[M] When times are tough the bars get greased

POSTED: Tue Jan 17, 2017 1:43 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.

484 words. NPCs: Mathilda & Tollak, no kill pls. Tentatively dated today/the 17th (before/during Ves’ capture) but subject to change depending on usage conflicts.

Their enemies now had a name.

Vicira reflected on the news shared with the company of Salsolans, as well as the confirmation brought by her mother’s rather unorthodox guest. She reflected, too, on rhetoric written down on old parchment, and the expression of anger—fear?—on a comrade’s face when her thievery was revealed. A ghost from Inferni’s past had resurfaced, and few veterans from that bloody war remained: only the legacy their attackers had left behind in the form of horses and hatred.

She picked at frosted blades of grass on the riverbank, her toes stretched out to settle against a cold stone in the water. Great forested hills rose high on the opposite bank but provided little shelter from a gust of wind that burned her ears and brought with it the comforting scents of Infernians on patrol. Her mother had insisted on leading one of these, her eyes cold as she scratched at an old scar.

Vici hadn’t gone. She ought to have, she knew. Where she had little in the way of combat training, she had enough experience as a scout and enough authority as a commander to lead a patrol of her own. Instead, though, she’d wandered from the safety of their borders, following the babbling river until she felt that she could be alone with her thoughts.

She thought about tactics, about fears for her clan’s safety, and eventually she just thought of her mother and the reluctant story she’d told over the great Inferni tome. Myrika’s voice had been full of emotion, perhaps regret; she’d fought a war to protect her comrades, her family, and found herself taking up the mantle of leadership soon afterward. Vici remembered sympathizing then, and declaring in a puppy’s mild voice that Myri was a great Aquila.

Now she felt bitter. And lost without her.

She sighed, until the wind changed and brought with it a tempting tobacco scent, and quickly the grey coyote got to her feet and walked downriver with steely eyes.

Who she found was a wolf.

Pale cream-white with a blush of tawny, armored in tough old leather, the soldier looked almost like any other loner Vicira might have bummed a smoke off of (or stolen from). She leaned on what looked like an old garden hoe, pulling the cigarette from her lips and looking off into the forest with the casual alertness of one trained for it. It was too bad that the smoke blinded her nose.

Filled with a sudden and disturbing aggression, Vici paced through the trees toward her, unsheathing her claws and licking her lips.

Then a grey figure dropped down from a pine behind her, bow rattling on his back.

“Don’t scream,” the wolf growled, and when Vicira spun around, throwing herself at him with a snarl instead, he stabbed her.
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'Souls Assemblage Luperci Multiple Co-ranks Mate to Redtooth Level III Rex Chaos Star oderint dum metuant
cinder and smoke
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POSTED: Sat Mar 04, 2017 12:58 am

Optime | Dampwoods (+720)

Boreas Conflict II.

Sorry this is so late! Hopefully I’m out of the rough patch of things >____<

Tensions had been high even before the meeting that Vesper had held the day before. Coyotes being attacked left and right, and with no clear motive other than being, well, a coyote. Inferni had been attacked, and, apparently, so had their neighbors across the bay. War had come to a place Shikoba had never thought it would, and he and Dorado would be forced to pull some old tricks from the skirmishes they’d been in back home.

Shikoba had left Bronx back in the heart of the clan’s territory. As much as it might break his heart to find out Shikoba hadn’t taken him on a scouting sortie with him, he needed the rest as well as the practice first. There’d always be more patrols to do. Priority now was making sure the kid could properly defend himself and had enough shut eye that he didn’t make costly mistakes when concentration and focus mattered.

The Sciens made his way out to the borders with his tomahawk and bola in tow. He knew it wasn’t exactly wise to go near the borders alone, but, given what things had come to lately, Shikoba was sure he’d find someone along the way…if not while actually patrolling. The rounds had been increased for security reasons, particularly after the full moon raids. Finding an Infernian out and about would probably be easy enough.

When the familiar smell of a particular female reached his nostrils, Shikoba grinned a bit. Since the attacks had started, he’d seen very little of the feisty Regulus. Most of his time had been spent trying to teach Bronx how to pull his own weight in the clan, the rest of had been split between patrols and maintaining his weaponry. So, he found little fault with fancying himself a patrol with the Tears woman if she had the spare time for it. Make sure the territory is safe from intruders while enjoying the company of a talented coyote? He wouldn’t pass that up!

Vicira’s scent led him beyond the safety of the pack’s borders though, and what had once been a grin turned quickly into a hard frown. What’s she thinkin’? There wasn’t another scent to found that was as fresh as hers. It meant she’d left the safety of the pack’s borders by herself!

He gritted his teeth and put a bit of speed into his step. Shikoba zigzagged across her tracks in the snow, his ears twisting and turning to listen for any sign of danger out in the Dampwoods. Wolves were out, and they were thirsty for coyote blood. The last thing he needed was to become a victim to one of their hate crimes while trying to find his clanmate.

It wasn’t long until he picked up other smells, concerning smells.


Exactly what they didn’t need. Tobacco wafted on the winter wind, and, before he knew it, his hasty sweep of the area had turned into a full blown run as sounds of a fight reach his ears. His lips curled and his hand instinctively began to unfasten his bola. It was two on one, and Shikoba could smell the sharp tang of blood already in the air.

With a sharp snap of his wrist, the balled weights spun at a tight clip before they were thrown out, snatching the woman armed with a hoe by one of her ankles. The sudden tension on the she-wolf’s leg caused her attention to stray from her attack on Vicira. She snarled as her eyes alighted onto Shikoba on the end of the rope line, but, before she could do much else, the coymutt had yanked her leg out from underneath her.

The wolf woman’s chin slammed down onto her hoe as she hit the ground, and there was an audible yelp as a result. Thankfully for her though, the sharp edge of the gardening tool dug deeply into the snow instead of her flesh.

“Ain’t sure I like these odds. Mind if I join in?” His wasabi eyes flicked to Vicira briefly to see how she was before he abandoned his bola and unbuckled his tomahawk. He had every intention of spilling blood for hurting his clanmate.

Shikoba Whiplash

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