Wolf RPG

under that smothering canopy where first the shadow had broken from the trappings of mortality, where the malformed and bloodied remnants of a child's devotion to its maker had begun to crumble away, that same creature of void and blue hellfire emerged from beyond the veil. wreathed in spirit-whispers and siren-song of the otherworld, the shadow stepped from the realm of malevolent magick and infinite mystery back into the land of all that is mortal and forsaken by the gods. a daunting journey...



yet necessary, for the shadow had left parts of herself behind in order to answer the call from beyond. her war reaper, her ash warrior, abandoned! the shadow might have wept to think of him alone, were they a softer breed of wolf. but the last true child of merrick and astara would never weep, never lift her muzzle to the heavens and cry out for what was lost.

the shadow searched in silence for her ash warrior, while behind her the soft susurration of fluttering wings overlaid the quiet of the forest; a constant reminder of her true anchor to mortality.

to the forest of the neverwinter, ingram returns. day after day. drawn to the shade of the trees and soothed by flatlands that did not remind him of the rocky crevices he committed matricide upon. he was not ashamed of it; no, but he was forever altered by it. the rending of flesh and snapping of bones of his own lifegiver left their mark upon his soul as well as the physical scars upon his flesh. since the war, ursus was small; barely clinging to existence.

it serves to remind ingram that perhaps he should not venture every day ...but it does not stop him.

movement catches his gaze; and for a moment he stills the flutter of his heart, not to embarrass himself again by thinking he sees his shadow where she is not. once, that had pierced through his heart like a poisonous arrow.

a surly rumble begins in his chest, not interested in small talk or humiliating himself with false but nagging hope —

the rumble breaks off before it truly breaches his throat; crumbling as he realizes that it is her; more lovely and ethereal than his memory was capable of replicating. a low croon leaves ingram's lips as he draws nearer to her; absent words to put to the blooming he feels within his chest.

though well attuned to the realm of fae and fel, the shadow held no notion of exerting such will over flesh and blood. a spirit might be summoned from the aether, but a body could not be dragged across the earth through sheer force of will. thus, she was given pause when the dim scene abruptly shifted to life as if pulled upright on puppet strings, the stage set and ready for the ash warrior's spotlit entrance.

the shadow glimpsed him through the trees at first, the very picture of the time-worn raw stone of a roman emperor carved to last an eternity. leaves rustled above, and the dim sunlight shifted and scattered bright dappling to illuminate new places. the shadow stilled. a deep rumble bled into the space between them for half a heartbeat, then broke into a croon, and the shadow knew they would be welcomed once again. she surged into his personal space like a wave breaking against the shore, all cat-quick nips and purling, throaty vocalizations, bestowing her violent affections on him with near-reverent precision.

then she drew back as if tethered by some invisible force. spirit-whispers, beckoning;

spirits call, the shadow told the war reaper, hushed. to find ursus, and then to go far, where land ends. to find ursus reverberated through the air, haunting. the spirits called.

whatever anger or betrayal or any other acidic feeling ingram had felt during her initial disappearance was gone — had been gone. in truth, it had been some sort of manifestation of self hatred, thinking that he had deserved her leaving; that the spirits of the commanders ( though he tried so very hard not to put stock into such beliefs ) had been punishing him for embracing fragheda and committing matricide.

it melts away as she rushes at him, greeting him with nips and purling. i missed you. ingram admits in a breathless murmur of confession; in the midst of her peppered violent affections. a moment of bare vulnerability, perhaps, but he means it and makes no move to take the words back even when she drew back.

for a wild moment; he thinks it was his confession, his heart beat thrumming erratically within its confines of flesh and bone. as if it were trying to break free of its prison of his chest. only to slow and calm at her words ...even if he did not entirely follow.

