[M] Got a first time kiss that'll lock you in

Brocade | Wabanaki Coast

POSTED: Thu Jan 31, 2019 9:49 pm

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.

Optime | Back-dated: Early January | Wabanaki Coast; early evening | NPC: Brimstone (+376)


Once more, the Mistwalker checked the ever-darkening skies. It would be dark soon, and she estimated that she had a little over half of an hour at most left of daylight. Instead of making it all the way back to the Vale like she had planned, it looked like she would be spending the night out in neutral territory. It wasn’t exactly ideal, however, the situation couldn’t be helped. Though she trusted her judgement and Brimstone’s footing, the day had already been rather long, and the last thing she wanted to risk was injury to her horse.

She would have need of him if she were to attend this masquerade ball thing or whatever it was that Cour des Miracles had invited the Vale and its members to. To travel on foot would have taken too long on the route she had planned to take. Though the land bridge was supposedly shorter, Ragna wasn’t exactly keen on the hike across slippery rocks with frigid waters looming all around her.

Ragna tugged her deerskin cloak closer to her body as her glacier eyes searched the snow-covered land around them, trying to recognize any landmarks or something that might have passed for a suitable shelter for her and her horse. Silently, she cursed the vendor she had met with. If he had not have been so damn picky, she would have been able to sleep in her own bed of furs that night. Instead, she’d have a restless night as she tried to keep alert for troublesome rogues that might try to relieve her of either Brimstone or the goods she had traded for earlier that day.

Brimstone moved along at an easy pace on the course she had set them on, intelligently picking his way around trickier terrain or obstacles. He would have continued had his rider not brought him to a gradual halt. Ragna smelt something though, and her brows furrowed as she tried to discern why it smelt…familiar? She put her nose to the air, taking deep, informative breaths in an attempt to absorb more of the masculine, wolfish scent.

Sound of movement nearby caused an ear to flicker, and she snapped her head towards the source.

Ragna Eklund

Mistfell Vale
Whalstray (NPC)
User avatar
Songbird
Luperci Scout II
Do not go gentle
into that good night

POSTED: Sun Feb 03, 2019 8:09 pm

Ever since the soldier’s house had burned down, his niece Symre had become a ghost. The dark-haired girl had spent some time gathering what remained of her things before disappearing into the wood – her cats trailing after her silently. She had elected to stay on her own while Brocade began the plans for his future home. Symre was still young and it was evident in the way that she brushed him off that she was not prepared to dwell upon her path. He had thought that by now she would have begun to gather the pieces of herself that would thrust her toward nobility – but instead she spent her time wandering through the dark wood or through the neutral territories – returning with snippets of stories or traded goods.

It frustrated Brocade to no end that she did not take him seriously, but he also understood somehow that it was the way of his blood – it forced all to wander before discovering their true purpose.

The man had finally secured a place for himself amongst the nobility; ensuring that when the time came to fall in love and find a wife that he would be able to share the wealth that came attached to his name. Elphaba had become elusive, and each time Brocade rode past her towering home he was met with the same pair of startling blue eyes; the red-haired girl protecting her mistress from behind a haze of ashes and smoke. Odalis was distrusting of everyone – though she had begun to ask questions about the other Onubans who had once called The Kingdom home.

She was strange for a slave – with lofty goals hidden behind the milky sheen of her blind eye.

In the neutral territories the world was still silent with frost. Tonnerres weight forced the snow and ice to crack beneath his large hooves, and Brocade rolled with the animal’s movement – hooking the reigns around the horn of his saddle as they continued their meandering patrol. He allowed the horse to make its own choices, and where the trees grew thick and dark the horse turned his shaggy head away – eager for the long clearings that were easier to pass through.

The sky grew pale and smudged with clouds as the day wore on, and the horse lead them at last to the winding Wabanaki Coast. It was open in places though littered with uneven stones and boulders – trees sprouting mightily along the coastline to dot the sky with coniferous green. It was an unforgiving stretch of land that both mount and rider hesitated upon before picking their way toward the heaving water.

