Wolf RPG
Sawtooth Spire there is no hourglass, only sand - Printable Version

+- Wolf RPG (https://wolf-rpg.com)
+-- Forum: In Character: Roleplaying (https://wolf-rpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=5)
+--- Forum: Archives (https://wolf-rpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=11)
+--- Thread: Sawtooth Spire there is no hourglass, only sand (/showthread.php?tid=21576)



there is no hourglass, only sand - Indie - April 24, 2017


Away from the coast was where she found herself, and it was a place she did not find herself often. The island had become something of a home; and she, a wolf of the sea. Akantha and Kalika had taught her well, it seemed; her greek was become better practiced by the day; her sibilant tongue moulded easily to the language’s many diphthongs and the newness of it sound. She was proud to say she had even learned several of the siren’s songs, practiced their melodies, and could recite them almost flawlessly. Language was one thing, but song was surely another!

The vaudevillian hungered, as she was wont to due during long swathes of travel. She easily picked her way across the fractured elevation, dexterous paws hardened by the stones of the island. The land seemed quite familiar in that way; though, where the blackwater islands had pines and forest, this place had none. It was different, but nevertheless, the starlet continued to seek movement upon the rocky facade that told of prey.

There was the movement she sought and her gilted gaze flashed in the heavy spring sun. Her broad, deep ribcage kissed the earth and the woman lowered herself into a covert position. Indie assimilated with the shadows; stepping lightly and deliberately so that her presence would remain undetected. When Indie eventually began her charge at the jackrabbit, the creature fluttered and skittered across the landscape towards a dry, rocky place peppered in gnarled, low-lying trees. With this sudden change in terrain, the noir woman’s pursuit was rendered nulled and she slowed to a stop, watching her prey ricocheted away from her.

Indie couldn't help but bark several times in defiance — oh, she was dreadfully out of practice! Indie had never been the most adept hunter per se, but she had been capable. Perhaps she had spent too much time around the sea witches, learning their craft and spinning it better than ever they could... and now she had forgotten the needs of living upon the mainland. When staring into the water's reflection, she could clearly see how the light fractured and how to aim her bite just so; deftly gripping a fish’s body and pulling it from the water — but chasing down a meal? If she didn’t keep herself in practice, it would no longer in her bag of tricks. 

With a sigh she continued on, with pang in her stomach and a wound to her pride.



RE: there is no hourglass, only sand - Kjalarr - April 25, 2017

[table width=85%][tr][td]
If not for the woman’s small series of defiant barks she might have slipped beneath the norseman’s radar. His attention is on one of Sawtooth’s many waterways, lapping at the cool, refreshing water cleaned by earth and smooth honed stone. It chases down the fox he had devoured recently, it’s blood still dribbled on the platinum silver of his chin. His head rises, ears alert atop his skull as her barks reverberate off Sawtooth’s citadel walls. He has made his “bedding” here where the jagged peaks rise like truculent teeth of Midgard. He sleeps beneath the stars for the most part close enough to an outcropping of rock to seek for shelter when necessary but otherwise content with the small amount of shelter a nearby gnarled tree offers him. Salmon pink tongue swipes across his jowls to catch the droplets of water and clean the macabre mess he had previously left behind.

It does not take him long to find her for she stands out a bit like a sore thumb amidst the green, stone grey and brown coloration of Sawtooth. Her pelage is the color of a raven’s. Like Huginn or Munnin, he thinks. His approach is weary, with hackles raising along his nape and dorsal, a slight rise to his tail. He cannot lay official claim to Sawtooth but it has been his home for near two weeks and he has no intentions of departing it any time soon. He does not foresee his plans changing any time soon. “Who are you?” The words become redundant as he demands them over and over with each stranger that finds their way to Sawtooth where he lingers as it’s sentinel despite that both he and the spire are free. “Why are you here?” Kjalarr considers that perhaps he should alter his words from time to time so it does not feel like an interrogation he has done a thousand times but they are simple questions and ones that demand to tell him what his nose cannot.
[/td][/tr][/table]


RE: there is no hourglass, only sand - Indie - April 27, 2017

Indie continued on from her botched pursuit, no worse for wear. It was a clement day; the sun felt soft and the air felt light at such elevations. Dextrous, ink feathered paws picked her way across the landscape — her eyes, vigilant and lively, carefully surveyed the landscape to descry any viable prey from the land of flat greens and stone. There was movement — a jackrabbit, same one from before. With a nocuous smile splitting her maw, fangs poised and ready for action, the amazonian lowered her frame close to the ground. 

