Wolf RPG

Björn had been meaning to make a sacrifice to Odinn for weeks now, but with his shoulder healing at an obnoxiously slow pace for the gash had been deeper than he had first believed it to be the day of the landslide -- not to mention the infection that had festered there until Thistle had taken care of it -- had only made to set the Viking back infuriatingly. In doing what Odinn wanted him to do, he was also taking the liberty of asking things of Odinn in return and such pleas were never to be made without compensation. To want something out of Odinn was a selfish thing, and demanded a high price in accordance. The tissue and sinew was mending beneath the hot and itchy scab that had hardened in time and under Thistle’s vigilance (and perhaps to an extent paranoia). It did not bother him much anymore and the slight limp was all but gone, lingering only when he accidentally agitated it. The warden had finished his routine morning sweep of the patrols before he pushed past the scent markers, strengthened minutely by his urination upon them, scarred and unscarred ears thrust forth atop his skull as he sought the shadows and prey within the forest they called Ravensblood.

It was this forest that Pump intended to partially claim in compensation for the lands lost to them in the tragedy of the landslide. Encouraged by her talk of increased prey within the territory of question, there were two reasons the Viking made his way into the darkened forest, shrugging past the brush and clusters of trees that seemed to attempt to bar him entrance. He could begin claiming these lands for her now, so that no ambitious wolf could come strutting in and claim it first… not that Björn would let that stop him, or Horizon Ridge. He only cared for borders and marked territory when it was his own, in a true hypocrite fashion.

For Pump, upon her commands, he would slay any creature, of any age that she pointed him too, feeling that she had earned that trust and respect of him. The Viking paused, muscles tensing beneath his silken coat of rich platinum silver, head lowering to protect his throat as a nearby bush shook and small creature came barging through it, trampling it and slammed right into the savage’s forelegs, sliding between them, curling against the back of his legs smearing fresh - still warm blood along his recently cleaned of grime hocks. Startled by the cub’s odd behavior, the Viking ’s hackles bristled at the enraged roar and pained scream that cracked through the air like a demon battling a banshee. The baby something whimpered a small mewling sound, it’s blood coated body shaking against Björn’s legs. Lips quivered back from his teeth, exposing the sharp, whitened canines as his Caribbean blue eyes feverishly for any sign of the battle going on within the depths of the trees. There was a smart cracking noise, the sound of bones snapping beneath a great force and a wet slashing sound that ended with a victorious roar of a battle cry that Björn felt within the marrow of his bones.

If Björn had to wager something had gotten on the bad side of a bear just coming out of it’s hibernation.

Caution begged the Viking to remain vigilante as the thunderous sounds of a bear running off caused scarred and unscarred ears to slick back to his skull as each pound of it’s weight against the earth resounded like a war drum. A small mewing noise broke Björn out of his trance of caution, abruptly reminding him that he had a small something quivering against the back of his legs.

A raven cried out from above as Björn repositioned himself so he was staring down at the cougar child, small, defenseless, frightened covered in it’s mothers blood. It peered up at him with milky blue eyes, rounded ears perking slightly as the two predators studied one another. Ragnarrrr, Odinn’s voice came alive in the forest as black leathery nostrils flared inhaling the pungent scent of the cat’s blood. Give it to me. The God commanded of his faithful follower, and Björn glimpsed at the small, huddled child emotionlessly. He had been searching for a sacrifice to please Odinn and as it was the Allfather had chosen one and placed it easily on his plate. Truly, it did not become much simpler than this.

“Odinn,” Björn, perhaps the most soft spoken of his kin called out to his God. “Father. Accept this sacrifice to ensure my success and victory in what you have asked of me.” Björn murmured, his eyes never wavering from the cougar cub. Deep breath was taken before he grasped the child’s neck in jaws, softly at first, ignoring the mews of protest that erupted from the squirming babe before he clamped down feeling the soft bones of childhood give under the force of his jaw before the creature stilled and it’s breath stopped flowing as warm blood flowed into the Viking’s mouth. “It is yours Odinn to grow big and strong in the hall of Valhalla.” Björn spoke to the raven that circled overhead before he left his sacrifice to the Huginn and Muninn to consume for the Allfather in search of the cougar the bear had defeated hoping to take a flank back to the pack.

In her downwind hiding place, Bazi recoiled with surprise and disgust.

It should have deterred her, but curiosity drew her to the sound of the battle. She crouched in a thicket (mercifully dotted with delicate white flowers that went some way to disguising her fur) and waited to see the results of the scuffle, hind legs coiled like springs beneath her small body just in case.

After that, everything happened very fast. The bear emerged victorious, raging through the undergrowth and into the depths of the forest. The silence left by its departure was filled by a high, piteous mewl that broke the Creek wolf's heart - but before she could do anything about it, she spotted a familiar figure. The warden of Horizon Ridge was well within view - but Bazi remained where she was, curious to see what Björn would do. For the longest time, she heard nothing but the orphaned child's quivering cries.

When it happened, she didn't know what else she had expected - for Björn to raise the cub as his own? She knew it would have to die - at the back of her mind, she knew that. But it wasn't the babe's execution that frightened her, it was the context. Suddenly, the male looked into the empty gloom of the forest, and murmured: "Father. Accept this sacrifice to ensure my success and victory in what you have asked of me. It is yours, Odinn, to grow big and strong in the hall of Valhalla."

Bazi stared. Sacrifice. The mere mention of the word brought on a wave of nausea. There was nothing that Shar-Kali abhorred more than ritual sacrifice, and she had gone to great pains to ensure her children grew up with a pathological fear of it. Bazi's reaction was near biological. He had sacrificed a baby - a defenseless, new life! Suddenly, it didn't matter to the Creek wolf that the baby had been a cougar; the same species that had wreaked havoc on her own pack. It didn't matter that the cub had been orphaned, and would have died anyway. That was natural, and sacrifice was decidedly not. She held her breath, waiting for Björn to move on. By the time he did, Bazi's eyes were hot with tears and anger.