catching stars to keep

POSTED: Sun Dec 09, 2018 6:44 pm

The camp he had made for himself was reminiscent of the shelters he and the other members of his squadron had created in Ame Rouge. It was utilitarian – a small fire sat protected by a wall of snow and branches, and a long piece of heavy canvas strung up from low lying tree branches served to protect him from the wind. Travelling like this spoke to the Gypsy in Brocades heart, and though he had his home in The Ruins there was something about the tiny temporary camp that spoke to a tradition of wandering that ran through his veins.

Boughs of pine leaned down towards him, weighted by frost and snow. Everything glittered cooly, and as he slept creatures crept through the snow silently. A hare and a bushy faced lynx surveyed the sleeping man curiously before pressing on – their retreat marked by a brilliantly silver moon. There were others too who crept through the trees, Outsiders who sought to mask themselves against the dark.

Brocade lay amongst the snow drifts with a thick fur cloak wrapped about his shoulders, a stack of blankets tossed across his legs as a small fire burned low before him. The cold distracted him from The Kingdom – though he found that sometimes his mind wandered as he slept and lost itself in the cat-like slant of Morganas eyes or the subtle sweetness of Elphabas mouth. He turned in his sleep, brushing frost from his twitching ears and rolling toward the embers with a low groan.

An empty bottle lay abandoned against the stones that circled his fire pit.

Tonnerre stood tied further away from the camp, a hide tugged over his shoulders to protect him from the elements. Mist hung before the horses muzzle like a shroud, and as the night deepened the horse shifted his weight back and forth, his hooves crunching against the snow.

Brocade didn’t wake as a thief crept through his camp.

Brocade didn’t wake as a thief unhooked his horses bridle and lead him away through the frost.

>:)

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

POSTED: Wed Dec 12, 2018 11:06 pm

Optime | Morning | NPC: Glade and Brimstone (+554)

Fast-forward!

Snow crunched rhythmically beneath the dark stallion’s hooves as he picked their path through the winter-laden terrain, following the general heading that his rider had chosen for their venture. Ragna had had no real heading with the trek outside the Vale. It had been her first time so far from the pack’s borders since the snow had fallen, and she had merely been more curious to see what had been moving in and around the area rather than hunting for something. With the memory of Krokar’s destruction still relatively fresh on her mind too, there was a possibility that the reconnaissance task might yield more about the mysterious incident.

With such a possibility in mind, Ragna had left Jack back in the Vale, not wanting the extra baggage should things turn ugly. Her marten companion, Glade, should have been left too, but, unlike the horse, the mustelid could argue with her semi-articulately. He rode nestled into her shemagh, curled around the back of her neck. Her hooded cloak helped give him a little bit of extra support, as well as helped ad an additional layer of insolation from the cold. He dozed in and out of sleep and Brimstone kept his mind busy with choosing the easiest path.

Ragna, meanwhile, surveyed the passing scenery. There hadn’t been much of note since she had left the Vale early that morning. At the very least, in the direction she had gone, there were no signs of a large group of individuals like Boreas having moved through the territory. In any case, she was armed with her bow and knives should there have been any trouble.

Thankfully, there was no trouble to be had, unless it came in the form of a small campsite out in the middle of nowhere. She brought Brimstone to a halt and dismounted. Glade’s head had popped out from her shemagh, his beady eyes hungrily drinking in the new scenery. A gesture with a finger signaled for him to remain quiet.

From the looks of things, the individual—or individuals—responsible for its raising were had not been either around or active in some time. There was a small pile of what looked to be the remains of fire, abandoned and left to eventually burn itself out. From what she could see as she crouched to inspect some the footprints, there looked to be a few, though, only one did not appear as if it had only been passing through. This one could be seen prevalently throughout the immediate area, whereas, the other, the fresher set, came and departed.

The contents of the lonesome tent were inspected next, and, not surprisingly, there was a body still inside. It was a man of heavily wolfish blood, with a coloration that reminded her almost of Snorri’s. He slept soundly in spite of the chilly conditions around him. Blankets wrapped around his lower region, and a fur cloak shielded his upper body. Stale alcohol mixed with the stranger’s scent, and Ragna’s nose wrinkled.

