Gyrfalcon's Keep the spice of life

This is more or less a read-only thread unless someone wants to come deal with her. Also, keeping references to STM vague. RIP SZECHUAN

After the ordeal upon the mountain, Szechuan was eager to get away. She drifted from the mountainside to the forest adjacent, stumbling and half-blind, feverish. The heat of her wounded face no longer burned; her head felt light, as if filled with air, and her body was numb from the cold. She drifted, yes, drifted between the trees. Occasionally a mis-step took her reeling in to one, or crashing through the underbrush. The red of the soil stained her paws — no, that was blood. How strange to see it, but not feel it. Was she wounded? The bitch blinked and side-stepped, crumbling to a heap at the base of another mountain; Gyrfalcon's Keep would stand as a monument over her body. An angel upon her exposed tomb. With a sigh she sank in to the dirt, staring with her good eye at the sunlit trees. Szechuan wasn't quite gone yet - but she was close. A weeping moan broke through her teeth (she didn't realize it was her own voice, so thorough was her sickness), and for a moment she thought, 'The wind sounds strange today.'

wasnt sure she was fully dead yet or still dying but ill roll with either. If you just wanted to post once in this thread lemme know so i know not to wait for your reply! ^^ (Ps was she sick w/anything contagious? :') )

The journey had been long and terrifying; Charon had been shaky and afraid since the dog's assault. He had not looked back and didn't stay long in the same place while he travelled; terrified for a repeat without a heroic knight to distract the monster so that he could get away. The wounds in Charon's neck looked dirty and they pounded with pain.

Almost... He was almost home now. Charon trotted on broken paws when he suddenly noticed something not far off. It looked like a dead animal.

Charon was starving from hunger and feverish from his infected wounds. He ran over to the corpse and, without sniffing what it was and whether it was still alive, sank his teeth into the animal's hind leg to take a bite.

So he hadn't exactly killed it, but Bindi didn't have to know that. With a smile on his face, the huge brute made to step out of the undergrowth toward the dead/dying thing. Before he could, a speckled youngster loped onto the scene, and made to take a bit of it.
No.
His.

Snarling, eyes wild Crescendo exploded out of the undergrowth. "MINE!" he screamed at the pup. He needed this mutt's pelt, and nothing was going to stop him. Certainly not this tiny thing. He charged straight at the thing, face twisted into an ugly snarl.

Daddy Ragnar to the rescue! :D Also, I can change anything in this, if necessary. :3

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Ragnar was hesitant to leave the borders of his Bay, even when he did not intend to be gone longer than for a few hours, especially with his Queen Wife's pregnancy, now evident with the supple roundness of her sides, evidence of the life growing there, of their children. Yet, the borders had became constricting until it felt like drawing even the smallest of breaths was a struggle. His own sanctuary had somehow became his own noose and he knew that he needed to free himself from the Bay for even a small while. A chance to step outside and breathe fresh air. The stresses had not ceased when he had stepped down from leadership: for they lingered in the undying love for his pack that he held, in the threat that the strange sea drenched woman had left all over his piss marks, in the unknown but feeling of icy dread in his chest, in the fact that his son was still missing and that Ragnar had no idea what to tell Levi. The Viking had no soft words of comfort, and did not deign to make promises that he was not sure that he could keep. Charon and Levi might not have been born of his loins, or even Thistle's, but that did not change the way that Ragnar loved them: all that he had left now of Verrine and Julooke. They had become his sons, as Gunnar, Mercury and Tyrr had. He was a guardian of them; the orphaned — despite the technicalities of the eldest three. Whether Levi and Charon though of Thistle and himself as their parents he did not know and had decided long ago it did not matter. How they chose to see him would never change his level of affection for them, nor that he considered them his sons as much as he considered the elder three sons. Blood mattered to Ragnar, but in a contradictory form it also did not. Odinn had promised him many sons, yes, and so far Odinn had given him six of them (if we're including Ragnar's bastard).

