Wolf RPG

It was upon the breadth of early morning that Tezcacoatl found himself back upon the familiar soil of the Teekon Wilds; though he could not claim to know what drew him to the territory that for so long he had strove to avoid at all costs. He had expected Ragnar's legacy to continue on within it's kingdom of Stavanger Bay but the territory was long ago abandoned by those Tezcacoatl had left fatherless and leaderless. The Rekkr could only speculate what had caused their decline, though he heavily suspected that it was the death of their precious Jarl. The breeze that rolled off the ocean was sticky with salty sea brine where it whipped against his fur causing his hackles to lift upon it. The sun had begun it's ascension in the sky, painting the skyline a myriad of colors, softened golden rays reaching out to touch the bleached ash trees that lingered close to the beach. They looked like dead things, the color of ash but Tezcacoatl suspected that his initial assumption wasn't true. The fallen ones taken by the sand were, some even appeared to be little more skeletal remains of the great trees they once were as he padded past them, pausing to investigate for a moment before he continued towards those still standing and hence, still living. Past the initial bleached trees the ash trees that dominated the forest of the bay were beginning to bloom: buds of green upon their once barren limbs. 

Life was returning to this Bay; the bay that death nurtured. Perhaps Stavanger Bay would still stand tall, strong with Ragnar at their helm if things had been different; but they hadn't been. Tezcacoatl had settled his debts. He'd stolen Ragnar's life from this world giving him the entry into Valhalla that he'd always sought, and in doing so he had caused suffering for the Loðbrok family. An eye for an eye. The same way Ragnar had stolen him and made his family suffer for it. Not that the Amazon women hurt much from his lack of remembrance; but he couldn't ever return to Quetzalcoatl. He was not the son she'd left go, he wasn't the same as she'd remembered. Besides being a man grown he had been too influenced by the feral viking culture. 

For a moment, the Amazon King paused to assess the territory Ragnar had raised as his kingdom, giving it a thoughtful look over. It was not in bad shape, self sustaining, and aesthetically pleasing. He could smell a herd that had recently went through these lands, the ferns trampled down and numerous piles of droppings and broken branches. A fresh water source he could hear in the south in his current position very close to the Bay's heart. A pack had since settled to the South but Tezcacoatl didn't care much about that. How ironic would it be to reclaim the lands that Ragnar had once held sacred? It was not Duskfire Glacier, nor his fallen kingdom of Frostfire Ridge but perhaps a fresh start away from the north was what he needed. The idea that the Kingslayer would claim the land of his once biggest enemy caused a rough chuckle to bubble within the contours of his throat and escape through the part of his lips. If he would or not, he had yet to decide but he enjoyed the notion for the brief moment before he shrugged into the small clearing that housed the tallest ash tree: the one that resembled Yggdrasil the very most.

What he found there gave him a moment of pause. The religious artifacts carved by Ragnar's own teeth no doubt were undisturbed at the roots of the tree but the place that had once housed the Jarl's body was up-heaved. No one had bothered to recover the gaping hole left in the earth by those that had dug up Ragnar's body. For a moment there was an interesting mix of emotions rising like tides within Tezcacoatl as he struggled to understand what he was feeling. Amusement? Or ire? He had cared little for Ragnar after finding out the truth and with Ragnar's death at his own jaws had brought a peace to the obsession that had once plagued him. Closure. This brought with it the closure that Tezcacoatl so very much desired. His future was his focus now. The past was not forgotten but his mistakes and failings served as teaching tools for him to learn from. “How does it feel? Knowing your kingdom has fallen so far that it is barely a memory?” Tezcacoatl asked the empty grave, unattached. He stared down into it, inhaling deeply before letting it out. From experience, Tezcacoatl knew exactly how it felt. Though he had little reason to, he lingered, salmon pink tongue drawing across his snout as he pondered if that herd still lingered within the confines of the Bay's forest or if it had moved on.