Wolf RPG

The irritation was growing with the little bitch who hid within her military walls and had soldiers defending her. The sooner the Pakhan could get his paws on his wife to be, the sooner Ryzhov could get on with his regular duties. The loathed women, but he could say that he hated the healer that the Pakhan had claimed to be his own. He prowled along outside of the Gorge they had been patrolling and establishing. His job was a mix: look for recruits for the Bratstvo and to clear his head.

He didn't understand the fascination, but he was a loyal soldier and a loyal second and he would serve at the pleasure. He was following along a hunting trail, trusting that following a herd would lead him to wolves who might actually be of some use. Chasing down prey was much like chasing down a wolf in his own opinion... but perhaps he was alone in that. Sometimes, it felt like he was alone in everything, including his supposed brother and best friend who was too busy chasing after a woman to realize he didn't need one.

The hellhound moves closer inland, taking the occasional dip into the shallows whitefish river as he goes. He prefers to break up his scent when he travels every so often. Call him paranoid, but it’s worked for him so far. Anyone he’s come across hasn’t suspected him of being in a pack and he prefers to keep it that way. 

So with his pelt sticking up and many different directions and still damp from his most recent dip, he shakes himself off once more and continues on his way. Aimless wandering he calls it — to occupy his mind and allow him to know these lands better.

Only he’s distracted when he sees a figure up ahead. Bloody eyes zero in on them and his nostrils flare in an attempt to take in their scent on the breeze. They have size, but besides that he cannot tell their gender from this distance — seems Alduin’s the one up wind. He does smell one thing: the scent trail of potential prey. Perhaps they’re hunting. He thinks absentmindedly. 

He moves forward at a languid pace, clearly not trying to sneak up on them, but rather make his appearance well known. His stance is both comfortable, yet confident. Walking with a languid swagger, tail bobbing on his hip as he moves forward. His handsome, but scarred, face is settled in a light scowl, but that’s just his usual resting bitch face.

“Out hunting?” He asks in that rasping baritone — both gravelly and intimidating in its own way. Although it comes out mostly dry, perhaps with a touch of a teasing underline.

His irritated sulking along a herd trail had brought little result, at least until a young but fierce creature crossed his path. Scars littered his pelt to suggest his experience in conflict and Ryzhov’s eyes gleamed analytically as he came closer. The question came, a deep voice that brought a mere hum from the Russian as he weighed how he might respond. “Something of the sorts.” He responded, accent thickly carrying with the seriousness of his own mission lingering in his tone. The boy had promise.
 
He was clearly no stranger to conflict. “If you count hunting for recruits as hunting, then perhaps.” He mused once more, though truthfully the venture had been less about finding more men for Virion to boss around and more about getting away to clear his own head and level his own thoughts out before returning to be the good little soldier he was expected to be. His loyalty to his friend was unwavering, and he would not allow petty moments of discontent affect his loyalty in any way.
 
“And you? Were you following the game trail as well?” He posed once more, the analysis carrying over the scowl that Ryzhov could not decipher between discontent or general pissyness that he could appreciate out of a wolf. A wolf whose natural state was to smile could simply not be trusted.

Alduin has the stranger’s attention. While the hellhound eyes him down, he asks his previous question. Only to be met with a low hum before an actual response sounds out between them. Alduin notes the deep ness of the voice and the accent as well. Spotted auds shift forward to list more closely. He’s never heard an accent like that — this man must be a foreigner. The sound of his voice doesn’t grate on his ears though, but rather, it intrigues him. 

He mentions he’s trailing after new recruits, so Alduin’s first assumption isn't exactly wrong, but not totally right. That sentence makes the cursed boy wonder what pack he may be in, or if he is attempting to start his own. There’s possible information to gain here, but Alduin will not allow himself to pry too much…yet, at least. 

So Alduin too would only offer a hum in response to his comment about new recruits. That is when the man asks him a question,

And you? We’re you following the game trail as well?

Alduin’s massive head lifts some from his usual resting place even with bulking shoulders. He tilts his chin up in a way that seems like he may be contemplating his answer, but ultimately shakes his head in a soft no.

He does allow himself to stray closer to the other male. Stopping only a far few feet away and flaring his nostrils to gather the man’s scent. His face stays in that perpetual scowl, but it seems to lighten some due to potential amusement.

“No, I was not following your game trail.” He hums absentmindedly. “I was wandering.” He supplies uselessly.

Though he tilts his head to him then. “You are from a pack then? Searching for new recruits?” Alduin thinks about making himself seem interested about possibly joining, but the groveling can wait. That’s not really his style anyway.

He knew that his Pakhan did not care for conversation and questions… that was where Ryzhov came in. He handled the information gathering, the words that could bring more and more secrets from others’ maws. His job was to thoroughly vet those who might be brought forth for judgement and he took pride in his work. It was a hunt indeed. The other man approached, a uncomfortable thumping of his heart bringing him to simply freeze in place. He did not understand it, and he did not have time to consider what it could possibly mean in a situation like this.
 
