Wolf RPG

The great grass sea flickered and swayed like the tides of the ocean.

They were different grasses here, in a faraway place.  But all grass moves the same.  Each is ruled by the wind, be it a whisper or a howl.  The sweet, skittering grasses welcomed her all the same.  They knew their own.  Today, a red sky beamed its last light upon the bronze field and the wind played a susurrus over the crests of the grass.  Just as certain as all of these things were the fact that Awazzi had come upon Rakharo's khalas.

"Fool," she muttered to the dark brown earth, her nose bend downwards.  She stood, hunched with age, her bones weighed down by exhaustion, and she contemplated.  Visions had drawn her here, visions and portents and a thousand signs in the stars themselves.  And now she stood at the edge of Rakharo's world without fear, without hesitation.  Slowly, she drew her head up and she let her voice call out to those who would heed it, calling for the Khal.

It was strange trying to adapt to a world where he didn't have to worry so much about his daughter -except he was still pretty damn worried about her. He knew that she was not fit to wander around this world alone, specially not when this place is as far from Dotharan-like than its inhabitants. It was dangerous, and uncharted, and it made Rakharo's fatherly instincts tingle -no, explode.

But there was nothing he could do. His daughter had made a desicion when she spoke the things she thought, and now she didn't deserve her father's mercy. She had put that on herself alone. All Rakharo ever did was take care of her and give her a safe life and -suddenly, those thoughts were cut short when a howl, coming once again from the borders, called with a familiar tone.

Rakharo left behind his current activity to attend the call and swiftly moved to the edges of the territory where he found a silhouette he thought he would never see again.

Back when the tragedy had striked the Golden Khal's life only a few loyal Dotharan had sticked around the troubled Khal and his small family. And when he got to the sacred mountain seeking help, only a few Crones had been kind enough to aid him. One of them a mystical woman, sister of the man that had doomed Rakharo to an eternity of pain.

"Awazzi?" he called with what seemed to be a mixture of excitement, confusion and disbelief. "What on Rhoa's name are you doing here?" he asked as he walked closer, tall and proud, but evidently respectfull of the Dosh Khaleen's status. His tail, as was proper of a Khal was high up in the air, though. Awazzi could be the most respected crone of the Dosh Khaleen, but this was no Kraza Dothar where they had the power. This was Ramasar Hoshor, and here only Rakharo had power.

The Khal did not leave her to wait long.  She was pleased by his promptness, though wondered if it told of proximity, diligence, or idleness.  No matter, though.  He appeared soon enough, proud as a Khal should be.  Awazzi was pleased to see some deference in his posture, but he still held himself as king.

She was pleased indeed, pleased and proud, and so she fell into something of a bow, her head lowered (albeit marginally) and her tail held neutrally.  A dip of her head, and then she spoke.  "As there must always be a Khal, there must always be the Dosh Khaleen for him to return to.  Or did you plan to bring your khaleesi, heavy with child, to the mother mountain?"  Awazzi laughed, not unkindly, a braying sound that rumbled from her chest.  "No, Rakharo, great Khal of this distant grass sea.  I have come to save you the journey.  It was I who sent you so far, no?"

And if she had not meant for him to take her words so literally, was that not her fault as well?  She would wait until another day to discuss such finicky matters.  For now, she was weary, and wanted to find rest.  "I have come to be here, brother son of mine.  If you will have me."

In all honesty, Rakharo was relieved that Awazzi had come to aid him with the pack. The only Dosh Khaleen that had followed had been Laqikki, and she was long gone. It had been strange her disappearance, but she was an old woman who knew where her place in this world was, and Rakharo hoped that she had decided to get back to Rhaesh Dahaan rather than stay so far away from home. Rakharo would have understood if she'd told him, but he couldn't help feeling betrayed.

The golden Khal had not asked anyone to come with him, not personally. Rakharo had offered a place under his protection to those who chose to follow him, and no one but Lavakho, Zhavvi (although she didn't really have a choice) and a few slaves that were dead before the arrival to Hoshor Plains. He knew that the journey wouldn't be pleasing, and that they would surely delve into the unknown, but appearances like this, Awazzi of all the elders, made his heart a little bit warmer.

"I appreciate it, Awazzi. You did not have to come so far away from home for me, but I must admit that I am glad you did." he said gratefully, "Things here are too different from Rhaesh Dahaan..." said Rakharo with a hint of concern. He wasn't the kind of wolf who asked for help, but he knew how to recognize when it was needed. He had recently chosen a female to be his Khaleesi in hope of bringing some stability to the pack, but it seemed like things were slowly falling apart anyways.

Her journey had been long, but not arduous, nor fruitless. She left when the days were just showing promise of growing warmer, and when she reached her first mountains, the first snowmelt was rushing down from tributaries to swollen rivers and rivers to long, thawing lakes. She'd passed over grass seas and beneath thick forests, and each awoke in her a new respect for the world outside Rhaesh Dahaan. So perhaps sending Rakharo so far away was not her intention, but perhaps it would do him good.

