[html] http://i233.photobucket.com/albums/ee19 ... rncopy.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
Arachnea’s Revenge, outside the Dahlian boarders. Set early morning on the 20th
500+
The sun had not yet risen, and the songs of night grew quiet as the reign of the shadows fell to a quiet close. Soon the sun would arrive and sing his golden songs of glory, but not yet. The world lay within the grey, colourless shroud, a purgatory of night and day, and yet not twilight nor dawn. The birds fell silent and the nighttime hunters grew still with mercy.
The warrior had set out before the grey had settled in, rising from the soft foliage at the base of the tree. It grew increasingly difficult to move as she once had, the heavy weight that she carried tiring in a strange way. The woman, although she was lithe of form, was strong and enduring. And yet, this pregnancy made her tired. With each passing day, her heart grew heavy knowing that soon the time to birth the litter within her would come, and that the litter within her was a spawn of darkness, of incest, of obsession. The life within her...it did not belong to the male she loved. It was that thought that made her heart heavy—or was it love? She did not know. Love.... She knew what it felt like now, but she was still a foreigner to that world. She was a creature of war and thus of Death. The Morrigan had blessed her day of birth. The pied Raven guided her Dreams. The songs of War sang in her soul. She was not a creature of Life. Yet—did she not live? Did she not protect the lives of others? So why was there conflict within her? Why did the once-calm waters of her soul rise up against one another?
The black fae paused upon the boarders of her pack, looking north to where Inferni was nestled near a place burned and long forgotten. She stepped across that intangible barrier, crossing into the unclaimed lands as she occasionally did. The Raven Spear sung with the song of iron and steel, sensing the dangers that could befall its wielder and calling upon them in challenge. And she moved with that ephemeral grace, with that transcendent fluidity until the boarders could no longer be seen, and she sat. And the warrior breathed deeply the soft, colourless air, calming her mind. Once, her mind had been enlightened, and she could still feel the tranquility of her soul. But the black soot of Corvus Vendetta continued to remain smeared upon her soul, waiting to be cleared by the soul of another. But it was not yet time.
Her woad-marked knuckles pressed into the ground as her left cradled her large womb. A spider crossed over the fist that gripped the Raven Spear, those legs moving through the fur and across several faint and long forgotten scars. The white orbs, which had fallen shut so that she may better hear the world speak, unveiled themselves, and she beheld the spider in contemplation. Spiders: the spinners of fate. And what does Fate say? But, as her Dreams of late, the spider was silent and moved on. She straightened herself suddenly—had she heard something, smelt something? Or had she simply sensed something, as wolves could? The woad warrior did not lift the weapon, but her senses scanned her surroundings, and there was a flicker of wild anticipation within her. Had someone come to answer the challenge of the Raven Spear?
[/html]
[html] http://i155.photobucket.com/albums/s304 ... wicked.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-bottom:185px; background-position:bottom center; background-color:#000000; text-align:justify; font-family:tahoma; font-size:11px; color:#C2A52C; line-height:16px"> Don't mind Anselm, he's just cranky. D:
------He'd departed from Crimson Dreams with his spirits high and the direction he travelled was fitting: straight up, a direct shot north until he all but collided with Dahlia's borders along the boundary within Overgrowth Sunrise. Though the male often chose to patrol neighbouring packs' borders completely down-shifted, calling attention to himself so that he may receive direct answers to any census inquiries he may have, here his tactics were quite different. He slunk about in his usual preferred form--that of a halfling--skirting around the edges of the pack, occasionally taking several bold steps inside for closer inspection, and often vanishing when he noticed any sign of another who may be around.
------He kept moving now, too, rather than lingering in any one position for awfully long. If somebody he didn't know met him, he would explain that he was simply headed northeast. This would be a statement of fact, and it would easily explain why his scent would be found trailing along the perimeter. As the golden hybrid lurked, he came to realise the Dahlians had expanded their territory since he'd been here last. Now they laid claim to lands straight up to the edge of Halifax, and he couldn't help but be somewhat annoyed by the idea.
------The city was one of his favourite places to visit, but now he would need to cut through just to visit Savina (or anyone else further south). Why the hell were they monopolising the stretch of land that separated the northern packs from those in the south? It may have been completely innocent and for their own convenience (assuming some of the members also liked to visit the city), but the irritating shape of their territory caused the long fur of his mane to stand on end as he considered having to go out of his way every time he just wanted to go the fuck home. Couldn't they have expanded in a more reasonable fashion?
------By the time he crossed back into Arachnea's Revenge, his mind was a swirl of anger and relief over the prospect of finally getting home. Although he'd gathered plenty of valuable "data" during his quest, it was definitely time to get back to his family and stay there for awhile. So absorbed he was in his thoughts that he scarcely noticed the warrior until he was practically upon her. His footsteps faltered and stopped as he peered at her from behind--her body was covered in intricate markings that reminded him vaguely of Maserati, though these seemed far more deliberate and careful. Gabriel's voice rang in the back of his head, but the words were garbled and distant: all he could focus on now was her scent. Dahlia. Pregnant. High ranked. And then his crimson gaze dropped to the spear at her side.
------Oh; fuck no. Nope, uh uh, his mind spun. He shook his head then swung widely out to the side in his path. He'd probably been noticed already, but that didn't mean he didn't want as much distance between them as possible. If she was looking for trouble, he wanted no part of it. He just wanted to go home. The tattooed male kept his gaze and ears trained forward as he moved, hair standing just a bit on end. [/html]
[html] http://i233.photobucket.com/albums/ee19 ... rncopy.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
Sorry for the wait!!
EDIT: I edited because I think that the white text is thought?
