Wolf RPG

Ragnar knew that Northstar Vale had been abandoned it’s pack left for ruin when he had spoken a month or so ago to Avyo whom he had effectively recruited into his branch off pack …if and when it ever saw fruition. Every time he strove to finally take the leap and branch off he was pulled back to the Ridge, by his wife, by the children, by Pump. Something kept the Viking grounded there which lent to his greater frustration and though the All-Father had not made it clear to his loyal subject: divine intervention. It was not time. Always it was not time. Yet, he ventured to the now empty Vale nevertheless, his curiosity gaining the better of him. He had not known much of the Vale pack when they had been around the Wilds, then again the wolves of the Ridge had been suffered a vast and massive tragedy and had been tending to their wounded wolves and land. There had been no time to venture forth and learn about the new packs that had cropped up and no one to send in any case.

The scents of the wolves that had once claimed the Vale, neatly nestled between four towering sights: Porcupine Ridge, Sheepeater Cliff, Mount Apikuni, and more curiously the Sunspire of which if the scents of numerous wolves and the howls and things that traversed, daily messages being sent from leaders to subordinates (wolves most effective way of communicating) was anything to go by. The last time he had heard anything (which had namely been when Avyo was speaking with him) he had not mentioned the Sunspire being claimed. This left Ragnar with the distinct impression that like the Isle pack: they were new. It was knowledge that the platinum Viking sought. Always more knowledge. His favored God was the God of curiosity, after all. He did not particularly care to offer anything to these wolves — he held no stock in alliances which were nothing more than falsities that would be revoked at the first chance of a pack needing help (leaders were only out for the welfare of their own pack most of the time) — and they were far enough away from Horizon Ridge that they were not really considered an enemy. They simply…existed.

He slowed as he drew nearer to their borders, though Ragnar made sure to leave a respectful distance from their borders and his body — he’d been at this game a long time and was acting as simply a dignitary since he held no real purpose other than to gain what ever information they were willing to give him so he had something — and sent up a howl expressing his interest in just talking. As an Outrider he made it his business to understand the other packs in the Wilds, new and old.

The male that approached, having silently decided to answer Ragnar’s courtesy call, was draped in a cloak of ebony, his eyes a startling blue against the dusk of his coat. He came displaying dominance, as to which though Ragnar was not his wolf, nor a loner he did not submit, the Viking’s head lowered in a gesture of acknowledgment and neutral respect. He was only here to speak as an Outrider, to learn what he could about this infant pack. Ragnar did not come to offer useless and meaningless political drivel for that held no weight in his mind. Alliances were only falsehoods to him, after all. He would have been the first to admit that if he had forged an alliance and it was called upon as a favor he would gleefully decline unless there was a threat encroaching upon his own lands. Since there was enough of that already he didn’t fancy to gain neither a friendship nor an acrimony from them. He wanted nothing but the basic information. To find out why they were here, who their leader was, and what pack they pissed off to get here. That was an unfair judgment, of course, but Ragnar would now and forever be weary of new pack popping up ready to jump to the assumption that there was a pack they pissed off because Wheeling Gull Isle had done it. They had probably pissed off Silvertip Mountain, they had pissed of Blue Willow alpha female of Blacktail Deer Plateau because one of hers had abandoned them for the Isle, and they had successfully managed to piss off, if not Pump than at least Ragnar himself, the majority of the Ridge’s residents.

The words that left the ebon male’s lips caused the Viking to let out a trademark coy smirk that toyed at the edges of his lips, that looked to be perhaps amiable hid his irritation at the clarity that the man (boy, perhaps?) before him clearly didn’t want to be there and that Ragnar’s curiosity was annoying. Whether he was a leader or just a warden greeting wolves, loners or from other packs regardless, was apart of the job and if it was irritating to give them a slice of time then they didn’t need to be leaders or wardens. The words themselves didn’t hold hostility but Ragnar got the distinct feeling that his presence wasn’t wanted. He realized he could have some fun with this, if he wanted. “I am only an Outrider doing my duty. I heard rumors there was an infant pack here and I came to investigate.” It was not a lie, but he couldn’t claim it was the full truth, either. He wasn’t privy to giving too much of his own personal information out, even on his own borders. At this point: he had no name and his pack was going to stay anonymous. He was just an Outrider with no formal title and no need to let this man know that he held power in the Ridge as their Beta.

