Wolf RPG

It had been a few days since the landslide, and there had still been no sign of the boy king. Not that it was entirely just of Björn to think of him as such for Björn himself hadn’t been any older than the Kesuk-Nereides when he challenged his “older” brother to a fight to the deal all for the fleeting desire of a woman. The helm had not been what Björn had been after but as the sun had began it’s descent into the earth that night it was he that stood a victor in a warm pool of his brother’s life blood. With Björn’s victory came the title of Jarl and the woman, though Tyra had not been an object of his affection for long. He had been too young at the time to impregnate her and he disregarded her when he learned that she had played him in his own game and sought the arms of another man. As it was, she was lucky she lived today because Björn had contemplated tearing her insides out as an example, to bathe in her life blood and wear her intestines like some kind of savage. Perhaps, he was, but he was not a man to cross; as it was she lived only because his resolve softened when she gave herself to him a last time, letting him bathe in her beauty instead of her blood before he banished her for committing the very 'crimes' he had with a pretty little thing he took as his wife soon after.

In the boy king’s absence (for Björn could not accurately pronounce his name and therefore chose not to even think it), the hybrid female had taken up temporary leadership until he was found or found his way back to them. Their hope was misplaced, the Viking feared but did not speak. They had found most of the survivors by now, and he saw a shimmer of an opportunity. He was new, yes, but he saw no sense in continuing on with pre-made traditions when the boy was not around to uphold them. Björn was not sure whether the hybrid realized it yet or not, but she was basically the only leader they had, though the Viking could only wonder if she knew how to lead. He was hesitant, rudely so, about following a hybrid but he was nothing if not conniving. Perhaps there was something for him to gain in this, as well. He had hoped to speak with her - he knew not her name (and if he did know it he couldn’t remember it) - but had been slumbering off the painkillers the fawn girl had given to him. She kept coming around to check on his wound even though he grew irritated with her ‘fussing’. She was a pretty little thing, Björn had noticed, but the scent of another man clung to her fur - not that, in truth, that had ever stopped the scarred Nord before.

Despite his snappish behavior, he was sometimes willing to let her fuss over him - if only because he rather liked the attention. It reminded him of Sif in pleasant ways, though the two were different. The gash on his shoulder was scabbing and itching but he pushed himself to his paws, ignoring the medic’s previous orders of ‘rest’. He had, had enough of rest. Now, he had a mission, selfish though it was and while he did not perceive that it would accomplish anything, Björn was not the kind to hold back for fear of failure.

Björn had, after Thistle Cloud’s persistent urging, finally agreed to stay within the vicinity of the injured though there were not many of them, though there was not many members period it would seem. The fawn maiden, the hybrid maiden leader, the ebony man, himself, and another that had been floating about and unless the others were missing amidst the rubble, or lingering in hiding Björn had only counted five of them total. Possibly, there were more, there had to be, and perhaps like the once boy king they, too were lost. Whether or not the lost found their way back home mattered little in the grand scheme of things, Horizon Ridge had to move on, and as they recovered from this more would join them. The skin around his wound itched, frosted with the saltwater she - and he - had used to rinse it clean, though the paste the berries made under the rudimentary wrappings helped to soothe and heal. The fawn colored maiden seemed insistent on ’resting’ and most of the time - since he did not want another infection or delirium fever - Björn humored her, but he was could not sleep, or lie still forever. He was not that kind of man. As was with today - he sought the maiden leader, and was using his desire to speak with her purely in his favor to excuse the stretching of his legs, though Björn did what he liked anyway, he truly did not need an excuse.

The maiden leader herself was healing from some wounds and Björn was aware that she remained within the vicinity that they, as a pack, had all seemed to have taken too. The Nord soon found what he was seeking, appearing to be slumbering beneath a sequoia tree. If she was awake, she would see him as he approached her resting place with the annoying limp that came from the gash in his shoulder. Under Thistle’s care it was healing and his limp was not as heavy as it had been but it was still present in an irritating manner that screamed ‘I am weak, attack me here’. Björn would be fit for battle soon enough, would throw himself into battle at that second if he was needed too. Persistence reaped rewards, eventually. “You are our dróttning now,” Björn paused drawing his salmon pink tongue across his lips. “In the tongue of my people it means queen,” He explained assuming that she did not speak old Norse. “It is a great burden that has been thrust upon you.”