500+
The woad-banded aurals swiveled slowly, naturally, at a sound behind her, her trained ears listening to the quiet sounds that others might overlook. She followed the movement of the creature at her rear, the woad bound maw turned towards the earth as she concentrated her mind so that she may see without her sight. The sounds faltered—a soft rustle—and then stopped, growing silent. It was quiet now. But she could discern very little aside from those meager facts, for the wind did not carry the scent of the one that had approached her. Or was it from the lands of Dahlia, just out of sight, that the creature had come? Yet, the woad-marked fae did not turn to observe that who observed her, for surely she could feel the eyes upon her.
Her breathing was soft as she listened, hearing the song of the world singing softly in the silence that continued to ensue. And the warrior allowed the other to look and observe, for she looked and observed in her own way. She did not believe that the other would be able to ascertain more than she had of it, not from simply watching her back. Perhaps it would notice the scars, perhaps it would notice the woad and the Spear. Such knowledge would be of consequence. Perhaps if it were recognized that she was a warrior, it would be noticed as well that she was alone, and so her pregnancy would be of little consequence. But how perceptive the other would be was not known by the black fae. And she could only rely upon herself, as she was accustom to doing.
And suddenly, the silence was shattered by a sound. The woad-banded aurals flicked noticeably then, following the sudden movement of the male (for she had been able to discern that the creature that had observed her was a male). Slowly, the white orbs turned to observe the creature that had interrupted her solitude before her maw followed suit. Perhaps there was a quiet curiosity within those eyes, but there was also a quiet ferocity, for she did not know this wolf. But such things were mere shades within the brightness that held a calm serenity. The black fae understood that she was not within the lands of Dahlia, and so she did not hold an open hostility, and it did not seem as if the male wished to do so. The tranquility of the waters of her soul had not yet been disturbed.
"Why are you so near to Dahlia?" the quiet melody finally sang as she considered the other, briefly observing with whom she now shared company. There were marks upon him, ones that she did not recognize. They were not like her own—they seemed to be painted on his skin, although she did not know how such a thing would be possible, for she was unfamiliar with such things. "I won’t attack you," the soft song said, having noticed the stance he had taken. Her woad bound fingers released the shaft of the Spear as if in truce, but the weapon was far from her reach. And it should have been understood that her words would remain true only if he did the same. The quiet eyes met his gaze with that natural ease as if in challenge, and yet the gaze was unprovoking.
[/html]
[html] http://i155.photobucket.com/albums/s304 ... wicked.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-bottom:185px; background-position:bottom center; background-color:#000000; text-align:justify; font-family:tahoma; font-size:11px; color:#C2A52C; line-height:16px"> That's hardly a wait! And yeah, I should've been more clear about the thought (it's more obvious when there's also spoken text, I guess x_X). Just for the record, Anselm was travelling for awhile, spent about 2 days in Inferni, washed off several times, and has since been gone for about a week and a half, so he shouldn't smell like them much. :3 Again, my bad for not making that apparent at all. >_o
------Though objectively he found her voice rather soft and pleasant, her words still cut through the air like a knife and felt like buckshot rattling down his ears. His footfalls ceased immediately, though he did not grow tense. One ear flicked as he swung his heavy head around to look at her, this time from the front. Despite his best efforts, he could not suppress a look of surprise from creeping across his face, although that initial confusion quickly turned into a look of recognition. White eyes. Gabriel's voice now sounded loud and clear in his mind--this was the woman training Anselm's "nephew."
------Just like that, the voice in his head was screaming unbearably loud. When his cousin mentioned the colour of the warrior's gaze, Anselm had pictured one thing. What he saw now was completely different. His first instinct was to deem her blind; usually those with such cloudy eyes had lost their vision to scar tissue (or something, that was how he understood it at least). She seemed to be watching him, though, not just listening--and this perplexed him greatly.
------He pivoted slowly to face her, watching carefully as she released her grip on the spear (and noting that she could easily wield it again within seconds, if the need arose). The twin garnets of his eyes now rose to her unmarked white ones as his rump simultaneously lowered to the ground. His tail, still rather thick and bushy despite the warmth of the season, curled neatly around his body and rested next to his left foot.
------Increasingly he became aware of the unnatural pause in their so-far one-sided conversation: she had asked him a question, and he'd failed to respond. Who could blame the guy for needing a moment to digest and collect his thoughts? "Gabriel never mentioned you could defy the laws of Nature," he stated at length, his tone remarkably even for such a bold (and ridiculous) statement. He continued to stare intently at her eyes--though as with her, this was not in challenge (as it may have been under any other circumstance). He was just damn confused. He wanted a closer look (surely there was some kind of reasonable explanation), but he didn't want to get close enough to take it, either.
------"As for your question," he continued shortly, "isn't it obvious? Your pack has laid claim to damn near the entire breadth of this peninsula, sans Halifax. Coming up from the south, I really had no choice but to trail along the perimeter if I wanted to get home." There was no sense in trying to keep under cover, so he spoke of Gabriel and the path to Inferni freely. This strangely marked woman was clearly somewhat comfortable with the coyotes, which was impressive given her citizenship of a nation that had proven one of their greater enemies. [/html]
[html] http://i233.photobucket.com/albums/ee19 ... rncopy.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
Oh! Sorry about that, ^=^ I went back and edited it out of my previous post, ^=^
500+
His words did not immediately respond to her query, and they were unexpected by the black fae. She was silent for a moment, her head tilting ever so slightly as she considered the meaning of that statement. What was perhaps most unexpected was the recognition that this male seemed to have, for she had never encountered him. But the mention of Gabriel allowed the woman to consider the possibility that Gabriel had explained either the relationship that she held with Ezekiel or the rank that she held in the pack that held tensions with the clan. Whatever the cause for such recognition may have been, this male, despite his rough behavior, did not seem to show an acute hostility. "I can defy nothing that Nature creates," the soft melody with silver tones. And he seemed to watch her intently, observing her in a strange way. The woman continued to hold her own gaze, although she did not share the other’s observation. She had already gathered what she could from his appearance.