Brocade leapt from the animals back and patted Tonnerres thick neck, clicking his teeth in encouragement as he grunted lowly and dropped his head to nose the stones.

The wolfs nostrils suddenly flared and he inhaled sharply – ignoring the brine of the sea and the rich scent of pine. Brocade chuffed suddenly and padded away from his horse, surprised to find Ragna and her thickly set horse on the other side of a short rise. She was as fierce looking as ever, the sharp angle of her eyes unmoving as he barked to announce himself.

”You.” The Valentine murmured, blinking curiously before calling out, ”Fancy seeing you again bright eyes.” Tonnerre followed along slowly as the wolf began to pick his way down the hill toward her, ”To what do I owe this pleasure?”

sorry I rambled xD

Salsola
The Inquisitor
User avatar
Amanda
Luperci Vedetto, Milite
you forget I have a gypsy heart
listen to the wild

POSTED: Tue Feb 05, 2019 3:11 pm

NPCs: Brimstone (+378)

No worries! I love to read your posts!

What her eyes found at the sound’s source had not been who she had expected. It was Bastian Montgomery, a Loner she had come across by chance a few weeks prior. She felt her guard relax a bit at the familiar face. In their previous work together, the man had not shown any desire to bring harm to her or her companions. Even loaded with new goods, some part of her doubted that he would attempt to rob her—not that she’d give him the chance, anyway.

Ragna turned Brimstone to meet the approaching Loner with his horse. “Hnn. It seems you’ve learned your lesson from the last time I saw you,” she greeted back, smirking, her glacier gaze shifting down to the horse that was between his thighs rather than being hauled off by an opportunistic thief. Sniffing the air once more, it also appeared that the man had not been drinking as he had been last time either. It seemed he was in a better state altogether.

Twisting in her saddle, she patted one of the full saddlebags that hung off of either side of Brimstone. “Returning from a rather troublesome ordeal with a trader,” she answered with a disdainful scowl. “I wouldn’t recommend doing deals with a jackal if you can keep from it.” The vendor had been overly critical, and had been stubborn with his haggling to the point that the Eklund had nearly walked away without trading anything at all. If he had been a coyote though, things might have been different.

“Because of him, it looks like I’ll be sleeping out here tonight.” Here being, of course, away from her pack where it was, by far, safer during such a lean time in the year.

She looked him up and down, trying to figure out on her own why he was out and about. Unable to deduce much, she asked after a beat, “What has you out here? Not another thief, is it?” She chuckled, a teeth-filled, lopsided grin tugging at one side of her maw at her own humor. The only thing of true value to the man would have been his horse, and he clearly had the stallion still in his possession this time.

Ragna Eklund

Mistfell Vale
Whalstray (NPC)
User avatar
Songbird
Luperci Scout II
Do not go gentle
into that good night

POSTED: Mon Feb 11, 2019 7:02 pm

Her eyes did not warm when she spoke, but he swore that there was something sparking in the set of her dark lips as she spoke. He hadn’t expected to run into the woman from The Vale – and as he padded closer, he tilted his head so that he could take her in from astride her horse. The top of her dark head was dusted with snow, the long strands falling to frame the sharp angle of her scar-laced jaw. The dots of color that sat on the cusp of her brows made her face more animated then perhaps she intended – for even as she gazed down her nose at him, they twitched and danced playfully.

Brocade made a low sound and grinned, ”I’m a quick learner.” Tonnerre was staring at Brimstone curiously, posturing his shaggy head so that he could peer over his masters shoulder. ”Where’s your little forever friend?”

In Nova Scotia they were lucky that tension was so rare. War came far and in between, and for the most part loners met in the Neutral Lands, Outsiders as Salsola called them, were not interested in skirmishes or the extension of clan territory. Salsola was a sprawling oasis in the North, and Brocade quietly cultivated his own power – ignoring the coven of witches that threatened to burst at the seams.

