Wolf RPG

He must have entered the wilds from a strange point, for the wandering man thought it to be empty, and yet as he moved about and headed towards the coast, he found many more traces of wolf-kind. He was unsure of every mark he found, and every half-eaten kill not otherwise disturbed; though he did partake in a haunch of discarded elk, long dead and wasting, he was quick to depart when the slightest change in the wind occurred. At least he would not travel hungry, he thought.

Eventually the golden boy was made to stop, for the land had given out around him. There was nowhere else for him to go - his westward trek ended perceptibly at the edge of the world as he knew it. Though he had seen the sea before, it wasn't since his childhood. And seeing it now, wind-whipped and raging against the bluffs, made his heart quake within his chest. Each swell and boom of the sea upon the shore - though it was at quite a distance - sounded like thunder to his ears, and he shrank back from it, awed and unsure.

No matter who's crew she belonged to, Maude would always love the sea above all other things, even her canine love(s). She could never abandon it or be abandoned by it, as it filled the role of mother that was abandoned by that unknowable creature that birthed and subsequently abandoned her and died. It was a sense of relief to sit and watch the waves crash against the rocks and Maude found the perfect place to do so. She sat unnerved by the sheer drop down into the waves below on the edge of the cliffs, her paws hanging over the edge as she watched the birds soar on the thermals and the waves hit the earth. She talked quietly to herself, Should prob'ly go back t' Tortuga. No fun up 'ere...Mebbe t' Cap'n went back 'ome, aye, prob'ly...but why didn't 'e tell me 'fore 'e left? 'e wouldn't just leave. Mebbe som'fin' 'appened t' 'im...mebbe... She stilled her voice as she heard pawsteps behind her, turning her head to see a pale feminine form stand at the edge of the cliff nearby her. Maude watched the woman warily, wondering what allegiances or grievances that creature had and if she would take out said hatreds on her. Wait...no...she wasn't a she. Maude wondered if this man, woman, whatever they called themselves was like her — stuck in a body that didn't truly belong to them. But Maude didn't like to start conversations often. She gave the wolf a chance to start themselves.

Of all the places to find another lost soul, this was far from what Ren would have expected. It was not desolate here but there was an intrinsically dangerous aspect to the edge of the world, and upon noticing the brawny woman perched upon the edge, his heart did give a leap. He was not so brave a creature — being afraid of both heights and the great, terrible sound of the surf — he had hung back from the rocky ledge as much as he could. Upon seeing her though, paws dangling off the edge, he felt a great need to swoop in to her rescue. Why was this woman alone? Why was she so perilously settled upon the cliff?

Miss! Ou se twò pre, he shouted as clearly as he could, his long-stride walk transforming in to a graceful, persistent run. His fears were evident by the way he slipped back in time with his voice, finding his natal language as default in his haste. As he came closer, he saw with more clarity: this was no woman, and they seemed less in danger than himself. As Renoir came to a staccato stop, he caught sight of the ocean just over the edge, and vertigo swept up from his belly; he swayed and stumbled, nearly losing his balance.

Maude didn't recognize the language — hell, even the dialect that the wolves here spoke was foreign to her! Her head cocked in confusion, a soft Wot? coming from her throat as the unknown wolf walked towards her. She blinked at the strange-speaking wolf, then noticed his sudden look downward followed by a wobble. Oy! She barked, jumping forward to grab the wolf's scruff and pull him back. Wot in t'bloody 'ell do ye tink yer doin' matey?!

The stranger grabbed at him and pulled. The pinch of teeth did not rile a defensive posturing from him in any sense, as Ren was hardly a warrior. He was surprised by their touch just as much as he was surprised by the sea at his feet, but soon the cliff blocked his view and he was crumbling back upon the ridge, stumbling awkwardly in to the brown-pelted foreigner. He heard them speak, but it was a jumble of sounds he could barely make out. It was like the common tongue of this land, yet butchered.

The vertigo lingered for a few more moments, and Renoir braced himself against the stonework, looking about ready to heave-ho whatever lingered in his belly. He licked his lips and smiled a wide wolfish smile, having heard from one of his attendants during childhood that a grin could abate the gag reflex -- how he remembered this now was a mystery. Once the majority of the sensation had petered out, Renoir looked to the dusky creature and shook his head, chuckling softly (or perhaps he'd gone a little mad).

