The Sentinels long dead rows of daffodils and marigolds
what would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark?
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#1
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There was something about the decimation of the forest that had drawn Smokestep to it. Perhaps it was near to where he had found Moorhen; near to where she had abandoned her family name. It brought a fiery anger to his gut that could not be quelled even by the strongest of tides. If Skellige had been there, he would have... he would have... but Smokestep could not find in his mind's eye what his father would have done. Surely, he would have cast Moorhen from their family and request that she seek her own, but hadn't she already done that? The ghost was simply proud, and he carried both his father's and his own pride with him wherever he wandered. Even, back to the home of Deirdre and the Donnelaith wolves.

The fire had caused a great scar to be placed over the forest. The pirate bent his head to sniff, finding that it had not met the touch of a wolf in quite some time. Still, life would find a way; he imagined that buds would have formed during spring and would bring the promise of life with them. It would not be long before the Sentinels would be rife with beauty and brush once more. In the meantime, it was covered in snow and black beneath. The length of his limbs brought him to a saunter and he kept a single ghostly eye trained for the signs of passersby.
calling to join them the wretched and joyful
shaking the wings of their terrible youths
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#2
Where Adéwalé was at the moment, Brig didn't know. The jackdaw had flown out scouting for food near half an hour ago -- when Brig couldn't smell much unless it was right in front of his face, scavenging was difficult. Less so, with a bird's eye view. He'd eaten recently, but Adéwalé was adamant on his schedule and no matter how much he chose to insist it wasn't necessary he was ignored. He could admit that perhaps it was wise -- he wasn't the best at managing himself, as the jackdaw could no doubt attest, and though he refused to admit it they both knew he appreciated the effort. He'd be long dead, otherwise.

He might have stayed in place if it was summer, for ease of finding each other again, but the trees were still bare of leaves, and he stuck out, a patch of dark russet among the white of the snow. The place he'd found himself in now felt more like a graveyard than a forest anyways; giant trees, bigger than any he'd seen before, but somehow there were a fair few that had fallen. He could only imagine the force that would have taken, and though there was snow to cushion the inevitable sharpness of broken branches on the forest floor he was still careful, glancing behind himself every so often to see if he was leaving bloody prints in his wake.

Something crunched, distantly, off to his right.

His nostrils flared, uselessly, and he spun in place, turning so that his remaining eye could get a good look at the forest before him. It smelled of snow and ash, and he truly couldn't see much beyond the tangle of fallen tree trunks and the vivid white of the snow, and the flakes currently falling didn't help. He blinked a little, ears rotating this way and that. "Adé?"
"words" - Brig speaking
"words" - Adéwalé speaking
what would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark?
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#3
The sound of snow beneath paw also drew Smokestep's attention. His muzzle was lifted and pointed in the direction of the sound, ear swiveling atop his crown for hints of another wanderer in the wood. When he saw the other wolf, he cringed openly and inhaled at the sight of the mangled face. He could not yet see the hind leg that had taken a severe beating, but he was surprised by how many wolves had made it through the wilds with only a single optic. The markings on this brute were odd, but he looked capable and wild; precisely the type Smokestep's father would have sought for his ranks. It piqued his interest and his head canted to the left curiously.

“Ye alright there, mate?” he barked to the wolf softly. “Look like ye've gotten in a fight wit a coral reef.” Callously, Smokestep motioned toward the gaping hole in the other male's face and snickered softly at his own joke. Of course, it only worked to bolster his own pride in the lean strength of his body and the sharp glint of his two-toned gaze. As young as he was, the corsair was not elegant with his words and he did not see any need to tiptoe around the difficult subjects and impairments that others faced. The pallid Captain wished to see how thick this brute's skin was, and how much he could take from a scoundrel like himself.
calling to join them the wretched and joyful
shaking the wings of their terrible youths
freshly disowned in some frozen devotion
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#4
For a moment there was no response. It was unlikely to be Adéwalé anyways, he supposed -- the jackdaw usually landed on him to announce his arrival and the sound of wingbeats was hard to miss when he was paying attention. That was only proven true when the crunching started again, in the distinct rhythm of pawsteps, and a sharp inhale of breath was enough -- even for someone with a missing eye and no real sense of smell -- to finally figure out where it was coming from.