He was wandering. “Wandering somewhere in particular?” He posed again, his own curiosity piqued by the other as he recalled something his father had once told him: wandering was a powerful tool. He had thought it might make another a fool, but now as he sought out recruits he understood it had it’s merits as well. Perhaps his old man had not been as simple-minded as he had originally thought.
 
The question was one he had a trained response to, but something stayed his tongue in that moment. “Not a pack.” He stated simply. In his mind, packs had always been fraught with errors. “An army.” He stated again, not wishing to give away too much. “Looking for strong men who aren’t afraid to sink their teeth into their brethren, and who aren’t afraid to put a bitch in her place. There is a place near here my commander wishes to take, a bride he wishes to reclaim from a pack who refuses to hand her over. I am seeking recruits for a mission.”

The agouti man stops moving when Alduin gets closer. Which isn’t an odd reaction with a stranger like him — especially with his own daunting appearance. Even though their interaction has been civil so far, no one should trust a stranger. At least that’s what Alduin thinks. But the cursed boy shows nothing but comfortable confidence — if only because he knows of his own prowess in battle. He’s already sized the man up and never has his guard down despite looking moderately lax about their interaction, so he’s always ready for a fight. 

Still, from this distance, Alduin can see him better. Not that he couldn’t before, he can just see the finer details now. He can see the muscle concealed beneath a thick coat and those eyes. Oh, they’re quite pretty. A two toned gaze of light blue and soft green, much different from the man’s rugged appearance. Alduin finds himself staring, making easy, confident eye contact as the other male speaks once more. 

Wandering somewhere in particular? He asks. 

Once more Alduin shakes his head. “No. I wander to ease my mind.” He supplies simply.

The man continues though, answering Alduin’s next question.

Not a pack. An army. 

At those words Alduin can’t help but huff out a breath through his nose. It’s a noise that one could consider a laugh, but with much less effort put into it. His bloody eyes hold a touch of amused interest and his brows, that were casually furrowed before, rise a touch.

“Oh?” His deep voice drawls, but he listens to him continue.

The stranger’s next words have Alduin reluctantly interested — genuinely interested. What type of group is forming? A bloodthirsty one? A possible ally for Blackwater? Perhaps; perhaps not. He searches for those who are strong willed and ready to fight. Ready to put a bitch in her place too. At that Alduin can’t help the hardly there, upwards tug of his lips that shows. It’s quick though, he doesn’t let it linger. And to make it even more interesting there is not a only a bride his commander wishes to claim, but a land — a place. How interesting.

It would probably be obvious that Alduin is interested in what he has to say. The dark wolf hums low in his throat, a deep drawn out sound. So he offers his two cents,

“What land? And who does your commander wish to reclaim. I might be able to help you.” He asks in an attempt to get information. But one cannot gain information without giving some of his own. “I live on the northern coast of the beach. Perhaps I will know.”

The stranger carried this confidence about him that Ryzhov felt mirrored his own. A prowess he rarely saw in others, and even more seldom recognized. He would never admit it aloud, seeing any form of compliment to another as a weakness…
 
Wandering to ease one’s mind? He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard of such a tactic though the world knew he could sorely use tactics to ease his own mind. It had been troubled as of late, ever since the Pakhan had given up their places in the Trail as alpha and beta to chase after some ass that turned him away. He understood revenge, but to uproot a life over a woman? He still lacked that understanding even if he obeyed and followed.
 
He caught the tone, the brief curving of his lips before the questions fell. “There is a canyon not far from here to the east… my leader went to scout it out but he was outed by the woman in question and they attacked. We plan to raise our own lands and burn it to the ground.” The Pakhan would not be denied. Northern coast of the beach. “The beach? We are far inland, which means you are far from home.”

The second the other male starts talking again, Alduin’s eyes light up with toxic familiarity.

The canyon. His old homeland. The land the Saints coveted and occupied when he was a pup. He wanted to rule that land, but those bastards…the ones there now…

A sour expression overcomes his face, one of hatred and shameless anger. One side of his scared lips raises to show dangerous teeth in a scowling snarl.

“The canyon used to be my homeland when my father’s pack was still full with warriors.” He mentions in a sneer. 

Only his eyes zero in on the other man. Determination settling there. “I would like to help you spill their blood.” He purrs venomously. “I would thrive to see their bones become one with the canyon. How many warriors do you have that can fight?” He asks, immediately going into war strategy mode.

There was interest. He listened as he explained how the canyon had been his homeland and Ryzhov hummed, saving the information to report back to the Pakhan… He offered help… he offered assistance in their plot to drive the military pack out. His only interest was the girl, getting the little bitch back. At the question of numbers, there was a soft sigh. He would never betray his friend, nor the assumed state of his condition that Ryzhov had slowly been leaning into.
 
“Right now we are a part of three… we have just begun recruitment efforts.” He explained, not wanting to sound weak… merely, just beginning this enterprise. There was the roman who served as a new recruit, his commander, and himself but that was all. “Do you have numbers?” He posed back, wondering though he caught no scents on the other man, if he knew of friends who could help.