03-28-2011, 07:55 AM
[html]OOC: Feel free to skim over the black parts.
WC: 486
Slade couldn't help but smile a bit when he was asked to share his story. Even if he wasn't used to it and even if his first audience was a puppy who was still giving him the cold stare which he often returned, he supposed that he really wouldn't mind sitting down and talking for a short while. "Sure." He sat down; they would be here for a while. "This is a story my adoptive mother told me about the father I never knew." Which was a lie. Slade had actually told his mother this story, not the other way around, but it sounded more reliable if he said it originated in an adult's mouth. Still, he didn’t want to be a complete fraud, so he added, "But I added my own little twist on it." Clearing his throat, he began his story back at the beginning.
The story begins in a forest not much unlike that of Cercatori d'Arte's, which is only a few steps away. While our pack's forest is mostly peaceful, the story's wood isn't nearly as quiet.
A full moon made the woods look bright, maybe cheerful, but that was far from the mood of Jag Auctor. He was a coyote, who looked a lot like yours truly only taller, and at this point in the story he was only a year old. His golden-colored eyes were wide as he barreled through the forest, charging off the obvious paths and through the undergrowth. He ducked every so often, getting his timing just right; every time he did an arrow whizzed over his head and struck the tree in front of him.
"Get back here!" came furious screams. There was a large group of luperci right on his tail, some of them running with daggers and the rest stopping occasionally to, with one swift movement, place an arrow in their bowstring, aim, and fire.
"Why should I go back," Jag panted, "if you're trying to kill me?" And of course he didn't get an answer.
The deeper he went, the more he slowed his pursuers down, but he was also finding it hard to get through. The trees were getting closer together, and the undergrowth was thick and somewhat thorny; he discovered this the hard way when a sharp pain shot through his front left leg. With a startled yelp he collapsed, falling forward. He closed his eyes; this was the end, he was undoubtedly dead.
Here Slade paused, partly for dramatic effect and partly to see if either mother or son were interested enough for him to continue. He had to admit, he was doing a pretty good job, adding detail he didn't normally include when he narrated only to himself. Besides, he was really starting to enjoy this storytelling thing. He'd have to make a hobby out of it once, if ever, he got used to puppies.
WC: 486
Slade couldn't help but smile a bit when he was asked to share his story. Even if he wasn't used to it and even if his first audience was a puppy who was still giving him the cold stare which he often returned, he supposed that he really wouldn't mind sitting down and talking for a short while. "Sure." He sat down; they would be here for a while. "This is a story my adoptive mother told me about the father I never knew." Which was a lie. Slade had actually told his mother this story, not the other way around, but it sounded more reliable if he said it originated in an adult's mouth. Still, he didn’t want to be a complete fraud, so he added, "But I added my own little twist on it." Clearing his throat, he began his story back at the beginning.
The story begins in a forest not much unlike that of Cercatori d'Arte's, which is only a few steps away. While our pack's forest is mostly peaceful, the story's wood isn't nearly as quiet.
A full moon made the woods look bright, maybe cheerful, but that was far from the mood of Jag Auctor. He was a coyote, who looked a lot like yours truly only taller, and at this point in the story he was only a year old. His golden-colored eyes were wide as he barreled through the forest, charging off the obvious paths and through the undergrowth. He ducked every so often, getting his timing just right; every time he did an arrow whizzed over his head and struck the tree in front of him.
"Get back here!" came furious screams. There was a large group of luperci right on his tail, some of them running with daggers and the rest stopping occasionally to, with one swift movement, place an arrow in their bowstring, aim, and fire.
"Why should I go back," Jag panted, "if you're trying to kill me?" And of course he didn't get an answer.
The deeper he went, the more he slowed his pursuers down, but he was also finding it hard to get through. The trees were getting closer together, and the undergrowth was thick and somewhat thorny; he discovered this the hard way when a sharp pain shot through his front left leg. With a startled yelp he collapsed, falling forward. He closed his eyes; this was the end, he was undoubtedly dead.
Here Slade paused, partly for dramatic effect and partly to see if either mother or son were interested enough for him to continue. He had to admit, he was doing a pretty good job, adding detail he didn't normally include when he narrated only to himself. Besides, he was really starting to enjoy this storytelling thing. He'd have to make a hobby out of it once, if ever, he got used to puppies.