Jackals had him thinking of The Shadow, Kamari, a woman who had risen above her station in life to take up a tier within The Shield Faction. ”I’ve never met a jackal before.” He lied, crossing his arms so that the reigns of his horse dangled from one hand. ”Are they known for being difficult to deal with?” He stepped closer, patting the horse as he left it, ”Do they speak in tongues? Or riddles?” He chuckled and held out his arms to the pretty scenery, ”There are worse places to spend the night.”

Their surroundings were sharp looking – all stone and frozen moss, boulders and far off mountain peaks tipped with snow.

Brocade reveled in it and adjusted his weight as some of the stones shifted beneath him. ”I have been cursed with wandering feet bright eyes,” He tugged on the front of his tunic, ”I can’t seem to stay in one place.”

His saddle bags were filled with little more than the makings of his camp; a small fire starter, a bundle of dry kindling, a flagon of wine, salted meats, and a small leather bag filled with dried berries from a prosperous spring.

The salty brine of the sea crept through the wind, and Brocade twitched his ear toward the far off roar that marked where the water continuously curled against the rocky shoreline. "Care to join me for a wander?"

:)

Salsola
The Inquisitor
User avatar
Amanda
Luperci Vedetto, Milite
you forget I have a gypsy heart
listen to the wild

POSTED: Sun Mar 10, 2019 8:23 pm

NPCs: Brimstone (+488)


“Mmhmm,” she hummed, her smirk remaining on her lips in mild amusement. His question—with that dreadful tease of Glade’s cute description of his and Ragna’s relationship—caused her smirk to falter somewhat though, morphing it into a loose but harmless scowl. Of all of the things to latch onto, it had to be that. Ugh, if Glade had not been a little marten, she might have killed him. “At home, making sure the rats stay far away from my feed,” she replied, hoping that her glossing over the descriptive adjective would allow it to be lost from their conversation.

When the conversation turned about Ragna’s encounter with the trader, she rolled her eyes at the distasteful memory. “From what I’ve dealt with, they’re much like coyotes, just smaller, and more possessive of their wares and their supposed worth.” She watched him easily dismount from his tall horse. “They speak in coin and jewels and other expensive barters.” She chuckled sardonically. One of the sailors in Portland had told her that they came from across the great sea, and it made her wonder sometimes on what the world was like over there, if it was free of the coyotes that plagued the world she knew. She could deal with a scrawny, materialistic, over-grown fox. They seemed like less of a pain than hypocritical, terroristic coyotes.

Ragna shifted in her saddle as Bastian gestured to the scenery around them. Humoring him, she looked about. “I suppose there are. I could be black out drunk in a tent, and have my horse stolen by a coyote.” Her glacier gaze glittered with ruthless humor when they alighted down onto the tall wolf.

She hummed her amusement with his explanation for being out there. He had explained last time about his gypsy blood. It was a wonder how he was able to maintain his sanity out there alone. Ragna at least had Glade for intelligent company. As much as she loved her two horses, they could hardly compare to the little marten.

Bastian offered a suggestion to her which caused her to raise a delicate brow at him. She took a brief glance at the early evening sky, trying to mentally judge how much daylight they had left before true nightfall. In the end, she dismounted from her dark steed. It wouldn’t hurt, she supposed. She was already stuck out in the neutral lands anyways. Bastian had proven to be a worthy adversary to fight alongside. She doubted they’d find much trouble that they couldn’t handle together in the growing darkness.

When her feet hit the earth, Ragna turned towards Bastian and brushed a few stray hairs from her face. “Do you have some place in particular in mind to wander to? You seem like you might know this area fairly well.” After all, their last encounter had not been far from there.

