Wolf RPG

The overweight white brute was getting his paws under him, exploring the territory finding in’s and outs. In his journeys back and forth between where ever and the Gaia’s Alter he had found a warren of rabbits. Rather then stalk and hunt them, Vein lay outside their warren for over a day staying stubbornly still, his muscles aching but that was a pain he was used to. Why kill prey when it could come to him, in time and present itself. Patiently he waited eyes barely open so that he was one with the snow and landscape and he was eventually rewarded, almost a day after his vigil started, when finally a young hare wandered out and passed by to close.

The beast lunged forward despite angry stiff muscles and snapped up the youngling, though he did not kill it rather he held it by the chest and front legs leaving it’s head and back legs free. He did not need its death, not yet.

The squeals of the frightened creature sang to the beast deep within his soul, he simply trotted away from the den sparing all the rest of the warren the fate of this one. The hare fought for it’s life slashing it’s back legs at the underside of his jaw flailing desperately hoping to be dropped. Despite blood flowing from the underside of his chin the shaman did not release his treasure. He barely flinched with each desperate slash with the dagger’s the hare called claws.

Each paw step was measured as it brought him to a path that would soon become a well worn one. A small clearing one with a large flat rock in the very centre, there were drag marks providing the stone was not there by nature’s design but rather painstakingly moved and shoved. Each inch carefully measured making sure the flat makeshift rock alter was in the very centre the very heart of this small clearing and even some brush had been chewed up and removed making the clearing roughly circular.

The hare’s moments were numbered, but in Vein’s eyes this small creature would be offering it’s essence to a greater purpose. The squealing had not subsided indeed as the male stopped before the flat clean rock the young hare seemed to sense something and it’s fear became palpable, it slashed out with renewed effort. With a quick flick of his head and the hares own frantic flailing it gave a guttural moan as it’s spine snapped. It lived but it would never hop again.

Vein smirked it was as if the gods were aiding him, they wanted this sacrifice enough to offer a hand. He set the creature on the ground, not yet upon the alter. Blood dripped from his chin and waste not want not.

He lay down before the alter and pressed his chin to it's surface and offered a rich melodic chant in a foreign tongue, never moving his chin from the rock allowing his blood to pool there. After a few moments he stood, placed a paw upon the blood and smoothed it across the surface moving his paw along the top of the rock over and over again until it had a light sheen of blood across the entire surface.

The White High Priest then stood and touched his nose to the centre of the rock and smoothed his tongue along its surface and if kissing a long lost lover, tasting his own blood. He stepped back blood upon his tongue, lips and nares, Vein lifted his head and crooned to the skies. “Here me, take this gift in recognition.”


It was now that he took up the hare it was barely breathing but it was alive, he lay it upon the lower half of rock and flipped it upon it's back, the thing groaned. Vein stood above it paws on either side of it’s head, he leaned down and carefully bit into it's chest tearing open it’s chest, one snip and the bones of it’s ribs were gone and the shaman carefully pulled the still beating heart from the hare and lay it in the very centre of the rock where he had licked away his blood, the Hare’s blood flowed out upon the rock, mixing with the wolf blood. The bodiless heart still beat weakly a few more times before stilling, it’s last beat offered to the gods. It’s life, it’s blood, it’s essence and soul all being carried to the gods bosom. Vein gave a low and throaty howl calling to the gods to take his offering as it was offered.

The once-druid had been toiling in the woods nearby, unwittingly close to the spiritualist's temple fashioned of macabre intentions, searching for a clearing that might be suitable for a garden once the weather warmed permanently. At first, there hadn't been much to hear over the soft hum of the forest -- birds chirping, a woodpecker tapping away at a tree, a buck lowing somewhere far in the distance -- but she must have been closer than either of them realized for she heard distinctly the odd little strangled noise that would be the hare's last utterance. It was misplaced enough to concern her, wispy auds perking alertly as she followed the noise -- glimpsing red and white through the thinning foliage as her heart suddenly grew heavy with a nauseating foreboding. 

The deep, reverent timbres of Vein's howl rent the air as Aerin peeked through the cover of browned undergrowth -- silver eyes wide with horror and dark fascination. What could he possibly be doing -- was this one of his strange healing methods, like the tea? 