Ragnar watched, stoic, as the ebon man’s shoulders relaxed as to which Ragnar took to be an effort to appear less like the Viking’s presence was bothering him as he appeared to have realized how his body language was coming across. Eyes of Caribbean ice narrowed slightly; black, leathery nostrils flaring to take in the scent and commit it to memory. It would not hurt to know their scent at least until it was no longer around. Packs came and went in the Wilds all the time, not so long ago a pack inhabited lands near this …Sunspire and they now were nothing more than a ghost echo in the Wild’s vast memory. All packs were susceptible to it because it was the law of nature. Survival of the fittest. Not everyone could survive, a continuous cycle of life and death, the rise and fall of empires. Whether this infant pack was sustainable to provide any sort of threat had the Viking curious, but not threatened. They were far enough away from the Ridge for Ragnar to feel like they shouldn’t matter to one another.

A greeting was given and Ragnar dipped his head in a silent return of it, his left, scarred ear giving a twitch when the ebon creature asked him specifically what pack he was outriding for. It was a curious question that confirmed Ragnar’s assumptions and suspicions (or so he took it to be a confirmation). They were a branch off of a likely irate pack, just like Majesty and his Isle wolves. The Sunspire was far enough away that Horizon Ridge shouldn’t suffer any rebuke or consequences that would befall this infant pack, but Ragnar wondered why this was a sudden trend. It was like they stupidly painted neon signs to attract attention to themselves by forming a branch off pack of whatever one they had successfully managed to piss off. Why else would this male care what pack Ragnar was from? Why else would it matter?

It wouldn’t, his thoughts assuaged him.

For a moment Ragnar considered giving a lie, a deception to protect what was precious to him but the Ridge had no quarrel with these wolves and he expected it to stay that way. “I am Heimdall,” Assuming the Watchman of Asgard’s name was easy and less personal that using his brother’s name to take as a moniker given he often traveled to Midgard and paid visits and no one but those who were privy with Ragnar’s culture or religion would know the difference. “I come from Horizon Ridge, you can relax,” The Viking said in his soft, heavily accented voice, giving away his suspicions because it was all obvious to him. “So how did your…Sunspire come to be?” He inquired with a birdlike cant to his head.

No name was given in return, despite that Ragnar hadn’t truly given his real name, as a precaution, nor did he choose to give much information about Horizon Ridge. They had done a sufficient job at sticking to themselves over the months since the landslide nearly brought with it their demise. With most of their surviving numbers injured at the time, and who hadn’t survived (it was assumed they had died, anyway) ended up being a good chunk of their host. For a while as they focused on putting their lives and scarred pack back together they had been barely scraping by. Somehow, they had managed to prevail and though their numbers had fluctuated a bit they had a solid core of wolves whose loyalty Ragnar knew they held. The last time Ragnar had made a house call to a pack, not including his recent trip to Wheeling Gull Isle, of course, he had went to Blacktail Deer Plateau to tell their alpha male of the crimes his brother had committed. He had done it without Pump’s authority, or against it, rather, but when their beta had showed up at his doorstep looking for Crete there was nothing else for him to do.