Ragna Eklund

Mistfell Vale
Whalstray (NPC)
User avatar
Songbird
Luperci Scout II
Do not go gentle
into that good night

POSTED: Mon Mar 18, 2019 5:59 pm

The perfect lies were the ones that were woven with pieces of truth in them. Brocade never made to refurnish the stories of his past so completely that they were not recognizable as his own – but there were key pieces to his story that were always the same. He was a member of the travelling people, a wandering poetic soul who threw himself into whatever work he could find. He still had his spear, or in some instances the bow and arrow Hyacinth had given back to him upon joining the Outpost.

Even his names were chosen for the potential truth in them – a last name stolen from the woman who had abandoned him, and a first name plucked from one of his first memories of a visiting bard who had come to their camp in a many-colored cloak.

The woman grinned at him and scowled, though there was a sparkling mirth in her eyes that had Brocade chuffing with laughter. When she finally climbed down from her horse he nodded his head and peered towards the briny scent of the sea. ”I think I saw somewhere that we can tie off the horses and take shelter from the weather.” Tonnerre was blowing warm air into his curls, and he swatted the horse away with a gentle hand.

”Come on, let’s wander.” He grinned handsomely and tugged on the horses reigns. Together they wandered the coastline sharing jests, and Brocade told her one of his favorite stories as the horses found their footing amongst the stones. Sea birds dove and spun through the air high above, and Brocade tipped his head to gaze up at darkening clouds.

When they found the cave, Brocade dropped the reigns to inspect it deeply – flaring his nostrils and patrolling the darkest corners to ensure that nothing was hidden deep inside.

It faced a pretty enough view, and Tonnerre ignored the other horse to press himself against a deeply rooted tree.

”Well would you look at that.” He emerged and crossed his arms, ”I think I’ve found the perfect place. What do you think Brighteyes? Up to your taste?”

Feel free to PP/Move things along. :)

Salsola
The Inquisitor
User avatar
Amanda
Luperci Vedetto, Milite
you forget I have a gypsy heart
listen to the wild

POSTED: Sat Mar 23, 2019 8:59 pm

NPC: Brimstone (+693)


“Lead on, gypsy,” she gestured with a smirk and an open palm for him to take them to wherever this “shelter” was. If he knew of a place, it definitely beat her trying to wander around with dying daylight to find one of her own.

She was not fearful of what trouble such trust might bring; following a man she hardly knew further into the wilderness. While he was larger than she, Ragna had fought and killed many in her lifetime. She could draw her knives as quick as a rattlesnake could strike. Given their past interaction though, she doubted he had anything ill-intended for her. He just didn’t have that vibe about him. And, if her feelings were wrong, she was confident she could give him a new breathing hole.

Onward, he led them, picking out game trails that were easy for the horses to navigate in the fast-approaching nightfall. Bastian turned out to be more of an amusing fellow than she had originally thought. He was humorous, and not in a way that he tried to hard for a laugh either. His tongue was as sharp as her own, and it amused Ragna to finally talk with someone that she didn’t have to censor herself around. She could be as crude or crass as she wanted, and he took it and dished it right back.

It was…like a breath of fresh air. Like she was talking with an old war comrade.

They walked the shoreline, dawdled near the beach, before Bastian finally brought them to a halt before a sizable opening in the earth. It was a cave that gave them a view to the coast if one merely stared through the thick pines. Brimstone tossed his head as his rider took in everything around them. Out of habit, she was making escape plans, searching for things that she could use or could hinder her if—for whatever reason—things went awry.

Ragna let out a sharp exhale, smirking as she shook her head. “I suppose it’ll do. At least the view is nice.” Her glacier eyes lingered on him for a teasing moment before she nodded out to the actual view from the cave.

She moved around to loosen Brimstone’s saddle before moving further down to his saddlebags. After a moment of digging, she procured one armful of pelts, the other, with two corked bottles. Walking back towards Bastian, she shook the bottles pointedly. “I had planned to put these in my pack’s storage, but, I don’t think they’d appreciate it as much as you might.”