“He dead?” Glade whispered, his whiskers twitching as he stared at the large male.

“Let’s see,” Ragna grunted. She took her bow and smacked it against the outline of the man’s legs.

"Mister, are you dead?!" The marten asked loudly.

Ragna Eklund

Mistfell Vale
Wolverthorne
User avatar
Songbird
Luperci Scout II
Do not go gentle
into that good night

POSTED: Wed Jan 02, 2019 3:24 pm

He slept deeply and dreamt of beautiful women who danced and coerced him through mismatched tree-bough ringed in thorns. The tent trembled in the breeze, pine needles scratching eagerly against the canvas as if asking to be let in. Brocade snored, scratching unconsciously at his chest even as the woman found him.

“Mister, are you dead?”

The tiny voice somehow found him, and he blinked blearily – scrubbing at his eyes as he realized a stranger stood across the opening, her bright eyes narrowed as she looked down upon him. She had kicked him roughly, and he felt his body sway as she crossed her arms to inspect him. There was a scarf wrapped about her neck, a small animal with beady eyes gazing at him from around her ears. Confusion muddled Brocades expression, and he rose gingerly – his whole-body aching from where he had crookedly slept against the stone.

Brocade smacked his dry lips together and groaned, ”I don’t think so.” His head buzzed as he shook out the mussed curls of his hair, ”Sure feels like it though. Merde. The world spun and he braced himself, his strong hands pressing to the furs as he tipped himself to his feet. If he hadn’t felt so lousy, he would have grunted something at the pair of them and inhaled sharply to ensure that they were alone.

A tiny part of him was careless, and he only glanced around her when he stood freely from the tent – his hands resting squarely upon his hips.

The Pine Marten stared at him, its whiskers twitching as fog billowed from their too-warm mouths. The snow crunched beneath his weight, and he could see the trail that she had left as she and her horse –

Wait.

He stiffened suddenly, nostrils flaring.

”Where’s my horse?” He growled, the rumbling sound at last building in his chest like a clap of thunder. His brows furrowed, ”What are you doing at my camp?” Suspicion caused the fur along his shoulders to stand up - his golden eyes narrowed as he allowed his gaze to rove over her scarred face. The slashes along her jaw reminded him of someone, and he clicked his teeth quietly as he took a careful step toward her.

Wind rippled through the camp, flapping the entrance to the canvas tent so that it gaped like a maw. A bottle tipped close to the fire, the sound of rolling glass echoing between them like an answer to a question Brocade had not wanted to answer.

He hadn’t heard anything because he’d been unconscious. He hadn’t prepared anything because all he had wanted was to forget.

>:)

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

POSTED: Mon Jan 14, 2019 1:25 am

Optime | NPC: Glade & Brimstone (+549)


The wolf slowly stirred from his slumber as his body belatedly registered that it was no longer alone. Golden eyes peaked from beneath heavy lids. They stared at them, but didn’t see them, focused but not focused at the same time. Ragna frowned, stepping back and crossing her arms to give the newly-awakened dead room to reestablish itself with the living world. She canted her head towards her marten companion, her glacier eyes remaining on the male as he sluggishly rose to a sitting position.

“Not dead.” She confirmed for Glade, presenting the reanimated Luperci with an open palm.

The man only further reaffirmed this by saying so himself.

“No look much better,” Glade added, cocking his head.

Ragna felt little sympathy for the stranger as they watched him. He was likely hung over, and sleeping on the cold, hard ground probably hadn’t helped things either. There was a distinct lack of urgency to him for having been awoken by a complete stranger. There had been no demands for who she was or why she was there. He hadn’t appeared to care that caught him in a vulnerable state at a vulnerable moment.

Was this sort of thing normal for this man?