Something in her wanted to step forward, to ask him her questions again and puzzle out exactly what was going on. But the other part, the predominant part, kept her hunkered in the snow -- a little scared to see her newfound friend like this, ritualistically slathered in the lifeblood of an innocent creature. 

Kynareth’s in the same boat as Aerin. Minding his own business and floating about the territory until he sees a large form of white pass by a few meters ahead of him. At first he mistakes Vein for Nyra, but quickly realizes that she never allows her fur to become so soiled. Then his train of thought is easily offering the image of Vein into his mind. 

Ah. Yes it’s definitely him. He thinks absentmindedly.

He’s quick to follow, yet he soon realizes he probably shouldn’t have. He only stands with curiosity on his face as he watches him linger by a flat rock with a poor baby rabbit in his maw. Death doesn’t bother him unless he cares about the individual, so watching him crack this poor creatures spine in half doesn’t cause him to be surprised. What does strike shock into him is when Vein himself stands atop the alter and seems to be dissecting it. Ripping away its soft fur and opening up its chest with surgical like precision. It’s impressive and Kynareth’s mesmerized. 

Soon enough the Grandmaster is realizing that this is a sacrifice. He smiles horribly. He’s always found other wolves religions interesting, especially when it involves something as fucked up as a live sacrifice. It makes him wonder why he doesn’t believe in something like that.

Finally though, Vein’s ritual seems to end with a booming howl that cascades over the plains of snow. Whipping through the trees and echoing off the mountain ranges. It’s beautiful and Kynareth finds the fact that the man is stained in blood even better. 

He finally lets himself be known. Silently sauntering into view with a smile across his handsome face. “That was quite the show, darling. I’m impressed. Care to elaborate?” He asks, genuinely wondering why he did so.

Vein was oblivious to Aerin hunkered down in the snow, unable to even scent her over the smell of the blood he had been so intimate with. 

His voice quieted the forest around him in it’s suddenness, not even a bird chirped for a few moments. However the quiet did not last long as a warm voice filtered in the air. He turned with a genuine smile on his maw, “Greetings Mi’Lord” He lowered his head in respect, a drop of blood sliding from his chin and dropped upon the ground.

He heard the pet name the grandmaster doled upon him, he had never even considered a male as anything other then… well another wolf. The only sign he was concerned about the pet name was a slight cock of his left ear, He’d put a pin in those thoughts for later.

Vein turned and admired the alter for a moment and then picked up the rabbits now heartless body and set it at Kynareth’s paws “No need to waste the body if you’d like a meal” Vein licked his lips and stood up, Normally as high priest he’d eat the remains, however this was the wolf whom shared his pack and home with him. And this was quite the high honour Vein was bestowing upon him

He cleared his throat, “I was offering the gods a worthy sacrifice for guiding me to a worthy place to serve them from.”

Vein looked around the circular clearing, he’d clean it up more come spring the spring melt. “In the spring if we manage to bring a live elk or deer fawn here and make a Proper offering to the gods, A blessed hunting season would be of the gods making.” Vein’s emphasis was on the word Proper, He’d need those hot springs to properly ferment a drink for the ritual, he doubted that the entire pack would want to paint themselves in the blood of sacrifice as it yet lived, then sacrifice the heart to the gods alter. Only then to drink and eat the flesh until nothing remained but for the heart and bones; ending in song and praise, the singing made easier by the drinking of course.

Vein realized he had been standing there admiring the alter and the cooling heart for far to long and cleared his throat “I did not commune with the gods today, only offered my thanks and praise.” He dropped his tail and his posture dropped just a little like a petulant pup that had wished to do more.

Rajhan must have trained her well, in the life where she was Hui; neither Grandmaster nor his disciple seem to have noticed her presence. The once-spy remains hunkered in the cold of the drifts beneath her for a few moments longer, listening raptly as Vein spoke, a sudden understanding dawning on her as he uttered reverent words of gods and offerings -- reminding her of a life she wanted desperately to leave behind, when she was Awen of the Fen. But these were like no gods her gentle, peace-keeping druids had spoken of. 

