Wolf RPG

Making the trips between Horizon Ridge and Stavanger Bay was becoming a regular routine for the platinum Viking who tried to split his time when he could between claiming the bay — with the support and help of his pack as they, too, made the trek between the lands — and taking care of the duties expected of him, while studiously guarding not only the borders but pissing scent warnings when he noted the bear to ward his wolves off of getting too near it in Horizon Ridge. His sleeping schedule had been reduced to power naps which, evidently, were enough to get him by. He figured he would rest either when the Bay was claimed and his pack was settled within the safety of it’s borders and far away from the Isle wolves and the cursed land of the Ridge, or he would rest when he was dead. Whichever came first.

The Ridge wolves had been quiet about their uprooting as, gradually, they moved pieces of their life to Stavanger Bay, for the simple fact that Ragnar had no intentions of broadcasting their intent to the Isle wolves or the bear. While Pump’s body had been dealt with and the blood had gradually washed from the sands where she had taken her last breath Ragnar sometimes caught a lone trail of paw prints too large for a wolf that the tide had not managed to erase. Given this he had also warned his wolves off of the shore, patrolling it alone himself, knowing that perhaps even that could end badly if the bear happened to catch him.

Next, they would be burying his body if he was not careful until they were ready to move for good.

Eyes squinted as he had began to head out in the direction of the Bay, pausing as he caught sight of a wolf drinking from the Totoka River. That, in and of itself was not a rare sight, after all, it was a fresh water source. What bothered Ragnar was that he scented heavily of Majesty and the Isle wolves telling Ragnar all he needed to know of him. The Viking approached with caution, hackles bristled as he prepared to chase him from the lands as he had promised Majesty he would. As long as the Ridge wolves were still Horizon Ridge wolves he intended to keep good to his promise and warning to the foolhardy Alpha of the Isle. Something, namely Ragnar’s unquenchable curiosity, stopped him from approaching with out right hostility. “Did your alpha not understand my warning to him?” Ragnar asked in his soft, heavily accented voice, his tone calm and curious when in truth he felt nothing but contempt for Majesty. As he waited he simply observed the man from the opposite side of the river. It wasn’t fair to pin his dislike and territoriality on this male alone who seemed, for the moment, only there to get a drink, but to Ragnar they were of the same vein if they chose to follow Majesty until proven otherwise. A trademark smirk tugged at the edges of the Viking's lips, coy to hide the ire he felt at the thought that Majesty had chosen to ignore Ragnar's words ...that was if Ypres had even gotten as far as passing it along.

A soft snort left Ragnar’s flared, black, leathery nostrils when the male responded, in an equally as calm voice, that he believed Majesty had understood the warning perfectly. There was nothing in the other man’s tone to suggest sarcasm yet Ragnar was suspicious of it all the same. Just because, as far as Ragnar was aware, the wolves had not hunted on the River or in the Forest — and technically he had included Sea Lion Shore on that list as well just to be an ass and make a point that just because they used it to traverse back and forth from the mainland didn’t make it theirs for it, too, at times had been hunting grounds for the Ridge &mdash was not enough to convince Ragnar that they were going to be good neighbors when they had made the decision to park their three ring circus on the Ridge’s doorstep. Frankly, with Pump’s death and the bear and the whole damn situation with the Isle at the very forefront of the Viking’s mind he was not in any sort of generous mood. Not to anyone, but the Isle wolves especially.

Not to mention the claim that the Ridge wolves had been trespassing by the woman who had greeted them on the Sea Lion Shore had led Ragnar to the belief that Majesty’s own wolves didn’t even know their own borders and he did not put it past the earthen kissed man to disregard the nifty little warning — the only warning he was ever going to get — from the Viking. In fact, he was lucky at the time Ragnar hadn’t been Alpha of the Ridge because the savage wouldn’t have even granted him the courtesy of a warning seeing as how Majesty had not seen fit to grant them any kind of warning that they were moving in so close.

Despite Ragnar’s animosity towards the man’s leader he lent him a ear (perhaps his time as Jarl paid off in more ways than he realized) when an introduction was given. Beric. It was a simple name, one that he felt he could speak without butchering with his accent. Too badly, at least, anyway. Ragnar did not return the courtesy; at least not yet. There was a saving grace to be found in the Isle man’s next words speaking that he was family of Julooke and Verrine. At first, Ragnar didn’t believe him but the more he thought about it, knowing that they had not given their names when they had spoken to the woman, that the only way he would likely know their names was if he was telling the truth. Silence was left to greet the man as he explained his situation and then asked for a favor of Ragnar. Permission to see them from time to time. Instantly, his suspicion rose back up like bile in his throat.