She stepped closer. and closer. and closer.

and when the hare fluttered and shot away in a great feat of speed, it was not at Indie’s behest. No, Indie still lay amongst the scrub, in the midst of her ambush, utterly aggravated by the voice which scared away her second chance at victory. For a moment longer she stayed crouched down, unable to accept the fact; but then she tucked her teeth away, tore her eyes away from that one spot where the hare had sat, and rose to her full stature. With a sweeping turn of the shoulder, the vaudevillian looked upon a man, cloaked in silver. Her nacarat gaze flashed and danced with the energy of her hunt, not yet abated. 

The stranger had a somewhat dominate posture about him, looked to take himself quite seriously... and suddenly, her prey's hegira was promptly forgotten. “Who’s asking?” she inquired with a tilt of the head and a wisp of a grin, uncertain as to how he would react to her nonresponsiveness to his interrogation — but that was the whole reason behind it.



RE: there is no hourglass, only sand - Kjalarr - April 29, 2017

[table width=85%][tr][td]
The sable woman bears a pack scent upon the tendrils of her pelage, it wafts around him: of salt and sea and for a moment it reminds him fiercely of Stavanger Bay. Of Ankyra Sound. The ache in his chest is a harsh stab but it abates as quickly as it rises. Twice his home has failed upon the coast. The Bay during his time spent away from his family and the Sound a few months after Caiaphas’ death. His future, he knows, is not on the coast. He believes it is here on Sawtooth, at the convergence of the Gods. The Norns have led him here and whether the path he believes they have set before him comes to fruition or not remains to be seen. He is hopeful. His tenacity is great and utterly unyielding. Glacial caribbean gaze assess her unbidden, pupils narrowing within polar irises as she responds. She does not rise to his demands, instead places her own inquiry before him. There is a bird-like cant of his head and a small, coy smirk that tugs at the edges of his lips. “They are just questions,” The scarred northman responds coyly with a simple rise and fall of broad shoulders, lilting accent fills the air between them. Two can play at that game. Whether Kjalarr inherited his father's natural skill for it yet remains to be seen.
[/td][/tr][/table]


RE: there is no hourglass, only sand - Indie - May 02, 2017

Indie could almost feel the man’s heavy handed gaze as he regarded her carefully, but she did not wilt under his microscope. The vaudevillian had never been one to shrink away from a challenge; no matter what that challenge was, even if it came in the form of this man’s hardened exterior and gruff manner of talk — there was little that a certain grace and glib tongue could not remedy — but then Indie was pleasantly surprised when a grin split his maw and he shrugged, denoting that no, this would not be a hostile encounter. Indie did much better when working with tact and affability, rather than anger and flashing emotions — but, the vaudevillian could preform both with ease. 

The shadowed woman flashed the tips of her teeth as she smiled, reflecting the brute’s sentiments upon her own features. ”Indeed.” she returned huskily, turning her head and looking sidelong at the man cloaked in white — a fashion so starkly different from her own pelt of ebon. She waited a moment to gauge his reaction to her continual evasion before giving her head a shake and lifting her molten gaze to glance upon their sawtooth milieu. “These peaks are yours?” she intoned cooly, further distancing the conversation from herself — but for no reason other than the enigmatic appeal of the abstruse. If he truly wished to know her, she would reveal herself; but the way he had questioned her raison d’être begot his perceived ownership of this place… and perhaps he might receive some of masculine satisfaction from hearing his purchase be recognized. It never hurt.



RE: there is no hourglass, only sand - Kjalarr - May 06, 2017

[table width=85%][tr][td]
Polar, Caribbean gaze studies her sharply an abecedarian spark of beguile in the sharp shards of silver accenting the blue around his pupils. She is attractive — he would have to be blind not to see it — and the libertine feels no shame in his ways and has no true desire to change. It is some of why his marriage to Ondine dissolved so horribly. In part, it was her in what she allowed to happen to Neverwinter but it is equally his own fault, too. Kjalarr is not ready to settle down, not ready to commit for the long run though he tried (and failed) to do what was right by Arrille. There is a husky rasp to the umbra woman's voice that catches the scarred northman’s attention and draws him from his thoughts. “Perhaps,” Soon, he thinks. He hopes. Nothing is certain in life Kjalarr knows but he does know that even if he does not succeed in building an empire with Eshe that it is unlikely he will be easily uprooted from Sawtooth. It has become sacrosanct to him — a believed convergence of his Gods and he is possessive of it. Whether he can turn that possession towards what he seeks to accomplish is yet to be seen. Only the gods know and they have been infuriatingly vague and withholding with their knowledge. Even Kjalarr’s dreams have been vacant. Wisps of things that do not make sense to him and leave him with more questions than they do answers are all he receives. It is little more than white noise.

