From Where the Weapons Were Formed

Cwmfen nic Graine · 08-12-2010, 04:16 PM

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Sorry it took so long to get up! Hopefully this is okay....
600+

The ethereal movements slid through the woods, raw sinew carrying her form with speed and agility through the foliage. A small rodent—a rat—skittered through the growth ahead of the wolf. But too late did its small paws carry it to safety. The hungering jaws of the Warrior snapped shut about the small form. Life blood leaked from her jaws warming her throat and darkening the leaves. In the quiet peace of the woods, the raven wolf ate a snack. Soon, having maintained her hunger and working body, she would return to the boarders. But not yet, for something else was brought to her attention.

The scent of fire and smoke came to the woad-bound maw. Black ears lifted to listen as if expecting to catch the sound of roaring flames devouring wood and foliage, the sound of trees dying and fauna fleeing. But she heard no such sounds. It was a strange thing, the scent of fire, still warm within the air, and yet no sound of its wild, vicious tongues. But the black she-wolf remembered that wolves used fires, taming them to cook meets and to complete other tasks. Because there was no scent of burnt flesh, the wolf assumed that the fire must have been the latter type. Briefly, she thought of the soup that had been gifted to her. The meat had left the most impression upon the wolf, having a flavor similar to but different from other meats she had sampled, whether fresh or burnt. It was good, the wolf admitted, but perhaps she should stay away from the abode of the jackal. While self discipline was sure to allow the Warrior to resist the instinct to kill the vulnerable prey, one could never be sure. The Warrior was not so arrogant as to assume that she were above fault. She had failed before. She could fail again. She worked hard, however, to minimize such occurrences.

A wolf’s natural curiosity flickered into the tranquil orbs of the Warrior and was gone. The peace that had always illuminated her presence was the same, unmoving, impassive, and yet not unkind. Relinquishing the few remains of her hunt to the woods, she turned in the direction of the flame’s scent. Her duties at the boarders could wait for a moment longer. But she would return with the same vigilance. However, she wondered what her packmate was up to. Perhaps she would simply observe from a distance and leave without making herself known, as she usually did. The Warrior was not often a creature to simply intrude upon the company of another. The black wolf had very little to offer in such situations. She would rather simply make sure of her packmates’ wellbeing before moving on to secure the boarders and to keep the peace within the Dahlian boarders.

The woaded she-wolf traveled silently, her fluid movements ethereal. She found herself in an area where Conor’s scent was prominent. But another scent became prominent as the flames grew near and its scent grew hot. The sound of metal upon metal rang clearly through the noontime air. It was a song familiar and yet foreign, as if the song were somehow incomplete—a mere fragment. The white orbs peered through the doorway and found the owner of the scent. She had not seen him since he lay dying outside of the Dahlian boarders. He must have joined, and healed as well, for he worked vigorously on something. The wolf, instead of leaving, decided to stay a moment longer and merely watched, her pose held between simply standing and about to move through once more. But for that moment, she held herself with unmoving grace.

Saluce Tremblay · 08-12-2010, 10:29 PM

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Pops the table cherry! 400 words exacto

A shower of sparks flew into the air every time the hammer swung down onto the piece of iron forcing it into a shape of his choosing. There was no finesse no soft gentle touch, no it was the grunt of a strong stroke yet again as the behemoth swung down with his hammer to force the stubborn steel into submission. Again and again until the edges of the steel cooled then the hammer would be set aside as the tongs grabbed once again to place the steel back into the forge he had made. Swift strokes at the handmade bellows ensured that the temperature would rise hot enough to again soften the steel so it could be worked once more. The task at hand? A small dagger was being made not for himself but for one called Nayru, the progress had just started and as of yet the iron had not much shape to it. But soon the Blue eyed monster would have a weapon crafted for her growing body. One she could wield as she pleased.

The repetition continued until finally he was making progress, finishing another round of hammering Saluce’s icy hues felt the sting of eyes on him. Maybe it was Nayru finding her way into his shop again… ready for another lesson perhaps, or maybe someone else. But he finished his task before setting the hammer and tongs down to look over at the door in a passing glance to see if his suspicions where true. And there she was, standing in the door way. Saluc’es eyes looked almost questioningly at the Dark furred women as if seeing an old friend or honored enemy. For a moment as his form straightened out to its full almost 8 foot frame the wolf stayed silent, mind searching for words to let flow forth. Normally such a problem wasn’t one he had to worry with.

“Boujour Madam” his words broke the silence. They were easy enough, a greeting would have to do for now it seemed. He could sense the same spirit in her that lived in him, and although he knew nothing of her he felt as if he had known her for years. “It has been what? A couple of months now?” he scratched his chin in thought, that day wasn’t quite vivid in his head but he couldn’t forget her scent or face.