After a brief silence, the male continued, answering her query. And she listened in silence, although she did not follow his logic. "Dahlia has many members," the woman replied with that imperceptible smile moving across the woad-bound maw. "We require an extensive territory to sustain our numbers without intruding upon the lands of other packs." There was a brief pause in which those white orbs considered the large secui. "We have not encroached upon Halifax; can you not travel through the city?" There seemed to be a genuine curiosity, not an accusation, within those soft-spoken words. "Your proximity is enough to make me wonder." And then she allowed the silence to ensue. While the woad warrior held an approachable air, she did not trust in this unfamiliar luperci. There were many ways around her pack’s boarders. She did not necessarily feel as if he were required to linger within sight of Dahlia de Mai.
"You are of Inferni." It seemed to be both a question and a statement. There had been something vaguely familiar about his scent, but it was not strong enough for her to say with certainty. "And you seem to recognize me, but I do not recognize you." The quiet melody spoke with that strange formality, that formality that seemed to give respect to all creatures that she encountered. But the black fae did not ask the tattooed male how he had known her or what Gabriel de le Poer may have said, for such things were not her business to know. Her business was only to know the name of this male, and perhaps a proper introduction could be made. The warrior, while normally belligerent in nature, did not risk battle with the male who wore the secui shape. The two adults were not the only lives present, and the warrior was unwilling to risk those lives. And she understood that there were fights that were better left unfought. And this fight was one she intended to leave unfought.
[/html]
[html] http://i155.photobucket.com/albums/s304 ... -table.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-bottom:235px; background-position:bottom center; background-color:#000000; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#FDBC43; line-height:16px"> Sorry for the wait & crapiness of this reply. D: -Was out hiking around all day and barely slept all weekend, just trying to catch up.- xx; -Actually approximately calculated all of these numbers with the map, is such a dork.- x:
------Her matter-of-fact tone was strangely satisfactory, although this was one of those mysteries that he had to solve himself. He always had a rough time taking others' word for "it" (whatever that may be) and he yearned for a closer look. Still, his feet remained planted where they were and he dared not approach. Instead, he remained where he was and squinted in earnest, although the distance between them forbade him from discovering any mind-blowing revelations.
------Obviously quite perceptive, Cwmfen wasn't buying his excuse. No matter--in his opinion, his reasoning was rock solid. There was always a method to Anselm's madness, the subtle paranoia that drove him to plan for the worst, and though he usually needn't fall back upon his alibis, that made them no less legitimate. He snorted softly at her words, not in anger as much as general disagreement. "Clearly," he said simply of the need to acquire more territory, "but it needn't be in such a decentralised shape," he concluded with a frown.
------"Would it not make more sense to expand in a circular manner, away from a central point? In doing so, you maximise territory area while minimising borders to guard and patrol," he added, showing his intuitive understanding of mathematics. "Instead of a straight shot, I had to go nearly twenty miles out of my way to avoid trespassing," he stated, adding subtle emphasis to the fact that he had indeed committed no crime. She had nothing on him and he knew it. Still, he maintained a calm, rational tone--being cocky would probably tip this one off.
------"At any rate, that adds at least forty miles to your perimeter with minimal gain, probably about twenty square miles. If you had branched off into Ethereal Eclipse instead, for the same gain in land you'd probably only have 25 additional miles to patrol." He shook his head and shrugged--hey, it wasn't his problem if they were being horribly inefficient. Inferni had expanded in a rather elliptical manner, and though he'd never discussed it with Gabriel, he could only assume his cousin had the same intuitive understanding he did.
------At her question, he simply flicked an ear in a vague form of confirmation. Yes, he was from Inferni. "Anselm," he replied smoothly.
"Gabriel is my cousin." The blue-marked girl seemed pretty sharp--his words would likely be explanation enough. He'd answered her questions, though (perhaps in even more detail than she would have liked), but his dilemma remained an enigma. What the hell was up with those eyes? [/html]
[html] http://i233.photobucket.com/albums/ee19 ... rncopy.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
I think that it’s fine, ^=^~ But sorry for my crap—my slowness is making me dumb
500+
The golden male’s discontent grew increasingly apparent, and she wondered why he would speak to her of such things. She did not think that the purpose of his presence was to discuss the ways of territory. "The wolves and canines of these lands have grown idle," the soft melody continued, although she held no tone of her judgement within her words. The purpose of that statement was to offend no one, nor was it to make judgement. Its purpose was simply to make an observation. And the warrior, who had once carried but the shape of the wolf, watched as the wolves adopted the strange habits of the humans. She did not know what to think of such a thing, but she hoped only that nature had allowed such a thing. "These several miles will not dampen a lupine spirit." A wolf would simply have accepted such a boundary, but she understood as well that the wolves were changing.
"Perhaps that is so," the warrior replied quietly, intrigued by the strange numbers that he used to describe the territory and its shape. "But not all lands are safely traversed, nor are all lands ideal for hunting." Ethereal Eclipse was dense and dark, and while game may have been plentiful, it was difficult for many members to hunt through the thick foliage and the many trees. And because of such dense terrain, it was dangerous for the young and, when the time came, for the old to move without coming to danger. The open lands between the older Dahlian boaders and that of Halifax had proved to be much more suitable, and the diversity in the terrain provided much more for the Dahlian pack as a whole. "What would have been the central point," the tranquil song querried. The warrior was curious. What point would have been made central? She did not know whether packs of wolves uninfected by the virus would create and expand their territories in such a way. Having not been trained in such a way, could not say that she knew. But perhaps the information was hidden somewhere in instinct, waiting to be unearthed.