she mentions ursus and ingram is briefly caught off guard, surprise coloring his expression before sloppily pieces of puzzle are put together. she must know ursus because perhaps she is from ursus. or at least, knew of them. i will take you to ursus, ingram tells her; finding the irony in the fact that he'd chosen a pack that was tied to her in some way or another in the throes of his desperation and the archaic tug of instincts drawing him to find a pack during the coming months of hoarfrost and cold.

i recently joined with them. he admits, though surely their scent lingers upon his coat. he has not been gone for long nor far enough for much ( if any ) of it to fade. but his loyalty was to her and if he could help it, he would not be parted from her again. i will take you to ursus and then i will follow you... to where the land ends. though to him it is cryptic and makes little sense; but that did not matter.

the shadow listened to her war reaper as carefully as any spirit-whispers, and found the wonders of mortality in his words. intrigued and strengthened in her resolve, the voidsent creature studied her companion as she contemplated her response. thoughts of merrick evoked only pity now, for his night pearl had ventured beyond the veil and had seen his bear worship for the farce it always was.

the god had many faces; hunger was only one, and to worship only one aspect of creation was to be misled.

my father, bear-priest. merrick, the shadow turned with a gesture to follow, intending to lead her ash warrior toward the mountain of the bear cultists. he is misled. he see god in face of the bear, but god have many faces. demand many tribute; tribute in blood, in secrets, in passion, in magic.

merrick betray me. woman come to mountain; he say: family. i say: trespasser, abandoner. i leave ursus, find faces of unnamed god, she explained patiently in her odd halting speech, by far the most words to leave her mouth at one time. faces of god are hidden in shadow of bear mountain. i come to show light to blind bear-priest. he will not see. we leave alone, when moon leaves sky again, to where land ends. to see faces of god. a rough-hewn plan, riddled with little holes where mortal events might twist and churn and force the pair to plan anew, for it was a plan passed down through the will of the god of many faces — and the unnamed god may rule the earth in absolution, but never the hearts of mortals. mortals must always choose, whether it be to follow or to fight.

her past comes spilling out from betwixt her lips then, or of what she was choosing to share of it. ingram is quiet; silent as she weaves her tale for him, exposing the complicated threads that she had once held so close. threads of who she really was that he had never pried into nor asked for. he treasures each piece of it; though the news that merrick betrayed her caused the guard hairs along his nape to bristle.

if he'd have known ...

but he hadn't known and being apart of them would allow him to take her to them.

a thin silver lining.

where does the land end? ingram inquires curiously, unsure of whether it was a place or a metaphor. he struggles to comprehend what a god of multiple faces looks like — or what it might want.

ingram draws in a breath then, considering the war, and if merrick was her father than surely the queen of ursus had to have been her mother. he considers whether it was his place to tell her, or if by not telling her while he knew it would be a betrayal — and that thought brings a pang of pain to his chest.

there is something you should know, if you don't already, ingram begins, taking a small breath. he is unsure how to piece it together. shortly after i joined there was a war between ursus and the saints. war was being generous, really; and in the end what was left of the saints had escaped with their lives. i was told that the saints killed the queen of ursus. he watches intently for her reaction, then; unsure how she would take the news.

where does the land end? her ash warrior echoed the question that had haunted her since her return from the other world. the shadow's gait slowed, hesitant while her heart beat in her ears. he continued to speak. astara, felled; bested by an enemy unknown to the shadow. ah, the shadow acknowledged, thoughtful. i see her in otherworld, now.

as if speaking of a matter no more pressing than the weather, the void-priest continued. in otherworld, i see end of land. far away from mountains. i will lead us there. the shadow looked to him. then beyond.

though ingram was unsure, as he falls into step a bit behind but beside her, how she would take the news he feels relief that it's not anger or sorrow ...just a sort of calm acceptance and a mention of seeing her in 'the other world'. though this plays across his mind as curious he does not question. it is, for he is not spoken to by the god ( or any god, really ) and thus not being a speaker for any sort of deity's words, not for him to understand.

