[AW] [M] Alone I fight These Animals
Cape Acadia

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.

Specifically, this thread is marked mature because of: murder stuff, gore too.

Paranoia was getting the better of Thread. Half the time he struggled to decide if he should stay at camp and make sure his family stayed safe, or go north and try to find the killer. The killer whose display had not left his mind. He needed to protect those he loved, like always, and he also needed to protect the land he gathered from. Thread’s placement of the camp was to keep tabs on who was coming and going from the peninsula, and the fact that he didn’t know who was murdering folks, save for one instance, but he wasn’t the one who decorated the tree.

His world was so much bigger than it was on Isle Royale, and how dearly he wished it was that small again, but alas, the peninsula was connected to the mainland, and the sea between the landmasses was still enough to cross by boat. There were no stories nor superstitions to deter mariners. He could be assailed on all fronts, but the likelihood of an all-out assault on a nobody, his adopted daughter, and his wife was highly unlikely. He at least knew that to be true. But a killer on his doorstep? They left their mark already, they could hurt him, his family, and or their friends. Thread needed to find them, and either kill them, or recruit them.

While he disagreed with the waste of hide and flesh, the meat and bones were gone. Perhaps Thread could teach them how to use all parts of the body, and show them how to truly respect the dead. If they were willing to learn, and to expend that energy on those who would cause them harm; Thread would gladly let them in. For now, he was the only one who could fend off foes who rose to attack them. It was tiring, keeping everyone safe, but he had to do it.

Once more the man trekked north on all fours, leaving the peaty morass of the peninsula behind him, and his family too. They had food, plenty of it, but without him, they were vulnerable. Thread hoped that the killer was not waiting for this moment to swoop in and make new art. He had to keep that thought out of his head, as he mustered on forward. Forward for miles. Hours and hours passed behind him as he ventured out more and more. He’d need to rest before returning home, but anything to keep his family safe.

It wasn’t often Thread spent time in secui form, but he had needed to travel, while being ready for a fight. Tied to him was a bag that contained his hatchets. When he arrived at where the trail ran cold last time, he found a secluded, if not a little muddy, place to settle down for a rest. The roots of a fallen tree provided shelter from the elements, and he nestled into the soil, enjoying gnarled wood canopy above him. It was a wonderful bed. Just a few hours of rest, and he’d be back on the case. For now, he needed to rest his sore bones and close his heavy eyes.
[Image: lantern.png]  Wordtober   GRISLY - 10/28

OOC: Lorien is in Secui form.

When Lorien first arrived to these lands, he was a different man than he was now. He liked to think he had made progress with fulfilling his mother's dying wish (Medlihel, he refused to allow anyone to forget her name). He was interested in Hokori Tanaka's guild, the one she was currently working on forming in New Caledonia. While others may have their opinions about the sort of work they were doing, Lorien would be lying if he said he gave a shit. He did not much care to keep up any such falsehood. All he cared about was... was...

Who am I?

He was walking. Far. His mind was a fog, and it was as though he did not know who he was, where he was going nor why he was doing it. It would have been more disconcerting to be pushed to the very edge of his own mind's consciousness if he was less out of it. Besides, he had been in similar states before. When Nanin was in control, Lorien was sometimes half-aware of what he was doing.


As he had this realization, he snapped dizzily back into focus. He was left with a grisly feeling of dread. Nanin was here, and Lorien had interrupted his god. Whatever Nanin was doing, it likely had purpose. Now Lorien felt as though he had stepped on toes where he should not have. He instantly sunk low to the earth in prayer, asking briefly for forgiveness. He received no response, meaning he was painfully grounded in reality. Fuck. When Nanin left New Caledonia with his body, he did not take anything with him, not even enough weed to get high. Lorien would have considered this inconsiderate if Nanin was not his god, and if he was intended to return to consciousness so soon. But he was not. He returned to his four paws with a deep exhale. The snow was cold, but he needed to at least apologize.

Some distance from where Lorien now stood was another canine, resting near the roots of a tree. He sniffed the air and found a scent that the more humanized in his pack may find incredibly repulsive. Lorien simply considered it par for the course. He, himself, was considered 'smelly' by others too. No, he simply considered this one to be more forthright with his origins and whereabouts.

"Hail," Lorien called. "Do you know where we are?"

A funny question, no doubt. As he padded closer, he realized this only after the question was spoken. Regardless, he needed an answer. He was lost, and could not find his way back unless someone at least told him where he was.
Sweet slumber. The man became buried in the dark of sleep. He could forget for a while about his mission as he slept. The embrace of the languid act, Thread was slow to climb back to consciousness, as he was content to merely flutter in the dank abyssopelagic zone. Thoughts swamped and melted. Like waves they crashed on the rocks of his mind. He dreamed, under the roots of a fallen tree. The death of the towering giant brought him safety and shelter in a very unfamiliar place, and though he was one to thank the recently deceased with flesh and blood, the man found himself unconsciously enjoying the praise-worthy protection brought by the fallen tree.

Then came a disturbance. Something that required his attention, but he was asleep! Why should anyone bother their leader when he slept? For all Thread knew, he was back on Isle Royale, surrounded by family. All of his dreams carried him back there on the currents of sleep. It was his world, his life, it had brought him so much happiness. Drawn out of his slumber with the syringe that was a question that… was, to him, so stupid. Everyone should know where they were. Their home was so small. “Loops,” he muttered, raising his head, eyes barely open. “We’re by Windigo, how could ya…” the man kept uttering, glancing around now. Where his brother had stood in his dream was now a stranger.

They looked and smelled so different from his Loops, Thread was sent into a slight panic as anxiety rose. He knew he was no longer on the Isle, but his dream felt so real. He may have missed his whole family, but for his brother he sometimes pined while in the throngs of deep sleep. Thread was always disoriented when recovering from such splendorous unconsciousness. He just stared at the stranger now, mouthing mutterances that were imperceptible unless maybe if one were to put their ear to his misshapen face.

He stood, and shook off, hatchets rattling in their bag as they clanged together. Dirt flew from his coat, showering any near in clumps and grains of fine soil. “Sorry, I was sleepin’,” he said to the stranger. “Ya caught me in a dream, but we’re prolly ‘bout a gud trekk west of New Caldonia.” A good portion of him did wish he was back near Windigo on Isle Royale. There was a sadness to his eyes as he imagined all of his family near him, especially his brother. Now so far away from the giant, he was realizing there was more feelings there than just a brotherly bond there.
It appeared Lorien had interrupted a dream. He blinked as the stranger spoke to him, calling him 'Loops'. He had no idea who Loops was, but he must have been the subject of the stranger's dream. He wondered where Wendigo was and what sort of place it could be, but... He needed to know where he was now. When the outsider stood and shook himself out from his nap, Lorien saw how strange the shape of his face and body was. He was not necessarily ugly or anything, just seemed to be made differently somehow. This was evident in the manner he spoke in as well. He smelled like a wolf or a dog with the markings of both (kind of), but his frame was that of a coyote... or something else entirely. Just what the hell was he?

"What?" Lorien said. It took an extra moment or two to process the slurred and strange words he said. "What?" he echoed once more, learning that he was a gud trekk from his home. "Shit. Which way is west? I need to get back home to New Caledonia," he said, sighing.

He remembered himself. Just because he was anxious and wired as fuck did not mean he needed to be a douchebag. Lorien had been told that he could be a 'little rude' or 'short' with people when he was in such a state. He took a deep breath and tried to get out a more proper and mature introduction.

"I apologize. I may have gotten myself lost, but I did not intend to sound rude. My name is Lorien Coara. And you are...?"

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