It was no surprise he'd been difficult to spot before, anyways -- he was a sort of silvery off-white that blended well with the snow but for a single bright red eye almost the same color as Brig's own.

As always, there was a brief second of worry that he had wandered somewhere he wasn't supposed to be, and for a second he tensed to run -- or fight back if that was what it came down to -- but the other simply tilted his head as if curious and barked a question. Innocuous, as far as they went; Brig relaxed and snorted, amused, at the follow-up. The wound where his eye should have been -- where it would have been if he'd listened to Adéwalé while he was younger -- had certainly garnered all manner of responses, some concerned and some, well. Not so much.

"No coral needed," he responded with a grin, the ear above the gaping hole flicking, once. "This one was all me."
"words" - Brig speaking
"words" - Adéwalé speaking
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#5
What a peculiar response, the pirate thought to himself with a short chuckle. It seemed that this brute was capable of holding himself to a bout of self depreciation. It was a good quality to have in oneself. Smokestep took the remark as a welcome to scoot forward a few feet so that he was closer to the stranger. His eyes tilted from left to right as he looked into the hole in the other male's face. It was worthy of a much better tall tale than that he did it himself, but it wasn't Kingfisher's eye, and so he had very little say over what was behind it. Still, he found the unnamed wolf's answer to hold a peculiar story behind it, if the brute was willing to share.

“Wot did ye do, matey? Don't see how ye could swing yer teeth 'round that far,” Smokestep mused and took a step back with a curling smirk on his features. Of course, the pirate was always willing to indulge the tales that others would offer. He'd been a fan of dramatic flair since he was a young pup and had often taken to those who had stories upon stories. Selfishly, it provided him with a good gauge to reference his own background on and what he could do to improve it. Granted, he wasn't so willing to mutilate his own face in hopes of conjuring a story for others, but he was still interested to know what had happened to his broad figure.

Not bothering to care whether or not his question would cause the male to feel insulted, he lowered his rear to the ground in preparation for - what he hoped to be - a great tale of adventure and daring.
calling to join them the wretched and joyful
shaking the wings of their terrible youths
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Apparently the concept of him gouging out his own eye was funny enough that the stranger let out a short chuckle and inched closer. It was hard to tell with one eye, admittedly, but he seemed to be looking straight into the hole in his face. Perhaps it was just morbid curiosity; but it was nothing more than a blank pit, the fur around it marred with deep scratches that Brig was still a little surprised he'd managed to make with nothing more than his blunt claws, when he looked at it in the water.

Brig did laugh at the question; whatever this stranger was expecting the cause of his ailment to be, it was nothing so dramatic as that. He lowered himself to the ground and looked at him as though he was expecting a long, possibly dramatic retelling; unfortunately for him, Brig wasn't really the one who did stories. That was Adéwalé, and though the jackdaw could recall things with pinpoint precision, he wasn't the funniest person around especially when it came to anyone other than them. 

"Nothing so exciting," he said. "It happened when I was a pup. I don't feel...pain, so --" he shrugged, the curl of his lips amused. "When I had an itch, I just scratched it right out by mistake." He could see how bizarre it seemed now, to literally anyone else, in hindsight -- since he hadn't met another animal who didn't recoil when they got injured.
"words" - Brig speaking
"words" - Adéwalé speaking
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#7
The story that followed took the pale creature by some surprise. It was short, to the point, and seemed to have happened when the wolf had been younger. When he had finished, Smokestep lifted himself up to his legs again and smirked softly. “Well, sink me then mate... that's some right good strength ye've got yerself,” he complimented with a swish of his tail and a quick glance with two colored eyes. It was then that he noticed the mangled rear limb on the male and he gaped his mouth a bit daftly, moving himself around to get a better look at the thing. His gaze was intent, but not hostile, and filled with a dark interest. Once he'd gotten his eye-full, the pale creature looked back to the male's face and then motioned swiftly with his muzzle toward the mangled hind leg.