As the male rose to his feet, the Eklund only backed up further to give him space. He was of good size a wolf, and had adequate muscling to be seen in his arms and upper torso. The scars that marred his face reminder her of her own, and, when combined with those that matched on his shoulder, Ragna wondered if the male was a fighter of some sort. He had the build for one, as well as the habits—if the stench of alcohol and a penchant for waking up stiff the day after were anything to judge by—of any proud, male soldier she’d seen in her days with Boreas.

He lumbered out from his tent and let his golden eyes lazily move about his campsite. When his eyes came upon Brimstone, however, the man suddenly sobered. His energy changed in an instant, and Ragna found herself reacting in kind. She backed up and dropped into a fighting stance, her free hand dropping to one of her knives strapped to her thighs while the other held tightly to her bow. In one fluid motion, she unlatched the thigh holster and freed her blade, positioning it threateningly between her and the suddenly aggressive male.

“Calm down, bright eyes,” she growled in return. On her shoulders, Glade had sunken as close to her neck and body as he could, ready to hold on for dear life or defend his Luperci companion should it come down to a fight. “If I was here to steal your shit, I would have killed you while you were still asleep and not a threat.”

“No mean harm! Just doing scout stuff! Bad Luperci burn pack near here.” Glade chimed in, wanting to help defuse the situation.

Ragna continued to coldly stare the male down. “Whatever horse you had was long gone before we showed up.” She gestured to the set of tracks that were not her own and, apparently, not his either. “I’m guessing you were relieved of it while you were in dream land.”

Ragna Eklund

Mistfell Vale
Wolverthorne
User avatar
Songbird
Luperci Scout II
Do not go gentle
into that good night

POSTED: Thu Jan 17, 2019 4:41 am

The longer that he stood in the cold, the longer that his thoughts had time to settle amongst themselves. There were many of them whirling about – confused by drink and buoyed by anger – but Brocade forced himself to snarl at no one in particular, his hands flexing into aggravated fists. The tiny creature who sat perched atop Ragna’s shoulder stared at him with tiny eyes that seemed endlessly dark – its body hidden in the long scarf which looped around her throat.

He could make out the edges of a scar which crept over her cheeks and snaked its way over the lines of her jaw. One of them almost intersected with the slant of her eyes (which remained clearly unimpressed) and he couldn’t help but unconsciously finger the trio of scars that still lingered upon his own face. There were plenty more hidden beneath the leather and his tunic – but it was those that were most clearly marked that had the most story behind them.

Each mark had been slashed with great force – each line drawn by a careful hand. Brocade had fought for hours against the Bissets; a large and ancient family who had taken up a portion of land that had separated the Valentines from their allies. Ferdinand had been the one to lead them through the broken territory – his tuft of flame-red hair flashing as he fought for them.

They had thought they were done; each chest heaving with exhaustion and covered in blood.

He flinched at the memory and tipped his head into the breeze in an effort to forget.

The drink helped.

Brocade felt his should prickle as she spoke and he spat back with a growl that bit with sarcasm, ”Well thank you so much.”

Had the soldier taken the time to sort through his things she would have been sad to find only items of no value. Brocade had travelled with little else besides his horse and a bottle of Sapien Booze – an alcohol that he had become rather fond of in the wake of his nephews wedding. Somewhere further into his leather bag was a set of daggers and a small stash of cigarettes - but beyond that The Director of Salsola may have been a wandering hermit. He squinted at the trees and felt his ears twitch at the pine martens shrill voice as it poked its head out again from the top of Ragnas scarf.

"Hm?" Brocade stifled a yawn which threatened to crack his jaw and expose his sharp teeth.

A pack had burned? He remembered Kamari's mention of Krokar and felt his brows cinch thoughtfully.

”So you’re a scout?” He coughed, rubbing at his eye before tugging his hair into a neat nape with a twist of his wrists, ”You and your little friend any good bright eyes?" Brocade took note of the icy sheen her eyes took on each time she looked at him.

He cleared his throat and began to collect his things - cinching a discarded dagger to his armor and kicking an empty bottle aside. "Think you could help me find my horse?”

>:)

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

Northern Tides

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