POSTED: Sat Jan 12, 2019 2:36 pm

She had started on her journey that morning, picking out a well worn route that would take her from the tip of the Court and along the shoreline to the city. From there, she carefully selected a wide, well known trade route. It was recommended that a trek through the derelict urban center should be done in pairs, though plenty made the pilgrimage without accompaniment. Ceridwen was not without the ability to defend herself, but she nonetheless passed through in secui form. She was keen to make headway, and even more relieved to pass through the unnatural ruins swiftly.

Once the looming city began to shrink behind her, the mutt shifted back, her bipedal strides long, though slower in pace. It was now, however, that she had to focus. Her first task, once the city was out of sight, was to locate a suitable place to camp for the night. Within the woods, she identified a grove of trees at the base of a low, craggy cliff. The jagged surface was dappled with moss and minuscule patches of weeds. There, she set a cache for the evening, relieving herself of some of the bulkier items she needed to travel with. Then she set out towards the shore once again, hugging her warm shawl tightly around her shoulders.

The bitter winter wind and humidity gave the air a fierce bite that even a native such as herself could not help but to shy away from. She turned her cheek, as if it was kinder to allow one side of her face to bear the brunt of the cold at a time. Eventually, she was forced to pull her hood up over her ears, reluctant to deal with the frigid temperatures with her god-given coat alone. Coming up a rise with a barren peak, she could see the outcrops that lined the Quartz Shoreline. The wind whipped her clothes about, coming off the sea out to the east. With the sun hovering near the horizon, there was no need to squint. It illuminated the lands below, casting a golden glow over the trees, beaches, and undulating water. She could see how rivers drained off the land, from what she could only imagine were vast systems snaking through the thick, inland forests, and out into the Atlantic Ocean. Just up ahead they pooled within little valleys and dips. Closing her eyes, she pondered her decision, before moving ahead.

She had met Wrath perhaps a few months ago, during a prolonged expedition; a hired had to ensure her safety as she scouted unfamiliar territory in search of plants to bring back to the temple. The arduous task of starting a cultivation from nothing but dirt had truly tested her abilities. If her vanity allowed, she might have even thought to thank the mercenary for his assistance. But once again, she sought him out for business. He had been cryptic when he gave her instructions on how to reconnect, infuriating the rose mistress to no end. Even now, as she carefully scaled down a steep slop along the shoreline, she could not help but feel bitter about the bit of extra effort she had to put in.

Finally jumping down a short drop, she found herself back in an unfamiliar, forested area. "At least it provides some reprieve from the wind," She thought, exhaling deeply in dramatic exasperation. Despite her patience with gardening, she seemed to have little time for other luperci. Especially now, when she felt as if she had been set up to wander the heavily vegetated shore, damned to wander until a clue jumped out and slapped her in the face, she supposed. [612]
Cour des Miracles
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POSTED: Mon Jan 14, 2019 1:30 am

Where had it all started? What provoked the sinners beneath the banner of demons to serve the light? These were questions that played on repeat in the haggard head of the silvery beneath while he had begun collecting his tools of the trade. Back in his youth, the man had no such patience to consider which edge would cut best. Back in his lithe era he only desired to see red run from the wounds inflicted by him. Whether innocent or guilty it was an addiction to that scarlet elixir that drove the hateful child to learn the school of the sword initially. Now tattered, crooked fingers ran over his growing collection of war maidens to find the proper dance partner for that night.

The decision was made the moment the man found his first love, his first war maiden. The sword was hoisted from her icy slumber bundled in leathers. The large blade, reaching a total of sixty inches, glistened in the early light of the sun. Her edge held many knicks, many dents, many flaws from her years of service. His eyes traced her edge all the way back to her first wound, her first ever battle. Choronzon, Wrath's first zweihander, was a gift given to him by his mother in recognition of the light she could see inside of the budding man. She saw something that he couldn't. This weapon would prove to be crucial in the survival of his Rast as the lad dared to take on an irritated bear. The claw marks on his back, the scatch on his muzzle, and the torn off ear all twinged at the memory.

If it weren't for Choronzon and his mother he would've succumbed to his wounds. Victorious but dead.

Wrath's cloak, with a fur exterior and leather interior, was a prize from that day as it was made from his kill. Since then he has had to hunt a bear or two to extend the piece as the once sinful man had grown significantly since his lean youth. Growth both physically and mentally. The aged warrior sheathed his companion, fastened his cloak before reaching for his repaired pieces of protection. Gauntlets, grieves, and a chest piece were strapped into place. The hard ebony leather contrasting the smokey coat of the giant male. A quick tap against their surface provided a satisfactory thud before the giant turned to grab the red sash his brother Greed to wrap around his midriff accenting the otherwise dull attire. As he adjusted each piece the lumbering man looked at the bear tooth necklace in his hand.

In the beginning, he fought for joy but now he kept fighting for two things, justice and family. The necklace that found its home around the beast's thick neck was a gift from his three beautiful children. With his outfit finished, Wrath proceeded to grab his supplies for the trip ahead of him. He had a customer waiting.

Every step was precise within the wide and swift gate of the proven soldier. Immense digits caressed the trees as he passed by ensuring that he was walking the correct path. The Order wasn't prone to secrecy but in a world full of packs with a claim to permanent residency it paid to be a bit cautious. Wrath made sure each tree had a proper x carved into the trunks. The distance between one sign to the next was vast as to keep enemies from being able to follow the path with any form of efficiency. His massive frame was unusually nimble weaving between trunks until he had caught a whiff of that woman. A canine with a pelt as complex as his scars was numerous.

From the scent she wasn't far off, thus eliminating a need to waste any more energy as the monster of a giant took his seat upon one of the stumps his people had created weeks prior. Chronzon was removed from her sheath before the tip of her blade was gingerly pushed into the chilled dirt. There he waited with his features as still as stone. Moments passed before she finally reached his line of sight. Although it appeared he had not been noticed. Excellent. This gave him an opportunity to examine her for any weapons or associates hidden within the scenery. Another moment passed with no sounds of footsteps, no stretching of a bow nor unsheathing of a blade. Satisfied that she was as trustworthy as she seemed Wrath called to her with his golden suns still firmly fixed on her form "Ceri." His voice bellowed out from a scarred maw, it rolled out to her without a second of hesitation. When her eyes finally locked onto his the giant stood up from his perch sheathing the five-foot sword. "Good to see you're still in good health," he stepped closer to the woman "what's the job this time? I wasn't quite sure so I packed the basics." Behind the large man sat his leather bag filled with the bare essentials of setting up camp quickly along with some dried meats in case they were unsuccessful in a hunt.
The Order
The Sword
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John William Frost
Bound by blood, never alone.

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