"Anselm," the warrior repeated, dipping her maw in greeting. It was as if the knowing of a name required such a thing. "Cwmfen nic Graine," she offered in return, knowing that he no doubt knew her name already. Gabriel was his cousin, Anselm claimed, and it had been apparent that a relationship had existed between the two in question when the Inferni leader’s name had been invoked moments before. "Your clan seems to carry much blood." It was not natural for wolves to remain, for too much of the same blood provoked infertility. But she supposed that coyotes must be different. "You appear as a wolf," she noted, the unspoken question more significant than her words. She knew that Inferni did not permit wolves beyond the boarders. He must have been a mix of some sort, although she could not see it. And the warrior did not know why such things mattered, but her curiosity bid her to know, to question and understand.
[/html]
[html] http://i155.photobucket.com/albums/s304 ... -table.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-bottom:235px; background-position:bottom center; background-color:#000000; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#FDBC43; line-height:16px">
------Anselm didn't think the issue was a matter of sloth as much as efficiency. Maybe she didn't mind going those extra twenty five miles to do a single sweep on the border, but he would rather put that energy into making an additional round. Trouble could brew quickly and he wanted to maximise the chance that he'd find and deal with it as soon as possible when it happened; it was a tactical thing, really. Still, he had no choice but to begrudgingly accept her logic. If they wanted to claim more neutral land in any which direction, he couldn't do anything to stop them... but he could still whine about it. "Fine. I guess I'm just pissed I can't go straight home now," his low voice rumbled. "But I suppose it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. I rarely go down there anyway. I'll just meet Savina halfway in the future." It was kind of uncertain whether he was talking to her or himself at this point; either way, he was ready to let the subject drop. No harm, no foul, right? He didn't even know how to answer her question about the central point since he hadn't been through the territory recently... the last time was long ago, before the fire when he had free run of the whole damn region. As such, he simply shrugged dismissively.
------"Cwm... I'm sorry, what?" he blinked. "Run that by me again. What nationality is that?" he asked, now genuinely curious. He'd never heard such a foreign sounding name before--it wasn't even like the European or Mexican sounding names he might have heard in the past. He was having a rough time getting it to stick, but he didn't want to slaughter it in the future, either. When Gabriel had described the woman, he had done simply that: he'd given Anselm a physical description. He hadn't even told the caramel hybrid that the woman hailed from Dahlia, nor that she was so high ranked. Anyway, he now found himself wondering if her strange background might explain her snow white eyes (and the blue, tribal looking marks).
------It seemed as though they were both curious about one another's origins; fair enough. Conversations like these were always a give and take kind of thing and Anselm was content to play along. He wasn't entirely sure what she meant by "much blood;" wolf blood, he supposed, judging from her next statement. (It didn't occur to him that everyone being related might have had something to do with it... traditional packs were comprised of parents and several generations of their offspring, Inferni just had more cousins, grandparents, aunts, and uncles than usual, but they still weren't a random agglomeration of loners and drifters like most contemporary packs.) "Yeah; my dad was a full fledged wolf. I think Gabriel's was, too. My mother was an even split of coyote and wolf, but I mostly take after my father in build.. my coat colour is similar to my mother's though," he explained, finding the mental images of his parents dashing through his memory to be peculiar at best. After leaving his birth pack, he hadn't really looked back or thought about it much--it kept him stable (ah, the joys of repression). "So how about you, eh? Did one of your parents have all white eyes, too?" Ah, finally; he had gotten that one out in the open. [/html]
[html] http://i233.photobucket.com/albums/ee19 ... rncopy.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
500+
"I’m sorry that the shape of Dahlia’s lands inconvenience you," the quiet melody replied sincerely. And despite her pregnant and thus vulnerable state, the woman found that she no longer expected aggression from the red-eyed wolf before her. Her tranquility was held within those white orbs, strangely distant and yet not cold. The black fae regarded him, although she did not understand his reasoning because she was simply a wolf—one who viewed things from the earth and did not bother with the views from the sky.
The woad banded ears pricked forward at the sound of a familiar name. "Savina...Marino?" The name was recalled from nearly two moons past. The black female of Crimson Dreams, second in command, she noted to herself. "Is she well?" She did not find it strange that two unlikely people appeared to be friends, for she did not discriminate between such things just as she did not discriminate between those that would be killed and those that would be spared. The black fae wondered how the Marino female’s children fared, but she did not ask the caramel male of such things. Perhaps the warrior would be able to visit the neighboring pack in the distant future.
The male’s confusion did not surprise the woad female either, for there were many who, at first, had stumbled upon it as well. But she had not encountered many new faces in the past moons, as her search for both Brennt and Corvus Vendetta had consumed her time. A soft mirth was lit in her white eyes as she considered Anselm’s request for she remembered those many moons ago when she had first encountered these lands. "Koom-vehn," the soft Caledonian lilt repeated, her tongue slow and careful so that he might here that which he wished to know. "nic Grahn-ya." The woad-marked fae paused briefly to separate the thoughts clearly before she continued to reply to his query. "I hail from Caledonia—in Albion." The uses of those archaic names had never been corrected, yet, even if they had been corrected, she would have continued to use the names with which she were familiar for it was with these words and names that she associated her homeland.
Quietly the pregnant warrior listened to Anselm’s explanation. "And so it is your impure blood that they accept you," she concluded herself, answering her own, unspoken question. And her tranquil voice held no judgement, no damnation, but a simple conclusion. He had appeared, in the warrior’s eyes, to be a wolf, the faint hints of his coyote ancestry dismissible for their subtlety.
There was a pause that persisted longer than its predecessors, and the silence was heavy. In the female’s mind, such a thing made perfect sense for it was through symbols that she saw the world, through the songs and colours of each note. But she would not have been able to explain the whiteness of her eyes to another. "No," she answered at length, the white orbs lifting as she emerged from her thoughts. "My father—he had black eyes." And it was the thought of her father that had kept her silent. It was his black seed that grew in her womb. It was he who had subdued her. But, in the darker recesses of her heart, of her soul that desired the dark, she could admit the quiet intrigue of the now dead crow wolf. But only there. It was an unrealized thing, a simple hint of a glow where the source of light—or, in this case, the dark—was unknown. Odi et amo, the warrior’s core whispered, but the sound was lost in the silence of her soul.
