into the light

[Vicare de Lioncourt]

[html]

<style type="text/css">
.wrapper
{
margin-top: 0px;
margin-left: 0px;
width: 600px;
border: 0px solid #;
padding: 5px;
}
.postBody
{
margin-top: -272px;
width: 89%;
text-align: justify;
font-family: cambria;
font-size: 14px;
border-left: 1px solid #000000;
padding: 20px;
margin-left: 20px;
position: relative;
}
.headerText
{
text-align: right;
width: 92%;
line-height: 90%;
margin-top:0%;
margin-bottom: -20px;
padding: 16px;
margin-left: 0px;
font-family: "cambria", cambria, serif;
font-size: 18px;
font-style: oblique;
}
.footerText
{
text-align: right;
width: 85%;
line-height: 90%;
margin-top:0%;
padding: 16px;
margin-left: 25px;
border-top: 1px dotted #000000;

}
.rotate
{
margin-top: 250px;
margin-left: -5px;
text-align: left;
-ms-transform: rotate(-90deg); /* IE 9 */
-ms-transform-origin:0% 0%; /* IE 9 */
-webkit-transform: rotate(-90deg); /* Safari and Chrome */
-webkit-transform-origin:0% 0%; /* Safari and Chrome */
-moz-transform: rotate(-90deg); /* Firefox */
-moz-transform-origin:0% 0%; /* Firefox */
-o-transform: rotate(-90deg); /* Opera */
-o-transform-origin:0% 0%; /* Opera */
position: relative;
}
.speech
{
display: inline;
color: #CD853F;
margin-left: 0px;
font-family: "cambria", cambria, serif;
font-size: 14px;
font-weight: bold;
}
</style>

so we reach into the raging chaos, and we pluck some small glittering thing, and we cling to it, and tell ourselves it has meaning

vicare de lioncourt — lupus form — vinátta border

It wasn’t too long before his call was answered by the resounding echo of approaching footsteps. The tawny male breathed in, filtering the montage of luperci scents to uncover the newest. It was the faintest at first, but it was also the one that grew stronger, increasing in potency in a function that was proportional to the proximity of the footsteps. Vicare listened to them, taking half a step back in anticipation of the wolf who kept the borders—the wolf who would greet him.



By scent alone, he had deciphered the gender of the stranger, so it was no surprise when the cool greys of an impressively-built male came trotting into view. Hawk yellow eyes flickered over the unfamiliar wolf, taking in the above average height, the brilliant green eyes, and lingering over the blush of warm brown over the bridge of the muzzle that seemed to act as a softening of the cold greys and whites. And though, the male looked just like any other wolf, something in his scent told Vicare to make no mistake that this wasn’t a luperci. And yet, there, too, was something lighthearted in the eyes that shone like emeralds, and he found himself relaxing slightly. This muscles loosened, and his tail hung freely, close to his legs but not tucked between them.



Good afternoon, I'm Saul Stormbringer, leader of Vinátta. Can I help you with anything?



If the stance alone did not say something to confirm that rank, then the naturally authoritative arch of that tone did. Vicare gauged the expression on Saul’s face and matched it with a faintly inquisitive half-smile.

“My name is Vicare, Vicare de Lioncourt,”

he replied, giving his birth name with the attachment fashioned by the luperci who’d transformed him. The words still carried a touch of awkwardness, at least on his tongue, but he supposed that it was the sort of awkwardness that one felt when wearing a new ornament. In time, this presumably luperci tradition would be gotten used to.

“Actually, I guess I was hoping to find a home here.”

As those words fell from his tongue like pebbles into a stream, he gave thought to the potency they carried. A whole year he’d been away from home—a quarter year he’d been on his own, and as he’d never once been the solitary type, that was something of a record. Now, as the hawk-eyed male let his eyes roam curiously over the face of Saul Stormbringer—a name he committed to memory—he wondered if this would be the beginning of something. Just what that something was, he didn’t yet know. He’d traded the life he’d been born into for the life of a luperci, and now, as he came to the close of the journey north, he didn’t know if it was the end or a beginning. His lips curled imperceptibly; the smile was tinged with irony.



Vinátta—Vicare mused silently, tasting the word on his tongue as though it had a distinct scent and flavour. Vinátta.

Thanks! Excuse the rambly-ness of this post; haven't played this character in a year. xD

[/html]