Wolf RPG

Amalia was fresh inducted into a new pack, she had a new family, she couldn't help but worry after her own. Her mother and father, siblings were they all okay? She certainly hoped so. She was happy with those she had chosen to follow. Their children were absolutely precious and made her smile to herself at least twenty-times a day. 

However, on this mid-afternoon she found herself exploring as they walked and journeyed together. She stopped to roll among the emerald green of the tall grass. Dust flying up around her as she frolicked around. She could hear the sea, it was a new image for her. She had never been to the sea before, and it was fascinating. Loud and cacophonous, but also gentle and soulful. It reminded her of warring entities, trying to be both gentle and hard.

She lowered herself to her belly and slowly crawled towards the edge to stare down. Birds wheeled and cawed at each other above her head, and flew across the ocean. Occasionally a spurt of air would go into the air, from deep beneath the recesses of the waves. She caught herself slowing her breathing, rhythmically changing it to the ebb and flow of the tide. All she could think was. What it must be like to fly.

though the dreadfather is loathe to part from the islands that their nightwife has claimed as her home; the lands thick with voidmagicks that appease the worst of them, the yearning for blood, for secrets to bring to her is unparalleled.

a sacrifice was required: and soon.

but for now, they hope to sate the yearning with knowledge to present to their nightwife.

a shadow upon the bluffs draws the icy sting of their seaglass gaze and they make his their towards the stranger with a swagger not present in their step before the summoning.

it is dangerous, warns the dreadfather over the relentless beat of the waves against the rocks. to be on these buffs. the rocks were slippery with seawater and bird droppings. they stay down from her, though the voidwalker does not fear the waves or the wicked promise of death ( or the very least pain ) whispering upon the sea breeze.

Amalia was there, but not. Her mind was on far reaching things. The birds that flew, the creatures that swam under water. She couldn't see them all, but they seemed frightening. The unknown and all that. However, it held a sense of fascination and wonderment as well. She couldn't help, but yearn to know a bit of what was under there.

A voice curled around her, soft and achingly beautiful. She turned her head with a start and stared at the shadow kissed wolf, cloaked in icicle fur and couldn't help but stare for a moment. His coat was beautiful. It reminded her of a star lit night and those were her favorite kind of nights. She wagged her tail as he moved closer.

Amalia raised a playful eyebrow. "I'm aware, but it is beautiful isn't it. An innate beauty in the unknown and dangerous?"

She looked back to the sea, her eyebrows drawn together. "I've never seen the sea." 

the dreadfather draws in a breath, seaglass gaze slides to the roiling sea; a dark, churning abyss, leaving her to linger in their peripheral vision momentarily. a soft noncommittal noise leaves them, lost to the crash of the sea and splash of the spray as it slams down against the earth.

of course the sea is beautiful, the dreadfather wants to say; because in its dark and dangerous beauty they is reminded of their nightwife. of the void that they had called home for ...so very long.

a small, wily smile tugs at the corners of their lips at her poetic words of innate beauty in the unknown and dangerous. but danger is not unknown to them. they are achingly and intimately familiar with every dark crevice: every monster ...because they've been that very monster. in some form or another.

slowly, the dreadfather's gaze moves back to her where it lingers. it is not truly unknown, the dreadfather speaks, breaking their silence. death is the only thing that awaits in those waves. even those lucky enough to survive the fall, to survive the merciless tossing and churning of the waves ...they did not return the same. death left it's mark on everything.

a pause is given. i had not either. not until my wife chose it for our home. well, not the 'sea' specifically, but as they were surrounded by it on their isle home they might as well consider themselves 'seawolves' all the same.

Amalia sat in quiet study as the other wolf too looked out over the sea. His eyes matched it, though she tried not to start at them. She didn't wish to cause him unrest or get attacked and tossed from the cliffs. That wouldn't be a good day.

Amalia was of the opinion it was beautiful in it's artist waves. The way it touched the shore and flowed back out. The way creatures made it's home there. How it churned at times, but then too would stay calm. And the color, it was beautiful.