[/html]
[html] http://i155.photobucket.com/albums/s304 ... -table.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-bottom:235px; background-position:bottom center; background-color:#000000; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#FDBC43; line-height:16px">
------Anselm was certainly not without his prejudices, but he was intelligent enough to realise when certain sentiments towards others were unfounded. Although his knee-jerk reaction was to despise the woman for wielding a human weapon and pledging loyalty to Dahila, as time wore on he found himself respecting her more and more. She was sharp enough to know when something was amiss; she had an air of capability and confidence that allowed him to consider her a valid threat (even with her disadvantage). There was something genuine and individual about her, too; their packs were on ill terms, yet he knew she'd helped to train his nephew. She also seemed remarkably patient (she was willing to put up with his antics, at least) and--indeed-very down to earth. Anselm tended to swing about more erratically than that: at one point he'd be down in some cynical, distrusting slump and then later he'd feel on top of the world and completely in control. The two opposing forces balanced out and resulted in a rather stable, consistent creature, but Cwmfen seemed to just hold rock steady right in the middle.
------For whatever reason, knowing his raven friend that hailed from the south earned her instant bonus points, as well. His features remained neutral, as always, though his tone had warmed just a couple of degrees when he spoke next. "That's her. She's hanging in there... unfortunate circumstances have landed her at the helm of Crimson Dreams, but she's a strong woman," he replied smoothly, one foot lifting as he scratched at an itch behind his ear. If the woad-marked lady wanted to know more, she could ask Savina herself. Anselm wasn't about to play messenger for the sake of anyone save Gabriel.
------"Cwmfen," he repeated, this time much smoother than the last. Here he dipped his head slightly in thanks for her taking the time to clarify (Anselm personally hated having to repeat himself, and if he got asked about his own name as much as she might, he'd probably be ready to smack people by the end of it). "I can't say I've heard of it. I take it that's overseas, then." He'd seen enough maps to know that individual territories and cultures overseas were numerous, unlike on their continent, which had basically Canada, Mexico, and the former States.
------"And I guess, though I think my name has more to do with it." We take care of our own since nobody else will. Even though he was about a quarter coyote, he doubted he could have gained acceptance into Inferni's ranks without being a de le Poer for the very reason she was confounded by his affiliation: he really did look like a wolf.
------As for his eyes, he paused a moment, considering her words. "Oh," he replied at length, obviously not very satisfied. He had a hazy understanding of genetics; it made sense when kids had traits that took after their parents. Every so often, though, a random new feature was generated; something locked deep within their DNA came to the surface. "Do you mind if I take a closer look?" he inquired lightly, his bones cracking slightly as he completed his shift to a pure quadruped from his secui form. His build grew lighter and his mane became less wild, though otherwise he looked much the same. He just wanted to be clear that, for whatever reason, taking a gander at her eyes was more important than any idea of attack--surely she wouldn't feel threatened by him now. It was also an act of trust on his part, though whether she'd see this herself or not was beyond his control. Anselm rarely took this form away from the safety of home. [/html]
[html] http://i233.photobucket.com/albums/ee19 ... rncopy.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
Sorry if the post is a little jumpy—I got interrupted a lot while I was writing it >n<
700+
"She is," came the simple reply. Savina Marino had been one of the few wolves that seemed to understand the implications of leadership and also of membership within a pack. The warrior did not doubt that there would be hardships, for there cannot be peace without war. But, while the black fae had conversed only briefly with Savina Marino, she respected her and trusted that the wellbeing of Crimson Dreams would no doubt be in place once more. Such was the way of things, and the leadership, with Anu and Savina, would not let the pack stray. The third leader the warrior had not met, but she would visit the lands again one day to ascertain what had occurred.
An imperceptible smile, as silver and as transient as the moonlight of a clouded night, moved across her quiet lips. A soft nod was given at the sound of her name spoken more clearly upon his tongue. Although it was not spoken perfectly, the black fae liked to listen to the sounds as it was spoken upon the tongues of many, for each sound was different and held a wordless secret. Another soft nod was given to the caramel male. "It is across the sea," came her quiet confirmation. "But I came over the fields of ice in the north." Cwmfen had spent many months upon that barren place, but the name of those fields was unknown to her. "Do you hail from these lands, then?" It seemed as if many did, but it was not something that was often asked. Her eyes flickered over the strange marking upon his leg. Perhaps it was inked, she thought. There had been many who carried such things, but this marking seemed somehow different. The woad warrior wondered if that red image was tied to his lineage. "And that image," the quiet voice sang suddenly, her woad-bound maw indicating to that of which she spoke. "Is it of your culture?"
Briefly, her head tilted at his words. She wondered what he meant by his name, for ‘Anselm’ did not seem to mean anything more to the black fae. But she realized, then, that he must be speaking of a different name, of the second name. Many in these lands had one in common with others. Her own second name, however, indicated only who her mother was. Perhaps, then, if Anselm held a common second name, Inferni would have accepted him. Perhaps the second name would be de le Poer, or perhaps Lykoi, or perhaps it was a name of which she had not learned. But the woad woman did not ask, for he had not given her that name. She would not ask to take a name which was not first given to her.
Her ears pressed forward with a mild curiosity. The woad warrior wondered what he saw in her eyes, for, while the warrior often held another’s gaze, she hardly beheld her own reflection. Vaguely she knew of how she appeared, and the accepting wolf did not find the lunar eyes to be peculiar. For a moment longer, the black fae was silent as she watched his shape change and remembered that she could not do the same. But the black fae was satisfied by the shift, for she viewed that change as some sort of unspoken trust. One was vulnerable when between solid forms. She knew that. The black fae shifted her position so that he may be allowed to better access her face. "If I can trust you," the soft melody replied, her white eyes considering him, "then you may come near." The black fae offered it as if it were within his hands. The wolf would allow him to come if she trusted him, and yet somehow she had switched their roles. The lupus shape was much smaller than the one she wore, and so, bracing herself upon her right arm, the warrior leaned forward, still cradling the pregnant belly with her left hand. The black fae’s eyes watched him as if with mild fascination, and she wondered once more at the nature of his request.