for a prickling second, he considers asking her if she sees praimfaya but suspects that she would not. the spirit of the commander was reincarnated ...it did not linger in the otherworld.

to her words, ingram offers a small noise of acceptance. he does not pretend to fully understand because he does not; and is content to think that it is not for him to understand. i saw a bear god, recently, he speaks of his experience, unable to help a soft shiver as it slithers down my spine. she was covered in the blood of her recent kill and ...she let me live. after rejecting his antler offering ( of which he was secretly glad for, admittedly ). until then ...i hadn't really believed in gods. at least, not in the same sense, perhaps.

a soft hum rumbled in the shadow's throat at her companion's confession. bear is face of hunger, she told him, thinking of the mountain, the cave of crystals. devourer of all. we kill in tribute, so we are not devoured. the way of ursus, primitive and incomplete but full of wisdom for all that it lacked. the prophet would build on their ways, paying tribute to each face of the god. balance must be kept in the world of spirits.

bear is the face of hunger.

to ingram, this makes perfect sense: that the face of hunger would also be the bringer of death. wanlida, ingram gives name to the bear face, repeating it to his shadow as he had spoken it to the bear. it was from his mother's tongue ...but it resounds so deeply within him that he does not mind reciting it. it is a worthy title, after all.

bringer of death. he offers the translation in a quiet rumble after a short pause.

which brought to his attention the fact that he had not informed her of his name change. it was a small thing ( and in truth, she could call him anything she so desired and he would answer so long as he knew she called him ) but it felt important.

though he'd taken his grandfather's name as his, to best sever whatever that was left of praimfaya from him ...it sit right upon his shoulders, gliding off of his tongue. i go by ingram now. though worripa fit him, he did not wish to go by that which the commander had called him.

wanlida. bringer of death. the words sent a thrill of dark rippling energy through the shadow, like fae sparks from beyond the veil. he understood, then.

when the shadow's companion spoke next, it was to name himself anew. ingram, the voidsent echoed, then: grim. and so he was dubbed with a name of the prophet's own choosing, a tribute to the intimacy they shared through the feral, oft-silent bond between them.

his scarred lips twitch at the gift of the nickname she crowns him with, letting it drift languidly around inside his mind. grim. though it was not a treasure of the physical kind, he finds that it is much more priceless to him; held close to his dark heart which flutters in his chest.

i like it. he says, after a few more moments of relishing in it. what should i call you? he hadn't asked her before, if she had a name or a title or ...anything of the sort. he hadn't needed too but he found that desperately ( perhaps a bit foolishly in his affection for her ) he wanted something to call her.

whether it was something only meant for him to call her, or something general.

the shadow crooned their pleasure softly as grim approved the name they had chosen for him. the sound faded into silence while the ash warrior turned questioning. a contemplative pause followed.

no name, after long moments, the shadow broke her silence, falling back to linger nearer to ingram as they walked. you choose. only for us. teeth caught affectionately in ashen fur, preening.

ingram relishes in her croon; listening to her words as she says that she has no name. prepared to accept that as an answer, shock courses through him when she continues, asking him to choose something for her. his breath catches in his throat as he feels her teeth preen at his fur; a low rumble of affection bubbling from within his chest.

the honor, the pressure ...

it had to be perfect.

and suddenly, his mind ( never meant for words anyway ), blanks.

he thinks for a moment, sorting thru words until one sticks out from all the others; commanding.

trikova. he tells her decisively. it means shadow. perhaps it was not as menacing as wanlida but it was powerful in its own way, encompassing how he saw her: beautiful and mysterious and powerful.

silence, as ingram takes in the shadow's words.

trikova.

sharp-edged and lovely, a word of a different make than those the shadow was raised on. the feel of it was foreign and enticing. shadow, she was dubbed once again, this time meant only for he who walked at her side.

it was perfect.

trikova snaked around her companion, mingling her fur with his and entwining their scents for the long journey ahead.