Mwen regrèt, I taut, I taut 'ou were an danje -- danger. Of falling. He realized as he spoke that his lungs were filled with air, a tense breath perhaps, and he let it out slowly. It is my duty to save beautiful women, but by the looks of things, he had misjudged the situation entirely. This was no beautiful woman, but a darkly coated man masquerading as such! How foolish of him, Renoir would think later. But he held a young mind - an accepting one - and did not dwell on what hung between the stranger's legs for long. It mattered little.

Maude pulled back the wolf quickly — wait why the hell was she being a hero? She was a damned pirate! But whatever pushed her to do it the ragged wench succeeded, pulling the pale wolf away from the cliffs' edge and deeper into solid, uninterrupted ground. Maude curled her lip at the wolf's little smile, unaware of their true meaning. What was he being all cocky for? She just saved his life and he was smiling like an buffoon?

Her ears flickered at the slightly unintelligible and foreign accent. The shores brought a lot of those but not one like this. It was vaguely...ah what was it...French? but not quite. But as the words' meaning began to make sense to her, Maude began cackling with mirth at his reasoning for his near fall. Beautiful? She giggled with glee at the thought. He thought she was beautiful? She wasn't flattered nor offended; merely amused at the thought that someone thought her attractive. Wot kind o' drugs 'ave ye been takin' mate? It's yer duty t'save"beautiful women?" Wot is this, sum kind a' fairy tale? Shit mate. Ye tried t'save t'wrong wench. I'm ugly as sin. She smiled, flashing him her crooked yellowed teeth, the baring of her fangs enhancing the madness that always lingered in her eyes.

He finds himself riled by adrenaline, and his mirth - paired with the stranger's own - mix in to quite the concoction. Renoir is soon laughing at himself, settling back upon the ridge next to his new friend as if they were meant to be together. Indeed, this was no fairy tale — but the manner with which the dark one talks only adds to the hilarity, and Renoir cannot help himself. Oui! I am da knight in briye armor! Here to sweep madmwazèl off of 'er feet! Clearly it was the other way around. Taking note of this too, the golden boy let out an ill-timed snort and was rolling back upon the world's edge, and swiftly lost his balance. Once he righted himself again, he attached one final thought: Ahh, or it is ou that sweeps mwen! Perhaps he should've gone over, it would have saved them both from this fiasco of a conversation.

Maude laughed at the absurdity of the conversation — they could barely understand each other! The other guy spoke a totally different language! Aye, mate. I swept ye off'a yer feet 'fore ye could become a sodden knight. Maude smirked, cackling softly. She stepped back a bit as the pale man stumbled once more, her brow furrowing. Oy, mate, don't ye go tumblin' over again now. This knight only saves people once.

Oh yes! Yes, mwen must take care. He continued to stumble, but it soon became a dance of fine movement, as if practiced. He came to an abrupt halt after a moment or two and bowed to her - him - with a smile crossing his features. When Renoir raised his head again, he was still laughing but in a less maniacal manner, his mood leveling out. You are san danje, and mwen is san danje! I will leave you to this ap gade.

He twirled, pirouetting with all the skill of a dancer as he was taught, and then began to saunter along, glee-filled and giddy from the experience. One day Renoir would be a white knight and he would save a true damsel in distress! It was not so bad to have met the odd fellow along the cliff either, though he would hardly have considered him a lady — and though he was open-minded, Renoir was oblivious to the sentiment that such a thought held. His tail swayed behind him gingerly, as if to the beat of music, as he departed from the seaside.

The wolf regained his footing with ease and perhaps a little grace in a manner that Maude hadn't seen before. She watched his movements curiously, especially when he bowed to her and turned away. If he was so graceful here and now, why wasn't he near the cliff? Maude's grin still stayed though, despite her thoughts, and she bid the strange wolf farewell. Fair winds, mate! She called, returning to her perch on the cliff, listening to the waves crash the rocks as if nothing had happened.