The mountain comes to town

Ithiel de le Poer · 01-24-2012, 09:18 AM

[html]

(1416 holy fuck)
Controlling Myrika in this thread. Also, Saluce = Ser Gregor Clegane. Um, you know, without the psychopath bit... <___< This post is also the text version of The Mountain that Rides. >___>

Also, uh. The tl;dr version of this post: Ithiel and Myrika come from Inferni, stash their horses in the corral, wander around the tents, Myrika trades, Ithiel spots Saluce in the distance then watches him enter the tent of Rie van den Eliene. SORRY FOR RAMBLING AT YOU BRO, SERIOUSLY ONLY THE LAST 3 PARAGRAPHS HAVE ANY RELEVANCE WHATSOEVER, don't read the rest. X:

Ithiel is by me!

Ithiel had not come to this festival of his own accord. He had not wanted to go; even if he had, the ashen coyote had little enough to trade. The belongings he'd taken from Scintilla were all he had to his name, and Ithiel had no plans to part with them. It was for his cousin's sake the dusky man had traveled to this festival in the woods. Myrika had not insisted on Ithiel's accompaniment; on the contrary, she seemed perplexed at his insistence of accompanying her south, and had argued with him a quarter of the way from Inferni before giving up, realizing Ithiel meant to accompany her for the entirety of this trek.

Ithiel was glad Myrika had shown him the stables and the calmer horses within it. Myrika had gone so far as to offer Ithiel her own mount, though she'd inveighed his use of a sudden jerk of the reins to wheel her in from a trot. Ithiel had endured the sound tongue-lashing by this woman-cousin of his only because of her height in rank and his comparative lowliness. Had Ithiel higher rank within Inferni, the iron-furred man might have protested with yells of his own to accompany Myrika's. It was rare such anger flared within the Praeses, but it had burned surely for Myrika. Strong as it had been then, all traces had vanished from the swarthy man shortly thereafter, for no apparent reason whatsoever -- Ithiel was simply not one to cling to rage, no matter how humiliating its provocation.

Truth be told, the swarthy coyote was glad he'd learned this lesson from his cousin. The dappled horse had reacted rather unlike Lystra; rather than fight harder against the sudden and violent treatment, Eira had stopped immediately, such treatment hitherto unprecedented by her owners. Myrika had to dismount Merab, the silver-hued mare now perhaps showing just the first signs of her pregnancy, in order to comfort her usual mount. Part of Myri's diatribe against Ithiel had included this poor treatment as a likely reason Lystra disliked him so, and these words had stuck within the leaden coyote's mind.

Both Eira and Merab were left in the public corral so Ithiel and Myrika might traverse the festival afoot. The first tent had interested Ithiel and Myrika both, and they'd stood at the tent's entrance a moment, watching a massive timberwolf conduct others with fighting experience. Ithiel was not so physically impressed by his size, but when the big man grinned broadly toward her, Myrika turned away and smiled, clearly uncomfortable despite the man's friendliness. Ithiel offered neither apology nor explanation to the tent, which held only a few Luperci, some of whom now seemed curious at them. Ithiel thought this was a lovely way to make a good impression of Inferni.

While their clan had offered no activity for this festival, their Aquila and his half-brother -- Ithiel could now think of Ezekiel as such without his stomach rolling in his ribcage, though the same certainly could not be said of Alder -- had not forbidden Infernian's attendance. Myrika had therefore chosen to go of her own accord, bearing her usual wares. Ithiel had noted her proficiency for leather and peltwork, and thought she would fetch good trade for them. This was proven true in the tends to the southernmost end of the festival, which seemed the trader's tents. Ithiel was glad to be among strangers rather than attending the officially sanctioned activities of wolf packs. He held out hope for a coyote trader, but as they passed tent after tent, he was sorely disappointed. The smell of marijuana was strong in the air, and Ithiel had frowned strongly at Myrika when she'd bent to partake in one of their tents.

Ithiel's thought regarding Myrika's peltwork was proven true in a quiet tent. Ithiel smelled a thick scent of incense wafting from the tent, but the man inside, quiet as he was, did not seem to sell incense -- rather, the brownish-hued wolf, introducing himself as Kaskae and speaking little else than his name -- had a vast array of utterly useless trinkets. Ithiel viewed them with disdain that was not in the least betrayed on his face, finding nothing of value amongst these items. His own "trinkets" had deep meaning -- the cross around his neck was a gift from his mother, after all, and the earrings -- well, he did not think about the girl who'd given him the earrings.

Ithiel stood by idly while Myrika made her trade, taking trinkets Ithiel looked upon without curiosity or disdain; he did not educe joy from such things as these, but neither would he risk offending the shopkeeper. His stoic countenance betrayed nothing of his feelings toward the baubles for which Myrika had exchanged her hard labor. She made a similar trade in the next tent for viscid-looking stuff that clung to the side of its jar -- which had, of course, been included in the price, as it was glass and screw-top, the rigid metal top only slightly bent. After this, they passed again outside.

Some Luperci were horsed, despite the corral to the edge of the festival they'd passed upon arriving. Ithiel was glad he decided against bringing Lystra, happy to have his calmer mount. His she-devil of a mare might have broken loose in her fury and torn the entire festival down, then Ithiel would truly be a pariah -- not just amongst Inferni, where he still felt disparate, but amongst all of these packs. The coyote noticed one, seemingly taller than the rest, and enshrined in metallic armor. Ithiel appraised the armor with a sharp eye and saw it was finely made, suited to fit the man's massive form. His horse was tall, as well, and this was perhaps what led Ithiel to notice him. The man appeared to be a warrior, and Ithiel readied himself of instinct rather than conscious effort.

Myrika was, however, interested in the wares of the next tent. This was surprising to Ithiel, who ducked into the tent with her, shadowing her closer now that the big wolf had set him on edge. Myrika had noticed something that excited her, and she spoke in tones faintly irritating to Ithiel's dark ears to the procurer, who seemed as calculating a warrior in the realm of business as Ithiel thought the large man on the horse must be in true combat. The granite-hued coyote was not a green weakling himself, but Ithiel held no illusions regarding his ability to best such a mountain of a wolf. His arrows would bounce uselessly off of such armor as he wore, and Ithiel would be lucky beyond luck to strike a vital point. His claws and teeth would also be disadvantaged. If a wolf such as this sought to make trouble, Ithiel thought their only option was to retreat, and to do so quickly.

The ash-colored Praeses, however, thought they'd avoid any true issue for two reasons: the first being the setting, one of mirth, merriment, and general feel-good bullshit Ithiel could not be bothered with. A pack wolf permitted to attend such a festival must surely be even of temperament, otherwise his alpha would bar his attendance. Of this Ithiel was sure -- such a diverse festival involved tiptoeing and tension, however far they buried it beneath the feel-good revelry. The second reason was far simpler: they'd ducked into a tent and were now trading. Or, at least -- Myrika was. Ithiel stood by her side, his dingy-furred shoulder nearly touching hers bronze-colored one, surveying the Luperci occupants of the tent. This tent was similarly occupied to the first they'd passed with the first big wolf he'd seen, though the first was dwarfed in comparison to the man outside.

Just then, Ithiel felt a faint shake of the ground, and looked to the open mouth of the tent to see a fantastic glint of metal. The day was clear enough to provide patches of sunlight, though the perpetually overcast skies of Nova Scotia had blessed them with clouds, as per their usual course. The dust colored male watched as the big wolf entered the tent, the crimson eyes of his stoic face furtively seeking the countenance of the other warrior to see whether it held friendliness or hostility.

Login




Remember me Lost Password?