"What do you see?" The soft susurrus was nearly lost within the silence. There was a mild curiosity within those white eyes that held and experienced emotions diluted by her peculiar self training. She wondered what he saw there that she did not see.
[/html]
[html] http://i155.photobucket.com/albums/s304 ... -table.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-bottom:235px; background-position:bottom center; background-color:#000000; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#FDBC43; line-height:16px"> -Babbled a lot.- :[
------How, exactly, the foreigners came to live here had always been a perplexing subject for Anselm. Their existence here was proof that their methods worked, obviously, but something about buckling down for a moon-long journey across the choppy seas, completely at the mercy of the weather and your company sounded utterly unappealing. What would happen if projected needs fell short of reality, and there wasn't enough food or fresh water for the entire crew? Surely things would delve into chaos. And though navigation was simple enough, what if dark clouds came to obscure any useful signals, driving one off course? Pah; it'd be a cold day in hell before anyone got him on some creaky wooden boat, that was for damn sure. Either way, her more logical path was greatly appreciated by the bronze hybrid for the "common sense" factor alone. "I've heard coloured fires dance across the sky up there," he reflected quietly. "Was it beautiful?" It was strange for the wolf to use such a word at all, for most of his vocabulary centred around death and deceit. Perhaps it was fitting for this fluke of an encounter, though.
------"I was born a considerable distance west of here on the mainland, at least a week-long journey under ideal circumstances." Ideal circumstances such as: 1) cutting directly through any claimed land, 2) not stopping to hunt, and 3) not stopping to sleep. The actual trip wound up clocking in somewhere in the neighbourhood of a fortnight. "But this is my home--and it has been even since before all of the packs from further north were uprooted and settled here." He wasn't sure if she knew that chapter of history or not, and though he didn't elaborate further he wouldn't mind doing so if she asked. That was far enough in the past that it mattered little now, anyway.
------His gaze dropped momentarily to his left limb, and as it rose again he slowly shook his head. "In a sense, maybe, but it's actually a human symbol. So is this one," he said, as he pivoted gracefully and turned his back on her, lifting up his right foot so she may view the yellow and black mark before placing it gingerly back down and turning once more. "They were both warning symbols. The yellow one means radioactivity, which is a kind of energy that damages the living and can inspire mutations." Our ability to shift, he mused, though he wasn't certain their gift was granted by a mutation rooted in that or something else... it was his best guess, since there obviously wasn't any literature explaining their existence, as the humans had already died. "And this one," he said, gesturing with his muzzle to the red symbol, "means poison." None of us is without crime or sin. His explanations were somewhat vague and the last technically incorrect, but it was the way he understood the books he'd skimmed through before. "What of your own?" he wondered of the carefully placed blue patterns on her fur.
------He nodded silently as he approached to investigate the more pressing mystery--her eyes. Anselm was vaguely uncomfortable being so close to the other's face, even though permission had been granted. It was unnatural for him to be so physically near anybody if they were not family, he wasn't fucking, or engaged in combat. Alas, though, he wound up well within a foot of her face; when a direct approach yielded little information, he turned his head so that he viewed her eyes from an angle. Subtle muscle movements were detected as her eyes focused on slightly varying distances, and as he moved back around to look at them directly he caught a glimmer that reminded him of a puma's. Satisfied with his investigation, he took several steps backwards so that there was a more comfortable distance between them. "I'm not entirely sure," he admitted, "though I can still detect the small movements everyone else's eyes make. There is definitely some depth to them, for how solid they appear from a distance. The back reminds me of a cat's at night." He shrugged a little; though the pigmentation still didn't make sense, they indeed seemed to operate on the same rules as the rest of Nature in some form or another. For this he was content. [/html]
[html] http://i233.photobucket.com/albums/ee19 ... rncopy.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
That’s fine! I did the same, ^=^;;;
700+
Coloured fires. The caramel male invoked, suddenly, an image of the heavens, and the woman paused as she remembered. And she was surprised, perhaps, by that word ‘dance’, for the fires of the heavens had done just that. "Yes," the soft voice sighed, "it was beautiful." Those fires were beautiful and wondrous, like nothing she had ever seen or would ever see again. They were stranger than falling stars, or the heated charges that created thunder in their wake, or, even, the sun darkened by the hands of the god and the moon reddened by their blood. Somehow, those fires seemed to belong there in that barren land of white, to bring a coloured song into the world that did not sing of solitude but of something more. But she had left those gelid fields behind, and she did not think that she would see them again.
Anselm had not been born upon these specific lands, but his origin was in a place that was relatively near. His words that concerned the migration from the north interested her. She had stood upon the ashen hills beyond Inferni’s boarders, and she had wondered at the places beyond that seemed to hold nothing, that held a time obscured by the remnants of a great fire. "Was it the fire that caused the migration?" She was not certain, for she had not explored those barren lands of ash. The held life that did not concern the safety of her pack, and they were lands that would not be used in battle.
The black warrior listened silently and with interest, her white eyes flickering across the strange images to which the male indicated. ‘Radioactivity’ was not a thing with which the female was familiar, but his brief explanation seemed sufficient. And the strange yellow and black of poision she considered a moment longer. Perhaps these images that held volatile implications held in turn the bright colours of warning, as did snakes. As he returned to face her, the woman met his gaze. She wondered what sort of wolf he was to wear such symbols. A warrior, perhaps, or something else. "Why do you wear them," she inquired with that subtle curiosity, although her question held the vagueness of one who, at times, did not quite understand the importance of words.
