Born of the blood of giants and gods.

Viking Sigurdr · 01-19-2011, 11:30 AM

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Character Name: Viking Sigurdr
Character Birthdate (including year): March 30th, 2008
Whether s/he is a regular wolf or a Luperci: LUPERCIIII
Species: 30% arctic wolf and 70% British Columbian wolf
Gender: Every bit of him is a sexy man
A secondary form of contact (AIM, MSN, Y!M). AIM - Roomwifamoose
Currently played characters: Bangle Guffawri, Malachi, and Shiloh Dawnrunner

954 words. BEWARE THE RAWWWRIOR. Also, this post marks the end of my SoSu!

The dry foliage crackled under bone washed feet, adding a haunting reverie against the steep, winding mountains. Bitter cold swept through the land, and its visitor, who never faltered among the frost-laced peaks. The strong steps that the shadow took were ones that would not go back, no matter what force or being pushed them. Thud, thud, thud, the earth reverberated with footsteps, muscles bunching together and slackening in other places on the stranger's form. The body of the wanderer told stories, from every deep scar to every hole gouged from its place, and coming from a place where obedience kept lips shut, the wanderer would simply walk, stained with the blood of those slaughtered. That life would never be spoken about, not from the mouth of the stranger. The life once lived was now dead and gone, like the several that fell to the swing of a mighty axe. An owl called out in the distance, but fell silent as the trembling of the ground began, like a god that was waking from an ancient sleep.

A chill wind chipped through the ashen skies, announcing the new presence among the rocky cliffs. It swept through locks of the incoming shadow's long, dark braided hair, and took in its wake loose snow and dust; invisible fingers spreading the debris among the rest of the world. The colossal figure's heavy footsteps trembled through the earth, as if waking the very core, stirring up an ancient presence between land and sky. This meant everything to the stranger - the gods were with the warrior yet. Strong form was silhouetted in the distance, a silent, looming figure whose life revolved around a single motive. This theme was evident upon the tall figure's shape, in the reflection of the sharp blade at its side, in the powerful steps that were taken to find a determination; a driving need to put this motif to use.

It seemed so long ago that the muscular stranger was cast aside from the Warrior Band. The eye of the moon looked down upon the male and the barren scene around him, making him appear otherworldly, a tall shadow looming near him like a constant reminder. He moved as silently as he could, like the warrior always did, though small pebbles shook inches above their leveled out resting place when he approached. Too long has it been since he saw the faces of whom he once knew, hearing the clanging of hefty axes fill the air, fighting side by side with brothers. Yet the large, bone hued male followed their ways, trained as if the moon itself were watching him. It was what he was born into.. it was all the warrior knew, and ever cared to know.

A torn, pierced hark from atop waves of thick hair pressed forward, hearing the once calm wind now brush up against taller rocks up ahead, which jutted out from odd angles and towards the stars. It made the rocky outcrops howl, like the chorus of many wolves lamenting of days gone by, of the souls being lost into the wind. For a moment the warrior paused in his trek, tilting his large head towards the moonlit night. A single, ruby-golden eye flashed back into the gaze of full white, a stoic and hardened face contrasted against the midnight skies. He narrowed his right eye, then, muzzle angled downwards again, looking straight ahead once more as the warrior continued on his journey.

The hand that griped the worn, leather-wrapped handle of his weapon tightened, almost feeling the pain of where his other eye once was. A black patch was there, now, becoming part of his rugged appearance. It wasn't so much that the hulking warrior had lost a part of him; he had another, after all. But the events that led to the loss of the ruby orb, which eventually led the giant to that evening, climbing the top of the mountain as if to challenge the very gods themselves.

From the distance, one would be able to see a tall shadow of a man, with horns of a prey animal jutting from the head; though the rest of his built body had predator written all over it. The trained warrior ascended the cliff, which rose higher and higher, following the traces of moonlight until there were only shadows, where the outcrop enveloped everything below it. Grunting his way back onto a level terrace, he stood up straight in all his might, letting the wind run its fingers through his long fur. Before him, a set of caverns opened up between the large mouth of two twin peaks, each of them beckoning to him with a howl.

These lands were far unlike anything the warrior male was used to, where colors were vibrant as the blood that coursed through him. Where wolves were not friends, but fellow warriors - brothers in arms. Sword and shield were not just weapons, they were the extension of the arm. Such a proud race was the Warrior Band, their whole lives devoted to protecting themselves, and their king and queen.. the only two a warrior was taught to trust. They ate, slept, and breathed in the lifestyle they were accustomed to, and knew no other. Training was not an option, and failure an unacceptable term. To fail was weakness, shamed under the eyes of the gods. Constantly was a warrior tested, for their physical and mental strength, working in tandem on the bloody battlefield. Even now, as it was temporary weakness that led the scarred shadow here on the cliff, the warrior felt he was being watched.

And there, bathed in partial moonlight and darkness between both god-like peaks, Viking waited.

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