[aw] i can feel the color running - Printable Version +- 'Souls IPB Archive (November 2007–October 2012) (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb) +-- Forum: Dead IC (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=110) +--- Forum: Dead Topics (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=21) +--- Thread: [aw] i can feel the color running (/showthread.php?tid=29199) |
- Sparrow - 07-04-2012 [html] <style> #location{background-image:url('http://www.soulsrpg.com/images/BSMapPixels_subterr.jpg'); width:150px;height:150px;float:right;border:1px solid #000000;margin-left:5px; background-position:11.3% 81%;} #pushpin{position:relative;left:100px;top:20px;} </style> (274) Back-dated for July 3. Sparrow is hurr bearing gifties for the leadership~ o: Anyone is free to answer her call, whether it be pack members or one of the Council![/html] - Anatole Aston - 07-05-2012 [html]
The horse he had claimed as his own had been out of commission for some time. Anatole had been surprised when he had gone to look in on her and found a baby, but supposed that explained why she was so fat. With two animals now under his wing (so to speak, given his own life was under wing of an actual bird) he had begun to rely on the rest of the pack to aid him in such a thing. This did, however, give him more of an excuse to travel on four legs and so he took to patrolling in such a shape. He trailed the borders endlessly, stopping now and again to lift his leg and mark certain trees. While his scent was not one of authority, it was close enough to his cousin’s to suggest such a thing. The woman who led them had a far more overpowering scent, and Anatole was careful never to touch trees that she herself had come against. Above him a shadow followed, though the eagle was high enough that her true size was hardly noticed. Anatole had gotten used to the overbearing, demanding spirit’s lessons, though he was a stubborn boy and often felt the sharp ends of her (which were all of them, if he were being honest). A peculiar noise came, though, and it drew him quickly towards the source. It was a coyote (of sorts), with a large bag between her feet. Anatole approached her boldly, and did not need to look back when he heard the rustle of wings and felt a breath of air. The golden eagle had settled on a nearby branch, though her fierce gaze was on her ward as opposed to the Infernian. Conscious of this, Anatole took a breath and tried to remember what it was the guide had said about his tone when speaking to others. “Can I help you?” He asked, rather flatly, obviously unused to any attempt at being polite. #anatole-fullbody { font-family:'times new roman', times, serif; font-size:14px; width:95%; margin:0px auto; line-height:18px; } #anatole-fullbody p { text-indent:50px; padding:0; margin:10px 0; } #anatole-fullbody p.anatole-img { text-align:center; text-indent:0; font-size:11px; font-style:italic; float:right; margin:5px; } #anatole-fullbody .txtooc { text-align:left; font-size:12px; font-family:georgia, serif; text-transform:none; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } #anatole-fullbody .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;} #anatole-fullbody b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; } #anatole-fullbody u { text-decoration: none; border-bottom:1px dotted #000000; } #anatole-fullbody b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } </style>[/html] - Sparrow - 07-05-2012 [html] (287)[/html] - Anatole Aston - 07-05-2012 [html]
Ultimately, Anatole was a wolf of the old breed. He functioned as a true wolf because it was familiar to him; he had run with Luperci and non-Luperci alike in the north, where the virus had not fully spread, and many of the infected still functioned as they had before. Isolation allowed for such a thing. It was simple, to live like that, even when very large societies popped in the place of more wide-roaming and smaller packs. This was why he was stiff now, and why, at her subtle signs of submission, the tension left his body. AniWaya lacked true warriors, but Anatole certainly would consider himself more than capable of fending off any threat. Not that he suspected this girl, with her slight form and doe-like eyes, would be a threat. She had called for help, after all, and so he supposed this was not any sort of attack. Certainly her words suggested otherwise, as she moved to present the big bag at her feet. Anatole cocked his head and took several steps forward, extending his nose just so to sniff at it. The whole thing smelled of leather, and of the smoky, salty scent he identified with The Waste. As his silence wore on, a familiar voice spoke from behind him. “Anatole,” the eagle warned, as gently as she ever was, and he flicked an ear back at her in annoyance. His head withdrew and he looked up to the girl, massive next to her even in his lupus form. “Wado,” he said, albeit it oddly pronounced given his heavy Quebecois accent. “I’m sure our leaders will accept Inferni’s goodwill. You’ve come a long way,” he went on, recalling how long it took him to travel south after passing the land marked by skulls. “Since they are not here asteure,” he slipped into his native tongue, barely realizing he had. “We can offer you our hospitality.” Though his face was rugged and his eyes harsh, his voice was a peculiar soft rumble. AniWaya’s culture was based around such principles, and as such, his voice rarely rose (unless he was out with just the eagle, and then he was often like a child, barking and arguing incessantly with her). #anatole-fullbody { font-family:'times new roman', times, serif; font-size:14px; width:95%; margin:0px auto; line-height:18px; } #anatole-fullbody p { text-indent:50px; padding:0; margin:10px 0; } #anatole-fullbody p.anatole-img { text-align:center; text-indent:0; font-size:11px; font-style:italic; float:right; margin:5px; } #anatole-fullbody .txtooc { text-align:left; font-size:12px; font-family:georgia, serif; text-transform:none; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } #anatole-fullbody .