“I have a proposition for you,” Björn kept his eyes low and away from her face but he did not fear any ire he might receive. “It is not a trivial or easy task, I led for two years before my Gods saw me here. I think you are capable of great things, of bringing life back and getting this pack back to it’s feet. You don’t know me well, and I don’t know you well,” It was a mutual ground of unknowns. “but I would be willing to become your second in command if you ever find you need the support, or someone to enforce.” With his offer on the table, Björn stood there, scarred and unscarred ears thrust forth to listen for her response.

Normally wolves did not actively seek the Beta rank, and if they did they lacked the courage for fear of rejection to approach the alpha about it, Björn had found. Björn was not the kind of man to hide behind insecurities and fear. She could make a great ally in him, and Björn’s mind had been made if she rejected his offer be it here and now, or later on he would leave to start his own pack when he was capable. Rejection was not the end of the world, merely the closing of a door so another could open in it’s wake.

Björn listened as she contradicted him, correcting him by telling him that she was not a ‘queen’ yet, and silently the Viking disagreed. How many Queens had came from the loins of the King before them and one day found themselves on the throne with short notice but were still looked to as Queen nevertheless? The other cultures did things like that, Björn had been told, but his own was different. The offspring of a Jarl or Chieftain did not automatically mean instant leadership at the coming of age. Björn’s own father had been the second in command with no blood relation to Uther. The only reason Björn (the origin of Ragnar’s moniker) and then Ragnar himself had taken the throne after their father had been because of challenges - two separate fights to the death that had granted them the title and all of it’s burdens and glories. As Pump spoke to him, Björn remained silent and still, a contemplative, scarred statue.

Pump offered him a proposition of her own, not rejecting his proposal, neither accepting it, but she was giving him a chance to do what she invited him to do: to know the others - including herself - to earn their respect and loyalty, to prove that he was capable of being her second in command. Björn was not a creature of finesse by any stretch of the imagination, no he was brutish and true to his people. He would take something if he thought it belonged to him, raid if it was needed to feed his own people; but he had been a leader, and he could devote himself to it, to his people. He had done it before.

“That is a fair proposition,” Björn accepted the challenge, knowing that if things did not work out, if he proved to be too brutish for the lighthearted of these strangers then he could always do his own thing, as he had originally intended. For now, Odinn beseeched him to stay, and faithful to the Gods that favored him, Björn obeyed. "I accept it."

Even with the foretelling of a Seer, the future was never crystal clear, neither was it specific. What was here today could very well be gone tomorrow and Björn had learned to seize the opportunities when they presented themselves; and if for some chance they never came then to make his own. He was not a shy creature, no, the Savage was brazen and bold. Only the bold made history, after all. If he always did everything he was told to do then how would he be any better than his prey? A sheep, for instance. What kind of life was that? Bleating here and there, never straying from the pasture, and always listening to the sheppard. It was the life of a sheep and nothing else. Björn took chances, and did things that others were horrified of or generally unwilling to do - usually upon some moral grounds. Perhaps it was the Viking in him that allowed him to be so, or maybe it was just how he was hard wired. Odinn had given his eye to acquire knowledge, was it so wrong to want to take from that example? Not that Björn planned on giving his eye for anything, but it was the drive behind the act that inspired the Viking.

Pump drew his attention back to her just as it had began to wander into the deeper crevices of his thoughts, speaking that she trusted that he was a man of his word. When it came to something Björn wanted? Yes, he was a man of his word and more. His devotion to gaining what he wanted when he had set his sights upon something - regardless of what it was - was nearly single-minded in his drive. He noticed when her eyes went to his recently dressed wound expecting the question that soon spilled for from his Alpha’s lips. “Well enough,” the Viking assured. Björn was not an idle man and would go crazy if he was forced to ‘rest’ for much longer. “then let us get to it, then.” Björn invited, with a small, impish little grin tugging at the edges of his lips as he awaited for further instruction.

