a MMO world. He rounds a hill and there's a surprise mob.

On one hand, it was cold.

On the other hand, this spot had just borne fruit.

That the wolfdog was on all fours with little to steal did not deter her. The prospect of battle calmed her erratic, wandering thoughts, and clear, calm focus washed over her mind.

He was large and thick. That thickness could've just been fur, but the scar on his muzzle, the missing eye and the way he carried himself all told her that he had experienced battle before. If they fought, it would be a good battle.

Brickface loved battle. It didn't matter that there wasn't something to fight for.

She lowered her spear so that it was level with the wolfdog's body, and took a defensive stance. Cocking her head to the side, she smiled. "Going somewhere?" What an old, cliche phrase, but it fit so well.

"There's so much room here," she did not gesture, though she wanted to. She couldn't take her hands off her spear. "You could always go around me." She made to side-step, as if to allow him to pass, but in truth she was attempting to step into the part of his vision that his missing eye didn't allow him to see.

And she was poised to jab the moment he came within spear's reach.

Playing with her target wasn't something she was supposed to do. If he had something to steal, the same traits that made him a worthy opponent would have made him an incredible annoyance. In the heat of battle, sometimes things got broken. If she expected to make a profit from a venture, then doing it without stabbing the horse, so to speak, was the ideal.

That he didn't have anything just meant that she didn't have to care she'd botched the attack before they know you're there step.

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#4
The impudent smile, the goading words— Skoll bristled, his sun-touched mane standing on end, but a thrill coursed through him, too. His mind already raced with probabilites, combing back through memories of other fights and rigorous training that landed him the title of military head in the Court.

Yeah, he could get with this.

The spear proved problematic, however. He knew he was disadvantaged against any weaponry, but his brief practice with the spear and shield (and, later, his daughter’s affinity for the weapon) afforded him familiarity with it— and its reach. He narrowed his options down, distractedly responding with a wry, “How polite of you, mademoiselle as he walked forward.

His reaction was fast; Skoll knew that his blind side was a tempting target. He pivoted as he stepped into her range, angling his torso away, and jerking his head so he could clamp his jaws around the shaft of the spear.

Its tip still grazed him along his shoulder: first blood.
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#5
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(289)

I am... not sure that what she's doing here makes sense. let me know if it doesn't.

The wolf was clever in a way that she didn't expect; she would grant him that. When he twisted around and took hold of her spear, narrowly avoiding the long knife on the end and the shrapnel she'd embedded underneath it, the coyote huffed. There was no time to make acknowledgements; she knew that she had to treat every battle as if it was her last.

She didn't even notice that she'd drawn first blood.

Her grip on the spear was strong, and with her body low to the ground, he had neither knocked her to ground nor pulled it out of her grip. Still, she was on the defensive, and this position had to change quick or it'd be a very short fight indeed.

The wood would hold up. She'd carved it herself, out of a thick oak sapling she found near a larger oak tree. The skull of a great beast had been embedded inside the latter, and she was sure that its spirit would lend the spear a greater strength; would the imbued power not be inherited through its son?

Her legs were bent, her body low, and her weight rested firmly on the balls of her feet. If she were to lunge, it would be forwards, not backwards; pulling on the spear would be as useless as using only her arm muscles to thrust the point into the wolf's hide.

Instead, she lunged forward, driving the momentum from her whole body. She swiveled on the balls of her feet as if to circle him, trying to drive the point of the spear closer to his body. The arc, she hoped, would either knock him off his feet or bloody him. From this angle, she might not be able to drive it deep, but it was better than nothing at all.

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#6
He was lucky; a few inches down the shaft, his mouth would have been bloodied on one of the numerous rusty shards of metal embedded into it. Snarling, Skoll tugged on the weapon, but the coydog was no weakling and did not relinquish her grip like he might have hoped. Center of balance low, she would not be shaken so easily. Skoll might have thrashed his head around as if breaking a rabbit’s back, but that would have just tired him out.

Their stalemate, if it could be called that, lasted only an instant. The coydog shoved forward, and Skoll was forced to scramble — sidling awkwardly sideways as she swiveled. He grit his teeth in pain as the bone knife dug into his shoulder, then released the spear as he jumped backwards. Metal spikes brushed through his thick fur and raised red abrasions on his skin as he moved.

He scrambled back then tried to rush around, running in a small half-circle before flinging himself at her, aiming to sink his teeth into her arm.
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#7
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(325)

minor autohit, since you said you were okay with them: booped that snoot. let me know if I need to change it, or anything else.

He was a big wolfdog, so when he flung himself at her, Brickface was nearly flung with him. Keeping low to the ground helped, but the force of his body pushed her sideways; her feet dug down into the dirt, creating rivulets of mud. Her claws dug in, struggling to find purchase on semi-solid earth.

His teeth found her arm, punctured but not yet crushed. As she pulled away, the rivulets this time were of blood. New scars would join the old. He was so close, and the ground was so unstable, all she could do was jut her elbow out instead, to hit his nose. Maybe he'd be stunned, or give her space. All she needed was a little more space.

Though she knew she shouldn't take her eyes off him, she chanced glancing away, at the earth beside them. Finding that there was grass and (drier) earth, she looked back quickly, and then sidestepped on to more solid ground. While doing so, she changed direction and arced her spear so that it might be once again pointed toward his front.

She didn't thrust it forward this time, just kept it trained so that he might run into it, if he lunged for her again.

"You've got nothin' worth it to me, and I've got nothin' for you but a woman who'll be angry to see me harmed." She breathed. Myrtle would be angry, alright, but it wouldn't be Skoll that was she angry at. She knew Brickface too well. "Run off, old man, and I won't chase."

Wait, did she say woman? Or did she say man? She said man, right? He wouldn't get the wrong idea and come looking for Myrtle, or use her corpse as a means of getting to her, right?

She frowned, her brow furrowing in concern.

That Brickface even thought of such an awful thing said a lot about the kind of people she used to run with, but this was not something she pondered. No, it was only natural and logical to her that an enemy might use any means they had to gain an advantage.

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