"They are of woad," the woman replied. "Warriors bore these designs so that they may receive the blessings and protection of the gods." And Cwmfen followed the Morrigan, the goddess of war and of passion both within the lands of her birth. "My mother used to paint them on me...." Her voice drifted for a moment as she remembered those long-past times. "But these hands are better suited for such tasks." And perhaps it was strange that a wolf would carry out such a task, but such a thought had never occurred to the black fae.
An imperceptible, silver mirth touched her quiet lips, as she withdrew just as he. "I am made of nature, as are you," the soft melody replied. "I told you: I cannot defy that Nature creates." The unphased tranquility of those quiet words seemed unconcerned with the function of her eyes and with the uncertainty of Anselm. Her eyes, he had said, were like a cat’s, but she was no cat. She was a wolf, and she had but been born with those eyes. And the woad-marked fae wondered why the male was so interested in their working. Those orbs function and saw the world, and the warrior did not question why. Wolves were born with sight, and she was a wolf. Was it not proper, then, that she should see? The woad-marked fae, while not devout, was a spiritual creature. Once she accepted the world, she tried to understand it. And she understood it through the many songs, through the colours and the symbols. And she had hoped that the white of her eyes that so greatly contrasted the black of her father’s would have meant something, would have meant that she would not eventually drown in the hollow nothing of his soul.
"Why do they remind you of a cat?" The crimson gaze was held by the white eyes within which that mild curiosity was still present. Because Cwmfen did not see the likeness of her own image often, she did not know of what he spoke. She did not know the peculiarity of it. And so she did what she was accustom to doing: she sought to understand his observations through her archaic analysis.
[/html]
[html]
@#$%&Having tampered with various psychedelics, Anselm could claim to have a better guess than most at what the aurora looked like, despite having never seen it himself. If anything, his experiences made him more inclined to overestimate the ionic paintings of the sky, in both their colour and their fervour. Perhaps it was best to dream--he'd probably never see them personally, at any rate. Anselm was surprisingly ill-suited to the life of a transient; he required more stability than that. He knew this now.
@#$%&"That's the one," he spoke of the fire. That damned, two-faced fire. Fire had the power to destroy, but it also had the power to cleanse. With this cleansing, life could begin anew. Had it purged the old ghosts and darkness that lingered around the lands to their north? Could it erase that history? Probably not, so long as the original survivors remained. Gabriel and Kaena alone could keep the spirit of those days alive, he reckoned, though it was a strange thought. The same fire that had driven the wolves to invade his privacy and his home had also brought Inferni to him, and with that family and a purpose.
@#$%&The symbolism he saw in his own tattoos was apparently as unlikely to her as what he saw in hers. "As a reminder," he said simply, content to wonder about the gods whose blessings she desired. To him they were simply pretty marks; they accentuated the curves of her body nicely and gave her an exotic appeal. Under different circumstances he may have been likely to flirt with her--indeed, the only thing keeping him at bay now was her swollen belly. Hardly capable of playing daddy for his own kids, he certainly wasn't about to for somebody else's. She was--in all likelihood--already claimed, anyway. He could detect one male scent about her stronger than the rest, but it bore no pack affiliation and seemed distinctly coyote, which was why he couldn't draw any decisive conclusions.
@#$%&"They're reflective, almost," he responded to her inquiry. "You cannot see the black of a cat's pupil at night, only the white reflection along the back of the eye. Coupled with the lack of colour on the surface of your eyes, it makes them appear solid white." Surely she'd seen the darkness of his own pupil, and that of nearly every other creature on the planet. His head tipped to one side as he considered she might not know exactly how peculiar her gaze was--hadn't anyone said anything before? Not that he could blame her for not realising it herself sooner--for a long time, the only images he'd seen of himself were in the dull, rippled surfaces of ponds. It wasn't until he'd stumbled across a full-sized mirror in the Mansion that he'd witnessed his own form in perfect detail.
[/html]
[html] http://i233.photobucket.com/albums/ee19 ... rncopy.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
That crazy stair is crazy, ^=^
700+
A flame provoked migration seemed quite natural to the black fae, and yet, the prospect of fire itself seemed both fitting and unfitting. The flames, as she had seen upon the mountainside, had cleansed the land of the old life and, soon, new life would persist. And yet, fire was unpredictable and volatile, uncontrollable and unapproachable. It was fire the willed the fury of battle, but the black fae, in her self training, had learned to make such a thing fleeting, to not allow its flames to consume her mind. But many did not remember the power of fire, and, as Svara Thames, the fires would burn everyone, even the bearer. The woad warrior was like the water and the wind, able to form and shift to the world about her and with the same power as fire. Water was silent and calm and did not roar as the angry flames. And then.... "Was the fire Nature’s?" Wolves, because their shape so resembled that of humans, used fire as it should not be used. Perhaps such a thing had occurred.
A brief smile flickered across her quiet lips, dancing faintly like the sliver light of a crescent moon. The golden male’s simple response was perhaps more fitting than any other words could be. A reminder. "Then perhaps," the alto song sang softly, "our marks are not so different." The male’s designs held a more acute reminder than her own, one that was both personal and yet not. Her own was a reminder of the gods themselves, of the Morrigan and Nemain’s fury. And it was the gods and Fate that moved life as surely as the woad that flowed about her fur.She imagined life as a spear with the blade pointed at her heart. Many times the hand of Fate had driven that blade deep within her, and she had accepted those pains as one must accept that the wind blows and the water flows. And while the blade lay deep within her now, it was not twisted cruelly within her breast. It was as if the will of one male had softened the spear’s hunger, if only for a brief time.