The ivory hybrid seemed pleased by his answer and began to walk, with Björn following in a close second half behind and half beside her, his limp making it easier to slow his pace so he did not out stride her. The scarred Viking listened as she explained her theory, a theory that Björn could not exactly disagree with, but had sparked questions of his own. It was possible that some of their pack mates were trapped on the other side of the landslide, either alive and surviving to the best of their abilities or deceased. Those were really the only two options Thor had left them with when the ridge had collapsed under the force of his mighty hammer. “Do you have a territory in mind that you were thinking of extending our claim to include?” Björn asked her, figuring that she did, indeed, already have a territory she had her eye on to extend their claim into. “We have no nearby neighbors, our claim should not be challenged.” Not that Björn would shy from a challenge, even if one did present itself.

“Has anyone gone over to the other side of the landslide yet? To collect the survivors, or deceased, on that side?” Björn inquired as the idea came to him again, figuring he might as well ask and offer while he had Pump’s attention. “If not, I volunteer to go and scout it out.” Of course it kind of seemed unlikely there were any survivors that had stayed quiet for so long, but nevertheless, it was a slim possibility at best.

“Then we will take part of the Forest,” Björn spoke with a errant shrug of his broad shoulders, as if to say that it wasn’t a big deal because it wasn’t - none of their neighbors were close enough to be allowed to care as far as Björn was concerned. “It is ours.” If Pump wanted too, they could even relocate entirely to the forest, but it did not sound like she was sold on that idea. In truth, it mattered little to the Viking. Land was just land and he held no emotional attachment to it. Her nasty grin surprised the savage a bit, but eventually he mimicked the action of it with an impish grin of his own. She told him to let the dead rest in peace, and though this discontented the Viking in him, wanting to give them the proper farewell that he would have bestowed upon his Viking kinsmen he let it go and did not push it only because they were not Vikings. Björn contemplated that her ideas of death and his were vastly different. “Then we are a very small pack.” And their lack of size was almost alarming. How did they function with so low of a number?

Björn’s ability to take what he thought should have belonged to him was deep rooted into his DNA, with years of raiding from the packs around Odinn’s Cove to finely hone such skills. His confidence in the fact that they would have the forest whether anyone else cared or not, was found in the Berserker’s lack of moral compass alone. He didn’t care if anyone else cared, their needs and desires meant nothing to him. His focus was upon his own pack and their needs. “Have you considered just relocating to the Forest entirely? If we stay in what is left of the Ridge’s territory we might run into the risk of another landslide, or mudslide.” Björn suggested to her, peering at her from the corner of his eye before they refocused their icy depths back upon the path before them. He, being a creature that held no emotional attachment to land maybe did not understand the potential sentiment that could be found there, but nevertheless did not dwell too much upon it even as he awaited her response to his suggestion.

“You can have a big group of wolves with things in common, if they believe in the same thing. If they participate as a whole,” Odinn’s cove had been a big pack, most believing in the Gods, others believing in their own. Some were captives, others were slaves and most were free men and women either having already earned their rite of passage a time ago or were working towards theirs; but then again the Cove was generations old. “I suspect only the Gods truly know that.” Björn murmured in response to her little speech regarding the future.

Pump did not seem inherently too worried about a repeat of the avalanche or landslide happening again, giving him a rather enigmatic we’ll see. Björn took it as her way of considering his words though he did not remain rather optimistic on a full blown move; though if any more landslides occurred and took any more of their land they would have no option but to move. “I did,” Björn confirmed with a small nod of his head for extra confirmation though he doubted it was really needed. In truth, she had not really been asking, had she? “I led it, actually,” For nearly two years and surely that had to count for something. “We believed in our traditions, in everything we did, and we believed in our Gods.” Though a small part of Björn suspected that she had guessed that even without his vocal confirmation. Yes, the Norse Gods had played a huge role in what kept them together, even though not all of theirs believed. They didn’t have to believe, not really. As long as they respected.