After the shit Ragnar had been dragged through lately, with the Isle’s intrusion, Pump’s untimely death, and with the blood hungry bear stalking through his land of which could strike at any of them at any given second they lingered there he almost had to laugh at the irony of being asked for a favor. As if he had any favors to give. As if he wanted to give a favor to an Isle wolf of whom did not do anything for him but threaten the lively hood of not only his pack but his children simply because eventually, they would ceased to heed his warning and be competing with them for land, literally stealing food from the mouths of his children, of the Ridge's future children.

Despite the absolute ire and bitterness of the Viking’s thoughts, of the contempt for the man’s pack he did not have the energy to throw everything he thought in the man’s face …and besides if he truly was related to Julooke and Verrine — who were two of Ragnar’s best — barring him access from the two of them would only take their trust in him away. He would have understood in that situation, being a family man, himself. There was an opportunity here, Ragnar had became aware of, perhaps, if he chose to seize it. What was the worst Beric could do? Turn him down? He couldn’t be too cruel, of course, that was if he truly wanted Ragnar’s permission to see Verrine and Julooke without being chased from their borders if he decided his loyalty was firm where it stood with Majesty.

There was always the chance that he wanted to be with his family more than a bunch of strangers, however and it was that bond that Ragnar chose to zero in on. “Why settle for visiting,” Ragnar paused locking the man in his icy, Caribbean blue gaze. “when you can join me and be with them?” The question was as serious as his tone was and he cocked his head to the side, ears thrust forth atop his skull as he waited. No, he would not do favors for any Isle wolves when, as far as he was concerned, they didn’t deserve them; but if the male joined Ragnar and his family his time with the Isle wolves would be forgotten as long as he swore allegiance and fealty to Ragnar and the would soon be Stavanger Bay as any alpha recruiting would require.

Ragnar was slow to trust feeling more and more how he did back in the Cove, when trust was a thing better left earned than freely given. He had given it freely to his brothers and both of them had stabbed him in the back now, he had given it to Gavriil only to have his considered friend leave without so much as a word (which he was extremely angry about as well). If Ragnar let his instincts truly have their full way with him he wouldn’t trust anyone; but being slow to trust didn’t mean he didn’t have to give chances. Currently, they were something of enemies, for Ragnar could only imagine what lies Ypres spread about them, given that she had thought they had been trespassing and threatened them when they were all on free territory, and what Majesty in turn had told them about Ragnar and his. Surely to distrust, maybe that they were heathens (nothing Ragnar hadn’t heard before), the imagined list went on and on. As far as Ragnar cared he had only been doing what any wolf who cared about his wolves would do: deliver a message, make it clear, give a reluctant benefit of the doubt because he had no other choice at the time and go back to his usual business. After all, as far as Ragnar cared to see the situation it was the Isle wolves that had been in the wrong. They had parked on the Ridge’s doorstep not the other way around.

Ragnar, weary of the war he fought with himself over the situation, would be glad to put it far behind him when they relocated to Stavanger Bay. His dislike of Majesty would probably never truly fade but out of sight out of mind as they said.

Ragnar was too far away to notice the widen in the other male’s eyes, though he depicted a slight shift in demeanor accompanied by the perking of the Isle man’s ears. Ragnar gave Beric his rapt attention as he spoke that it would be an ideal situation but explained why he was hesitant to accept it quickly. It was his cautiousness that Ragnar admired, the questioning of an offer that probably, as it stood between two maybe enemies, sounded a little too good to be true. After all, Beric had no way to tell that Ragnar was being sincere (despite that he was) and Ragnar did not blame the other. He, too, would question. Head canted to the side as Ragnar processed Beric’s words, basically calling Majesty selfish. This, of course, perked the Viking’s unyielding curiosity which always seemed to get the better of him. How convenient, he thought and not for the first time, it would be to trade his eyes to acquire knowledge as Odinn had though he had once admitted to Thistle that he would trade much more. Even then, though, Ragnar knew, his curiosity as the All-Father’s, wouldn’t ever be truly sated. “A leader that puts himself before his pack is no leader at all,” Ragnar murmured out of experience. The last wolf that had done it had been his older brother and Ragnar had killed him for it, for the death of their father (and admittedly for a woman but that was neither here nor there). “What was so more important to him than his own pack? The pack he was foolishly over eager to start? That he would self indulge in without a thought for the wolves he claims to rule?” So over eager that he had interrupted Ragnar’s prayer in Ravensblood which had led to a confrontation which had basically led to Ragnar chasing him out; he would do it all over again if he had too.

Subtly, or perhaps not so subtly, it was Ragnar's way of asking what had happened simply because he was curious.