“What has brought you here? To brave the treacherous paths that bring you to the apex of the world?” For that is what it strikes him as sometimes: the apex between Midgard and the cosmos. His desires to climb the Sawtooth Spire are his own and he suspects vastly different from the lure of others.
[/td][/tr][/table]


RE: there is no hourglass, only sand - Indie - May 07, 2017

It would seem that the man had plans. Perhaps, he said, and Indie could not help but notice how his eyes glinted at the word. Indie was so stranger to ambition and recognized it quite easily in the stranger who stood before her. However, it was just like a man to set their sights on and squabble over silly fancies and lands— things that could slip through their paws like sand. Indie set her sights higher, wishing to conquer and control the mind’s of others. Those rewards were not so easily lost. 

”Apex of the world, you say?” she intoned brightly, enthralled with his colorful choice of worlds and the depth of such an idea. Her licorice lips pressed against each other and she hummed as it processed and percolated through her mind. In truth, Indie had been pull forth from the coast upon restless feet and a belly that hungers for something more than the light flesh of sea creatures. But the idea of being drawn to place for its strength and inherent divinity was infinitely more spectacular — and no one ever had to know the wiser.  With a small puff of breath, Indie gave the brute a curious, sidelong glance. “It seems you’ve put a name to the… ineffable quality that drew me here.” The starlet picked up a single paw and dragged it lightly against the earth, placing it down a foot or so in front and shifting her weight forward.  The telling smile that played upon her smile said she had spoken tongue-in-cheek, but yes, she did know what he meant.

 With a sigh, Indie decided to drop the reserved act and adopted. ”Well, also,” she admits with a sheepish flick of the tail. ”there is a hare who taunts me relentlessly— it must feel safe here.” the vaudevillian concluded good naturedly, biting her lip to stifle the chuckle that bubbled from her chest.



RE: there is no hourglass, only sand - Kjalarr - May 12, 2017

[table width=85%][tr][td]
“Mhm,” Kjalarr offers her as she repeats his poetic words back to him. It is the simplest way he has to describe what Sawtooth means to him without getting into his culture and religion. He believes it to be a convergence where the power and presence of the Norse gods linger. Sacrosanct. A holy place. Ragnar’s holy places had been Ravensblood Forest and then Stavanger Bay but Kjalarr was not his father and he has begun to learn that birthright means little to the Æsir. Just because his father discovered the Bay did not mean that Kjalarr was destined to return there to claim it. It was a hard lesson to learn, to shake off the thought that lands are congenital: a belief that has long since been ingrained within his mind. He watches as she picks up her paw and draws it across the dirt as she speaks, a movement he takes to be coy. Curious as it is not a gesture he has seen before and it’s meaning escapes him. The woman admits then about a hare that escapes her, musing that it must feel safe here and the grin that the scarred northman offers her is nothing short of predatory. “It is not safe here.” Sawtooth Spire was a harsh territory meant only for the most hardy creatures and hares are prey animals that Kjalarr has always seen as frail.
[/td][/tr][/table]


RE: there is no hourglass, only sand - Indie - May 18, 2017

The brute did not speak much further about the apex of the world, and thus Indie could not be entirely sure about his feelings of this place, but Indie was okay with this.  Perhaps she was not one to appreciate the axiomatic qualities of locations and possessions,  much preferring things that are not self-evident but carefully controlled, manipulated and made to serve a purpose.  At times, the mummer wondered if this moral code would ever allot her a partner, a mate. Inside, Indie knew this was untrue [evinced from her ardency with the lothario, Donovan]; but she and the raconteur were much too similar to ever produce anything like fidelity and routine. But love was never her goal, no.
Power was.
 
So, she continued with an air of politesse. ”Indeed, it is not.”  She did not mention that spire seemed to offer the offensive hare more than enough shelter; and besides this her, the spire held no pecuniary value – so her time could not be spent pondering or adulating [nonetheless defending, as this man was doing]such matters. She imagined he would not care for such minutia anyways – he was a succinct man, and as such, the woman would subtly adopt his mannerisms and in that way, the character of Indie [as far as this scene went] would demystify herself. But first, he needed a name.

Indie smiled bewitchingly and dipped her muzzle, head, neck and chest in greeting; it was as pro forma as the con woman dare stray, but the gesture had that extra flair that drew Indie to it. “I am Indie,” the chanteuse chimed at the arc of her bow, allowed her tail to sway once, twice, and then she gathered herself.