Her gaze shifted to the dark cave, and the two decided how to split the duties of who would get firewood and who would catch them something to eat to sate their stomachs for the chilly, winter’s night. Night had fallen by the time the fire had grown to heat the cave, and three plump rabbits roasted on sticks, their juices causing the fire to crackle and pop as they dripped into it. It made for a delicious smell, and, while it was hardly enough to fill a wolf’s belly, the creatures would be enough to take off the edge of hunger for the night.

The rabbits were nearly finished cooking when Ragna came to stand next to the seated Bastien, jiggling one of the two bottles of alcohol near his ear. “Here, I think I’ve made you wait long enough, gypsy.”

Once he took it, she sat down near him and the fire with her own in hand. She had long since shed her deer cloak, leaving it near the pile of furs to mark her sleeping spot on the cave floor. She was left in her shemagh, long-sleeve shirt, vest, and pants. Her knives were still attached to her thighs, though, her bow and quiver had been put near where she had put her cloak.

She glanced over to Bastian as she uncorked her drink and took a swig. “So, what makes you stay up around here? Winter isn’t easy to whether alone.” She knew from experience.

Ragna Eklund

Mistfell Vale
Whalstray (NPC)
User avatar
Songbird
Luperci Scout II
Do not go gentle
into that good night

POSTED: Sat Apr 13, 2019 10:18 pm

She was reminiscent of a time that Brocade had all but vanquished from his thoughts. They managed together over the stony shoreline, and as Brocade patted the edge of the caves gaping mouth he found himself transported to the skirmishes in Ame Rouge. There was a camaraderie that was built quietly between solders – a thread that bound them together upon the same path. The womans scars were beautiful; lines of stories etched into the lines that criss-crossed her neck and ran up into the smooth fur of her cheeks.

They were scrawled into her and it made him curious – his expression warming quietly each time he glanced in her direction.

The evening found them arranging the camp site as if it was a part of their routine. Brocade settled his horse and unpacked his bag as Ragna went about the same. She did not ask for help, a trait that the traveller immediately took notice of – and together they divied up the duties silently. Brocade gathered dry drift wood and brought it back to the dim cave – grinning as embers grew to split the shadows that crawled toward them.

When Ragna emerged with the corked bottles he couldn’t help the grin that crept across his features. But she made him wait – which had him erupt into a fit of chuckles as they watched the rabbits turn round and round on their spits. The juices from the meat splattered into the embers and hissed a hungry tune into the night, and Brocade found himself leaning towards the flames expectantly as the scent of cooked meat began to waft through the cave.

When she finally pulled the bottled from alongside her he grinned, ”Finally! You do know the way to a mans heart.” He accepted the drink graciously and cracked the cork with his teeth, spitting it with great show into the darkness that lay towards the back of the cave. He drank deeply and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, ”My warmest regards to your pack – and their lost stores.” She came to rest alongside him, and he adjusted himself to angle toward her, allowing his leg to rest alongside her own.

He wiggled his toes at the fire and nodded his head, pausing to take another drink before gazing out into the flames.

Being a Salsolan allowed him to weave his own stories sometimes.

"The winter is not so bad once you get used to it. It is lonely at times, but I usually end up finding good company." He nudged her shoulder and glanced toward her with a toothy grin.

Salsola
The Inquisitor
User avatar
Amanda
Luperci Vedetto, Milite
you forget I have a gypsy heart
listen to the wild

POSTED: Tue Apr 16, 2019 10:46 pm

NPC: Brimstone (+503)


She found amusement in his reaction to her finally allowing him to have one of the bottles. Ragna had a feeling that he might be appreciative, particularly given the last time she’d found the man. “They won’t be missing much. Most of them are too young to have had any reason to need one of these anyways,” she grunted, smiling into her drink as she took another swig. Many of the Mistwalkers gave her the impression of having walked a relatively simple life compared to her own. Few bore scars, and many just seemed too light and softhearted to have experienced much of the darkness that lurked in the world around them.