His journey took him out to Gyrfalcon Keep, singular eyes of piercing Caribbean blue eye scanning the landscape, as he kept an even pace, noticing that it felt good to stretch his legs. That he was never meant to be nailed down to one place. He was a Viking; a mercenary, a traveler, but he was also a dethroned King, a husband, a father. He could not disconnect himself so swiftly and leave this family as he did the one in the Cove. The Cove hadn't needed him, not with Dagrun and Floki to keep a swift and loyal eye on everything, even though leaving the pack in Vali's paws had obviously been a mistake as his youngest brother had proved to be very alike to his elder: Bjorn in the fact that he stabbed Ragnar in the back, too. Stavanger Bay needed him, even if they did not know it. He felt it and so he stayed, out of devotion and love. Still, staying trapped within it's borders was not a smart move on his part for it had nearly driven him stir crazy. Steps slowed, ears slicking back to rest at half mast atop his skull as he caught the scent of a corpse, and another familiar scent that caused his breath to leave his lips in a short gasp. Charon. His scent wasn't right necessarily, but it was no doubt Charon's.

Ragnar came upon the scene just as an ebony creature came out of the foliage, and possessively screeched it at Charon and then with a snarl lunged at the boy. The quick glimpse of Charon did not leave a good impression upon the Northman: his son was injured and unwell; and currently about to be attacked. He would not lose Charon, he would not let this ebony creature touch a hair on his body, as bad as it looked. Ragnar charged at the ebony beast then, a snarl tearing from his parted jaws, intending to deter the other pack wolf from attacking Charon, who obviously needed the food more than he. “Get away from my son!” Ragnar demanded, attempting to put himself in between Charon and the ebony male, pulling himself up to his full height, fixing the ebony male in a fierce, unrelenting stare. “If you do not let him eat until he is sated, if you try to harm a hair on his head,” Ragnar's voice , heavily accented, dropped lower. “I will kill you.” The Viking promised. “There will be more than enough for you when he is finished.” The Berserker spat, watching the ebony creature's movements obsessively, assessing. After all, the corpse was more than Charon could eat even when he was at full health. Ragnar hadn't even looked at it, didn't care really what it was Charon was eating. All he knew was this ebony creature wasn't going to hurt Charon, not while he still drew breath and considering he had no intentions of dying any time soon: it would not be today that Odinn stole him to Valhalla.

Ragnar was blood sick and weary, and it had been a measure of time since he'd had a real fight; his training with Gunnar to learn how to combat missing an eye and still be the skilled warrior he'd once been had, hopefully, if this erupted into a fight would have paid off. Odinn didn't need his second eye: and neither did Ragnar.

His mind consumed by hunger, Charon did not notice the approach of another wolf. He just grabbed what he could as quickly as he could and started to wolf down the meat. It was still warm, but Charon did not stop to check if and for how long the animal had been dead. He just kept eating, and did not stop until he heard the screamed 'mine'. Charon flinched and turned his head to look at the wolf in question. Ears flattened defensively and he lowered his body instinctively to look less threatening, but there was a part of Charon that wanted to fight for this food; the part that knew he could die if he let this meal get away, for he might not even reach Stavanger Bay alive without it.

Just as the situation seemed spiralled out of control and Charon had to choose between fleeing and fighting, the familiar figure of Ragnar appeared, just in time. Charon kept his body low to the ground and looked at Ragnar and the other wolf while he held his breath. He remembered the altercation between the monster and the wolf that had saved him in the plains close to Duskfire Glacier. This time he couldn't possibly run, though; he needed to eat, and he couldn't run away when it was Ragnar. The black wolf was also a lot less monstrous and deformed than the dog at the plains.

In silence Charon waited, while staring at the two wolves and licking the blood off his lips.

Crescendo stared with utter loathing at the two wolves, the stupid looking pup and the one with the eye ripped out. He growled, but made no move to attack. "Fine. But I get the head"

He stepped forward, placing a paw on the creatures side and with a hard tug separating the head from the body. With a final glare at the one-eyed wolf, he and his prize vanished into the undergrowth.