The name of the male, at least Ragnar assumed this Ferdie was a male, was useful in a way but Ragnar hoped to pry because he wanted the details. “This Ferdie is your leader, yes?” The Viking asked, just to be sure. “And you…you are the Head Warden, here?” It was an easy assumption to make given that it was this ebon creature that approached him first. Besides that, Ragnar felt confident he knew a warden when he saw one. “Do you think your pack’s presence here might bring trouble along the coast?” Ragnar asked next, not bothering to beat around the bush. The coast was a ways off, sure, but where did one turf war end and another begin? And what if they were chased from their Sunspire? Then what? Surely they would go south. That would bring them closer to the Ridge and Ragnar had had enough of unwanted intrusions on his doorstep. The Isle wolves were lucky only because he wasn’t the one in charge of the Ridge. If he had been things would have been different. “I only ask because we have enough problems without another pack moving in or relocating closer to us. I'm not saying you would but you can't be too careful. Have you heard of the pack Wheeling Gull Isle?” Ragnar figured for his harsh and direct questions he might as well offer Jace something in return.

A diplomatic trade of information of sorts.

The confirmation was given to Ragnar that the Ferdie the ebon creature had mentioned was the Sunspire’s alpha and that he, Jace he had called himself, was their head warden. It was nice to know that his perceptive skills had not gone anywhere. The Viking gave a simple nod to acknowledge the name of their alpha and the ebon creature’s own though, as his per usual quiet disposition he chose not to comment. This was nothing but a business meeting after all, a trade of information. “I would not have the wolves of the Ridge act in such a manner ever,” Ragnar spoke firmly not so much to reassure as to defend the dignity of his and Pump’s wolves. “We are rightly territorial of our own borders and hunting grounds so why would we ever encroach upon another’s?” It was a rhetorical question because they wouldn’t, or so long as they knew lands were hunting grounds. “I understand you have no reason to go to the coast and are away from us down there but I will warn you about the Isle wolves all the same. Their wardens,” Ragnar said the word with amusement in his voice. “Have this misconception that they own the Sea Lion Shores. If any of your wolves were to find themselves that way I would warn them to be cautious. Their leader, Majesty, seems to have let his wolves be ill informed of their own borders which do not stray beyond the island they have marooned themselves on, as was evidenced personally when I sent them a message to stay off of our land and hunting grounds. I only spoke to him once, before he decided to park his circus on the Ridge’s doorstep,” He took a deep breath and gave a wry twinge of his lips.

“Perhaps it is better to avoid the coast, as you intend, all together.” He could not promise Ridge wolves wouldn’t be hostile and he couldn’t promise if Majesty’s rag tag crew would still be ignorant of their own borders or not, but Ragnar thought he might as well try to be neighborly nevertheless.

“I have no altercations with the Creek wolves,” Because Ragnar had met their alpha once, months ago, and because, as far as he was aware, his eldest son, Sveinn, still dwelled there. Given Ragnar’s moniker first assumed upon his arrival in Teekon Wilds no one realized who he really was, of his own design and therefore if anyone even cared, and therefore word that Sveinn had moved on to other lands had went largely unknown by Ragnar. One day, perhaps, he would inquire about him but that day was not in the foreseeable future, unless he decided to take Jace’s advice. Advice that, granted, gave him the perfect cover for subtly checking up on his eldest son. To inform the Creek wolves of Wheeling Gull Isle not because it was relevant to them other than if they wandered the coast. The news, however, that he was better off not mentioning the Sunpsire if he did go further north to the Creek wolves due to being ‘received with ill favor’ was interesting.

Though it sparked the Viking’s curiosity he stilled it. The altercations between the packs up here had nothing to do with Horizon Ridge and it wasn’t any of his business. Until it directly concerned him or his he wasn’t going to stick his nose further where it didn’t belong. “I will not mention this meeting at all, do not worry,” He assured the ebon creature with a stoic twitch of his lips. “What you do with the information I gave you is up to you. The Sea Lion Shore is free lands and they do not own it.” Ragnar had been clear on that to the woman who had greeted them and would take actions to be more …forceful if necessary.

“I should be getting back to the Ridge.” It wasn’t the most graceful way to end a conversation but he had poked around enough to sate his curiosity for the moment and had nothing more as far as news went to offer Jace. Logically, there was no real reason for Ragnar to continue lingering. Without another word the platinum Northerner turned and headed back the way he came, eager to get back to the borders of the Ridge.