The whole interaction between her and Bastian reminded her of her days within Boreas, of her days as a soldier rather than a fugitive in hiding in plain sight. It was comforting, nostalgic almost. She could almost imagine how it had once been, a couple of soldiers resting for the night before they continued on their reconnaissance mission just before dawn, a group having their last hurrah before the battle that was to come the following day or the many thereafter. They’d drink and be merry, and then they’d return to being soldiers in a war that had no clear end.

Ragna took another drink.

Glacier eyes glanced at her companion for the night, noticing the bright, cheesy grin that spread widely across his maw. She snorted, smirking wryly at him. “Something more than your blessed bottle, I should hope?” Ragna eyed his drink pointedly in reference to who his “good company” usually was. There was mischief in her cold gaze before it flicked to their roasting rabbits still on the fire.

“These should be done now,” she told him, placing her bottle aside and grabbing the stick nearest to her. She took a few sniffs at the charred outer skin before she blew on the hot surface, causing the steam to curl in the chilly, winter air that lingered in the cave. The Eklund took a tentative bite, not wanting to burn her lips or her tongue. It was juicy as the cooked muscle was pulled away from the carcass. Even without any added seasonings, the meat was delicious, warming her body as she swallowed the first small mouthful.

She glanced over at Bastian, her tongue cleaning her whiskers and her lips of any savory pieces that might have lingered there. “Be sure to blow on it first,” she warned, teasing, “I’m afraid alcohol doesn’t cure a burnt tongue.” Ragna blew on her own roasted rabbit once more before she took another bite.

Between mouthfuls, she asked, “So, tell me, how does a gypsy wind up with scars like yours?” It seemed like appropriate small talk between the two of them. It was something she was genuinely interested in, particularly since—of the ones she could see at least—his looked as if they had been just as painful to receive as her own.

Ragna Eklund

Mistfell Vale
Whalstray (NPC)
User avatar
Songbird
Luperci Scout II
Do not go gentle
into that good night

POSTED: Sun Apr 28, 2019 4:30 pm

There was something about Ragna that intrigued him. The crackling fire match the rhythm of his heart, and each time he glanced at her he could feel the rumbling hunger in his chest that was all too familiar. The drink left him buoyant, his toes wriggling towards the flames as she spun the rabbits and angled her face away from the smoke. He too took one of the sticks as she did, chewing carefully on a juicy leg. The rabbit meat was succulent, and steam curled around his nose as he licked his whiskers clean.

”Scars always have a good story.” He chuckled, ”As far as gypsies go I suppose that I am one of the fighting kind. This one-“ He gestured to the thick curves of scarring that traced the lines of his shoulder, ”Was from a bear I ran into up north as a child.” A lie, just like every other story he had told her. It was true that all scars had good stories, but it did not mean that Brocade was prepared to delve into the meat of them – to the skirmishes that had marked him for life. One of the scars on his arm was from a rogue dagger of Etoiles, another from a spar gone wrong that had caught him at the wrong angle.

Even now he could remember the expression on Ferdinands face as he had realized what he had done.

”Not sure how I survived. I remember my mother bringing me back to the caravan – frantic like all good mothers – trying to summon someone who knew how to heal me.” He chuckled, running a finger along the scar before glancing towards the scars that traced her cheek and throat. ”What about you, Scout?” He grinned, gently reaching a finger to turn her head if she would let him – so that he could see the scars better. ”You’ve got some pretty markings there.” The rabbit was all but discarded, the bottle of brew balanced between his knees.

He slid closer, ”Very pretty.”

Salsola
The Inquisitor
User avatar
Amanda
Luperci Vedetto, Milite
you forget I have a gypsy heart
listen to the wild

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