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;} #anatole-fullbody b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; } #anatole-fullbody u { text-decoration: none; border-bottom:1px dotted #000000; } #anatole-fullbody b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } </style>[/html] - Sparrow - 07-05-2012 [html] (389) This sounds fun.~[/html] - Anatole Aston - 07-05-2012 [html]
As a child, Anatole had been exposed to only one other person—his mother. He recalled, vaguely, others in the idea of warmth and smell and sounds, but his mind had closed these things in a form of self defense. Once he had a brother, but now he did not. His mother had never spoken of the other boy after his death in the river and Anatole, in a childish form of self-defense, had erased him from memory. This allowed him to press on, and he had done so under the heavy handed teachings of his mother. She had helped to shape him in those early days, and had he been wiser, he would have seen that her intentions had been to harden him and make him capable as a lone wolf. When they had gone north, she had, in her subtle way, pushed him to brave the winter with the other young men that he had begun the journey with. What had returned, and only because of her injury, was a man carved of snow and ice and the northern wilds. Coming to AniWaya, even on the premise of leaving, had forced him to change. It was a slow thing, and the core of his being was still wrapped up in thick layers of ice. Still, he was trying now, actively, to adapt. Donoma’s words and talons were aiding in this. His eyes, a shade of electric green he had never seen but for his mother, barely recognized that she was puzzled by his words. “My name is Anatole,” he replied, and looked back to the package. “Excuse me a moment.” Then he slipped into a thick cover of brush, doing his best to ignore the eagle’s voice, her tone softer than the one she used with him. Anatole frowned from behind the tree—he never missed the fact that she treated strangers with more kindness than she did to him. “Don’t mind the boy,” the eagle said, fixing her gaze on the halfbreed. “He’s not as terrible as he acts.” Moments later, he returned on two legs. He was a full foot taller than her, and much heavier. Black hair fell around his face, something he had inherited from his father. His half-Korean blood was all but unknown to him, though. Anatole bent, lifted the bag, and hoisted it over one shoulder. “Follow me,” he instructed, and at a sharp gaze from the eagle, added: “Please.” With that he turned back towards the southern woods. #anatole-fullbody { font-family:'times new roman', times, serif; font-size:14px; width:95%; margin:0px auto; line-height:18px; } #anatole-fullbody p { text-indent:50px; padding:0; margin:10px 0; } #anatole-fullbody p.anatole-img { text-align:center; text-indent:0; font-size:11px; font-style:italic; float:right; margin:5px; } #anatole-fullbody .txtooc { text-align:left; font-size:12px; font-family:georgia, serif; text-transform:none; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } #anatole-fullbody .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;} #anatole-fullbody b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; } #anatole-fullbody u { text-decoration: none; border-bottom:1px dotted #000000; } #anatole-fullbody b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } </style>[/html] - Sparrow - 07-05-2012 [html] (494) Its all gucci, gurl. <3 And Anatole is so adorkable.[/html] - Anatole Aston - 07-05-2012 [html]
Even now, living and functioning in this place, Anatole felt somehow different and as if he himself was not made of the same genetic makeup as the others. Someone might have warned him of the darkness in his blood, but his mother did not know the true horror of Corvus (and this was not his real name) Vendetta or his crimes. The woman who did had vanished, woad bands and all, into the night with her children and her lover. An unconscious part of him understood this, but his mind did not tread into those dark waters except for dreams. Yet there had been no trauma, nothing more terrible than the day-to-day struggle to survive, and so his mind had been hardened and never suffered great loss. The most terrible thing he had suffered was a fever, brought on by the dirty nails of a young bobcat, and only because of his own stubborn refusal to see a healer. So while gruff and crude, he was not cruel. The eagle was incapable of smiling, but ruffled her feathers in a knowing way and took wing after the girl’s comment. Anatole feigned ignorance. Green eyes flicked back to the coyote (he identified her as this now because she was from Inferni, and Inferni was coyote to him) following after him. “To the Town Hall,” he explained, and slowed his long-legged gait so she could keep pace with him. They were, more or less, following the river westward. “Usually guests stay with their hosts, but I don’t live…” he paused, unsure of how to explain it. “I live in a den,” he finally settled on. “It’s not very big.” He turned ahead again, frowning. #anatole-fullbody { font-family:'times new roman', times, serif; font-size:14px; width:95%; margin:0px auto; line-height:18px; } #anatole-fullbody p { text-indent:50px; padding:0; margin:10px 0; } #anatole-fullbody p.anatole-img { text-align:center; text-indent:0; font-size:11px; font-style:italic; float:right; margin:5px; } #anatole-fullbody .txtooc { text-align:left; font-size:12px; font-family:georgia, serif; text-transform:none; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } #anatole-fullbody .