Ragnar was prepared to fight, prepared to die to protect Charon. Death with inevitable and all would die when the Valkyries came for them, when Odinn came for them. The Northman did not fear death. In fact, he would welcome it, knowing that he would be seen to the hall of Valhalla, to see and fight along side his father once more and those whom he had lost over the years. Death was a celebration. A new chapter to a never ending story; and it brought a small measure of comfort that even Gods could die. Odinn himself knew how and when he would die, by the jaws of Fenrir during Ragnarök. Singular eye locked upon the ebony beast who had charged at his boy, the platinum silver hackles bristling rigidly along his spine in warning as the creature drew nearer, still. Strong muscles pulled taunt under his wind swept fur, a side step taken with the intention of intercepting, but the midnight male had put up no fight to Ragnar's threat and command. Ego flooded the Viking though his appeasement was not shown, kept closely hidden. Ragnar was wiser than that, not some green boy who allowed such things to go to his head and knock down his guard. He did not trust so foolishly, nor easily. The ease of which the previously charging male had given in and conceded arose the Viking's initial suspicion, but he watched, ready to lunge forward at any moment as he allowed Crescendo near the corpse where Charon ate, waiting as the ebony creature worked to sever the head from the body.

It took him time but Ragnar watched contently as the male, finally successful, disappeared into the horizon with his prize. Ragnar did not move for a few moments, watching, just in case before deciding that the male was likely not to come back, he turned his attention to Charon giving the child an affection chuff before he leaned down to sniff at the dog's corpse the Ostrega child ate at with apprehension. Ragnar had never eaten canine before, and it would be a lie for him to say that he was not even a little bit curious. “Is it good?” The Viking asked Charon softly.

Charon did not catch much of the conversation between Ragnar and the agressive black wolf. He just kept eating, yet unaware of what he was eating; until the black wolf took the head, anyway. Charon looked at the dog's head; it reminded him of the monster that had attacked him at Dawnlark Plains, with the shorter, broader muzzle and the funny-looking ears. He hadn't realised that it was something canine that he was eating (though to him, they were more 'monster' than anything else) until he saw the head of the animal being taken by the black wolf.

Ragnar asked him how it tasted — or more specifically, if it was good — but truthfully, anything tasted good about now. He hadn't eaten for longer than he wished to remember; it hadn't been a very good idea to go out on a trip to Duskfire Glacier. If he hadn't found this animal, and if Ragnar hadn't found him, he would've surely been a goner. Charon didn't know how to answer, so he continued to eat for a moment. "I dunno, like food," he mumbled. He couldn't really distinguish all the flavours at the moment. It tasted different from normal food, and was a new flavour, but not gross or weird, or anything.

(By the way, excuse that last pitiful post. Just realized how absolutely terrible it is)

Crescendo, contrary to what the other wolves probably thought, was still watching the two, eyes sparked with interest. He studied the oddly colored youth, noting the strange speckling he carried. Strange, very. It also had a certain appeal to it, a uniqueness. But he wasn't still here to admire spots. No, he was sizing up the one eyed one, examining him. In a fight, would he win? He had a major disadvantage in the loss of one of his eyes, and in that here, he had something to protect? Was it worth it to pick up a few extra scars, just for fun? Snorting softly, Crescendo decided against it and left for good this time. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to make everyone your enemy.

Beside, he had payment to collect. And that he planned to do soon. The girl had been waiting long enough, and he already had a few heads. But...a few more couldn't hurt.

Last post for me. Sorry about the wait for this and the crappy quality of it.

Charon did not seem all that in interested in conversing with Ragnar, though given the current situation this did not entirely fall beneath the Northerner's understanding. Charon looked like he hadn't eaten in days, and though the Viking had his hesitation about letting the child eat the corpse of a dog he could not raise an objection to it. It wasn't as if he had anything to offer Charon in it's stead. “Eat up, Charon,” Ragnar encouraged the boy, “As soon as you have eaten your fill we will go back to the Bay.” He informed him, figuring the first and best step was to get Thistle's assessment of his condition as soon as possible.