Wolf RPG

the tirn paces through the myriad of colorful flora which in the midst of the sharp tang of blood that hangs in the air appears to falquan to be too cheerful, too colorful. an offer of false serenity and peace. he is unsettled ...by the maze of colors among a sea of emerald grasses, coarse hackles bristling as he drinks in the scents that litter the place. he recognizes two: @aurewen's, the heir to rhaesuial he was sworn to protect ( and clearly, was not doing a good job of ) and him. the huntsman. the others are all unknown, crisscrossing and confusing his trail.

fuck, he snarls. there were many problems here: largely that he wasn't able to tell whose blood he smelled on the air. perhaps it was a mixture ...or perhaps it was just one. fuck. he curses again, though it did little to loosen the knot of anger and worry that has become to gnaw at his stomach.

cursing at the air — or perhaps at those god-damned too bright, annoyingly cheerful flowers — wasn't finding aurëwen; and he knows, knows it deep in the marrow of his bones that it's going to be a long time before he returns to rhasesuial because he certainly can't go back to the aranussë with word of blood and their heiress's scent but nothing concrete. more importantly, he doesn't want to go back with that and if she needs his protection? well, leaving her wasn't an option. first — first, falquan reminds himself, he has to find her.

heavy footfalls draw his attention and the sentinel's head snaps to the beast that was, too, drawn to the spot with a secondary bristle of his hackles. haunting jack-o-lantern gaze studies the other male ...falquan was by no means a scrawny or short creature but this male was freakishly big, his pelage dark, filthy and matted; despite that the fact that this male's scent checks out — his wasn't one of the scents mixed with aurëwen's — there is something about him that falquan finds unsettling.

something tells falquan that he should be on his way: pick a scent trail and follow it ...but he'll only get one chance at this and if he chooses the wrong path it'll set him back and by the time he returns to this spot there is a very good chance that the scents will have faded entirely — or at least be far too faint for him to hope to follow. i'm looking for someone. deep baritone is gruff, a low rumble in his native tongue, unsure what language they used in this region.

Flesh wriggled on his back as his own hairs prepared to guard against this stranger's reaction. But he remained calm. A haunting calm before the storm so to speak, just laying dormant underneath in a hair trigger reaction. Aren't we all. Black digit twitched as he picked out the scents, trying to digest everything he could pick out from the conglomerate of perfumes that surrounded them.

Do you recognize one of these individuals? Or have scavengers united on the scene of a battle. It was likely these two would be following the same scent - and that just won't do. A wolf was such a small meal that sharing was not an option after one of them had their fill and the other would scavenge the scraps and go on hungry for another day.

It would be fight to first - or if he did recognize the scent, it was a fight for survival and this was a knight in shining armour, ready to defend the wounded. The brown brute smiled at the thought; if that was the case, this man was in more of a rush than Vengeance himself. A rush against time to follow the fresh trail before time snatches it away.

the tirn draws back in poorly veiled surprise as the goliath speaks in the tongue, though it is gone just as rapidly as it appears. falquan hadn't expected to be understood but notably it will make this exchange much easier — and shorter, he can't help but wish out of the simple desire to remove himself from the presence of this perceived perturbing individual. falquan does not bother to correct the matted and filthy goliath. he wasn't speaking of a mate — though certainly his devotion to the particular heiress in question could easily, if not unintentionally, blur that line to any third party observer. the less personal details he gives about aurëwen, the better; and if the stranger thought he was looking for a MIA mate then falquan wasn't about to change that.

not a scavenger. a short pause is given. i'm looking for one of the wolves whose scent i smell here, he corrects himself with a terse twitch of his lips; a ghostly echo of what could be considered a smirk but remains tell-tale that he isn't oblivious to the fact that something bad had befallen the wolves here. not particularly a smirking matter. a woman, specifically.

So it seems like they had a different plan for the injured one. Both males faced off in a battle of words, trying to crack the code of eachother's intentions. Slowly Vengeance was unraveling what this man was doing... and what he should do in response. Was this female worth the chase? A part of him believed to go after the scent was not worth it if this male was also going to follow tail. 

But if Vengeance found her first...

She must be important to you. He continued, careful not to say too much and keep his own ideas to himself. I didn't see anyone from where I came. he nudged the air behind him indicating the path he traveled to get here. What does she look like, perhaps I can escort you to her if I see her in my travels.

chin lifts slightly as the statement is posed: she must be important to you. maybe it's the other male's terribly unkempt appearance or perhaps it's something else entirely ...but falquan doesn't trust him. his weariness brings with it a reinforcement of stoniness and an unwillingness to give him information about aurëwen. she is. spoken simply, if not devotedly. he would kill for her ...he would die for her. that is the way of the mahtanë — they serve and protect the royal family whatever it takes.

he is already days behind the trail and it's clear that it's been crisscrossed with other interrupting scents. even so, if he could pick apart all the scents converging and leaving here there was a chance by the time he found the right trail it would be cold. the help would be appreciated ...would it have come from someone whom did not call himself a scavenger. i'll find her on my own. falquan rejects the offer with a rumbling timbre of finality. if she was the one injured ...well, falquan realizes that he might already be too late but he won't know until he finds her either way and while he lives under the assumption that she's still alive he will continue to protect her regardless of the miles between them.

Good luck then. With that said, he made his own way. Following... a scent. He wasn't about to take his time playing mind games with the male who was reasonably reluctant to share anything other than a few unhelpful words. If he were to find the injured individual then it would be a treat - otherwise, it would be a regular day like any other. Relatively uneventful...