Anselm’s explanation allowed the woman to consider the possibility that his view of the world was quite different from her own. The woad bound ears listened with that mild curiosity, finding the words almost fascinating. And, although those words described her own features, it was as if she were exploring some unknown territory. The woad-marked fae held a mild surprise in her gaze, for she had believed that her eyes, in the brief moments that she had glimpsed them herself, were white. "Strange that they are not—"not solid,—"and yet...nothing is pure." Her voice was quiet as she considered such a thing. The black fae had told Onus that she was not perfect, that she was not pure. And she knew that she was not for the blemish upon her soul, for that darkness that lingered there from the moment of her conception and strengthened by the rapes of her father. But purities did not exist and could not exist, for such existences were impossible. Thus, it was not surprising that her eyes were not purely white. It was simply a thing that she had never considered before. Having rarely seen her reflection safe for in the dimmed stillness of a pool, the black fae was quite unfamiliar with her own appearance. Perhaps she would have known the prominence of several scars upon her skin, but such things did not concern her. The black fae knew that war would mark her body and soul. But she did not see these things. Cwmfen knew only who she was—the nature of her soul and the song that it sang. It was the appearances of others that she knew and recognized.
Cwmfen leaned back against the hill and the roots of a tree, comfortable enough to relax and yet not trusting enough to relinquish the Spear at her side. The white gaze lifted, the darkness there holding the light as colloid solution, and the light was those diluted emotions that danced quietly in her eyes. Perhaps they were like the moon. "I wonder," the soft melody sang suddenly in the silence, "why you take such great interest in the eyes of a stranger." And once more, it was the indirect question that was more significant than the spoken words. But Anselm had proved to hold a great interest in that one feature, and the simple woman did not understand why he would concern himself with such a thing. He had brought himself very close to her, to her jaws and to the Spear at her side; she had allowed him to come near with his own jaws in dangerous proximity. And it was a thing that the woman had not quite experienced before. The caramel wolf examined her in a unique manner, and the black fae was simply curious. The warrior’s eyes regarded him quietly as if she were observing him from a distance. What was his purpose?
[/html]
[html]  yeah, i think the stairs go up but the words make it seem like they're going down, but it works xD I figured this would be a good poiont to wrap up, a good introduction for these two, and in the future we should do some kind of plot o:
#$%@Were they opposites or compliments? Anselm lacked the fluidity of Air and Water; nay, he was better represented by Earth and Fire. The hybrid thrived upon stability and stood rock solid in his convictions, though occasionally something would shoot through him like wildfire. When significantly roused, he would deviate from the stability of Earth and continue with the passion and energy of flame. Though most of his good deeds went unsung, Anselm had stepped in to save almost as many as he had stepped in to kill. He would never stick out his neck too far for anybody else, but if it were "convenient" he wouldn't hesitate to assist--especially members of his own pack or flesh and blood.
#$%@Her question surprised him, and his ears fell back uncertainly before gently flicking foreward once more. He had always assumed it was; the magnitudes were so great that it seemed unlikely somebody had had an accident. Were the lands drier on that side of the mountain that year to facilitate the spread of a wildfire? His brows furrowed and his forelimbs tensed, causing his thick nails to lightly puncture the moist earth beneath his feet. "I don't know," he said at length, completely unaware of how blissful his ignorance was. How would he react to the knowledge that it was his beloved Gabriel who'd laid waste to an entire empire, who had single-handedly sparked the exodus across Halcyon Mountain? Maybe some things were best left unknown.
#$%@His head tipped lightly as he considered what the dark woman said next. For a moment he mentally stumbled--Anselm was too nihilistic to subscribe to any religion or other such malarkey, and he couldn't see any similarities. His were a reminder of something concrete and physical; hers were of something whimsical and (in his mind) fictional. But then, he took a moment longer, and he nodded in some dull form of agreement: witches, demons, ghosts, and gods aside, they may have reminded her of her mother, her home, and her culture. Whether or not their culture's beliefs were rooted in reality, they had produced a strong, capable woman who struck him as rather intelligent on the whole, so more power to them. Her reminder was no less valid.
#$%@Needless to say, most of his anatomy lessons had come from the inherent dissecting that went on while eating prey. He had originally suspected eyes to be solid as well--though he had learned his lesson damn fast. It was unfortunate he'd started with something as ambitious as a deer's eye; when the gooey centre had coated the inside of his mouth, it was all he could do to keep from losing the rest of his meal. Maybe if he had started with a fish or frog's eye he'd have grown more accustomed to the peculiar texture and the very unsatisfying initial pop and burst, but he couldn't care less. There was plenty of nutrition elsewhere in the body of fallen prey, and at least he'd gained some strange insight into how the fluid-filled balls were formed. What was a guy to do? He had to at least try it once, right? Maybe this weird impulse had never struck her, though, and so he merely shrugged.
#$%@His own mystery solved and his curiosity quenched, he felt the ground beneath his feet beginning to burn, urging him to move on so he could get back home. He could entertain one more question, though, perhaps. "Everything in Nature follows a pattern and natural laws; even the aberrations." When one understands these patterns, they may use them to their advantage. "This has been the only constant in my life. When something deviates, I need to discover the mechanism of the exception or understand if I should readjust my thinking if I'm wrong." It was a simple explanation, though he knew that most others wouldn't really see the point of it. Maybe she wouldn't either, but maybe she didn't need to. Anselm rarely cared for these philosophical discussions; he grew tired of justifying his own actions and thoughts to others.
#$%@A smile, strange though not malicious, flitted upon his face as he rose lightly to his feet. He was strangely satisfied with this encounter, despite its peculiarities. "Maybe I'll see you around," he said simply; not here, not in Dahlia, and not in Inferni, but perhaps somewhere their paths would cross again. Next time he might not be as resistant; Anselm required time to digest the possibility of even casual acquaintances. She'd left an impression on him, though, and despite this being their one and only meeting, he was not likely to forget her any time soon. "Good luck," he offered, pointing his muzzle to her large stomach before trotting off quickly into the forest, dodging fallen limbs and spider webs as he went.
table by Amber <3 |
[/html]
|