Cwmfen nic Graine · 08-15-2010, 08:05 AM

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Sorry about the wait! Been traveling across the country, ^=^;; Oh yeah! And she is in Lupus form, in case it was unclear OuO
500+

The eyes watched through the smoke and darkness and white-hot blaze at the large man. The sound of metal upon metal rang unmistakably through the air between them. Double-banded ears listened to that familiar-yet foreign song, and through that song the understanding of what the large male created became known. But she was not sure—for now it was but a sneaking suspicion. Having never before seen what she witnessed then, having never heard the birthing melodies of weapons, the wolf simply watched with that mild curiosity. Content to simply watch from that distance, the wolf sat back upon haunches bound in lean sinew. Her form backlit and yet shadowed remained unnoticed; although she felt that the lower-ranking wolf must have disregarded her presence for now, the Dahlian Warrior was untroubled. She was familiar with a fighting wolf’s ability to take heed of the presence of others in a way in which was foreign to other wolves. She was accustom, however, to simply pass by. Perhaps, if her curiosity were satisfied, she would simply leave without speaking. The large male that struck the metal repeatedly had healed since she had last seen him. She had no need, it seemed to hold a concern for his wellbeing.

But that mild curiosity that moved almost deliberately beneath that impassive tranquility was not sated. The song that seemed so incomplete caused the Warrior to fall into contemplation. Her attention, however, returned immediately to the scene before her when the song abruptly stopped. White orbs peered up to the great height at which the male’s eyes shone. Perhaps she should have donned the less natural shape for this interaction, but for the moment the black she-wolf was content in that shape that had been given her at birth. Woad-banded ears twitched at the sound of his distantly familiar voice—it held much more strength than when he had been bleeding out. At his greeting, the Dahlian she-wolf simply offered a nod in silence, a dip of her maw that offered a greeting in return and a gesture of the respect she held for all members of the flower pack regardless of rank. Even when he spoke again, however, the tranquility seemed unmoved, though not hostile. Her silence and her impassive features seemed almost amiable toward the packmember.

A faint glimmer of warm mirth touched those quiet lips. Another nod of agreement was made. “It seems as if you weren’t ready for Death afterall,” the soft melody sang, silver tones dancing upon the dark air between them. The blue and black wolf recalled the day they had met, and how he had requested from her a fighter's death. Patiently, the Woaded Warrior had not fulfilled his request, determined that he would be permitted to live. Such meetings were not mere coincidence, after all. The Caledonian-Korean felt as though the Morrigan had had something more in mind for her. As the Woaded Warrior fell silent, she rose to standing, although the wolf’s height was nothing in comparison to the blue-eyed male. Those fluid, ethereal movements held her body in that ever-erected posture, both commanding and yet humble. The white orbs held the blue eyes for a moment longer, reflecting upon that particular hue (How similar they were to Haku Soul’s!) before falling to what had been left behind. “It appears that you have found a comfortable place here in Dahlia, wolf.” Perhaps once the dance of formalities have been left behind, the Warrior would inquire about his work. But for now she was patient.

Saluce Tremblay · 08-16-2010, 12:36 PM

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318 (sorry had a bit of writers block)

For a few breathe moments as the air filtered through his nose those eyes watched her with interest. The she wolf spoke and yet when words normally would flood his mind nothing came but a soft nod of acknowledgement of receiving the message. Soon though his long legs carried him toward a table with a few chairs and one love seat almost meant for those that decided to converse in lupus form. Saluce pulled out a seat for himself as he turned around to offer her a spot at the table. His hand then reached for his thermos to uncork and drink down some chilled water held within.

“Would you like a seat? Or some water?” the voice offered her with a quiet reserve to it. She after all had called him wolf which only a handful of people had ever been able to get away with. “I’m afraid the last time we met though, I was not” he framed his muzzle in thought with those large paws before answering “quite myself. So it seems simple things like names and introductions have not taken place yes?” his speech patterns had almost reverted back to a simple French accent, one he used to hide vehemently now he found himself not caring. Speaking English so long had done well to hide the French underneath but sometimes if the listener was paying attention, the accent was there in its brilliant glory.

He bowed then “My name es Saluce Tremblay, Former Warrior and Weapon smith to the nobility of Whales. And I said warrior on purpose because I am no Knight” suited he had properly introduced himself to the women he sat down and quickly took another drink of water. The shop was almost too hot for a wolf, with no way to expel heat through his pelt, copious amounts of water where the only relief he attained some days.

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