[table width=60%][tr][td]
The masked beast sauntered towards the borders of his home, yellow eyes squinted against the freezing rain that drove into them like needlepoints. There was a cave nestled into the cliffs surrounding Starvanger bay and this was where he had slept prior to his departure, and where he would return once he was permitted beyond the borders again.
His journey had been fruitless, and his mood was foul. Weeks upon weeks of searching and he had not seen a trace of their lovely little Ksenia. Many times he had planned this day, his return. He would greet Skellige and Szymon with joyful news of their sister's wherabouts, and be heartily rewarded. It wasn't to be, however, and Jagoda would need to accept that it was not meant to be. A low growl rumbled in his throat as these thoughts once again flitted through his mind, but he banished them away. He would more than likely be explaining himself soon, nevertheless.
Ears pinning against his skull, Jagoda threw his slender snout into the grey sky and called for his brothers.
[/td][/tr][/table]
[table width=80%][tr][td]
Hip-deep in the frigid shallows, Szymon grappled with his prey — a powerfully thrashing dogfish that tested the limits of the angler's fearsome grip. Die! he willed, a litany of malice pouring from him in the form of an undulating growl. His back and neck arched exaggeratedly as he drew back onto his haunches to strike the young shark's head against the porous rock that formed the tidepools, and though a spray of blood and brine spattered upward upon impact, fanning crimson across Szymon's face and chest, the dogfish was slow to relinquish its grip on life and slower still to allow life's illusion to fade. Dragging the sizeable carcass ashore, Szymon refused to release his grip until the last involuntary spasms of the flesh left his prize. He would take it to Doe and to Muses, to Julep and Isengrim and his brother's abandoned children. Carefully he set the carcass within a small tidepool, high-walled enough that he need not fear the Sea would steal away his trophy, his narrow skull swinging reflexively toward the edge of the territory as a familiar howl struck the air.
Jagoda.
This time, Szymon would not avoid his fel-eyed brother. The youngest Cairn was through with skulking at the fringes of pack life — he was Leviathan and Doe was Akhlut and together they would heal the hurts the Sea held against them. The golden-eyed alpha had more than earned his place here, being the only Cairn who had remained beside Her since the Depths' founding. Notched legs moved at a swift clip, carrying the angler to the protective ring of black rocks, and though his heart took up a frenetic racing at the sight of the salt-masked wolf who had given him so many of the scars that now littered his body, Szymon's expression was schooled into a blood-spattered mask of cool stoicism. Black lips curled, revealing a flash of gleaming white fangs, as the inky-ribbed Cairn advanced toward his larger, more heavily muscled brother with slow, sure steps. Piercing gold snapped aggressively to clash with eerie green as Szymon drew himself up to his full height and allowed his ginger-laced tail to curve high and proud above his back.
Abruptly, the Leviathan flew at his brother, angling his maw higher than the brutish interloper's, his intent to seize the bridge of Jagoda's muzzle in a swift, controlled grip of serrated fangs. It was an excessively dominant gesture that the alpha would not have typically employed, but he had something to prove here: he was not the same weak wolf Jagoda might recall, and he would not be bullied here.
He was Leviathan.
[/td][/tr][/table]
[table width=60%][tr][td]
In time a gray and russet form approached, one that he knew very well. Szymon. His heart began to thud harshly against his ribcage and an involuntary snarl crossed his snowy features. The man looked markedly different since the last time Jagoda had laid eyes upon him, his physique more filled in, a definite musculature lining his bones where once there had been nothing to speak of. Anger burned all throughout Jagoda's body.
His brother seemed no happier to see him. By now, Jagoda had noticed that Skellige's scent was but faint upon the air, where once it had been strong, all-consuming. What could this mean? Surely his powerful brother had not stepped down from his throne. Jagoda could not imagine Skellige doing such a thing, ever. A nagging fear mingled with his anger, with his hatred for Szymon.
Pitch ears folded back sharply, a low growl issuing from his throat. He regarded his brother with wide eyes, peering upon him with venoumous pools of yellow-green poison. In the span of an instant contact was made, serrated fangs grasping and digging into the tender flesh of his muzzle. His growl rose in pitch, reaching the heights of a furious whine. But even as the trecherous pain coursed through him, his tail lowered, pinning against the soft black fur of his belly. Not only was Szymon of a higher rank than he, Jagoda had no rank at all. For the first time in their history with one another, the younger wolf held the power. Moreover, Skellige was not here, and possibly, not anywhere. There was nothing he could do.
Fuck off with this act, Szymon, growled Jagoda. You have the upper hand. It disgusted him to admit it, particularly aloud, but he could think of no other way to get beyond the sickening moment.
[/td][/tr][/table]
His current avatar is a little dark, but Szymon is white. ♥
[table width=65%][tr][td]
The pleasure Szymon felt at Jagoda’s display of utter submission was heady and dizzying; it burned in his belly and coursed lower still, electric and addictive. He could afford to be magnanimous — he could forgive his littermate’s disgruntled expression and furious retort — but he didn’t dare let his guard down. Easing away from Jagoda, Szymon kept his bloodied fangs bared and his ears thrust aggressively forward upon his crown, a rumbling growl continuing to seethe in his throat as his tail curled stiffly over his bristling spine and hips. There was something within the youngest Cairn that wanted to keep going — wanted to shove his littermate into the sand and force him to beg for the mercy he’d never afforded Szymon — but the Leviathan and his Akhlut had lost so much and the ginger-laced male was weighed down with tragedy.