“An' wot there? Ye chew it til it turned to shark bait?” further questions fell, but he could only assume that if the brute had clawed his own eye from his face, he was more than capable of gnawing a little too hard on the leg and causing the damage there. The scars had been much deeper, though, and Smokestep was rearing to call bull on any self infliction that Brig might claim. He did not imagine that a wolf could do such a thing to their own leg. So far, he liked the male, and his candid responses. The corsair was curious to know if the stranger would grow tired of him and his persistence.
calling to join them the wretched and joyful
shaking the wings of their terrible youths
freshly disowned in some frozen devotion
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#8
Strength. Brig snorted. "You could call it strength, sure." His ear flicked again, remaining eye blinking once. He remembered it -- not that well, it hadn't been a traumatic experience. He couldn't feel it, after all. Only the itch that just wouldn't go away, and the faint pressure of his paw on his face, covering his eye as he clawed at the prickling sensation like he could carve it out. He supposed he had, in a way. But there hadn't been anything but that pressure, and when he drew his paw back there was blood and flesh and where he'd once been able to see there was -- not blackness, because he couldn't even see that. Just nothing.

More like it was just ignorance, a stupid kid with no understanding of the illness he'd been born with. Not that he knew much more now.

When the wolf motioned with his muzzle again, Brig turned his head a fraction, but he knew what was being pointed at this time without having to see. He and Adéwalé combed over his body every morning and evening to make sure he hadn't done anything stupid, and that was the only big scar left -- the mess that had been made of his hind leg, that looked like it was barely managing to continue being attached to the rest of him. But it was healed over, and he mostly forgot about it.

"That one -- no," he said. "I wasn't with Adéwalé -- my friend -- and I walked into a bear trap." His lips quirked in an embarassed grin. "What it didn't do, I did, prying it off."
"words" - Brig speaking
"words" - Adéwalé speaking
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#9
Smokestep was young; his idea of strength was a poor example of what the trait really entailed. Still, he nodded his head at the response from the male and swept his gaze over him once more in search of more marring. It seemed that he was relatively fit aside from the missing eye and the mangled foot. The thought that this wolf could go on marching without feeling a thing that happened to him – that seemed strong to someone like Smokestep. He could only imagine the trouble that he would find himself in if he'd been born with the same illness. It was more than likely that he would have found himself sinking to the bottom of the water in search of Davy Jones and his locker. Regardless, alive and well he believed the gift to be something of a miracle and he was completely enthralled with the wolf before him.

The story of the bear trap was surprising, but Smokestep took it with a few swift bows of his muzzle toward the earth. Both eyes flicked back to the mangled limb before they settled on the face of the wolf. “Well, ye've got guts, that's fer sure,” he remarked offhandedly, albeit a bit jealously. “Do ye live 'round these parts or are ye passin through, mate?” The pirate wondered if there would be a chance that he could convince the beast to linger for a while longer than he had planned, or if the idea of joining a pirate crew would even appeal to such a creature.
calling to join them the wretched and joyful
shaking the wings of their terrible youths
freshly disowned in some frozen devotion
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#10
Guts wasn't something others generally associated with him -- if only because most of his interactions had the purpose of scavenging only. They generally ended in him fleeing with insults hurled after him, but as long as he had enough food to last him a little longer he didn't mind what words got thrown at him. If he was offended by everything he'd just be tired. This one was a lot more friendly than the usual.

Above them, something rustled, faint and familiar. Brig's head lifted, ears flicking as his single eye searched the tree branches and found the speck of black he was looking for -- a bird that was only unmistakably Adéwalé because he'd spent so long around the jackdaw. A part of him relaxed at the sight -- he was always concerned something would happen when he was out of sight, a cougar or some bird of prey catching him, but he was sure Adéwalé felt the same.

He turned his head back around. "Just passing through," he said, with a tilt of his head. "While we're talking, though, are there any packs nearby? I got a certain -- inability to smell things with the lack of pain, especially scent markers. Wouldn't want to get my other eye gouged out over a mistake." Of course, he was also asking so he knew what direction was the best to go scavenging in, not that he needed to know.
"words" - Brig speaking
"words" - Adéwalé speaking
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#11
Disappointment fell as the male mentioned he was only passing through. Smokestep wondered still if he could manage to swing him around to stay. He was moderately surprised at the next inquiry that came from the stranger. He hoped to know if there were any packs nearby. A proud smile creased his features and he nodded his head enthusiastically. Making sure to present himself properly, Smokestep puffed his chest out and peered at the wolf with a devilish smirk on inky lips.