After a time, the ghost straightened -- small head peeping up over the brown stalks, wispy auds caught by the wind as they cupped in Vein's direction. Her moonstones lifted to Kynareth's face for a moment and she flashed him a quick, impish grin before drifting toward the makeshift altar and the duo of giants before her, scraggly underbrush catching at her ivory strands as she emerged from her hiding spot. Her ears flattened slightly as she circled around to Vein's side, head lowering instinctively as if abashed at eavesdropping. Her thin tail smacked against the ground conciliatingly twice as she sat next to the bloodstained shaman, frowning fretfully as she peered up at the ruby staining his chin. "Ye are 'urt," the Saluki remarked softly. 

Her movements suggested timorousness as she reached up briefly to lap at the wound with the meticulous method of a healer in spite of Kyn's presence, which made her somewhat shy of such a move even if it was meant purely to staunch the bloodflow of Vein's wound. This was only if the Underling allowed her to do so, of course -- perhaps there was some aspect of the ritual that made Vein's blood sacred too, and she might offend him for doing so. If stopped, the halfling would merely bump her pale crown against the man's shoulder in apology before settling back into her original spot. 

"Vhat vill ye do vith ze fawn?" The midwife questioned of him then, head cocking curiously as the unreadable gleam of her dagger-steel gaze raised to his own citrine eyes searchingly.

Kynareth preens at the title that’s hardly used in him. It’s not necessary, for he’s not a stickler for titles or the propriety of them. He’s rather feel like a friend to his pack mates than a warlord that demands them call him this and that. Still, he lets it soak in as he nods back to the other giant. 

Then he’s graciously offering his freshly sacrificed rabbit to him and Kynareth smiles. It’s got a bit of mirth in it, as do his eyes as he brings a large paw to his chest in faux surprise. 

“For me?” He chirps in question. “I’d be honored. Thank you.” He says then, a bit more serious, hoping not to offend him by joking around such a sacred thing for the other man.

His smirk grows further with pride. “I’m glad you find this place worthy of worship. I’m happy to have you here. Giving us good luck with your relationship with the gods and such.” 

Then he finds himself perking up at the mention of a real offering to the gods and he nods in an almost excited manner. “I would love to help you with such a feat. Do I get to witness you rip an entire deers heart out? If so, count me in.” He chuckles. “I’m sure your gods would appreciate it.” He’s offering softly at the end before movement out of the corner of his eyes catches his attention.

Eyes flick over quickly and he’s smiling for a while different reason now, happy to see the smaller wolf-dog. “How nice of you to join us, darling.” He greets softly. Only watching with a forming smirk as he moves to tentacle lick the blood from the others maw. It doesn’t bother him, rather his disgusting self finds it almost appealing — attractive. 

The wispy woman asks a question and Kyn desires to hear the answer to it as well. So he turns his gaze back to pale behemoth across from him silently.

Vein’s gaze was upon the grandmaster and he opened his maw to respond but his gaze fell upon movement from behind them. His jaws closed and he stiffened slightly; but completely relaxed as his eyes fell upon the vision before him, Catching every movement almost becoming jealous of the brush that touched her so easily. The large brutes expression softening with a warm smile which only grew as she came closer to him. He warmed with joy and could not help the subtle sway of his tail that matched her own. 
 
He opened his maw to assure her he was fine and that the wounds were not so deep as to need attention, that and perhaps the gods might enjoy using his blood to continue to sanctify this space. But no words came forth only a small encouraging groan, as her tongue caressed his chin, His maw closed ever so slowly and then his eyes. His head lowered slowly and his chin tilted to allow her better access to him. She could have what even part of him she wanted, he felt himself wrapping around her little toe as he remained still, until she was satisfied with her ministrations. His heavy lidded eyes opening slowly as her voice touched his ears, he drew in a breath and pulled himself and cleared his throat as he looked upon the grandmaster whom he had almost forgotten was even there.

He chuckled softly enjoying the enthusiasm of his leader. He was going to like it here if the wolves were so accepting but still worried after Aerin would she think less of him? He realized though, then and there, he would not and could not change, he fervently hoped she’d be as inquisitive about the gods and she was about tea’s or healing methods. Would she become his acolyte? Suddenly the thought of her painted in blood and helping to paint him surged forward into his minds eye, He clamped down on his fantasy before his body began to react or his scent change to something else more masculine.