Stilling the displeased snarl that lent his bass timbre a fierce, guttural quality, “What do you want, Jagoda,” Szymon questioned flatly, the words drumming like a funeral dirge from his lips. “Skellige is gone.” He stared at his brother, unblinking and impassive but for the baleful glint in his golden eyes.
[/td][/tr][/table]
Oh dang, sorry about that! I edited my post. <3
[table width=60%][tr][td]
Szymon at last relinquished his grip and the darker brother tore away from him silently, shaking himself as it it would rid him of any evidence that he had been forced to submit. Admittedly, Szymon's had not been a forceful gesture, rather Jagoda had allowed it to happen out of necessity. There was no other way to proceed, if Jagoda was to regain his place among the Sea wolves. Allowing his pale sibling the perks of his rank was utterly disgusting; indeed, it left a sour feeling in his stomach.
Incredulous, Jagoda lifted a brow, regarding Szymon as if he were dull. Really? he criticized. I have returned, and you know what I want. He looked at the ground a moment, unable to meet his brother's honey gaze. What happened to Skellige? Fear tainted his voice, and he lifted his eyes again, already frightened of the answer to his query.
[/td][/tr][/table]
[table width=65%][tr][td]
Szymon waited a beat, allowing Jagoda’s query and subsequent accusation — “I have returned, and you know what I want,” — to hang heavily in the air that separated them, bitter and metallic with fresh blood. Scarred lips wrenched back in a warning grimace as the Leviathan spoke: “Bottom-feeder,” he hissed. Jagoda himself had never been a paragon of intelligence, and Szymon was surprised to see that his brutish brother had apparently gained a significant measure of it — but he shouldn’t have been, given his own development, both physical and mental. “You have returned empty-handed. What news of Ksenia? Did you even bother to look?” He spat the words like venom, but he was already weary of the situation as a whole. “The Sea took our brother,” is the vague answer he decided on, “and his firstborn son.” Who else but the Sea Herself could subdue a leviathan? “In Skellige’s name, Doe and I will hold the bay.”
Drawing breath, “If you want to stay here, you will earn your place like every other wolf,” Szymon rumbled, “and you will submit not only to me, but to Doe — your Akhlut.” Throwing back his head, he called for @Doe, uncertain as to how Jagoda’s renewed presence would be received. They could use the dredge’s fangs, especially with the winter coming in so viciously cold. “Make your choice, Jagoda.” [/td][/tr][/table]
[table width=60%][tr][td]
Jagoda would never hold the cunning of his brother Skellige, nor of Szymon. But over the past year, he had gained awareness. His own trials and adventures had earned that for him, and he knew now what he wanted and where he wanted to go in his life.
It was easy to see that the two had difficulty communicating, spitting curses and insults, but at last the important question was asked. As much as Jagoda loathed to bow down to the man he hated most, his respect for Skellige, and as he now knew, the Sea who had taken him, was greater than his disgust for Szymon. He almost could not believe the words that Szymon spoke and for a terrifying moment, he wondered if the pale brother had killed Skellige himself. But that, even, did not seem like something that the man who stood before him was capable of. The siblings at odds had one thing in common, and that was respect for their now deceased brother.
True to his nature, Jagoda made little outward response though the news cut him like a treacherous dagger. All he asked was a soft, almost grunted, You're sure? Every muscle and sinew in his body was tense with grief.
I hate to serve you, growled Jagoda, chartruese eyes blazing. But I owe it to the Sea, and the the spirit of Skellige, to stay here. The words were spoken almost laboriously.
[/td][/tr][/table]
[table width=65%][tr][td]
Szymon watched his brother coldly, and when the black-banded Cairn realized his littermate had taken his words to mean that Skellige was dead, he impatiently shook his head. “I am sure he is gone,” he clarified. “She has not told me where — or why.” Malice flared anew when Jagoda continued to grumble about serving beneath the erstwhile omega. “Then don’t,” he snapped, succinct. “Find a new stretch of coast — raise your own banner — or don’t you have the salt?” Szymon sneered, his temper growing uglier by the minute as he advanced forward a pace on paws that gripped the sand with nefarious intent. “You have found yourself in a new age, ‘Goda — an age where you are the Jetsam and I am the Leviathan. I will never ask you to ‘serve’ me. I have never asked for anything from you: not mercy, not my succor, not my own life. I don’t need you. The Turtle and the Sea have strengthened me.” He paused for breath, iron-laced tongue tracing scarred lips that wore a grim smile.
“But if my wife asks something of you,” he said more quietly, his sonorous bass timbre heavy with the weight of his threat, “you will do it right, and you will do it fast, or I will drive you from this land indefinitely.” Abruptly Szymon was tired of the conversation, and he howled a short, clipped note canceling his summons for Doe. He would go to her and beseech her and perhaps, in taking her, would release some of the terrible fire in his bloodstream. “Stay or leave,” he said sullenly. “This time, I do not care. Know this: if you stay and along the way desert these shores, do not bother to return.”
[/td][/tr][/table]