Any new khalasar came with its problems. Time and time again she had seen Khals young and old alike unwind beneath the new pressures, new bumps. She would not have it be so for her nephew, who had been burned and plagued by sorrows. Here, she would grant stability and bring their god. And here she would die, and happier for it.

"No!" Awazzi barked. "No, I did not have to. I do not have to do anything! But if you are here to conquer the end of the world and make your home so near the poison sea, I would like to pay witness to this thing. And it is I who sent you away, was it not? You wanted safety for your girl and you found it here, though it was not what I intended." She cackled at his next statement, a low sound that bubbled from her throat. "Too different! Indeed. With the frothing poison sea so near, and so many mountains? You are no longer in Rhaesh Dahaan, Khal Rakharo. Here they do things differently and name us savages." She spit at the thought. "I lived among them once, and found no joy in their lives. Things are different here, yes. But I have come to make them less."

Awazzi had always been a determined woman. Her words, spoken strongly, were anything but lies, and she was a wise crone, one that Rakharo would never in his right senses turn away when she offered council.

"Indeed, it was you who told me where to go, and I left looking for my daughter's safety. But it seems like that's the one thing Zhavvi didn't want. She's not with us anymore. She betrayed me." Rakharo said with a hard tone in his voice, like a knot was being tied in his throat. He was so angry with his daughter, but at the same time so worried that she might not be safe.

It was no secret that Awazzi hadn't been born in the Dotharan Culture, but anyways whenever she mentioned it everyone went silent all around her, like it was something terrible to say such thing, and still there was no one who knew the ways of the Dotharan better than Awazzi. She had been a true Khaleesi, and it was a relief to have someone that knew the outside world by your side when you were so far from home.

"San athchomari yeraan, Awazzi," he replied, slightly dipping his crown for the woman to see his gratitude. It had been a hard task adjusting to these unknown lands, but with her it would probably -like she said- be less different than Rhaesh Dahaan.

"Let me take you to the circle." he said and turned around to walk towards Rhoa Creek, which slithered all the way to Vaes Aenai, and halfway there was an altar of stones that Rakharo had designated as a sacred place for rituals. Rakharo was not a spiritualist so to speak, but he surely felt the energy that emanated from the roicky formation. It was like Rhoa himself had put it there for Rakharo, it was yet another proof that this place was meant for one with Dotharan blood.

The news of Zhavvi's departure, betrayal, even, was not surprising. Unexpected, perhaps, but she knew that she would find surprises in these Wilds. Still, it was sad news. "These are ill words," said she. "Much and more will you have to suffer for your troubles. But Zhavvi is your daughter. In her heart of hearts she knows that all you did, you did for her. She will return. But let us speak no more of this foul thing." Awazzi shook her head, as though ridding herself of a particularly bothersome fly. It was a sad day when father and daughter were separated, and she did not want to taint the day of her arrival. "Time is as great as any healer, you will find. I think I will see the girl soon." And when she had such a thought, it often turned out to be true.

Awazzi was a wolf without shame. As was a part of their culture, she had been mounted by her Khal whenever he wished, wherever it was. Countless Khals had been sired where all of the khalasar were gathered, and she never felt any shame for it. It was a different way of life than the one she had once lead, but it was long ago, and she was freer for her new life. Even so, she was not ashamed of her roots, though to the Dotharan people it was othering.

"And to you," she replied in her creaking tongue, their language more comfortable than any common tongue. "Take me to this place." And so he did. She followed and observed, watched the grass sea sway as the winds herded the clouds on high before them. She let a silence cultivate new conversation, and spoke as they followed the winding creek. "Have you taken a khaleesi, Rakharo?" she asked, desperate for news of a khaleesi and a future grand-nephew. Or niece. A child to make her feel young again, and a woman to teach the ways of their god.

A Khaleesi. Awazzi had clearly dismissed the topic of Rakharo's daughter to avoid messing with the Khal's emotional state, but when she asked about taking a Khaleesi, Rakharo couldn't avoid being brought back to the thoughts of his lone daughter again. He did not speak of it though, knowing that ranting about it would do no good, but his face got somber and his worry showed clearly.

"Vitihi came to us not too long ago. I chose her. She is the only reasonable option." he said as if talking about businness. "I expect you know her father, Nevakko... And she spent a season with the Dosh Khaleen. Perhaps you have spoken with her before." he had hoped that this, a female with knowledge about the ways of the Dotharan, would be the perfect choice to make her his Khaleesi. But he was not sure about her physical strength. She was a beauty, Rakharo wouldn't deny it, no one would; but perhaps this pack needed someone stronger.

"I wasn't expecting having to take a Khaleesi so soon, but the females of the pack need guidance. They have made things difficult..." he said with worry. He had yet to speak with Awazzi about Kivi, who had been unconcious far too long, but he would do so when they arrived to the morning camp.

As they spoke, the creek took them closer to the circle of songs. It's energy growing stronger. And when it was within eyesight Rakharo turned to the Khaleen with intrigue.

"Do you feel it too? This place is meant for Dotharan blood..." he said ominously, and walked until his nose almost touched the rock formation. Flat on top, like an altar.