“They are both good wolves, two of my best,” Ragnar had not regretted letting either into his pack. Quickly, they had both managed to earn not just his trust but his friendship and respect as well. As it was, somewhere along the line the Viking had began to grow fond of Julooke in a purely platonic/fatherly way though she couldn’t be any younger than he was himself, which, humorously, made her older than his own wife who was at least a year but he thought maybe two-ish years younger than Ragnar (it wasn’t like Ragnar and Thistle had ever discussed their ages he assumed hers based on what he knew: that this year had been her first heat cycle which meant she had been only shy of two years during that time). “They are just as much apart of my family as my own children, just as all the wolves of the Ridge are,” They might as well be a melting pot family. They lived together, worked together, feasted, loved, and shared in tragedy and sorrow together. If that wasn’t family he did not know what was.

But the choice was up to Beric. It wasn’t one that Ragnar could make for him. Granted, they knew little of each other but everything had a beginning, had to start somewhere, after all. He did not tell Beric the Ridge wolves were relocating just in case he decided to stay with Majesty of which Ragnar would not begrudge him. Every man made his own decisions and lived to deal with the consequences of them. It was simply the way of the Gods and of the world.

Ragnar’s curiosity for the information was nothing but that: curiosity. He may not have liked Majesty personally but the platinum colored Viking had no interest in using it against him. If he wanted a war he would have started it one as soon as they had moved in. Their presence irritated him the most while he was in Horizon Ridge’s territories but when he went to Stavanger Bay the Jarl could have cared less what they did because they weren’t near him and his and they were far enough away that if they had to come anywhere near the Bay to hunt Ragnar would kill them because the distance between the Isle and the Bay was far enough that coming near them was entirely unnecessary. Besides, Ragnar was far from a reckless leader and would not call war when he did not need too. He had warned how trespassers would be handled, and he had warned that any Isle wolves caught hunting on the Ridge’s long established hunting grounds having been established long since the Isle was even an idea, Ragnar suspected, and that was that. The Head Warden had felt it was common sense but well within his rights to say nevertheless. Besides, Ragnar was tired of letting his territoriality keep him from enjoying the time with his children. He spent more times patrolling and keeping an eye on the free territories than he had with them and as a result they were greedy for his attention and it appeared to be, fought over him trying to undermine the other to steal a slice of his precious time.

That wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

A woman. Women were a man’s undoing, Ragnar knew from experience having a long line of conquests in his shadow, the first having been his brother’s own wife. Of course when he had been fooling around with Tyra Ragnar had not been anything more important than a lead Berserker and had nothing to lose. The situations were entirely different, as far as the silver man was concerned. It was a vague response — he had been hoping for something more specific but he was able to draw assumptions that she wasn’t, at least, of the Isle pack or else one of his loyal wolves …or supposed to be loyal wolves wouldn’t have actually considered joining the Ridge. “Take the time you need,” Ragnar responded and then hesitated before he added, “If you can avoid telling anyone about this since I do not want it announced but when you are ready head west a good ways. You will come across a Bay there called Stavanger Bay, it is there that you will find me and some of mine. We are working on relocating.” Since Ragnar couldn’t make Majesty leave, and he wasn’t risking anyone’s life with the bloodthirsty bear, and he believed the Ridge was cursed he figured that he would be the bigger man to all those things and move. In a way, it felt cowardly to the Viking to walk away but there was a difference between being stupid and being smart and Ragnar liked to think that his decision was a smart one.

And then after a moment remembered that via his habit of never giving his name unless it was necessary he smirked coyly and added, “I am Ragnar, by the way.” Before he let the silence envelope him once more.

A firm nod in good faith was given when Beric promised that he would not tell a soul about the meeting. In truth, it hadn’t been the meeting Ragnar had been worried about but more of the bit about Stavanger Bay but he wasn’t going to be specific. Ragnar suspected Majesty already didn’t like him and while he, for the record, really didn’t care what the other man thought of him, he didn’t want to bring unnecessary bloodshed onto his wolves because if a war was instigated Ragnar wouldn’t ignore it. He wasn’t the type of man to let a clear act of war go. So perhaps Beric’s willingness to keep the entire meeting a secret wasn’t exactly a bad thing, given how high the tensions (and rightfully so) were between the two packs. The seniority pack and the newbie one. Maybe Ragnar was a bully but he held no feelings towards the titles that had been thrown his way. He was just trying to survive and ensure the survival of his pack and small family, which as far as he was concerned, was what any one would do, no matter if it hurt the feelings of the creatures on the opposite ends of that single minded drive or not. Ragnar didn’t care about anyone else other than his own wolves. Especially not when their existence threatened the existence of his own pack.

It was the same principle with alliances with other packs, which was why the Viking detested the idea unless it was clearly beneficial to him and his though majority of the times they weren’t.

“This will remain between just us on my end, as well,” Ragnar promised, giving Beric a nod of agreements when the other voiced that it was nice to meet him. “I will see you soon, Beric.” The Viking spoke before he trudged through the shallows of the Totoka and moved past the …ex-Isle wolf to make his way to Stavanger Bay as he had originally set out to do.