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;} #anatole-fullbody b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; } #anatole-fullbody u { text-decoration: none; border-bottom:1px dotted #000000; } #anatole-fullbody b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } </style>[/html] - Sparrow - 07-05-2012 [html] (413) |: These kids have some similarities. I never noticed this before. xD[/html] - Anatole Aston - 07-14-2012 [html]
Anatole’s limited experience with groups meant he still lacked certain skills. He was a terrible liar, for example. As such, he often used only half-truths or vague responses if it was an issue he did not wish to speak of, or he showed his teeth and bullied his way out of it. These were ways he had come to behave and function, and his coarse nature was only just being softened by a firm hand. His mother had failed in that aspect, but he did not think of her in such a matter—she had made him capable of survival, and that was the basest of all things a mother could do for her son. His ears perked up at her mention of living in a cave, and that she didn’t live in any sort of building. That helped ease some of his tension. It was terribly awkward for him to talk about the differences between himself and those who had more easily adapted to AniWaya culture. Even though this girl was dressed and wearing trinkets, he felt as if there was some mutual understanding between them he might have missed. Perhaps this was why Donoma pressed for him to listen as opposed to wait his turn to speak. “Oh well,” he began, paused, and continued with a shrug. “You can stay with me, if you want. Most of the people who come here are more…” Civilized. “They live more like men did,” he finished, flicking one ear in annoyance. “I’m honestly surprised you didn’t come on a horse,” Anatole added, and flashed her a friendly, if small, smile. #anatole-fullbody { font-family:'times new roman', times, serif; font-size:14px; width:95%; margin:0px auto; line-height:18px; } #anatole-fullbody p { text-indent:50px; padding:0; margin:10px 0; } #anatole-fullbody p.anatole-img { text-align:center; text-indent:0; font-size:11px; font-style:italic; float:right; margin:5px; } #anatole-fullbody .txtooc { text-align:left; font-size:12px; font-family:georgia, serif; text-transform:none; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } #anatole-fullbody .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;} #anatole-fullbody b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; } #anatole-fullbody u { text-decoration: none; border-bottom:1px dotted #000000; } #anatole-fullbody b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } </style>[/html] - Sparrow - 07-15-2012 [html] (333)[/html] - Anatole Aston - 07-25-2012 [html]
Anatole’s face continued to drift to her own, and his pace slowed as to allow them to walk side-by-side, as opposed to him leading. It was peculiar, at first, given his height and greater stride, but soon felt natural. The mention of her riding and carrying her south was met with a bullish snort. What good were horses for if not to carry things around? He hadn’t been too comfortable on his own to consider the ride fun, and was overjoyed to think he had an excuse not to ride (or attempt to) for a few months still. Instead of sharing these thoughts, he remained quiet. It wasn’t until directly asked that the dark man nodded, shifting the sack from one shoulder to the other. “Most do,” he began. “It is part of this Tribe…she is my guide, though I have been told I’m a lousy student.” A try at humor, dry as it was. He cast a glance skyward, sensing but not seeing the eyes upon him, and shrugged again. The river twisted and Anatole led them further in. There was a thin section obviously used for crossing—it was worn on either side, wide and sandy, flattened by hooves and feet. He took the gentle slope without hesitation, though his steps were light and easy in the water; cautious, even. “These stones can be slick,” he advised, and remained ankle-deep in the cold water, as if expecting her to slip. #anatole-fullbody { font-family:'times new roman', times, serif; font-size:14px; width:95%; margin:0px auto; line-height:18px; } #anatole-fullbody p { text-indent:50px; padding:0; margin:10px 0; } #anatole-fullbody p.anatole-img { text-align:center; text-indent:0; font-size:11px; font-style:italic; float:right; margin:5px; } #anatole-fullbody .txtooc { text-align:left; font-size:12px; font-family:georgia, serif; text-transform:none; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } #anatole-fullbody .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;} #anatole-fullbody b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; } #anatole-fullbody u { text-decoration: none; border-bottom:1px dotted #000000; } #anatole-fullbody b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } </style>[/html] - Sparrow - 07-28-2012 [html] (317) don't mind sparrow, she doesn't like water. :B[/html] |