“Yer in luck, lad. Yer talkin' to the Captain o' the Ironsea crew. We're nestled down in the bay, just there,” he stated in a rumbling timbre. The corsair motioned with a swing of his muzzle in the direction of the bay and then back to the mangled creature before him. “Ye'd make a fine addition, yknow?” he then prompted with a wink and a toothy grin. The unnamed fellow's glance toward the air was unnoticed by the youthful pirate. In fact, he had assumed that all the talk of an Adéwalé had been in regards to another traveler of the same species. He didn't have the foggiest of clues that Brig had been referring to a Jackdaw in the trees.

Smokestep was not unfamiliar when it came to being declined, but he'd packed an arsenal of prompts in hopes of wrangling strangers to his ship, and he was eager to see if he could find a few more. Full ranks would prove to be a promising start, and he would deal with those who left at a later date.

“As fer other packs, ye'll find three more on the coast an' a great load o' others inland.”
calling to join them the wretched and joyful
shaking the wings of their terrible youths
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#12
This had -- a certain promise.

Brig's head swung in the direction of the bay the Captain had pointed out, a huff of breath escaping his lips. There was an appeal, of course, as there always was, in sticking with a pack that could provide him food. He didn't enjoy getting chased off meals like a coyote, but that was how it had to be; he wasn't so stupid as to pretend otherwise. He'd tried hunting before; it hadn't gone well. And fishing was only well and good in the summertime, when he didn't have the risk of frostbite he didn't notice.

It could be a winter thing, anyways. Brig's tongue curled against his lips, white steam escaping in a faint cloud from his mouth. And he certainly preferred the coast; if they had need for a scout -- or someone to fish. Three more on the coast, apparently, but he doubted any others would be more receptive than this wolf was, to his gouged out eye and injured leg.

He glanced up again, towards the speck in the trees, and gave a quick but visible sweep of his muzzle.

Adéwalé swept neatly out of the trees, and Brig turned back to the stranger as the jackdaw came in to land on the slope of his shoulder, feathers rustling briefly in his ears before he folded his wings away. "All right," he said slowly. "If you can make room for both of us, we wouldn't mind joining in." 
"words" - Brig speaking
"words" - Adéwalé speaking
what would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark?
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#13
We can probably fade and archive with ur post and then have another down in Stavanger Bay? :)
The swashbuckler aimed to lay tempting promises, knowing that they held a certain appeal to most others on the outside. He allowed his offer to hang in the air for a short while, not hurried by the lack of response. It was not until the bird flew down and landed on the curve of the male's shoulders that he made to react. His gaze darted toward the feathered being and he cast them back to the wolf's marred face. It did make far more sense that he should have found better companionship in a creature of flight instead of one of the earth. Smokestep imagined that it would provide the scarred brute with enough sight to travel for days without trouble.

Then, the acceptance. Brig seemed to believe that as long as Smokestep had room, he would be pleased to join. “Aye, yer bird and yerself will do jus' fine,” he assured the other male with a confident wave of his tail. “Ye can come wit me and I'll give ye the lay o' the land, an' the pirate code,” he then urged with a swing of his muzzle in the direction of home. It would take them a short while to wander down to the bay. In this time, Smokestep would have introduced himself and requested a name from the other.
calling to join them the wretched and joyful
shaking the wings of their terrible youths
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#14
Adéwalé fixed him with what could only be described as a look as the other wolf continued with a cheerful wave of his tail. 

It was probably just for making the decision without him involved. He was, after all, always pushing for Brig to stop taking stupid risks, which consisted largely of creeping into pack territory and trying to make off with a stomach full of deer meat. Possibly this made it less necessary. Or he'd been listening to the other wolf's particular manner of speech and the look was more of a do you really think this is a good idea type thing.

Brig wiggled his ears at him, with an unspoken promise to talk more later.

"Then let's be off," he said, with a sweep of his tail, and followed the other wolf down to the bay.

(sounds good! also i have no idea how to do the code blocks sorry 8D )
"words" - Brig speaking
"words" - Adéwalé speaking