Pump informed him that he was not the first wolf she had ever heard speak of Gods. “Did not the boy King believe in his own Gods?” Björn inquired absently, thinking that he recalled something about spirituality, though the Viking had been a little too busy attempting to be convincingly cunning to be paying attention to the then, important facts that the Aklhut had been speaking to him of, at the time. Now, all those things were inconsequential. They didn’t matter. He was gone and the hybrid Shield maiden had stepped up in his place. “There is more than I can tell in a single day and night alone. To tell you everything would be to take many days and nights,” Björn admitted with a simple, careful shrug of his shoulders, mindful not to disturb the wrappings Thistle had spent care plastering to his fur and wound. “My Gods are simple in that they do not require faith: only respect, and sacrifices occasionally.” Odinn’s Cove had not demanded that it’s wolves follow the Norse faith only that they respect it all the same. To Björn who had believed in his Gods all of his life, devotedly, Pump’s inquiry of asking how he benefited from them was like asking him how it benefited them that the sun rose and fell everyday. It was ridiculous. “There are many ways believing in beings bigger than yourself can benefit you. I can’t really answer your question well because I have always believed ever since I first heard the tales when my ears opened as a puppy. From speaking with those that did not believe in our Gods, however, I think I can say that from their perspective it gives us something to believe in after death, a sense of purpose for some, to some it explains why things happen the way they do,” Björn paused, drawing in a breath. “a way to explain fate, I guess.” For Björn it was because it always has been. He was aware of the existence of his Gods having seen Odinn on numerous occasions.

Björn could not help but feel a small warming in his chest at what he assumed was Odinn’s approval for spreading the word of him and the other Norse Gods even if the Viking had been errantly vague about it. In truth, the details didn’t matter much it was the simple fact that Pump was listening and questioning that had seemed to please the Allfather. Björn was doing what Odinn had asked of him when he sent him away from the Cove, selecting him out of all the others despite that he had the helm of the Cove. It had been a terrible burden and a glorious purpose, all in one. “I suppose you could say we are keen on life after death,” Björn spoke in a soft, thoughtful tone, fixing her in his the icy depths of his irises. “There are many halls in Asgard - the home of our Gods - and when we die we all go to a Hall. Valhalla is the main hall, where most warriors and shield maidens aspire to go, where we train all day and die and at night we are reborn by the Allfather and feast and drink until the next morning. It is the highest glory to be chosen by Odinn to go to Valhalla for when Ragnarök comes we will stand beside him in battle.” Björn’s tone was overtaken with a deep reverence as he explained it to Pump, almost forgetting for a moment that she was even there.

“But our Gods are not immortal. They, too, will die in time. Their fates have already been decided.” Björn knew for a solid fact that when he fought beside the Allfather in Ragnarök he would witness the glorious King’s death at the jaws of Fenrir - a giant wolf (which was sort of ironic, really). It always felt prudent to inform those that did not know that his Gods were not immortal, as almost every other 'God' claimed to be. Somehow, to Björn that simply made him absolutely certain that they were real.

There was little in life that could truly measure up to how passionate he was about his Gods, how whole-heartedly he was devoted. He did not always share much with others, having once coveted it in the presence of strangers but that would null and void Odinn’s commands. This was one of the reasons why Odinn had called him to this place - to spread the word of his Gods and to rise up a new Viking settlement. Both would provide to be challenges but Odinn had chosen him to rise to each challenge, and Björn was entirely willing. Pump spoke of not really liking the idea of life after death, which was strange to him, but the savage let it go with an errant and careful slight rise and fall of his left, uninjured shoulder. To each their own, he supposed. “I suppose that makes sense,” Björn murmured, but in reality he refused to believe that after death there was vast nothingness. It would be boring and …awful. Maybe each “heaven” was different for each person based on their beliefs. He would go to Valhalla and she would drift endlessly in sleep. “I would be too bored with a never ending sleep, though.” He admitted with a soft chuckle. Indeed, he could barely stand laying about for too long as it was. He had been itching to get up and move about a few days after he had woken up after the toll of his injury had slammed into him.

Perhaps there was a lingering fear, unbidden yet well hidden, within Björn felt towards the concept of death being a vast nothingness, but it did not dare surface for the Viking knew what awaited him in death and believing with every fiber of his being made it less of a frightening prospect. “This place is sacred to Odinn,” Björn murmured softly, sneaking a glimpse at the ebony woman beside him as they approached the frozen lands of Ravensblood Forest, waiting for some sort of rebuttal. She did not have to believe - he didn’t care either way - but he knew it was sacred to the Allfather which only made this move feel all the more right to him. “I still think we should claim the whole thing and relocate, the Ridge is virtually useless to us now,” He suggested casually, though he shrugged his uninjured shoulder loftily, knowing that ultimately it was her decision and that she had already decided they were only claiming part of it. “Perhaps it will leave,” Björn murmured thoughtfully, uncertain if a bear and their pack could live in some sort of harmony creating a balance instead of upsetting it, but only time would tell if it would leave them alone or engage them with hostility.