His voice was a rich rumble as he delved further into the ritual, loosing himself into the words as any good sycophant might “In this ritual, we are showing the gods our devotion to their cause, and to worshipping them in ways to further build their powers, In showing them that should they provide good hunting for us, we will provide good offerings for them,

It is a desirable relationship on both ends as when they win so do we. Our strength becomes their strength as their strength makes us unstoppable.”
Vein sighed almost feverishly “The gods desire blood; as blood is life and in it's sacrifice is the way to show them true devotion.” He was loathe to further explain the offering as his gaze fell to Aerin but he looked to his grandmaster again and he had asked so Vein had no choice but to elaborate

“On springs solstice when the veil between us and gods is the thinnest so that they make drink in our efforts to appease them most readily.

The gods most sacred offering as shown to me by them is to take an young animal, the stronger then better and hold it upon the alter, Each wolf would then need to approach the alter and also bleed, just a bit, into an elder elk skull prepared ahead of time to be able to contain the riches of the gods,

As they bleed into the prepared vessel they would be painted with the blood of the sacrifice upon their face and any where else the wolf giving their offering desires, as long as their blood is flowing into the vessel they can received the blood of the sacrifice. Once all have given and received, the wolves will drink a strong prepared brew, then sacrifice is placed below the alter and all must help the swiftly open it’s body the heart must be removed reverently and placed while it still beats into the gods vessel and then the gods may drink!

As they drink so do we and then we feast, but not a scrap must be left, The sacrificed body must be eaten in entirety, and only then if there is not enough to feed all, may more plenty be brought in. Wolves must eat and drink and sing to the gods. They must ‘celebrate’ in all the gods names, Until the sun rises and bathes the earth in the gods glory.” Vein grinned to Kynareth and winked, attempting to convey the debauchery and good spirits that the gods expected of their celebrations. Then he clarified, “The drink helps wolves let loose, for the gods want a true celebration in their honor.” 

He made his expression neutral as she glanced at Aerin hoping to read more from her, he was unsure what she'd think of him now, and for the first time in his life he might actually care what a wolf thought of him

The halfling was quick learning to expect the vivid -- and often extraordinary -- weaving of words that would spill from Vein's maw at regular intervals; the more he spoke, the more the halfling became astonished with him. This tale was not one of star-worms and warm brews, however, but something darker and primordial. Kynareth seems in agreement but the pale girl's gaze falls to the ground for a moment as she listens to the sordid details.

A fawn -- crippled likely and kept alive for such purposes -- would be brought to the bloodied altar. It would be bled and have its beating heart torn from its chest before being eaten by the Saints. 

She processed these facts slowly, knowing there would be some who did not find the idea favorable. Aerin herself, who had been captured and tortured before in a similar manner, could not deny that she felt some measure of pity for the creature -- all the more distraught that it was a youngling they would be sacrificing. But in the end, it was prey. She had eaten fawn before. Nor was it wasteful; Vein had said they ate every bit afterward. 

It was the unnecessary cruelty that bothered the gentle once-druid most but these were not a gentle people. And neither was Aerin; she had outgrown the slave-girl who lived on hope and prayed to stars. The world had never shown her kindness or mercy. But she had known useless and senseless cruelty far too many times -- the girl of many names had come to accept that cruelty, suffering, was the way of the world. Vein's gods seemed to understand this, to feed from it even from the way he spoke. If the price of their favor was cruelty, as was often the cost of power, then it was better to give a fawn than one of their own. Such drastic measures were not unheard of amongst the most occult and disturbed of sects. 

Her gaze rose again, cheeks flushing beneath a cover of pale fur as she caught the sly look and the wink he offered Kynareth, wondering if he meant what she thought. For now, she remained quiet -- allowing their Grandmaster to question the other Specialist -- as she mulled over what she had learned. When argent-gilded gaze caught the gold veneer of Vein's, she thought she glimpsed a glimmer of apprehension in his sunlit orbs. Her lips curled faintly at the corners, offering him an unsettled smile. It's okay. She was a little uncertain, as it was vastly unfamiliar to her and would require her to step far out of her comfort zones, but the healer was intrigued to say the least.