Wolf RPG

Carefully, Floki made his way back around Donnelaith by way of Deepwood Weald. He wrinkled his nose, finding their claim in the Sentinels to be inconvenient, but any negative thoughts dissipated as he moved into Stavanger Bay. Almost immediately, he felt a sense of peace as his paws pressed into the loam. He padded slowly through the trees, planning to pay a visit to his father's grave before heading to the ocean.

Only once before had he laid eyes on Ragnar's place of rest, after meeting Aesop from Silvertip Mountain. He hadn't lingered for long and felt guilty about it now. Perhaps it was the wedge that had been driven between himself and Tevinter that made him feel that way; his twin brother obviously had a stronger connection with their deceased sire, which was a continual point of contention for Floki.

He huffed, his breath rising in a cloud of steam as he approached the ash tree. Even from a distance, his hackles prickled; something didn't feel right. He could smell the scent of other wolves, and as his gaze landed on the grave, it was evident that it had been disturbed; there was an empty hole in the ground and the snow and dirt were crisscrossed with pawprints -- but there were no bones. His heart skipped a beat as he came to a standstill, feeling a combination of fear and anger mounting in his chest.

The Captain had come ashore for the sole purpose of retrieving his treasure that he had stashed away while he was still scouting for a ship to suit his purposes. He had moved it to be sure that no other wolf would take it from him, least of all those who might return the once-carefully crafted grave and discover that a skull was all that remained there. No, it was his, and he was a jealous and obsessive sort.

He prowled across the bay. He would pass by that grave on his way to his personal cache. He would not have given the tall ash tree that marked it a second look had there not be a wolf standing there looking down at the thrashed rocks and disturbed soil. Ferahgo slowed his pace and came to a stop with a quiet hmm for his ears only.

The other wolf did not seem to have noticed him right away, and so he watched, intrigued.

It took Floki a good long while to notice the other wolf's presence in the shadows of the trees. He stared unblinkingly at his father's grave -- or what was left of it. His insides were in turmoil; he wasn't sure what to think or how to act. He was horrified by what had happened simply because he couldn't imagine what wolf would desecrate a burial site; but, on the other hand, surely there were plenty of scavengers that had moved into the area since the pack vacated. Were it not for the distinct smell of wolves, Floki could have convinced himself that it was the work of a hungry coyote and left it at that.

He briefly wondered if Tevinter had anything to do with this. His twin had been conspicuously absent from Moonspear the last few days. But there was no evidence that he had been here recently. For a split second, Floki toyed with the idea that Ragnar had deserved what had come to him, including the destruction of his gravesite -- but he quickly silenced the thought. No matter how much he disagreed with the old viking's ways, he didn't feel right making those assumptions.

Only when he turned his back, unable to stare at the empty hole in the ground any longer, did he see that there was another wolf nearby. He bristled, blue eyes hardening suspiciously. "Who are you?" he asked, his gaze roving over the other male's unkempt coat.

He could put two and two together. The bristling, the hard, suspicious look. This one knew the wolf who had been buried here, or at least the grave held some significance for him. One side of his mouth lifted slightly into a malefic smile. He prowled forward, his head held aloft and eyes reaching for the other's.

"Captain Blackbeard, Ferahgo." He stopped his paws a wolf length and a half from the silver boy with sandy legs. "Who are ye to be askin'? Why do ye care?" He made no motion to glance at the grave, as he if was unaware it was even there. His focus, sharp and unwavering as ever, was held on the blue of the other's gaze.

Wednesday arrived to the Bay not long after Ferahgo had. She had seen him—and another—in the distance, and her interest was piqued. Her strides were long and proud, and she made no show of being deferential on no-mans-land... particularly because she thought it would be foolish to betray hierarchy. Take off the head of the beast, and what did you have left? In all things she did, Wednesday seemed quite 'kamikaze'.

She had missed the moment he called himself 'captain'. She only arrived in time to see the sour expression on the others face. Her own features were placid, and she watched mutely. She did not know that her captain had desecrated a grave; it would not matter if she did. She was with him.

Floki blinked, puzzled by the heavy accent that rolled off of the other wolf's tongue. He introduced himself first as Captain Blackbeard, then as Ferahgo. Never before had he heard a title like "captain," but before he could dwell on it too long, another wolf prowled into view. She took her place alongside Feragho without speaking or giving any indication of knowing him through her body language. Floki wasn't quite sure if they were acquainted or not, but it made him uneasy.

Redirecting his gaze to Ferahgo, he contemplated his response. He wasn't looking for trouble, and who was to say that this wolf was the one that had vandalized Ragnar's grave? He smelled of the sea, which indicated that he had perhaps settled nearby. This realization made Floki glad that Charon had moved the pack when he had.

"My name is Floki," he replied after a moment, his posture remaining neutral as the fur along his spine folded flat. "I'm an outrider," he then added. Something told him to refrain from mentioning his relation to the skeleton that had once laid in the ground near his paws, at least for now.

Ferahgo did not expect the traditional submission of his wolves; had he, he may have taken great offense at the way the brutish wench came to his side. In fact, she had it right by offering her presence but not her tongue. She was there if he had need of her, but she was not intruding upon his business with...

Floki, as the wolf introduced himself. The gray male lost his suspicion and laid his fur down, to the amusement of the Captain, who was inclined to believe it was his strong presence alone that caused the wolf to think twice about his attitude. "Ahoy, Floki," he greeted, his cracked lips lifting into a toothy smile. "Outrider ye say? So what brings an outrider over here—" Ferahgo took a long, noisy sniff. "Away from he's crew?"

Wednesday was but an observant presence here. She would do nothing but attack if her captain willed it of her; for bringing blood to rise well past flesh, to make its flow visible, was her passion and craft, not words or friendships. Others feared her, and rightfully so. The bitch was a wildcard. But she was content to be the wildcard of Ferahgo; he let her do as she pleased, and questioned nothing. So she, too, was content to question nothing and do what she was told when it came to matters such as these. Her violent delights had violent ends, but certainly not for she herself.

Ferahgo wasn't unfriendly, but there was something subtly sinister about him, despite his grin. His comrade lingering alongside without speaking didn't help matters. As the captain pressed for more information, Floki wondered if he knew what an outrider did -- his entire job was comprised of venturing away from his pack to learn about the surrounding terrain and gain information to share with his leaders. Of course he would be away from his "crew."

Nonetheless, he answered the question. "Well, I actually used to live around here, so the coast is one of my favorite places to visit," he shared in a guarded tone. Glancing at the she-wolf at Ferahgo's side, he dared to make an inquiry of his own: "Has your pack settled nearby?"

That this wolf claimed to have once lived around here furthered Ferahgo's assumption that he knew who once laid in the grave, but still yet the Captain said nothing on it, nor did his eyes shift once to the raided sanctuary. "Eh? Ye moved away from the coast? Do tell, me bucko, what new home could be better than a life by the sea, aye! Each tide bringin' ye new treasures and grub! Haw!" Ferahgo shook his head slowly, and then took a pace forward. "Did ye get chased out? Is that it? Ran off from yer home, the bones of yer loved ones left behind for scavengers?"

With Ferahgo's last statement, Floki decided that it was time to go. He wasn't sure what to think of the pirate -- he seemed to know just a bit too much about the situation. How did he know that this had been a gravesite, when there was a distinct lack of bones or any other sign to indicate otherwise? At this point, it was nothing more than a bit of churned up dirt and scattered rocks at the base of an ash tree. Was he the one that had unearthed Ragnar's bones, and if so -- what had he done with them?

A shiver raced down Floki's spine as he realized that he didn't want to know. He shook his head, ears sliding back. Normally, he would have defended his pack's honor -- Ferahgo was wrong in his guess that the wolves of Stavanger Bay had been chased out. They had left the coast by choice, and their lives were better now for it. "No," he replied, "but I need to get going."

And without another word, Floki departed swiftly with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

The young male took his leave rather quick, and he would be chased by Ferahgo's raucous guffawing as he exited stage left. "Haw haw haw!" roared he, lookit 'im run, haw! I bet that one's terrified of he's own shadow, aye, probably scared of his reflection too." The Captain's jeering laughter soon died out, his amusement abruptly stopping as soon as he turned and looked upon the grotesque form of the man-wench beside him.

He gruffly shooed her as he swept away, intent on fetching his treasure without her company. "Get out'a here."