Amalia had never been around anything too dark. Her own life had been sheltered, idyllic even if you will. She knew that monsters lurked there, but to her they were stories, nightmares. Things parents told them to keep them behaving. They had never brushed against her. Even this wolf she was oblivious to the potential trouble they could wrought.

This is true. My mother used to speak to me of creatures beneath the waves that could pull you under. That the tide could take your footpaws and drown you.

She finally turned her gaze to his face a small smile around her muzzle. She sounds smart. I don't live here, I am just visiting. Though I think I will like to return to visit. It is calming here. Despite the danger.

a soft noise of amusement leaves the dreadfather at her words. words of his own, a contradiction that it is not creatures of the sea she need fear ...but the sea itself. though certainly, there were monsters lingering and hunting within its depths. being a void creature itself, the dreadfather knows all too well the hunger and bloodlust of such beings.

the perfect murderer. no evidence. only sating the hunger with sacrifice. the sea takes its sacrifices ....and gives in return. but the dreadfather expects no generosity from the sea; liking it to being much like themselves.

is it pack business that brings you here? the dreadfather asks then; cutting to the point. there are scents upon her pelage though none that they recognize — not even in ingram's memory; butchered and sewn together with their own as it was. for, the dreadfather can think of little else that would draw visitors to the buffs and because it was ( relatively ) close to the blackwater islands, they are feeling territorial.

Amalia couldn't help the small smile. Though she didn't know why the dark one was amused, it made her smile none the less. Though she imagined were she privy to his thoughts, she would have been both fascinated and horrified. 

Amalia made a soft noise of ascent. Yes I suppose it is. As horrifying and fascinating as that is. What does it give? Amalia studied the sea again. So far she hadn't seen the ocean give anything, just destroyed the edges. Though she hadn't been close enough to it to touch.

Amalia turned and looked at him then, surprised. Momentarily forgetting she was indeed part of a pack now. She was about to answer, that no her family wasn't here and then with a happy little sigh she remembered. She wasn't alone anymore. I was just inducted into a pack. We are traveling, and I took a detour. I tried to stay away from the borders I could scent. I apologize if I accidentally crossed over into one, though I was careful.

the woman asks a lot of questions, but so long as they weren't about blackwater, their nightwife or the druids then the dreadfather finds themselves willing enough to answer. many things, though it is coyly vague. food. tools. gifts. useful things.

her surprise draws the dreadfather's brows up, a soft flutter of their ears back towards their skull. i smell them on you. faint as they are. they assume she's been travelling for a while; but that does not matter. in this moment she represents the pack she calls home. and the dreadfather is a hard beast to impress.

she is honest — perhaps too much so — in stating that she's a new addition to her pack. they file the information away. if you had crossed my borders you would not be drawing breath. the dreadfather tells her simply; stating a fact. the bloodlust is strong, the wont for sacrifice and death consuming much of their thoughts. trespasser would be all they needed to sacrifice the unwilling. ingram might've stayed his teeth but the dreadfather would not.

i am the keeper of the blackwater islands, though keeper had largely been ingram's role. passive. submissive. the dreadfather was the listener's husband; but time for that conversation would come. after their courtship had been completed. from what pack do you hail? is it nearby? if they had new neighbors, the dreadfather needed to know about it.

Amalia was a curious wolf by nature. Always asking questions. Though that was also tempered with youthful rashness. She did not think, simply spoke. That would come with time, or so she hoped. Though if she were too honest with the wrong person, her time could be lessoned significantly. Fish and crabs I can see. Seaweed for binding wounds wouldn't go amiss either. But what other tools could come upon the beach?

Yes for a moment I was about to answer you of my family. As before this new pack and new family. I was born into my parents pack and stayed until, well I didn't anymore. That was a painful history she didn't wish to repeat. To see her siblings fighting, her father and his siblings fighting. Her mother who was usually so carefree, stressed and saddened. No it was painful and she refused to prod that wound on a beautiful day.

As it should be, my father would say. I have been lucky enough to never have to fight anyone at the borders. She didn't mention the few squirmishes inside her borders that would keep for another day.

Amalia listened to his words. Blackwater, it sounded well suffice it to say not nice. She wouldn't want to swim in blackwaters. What lurked underneath it or in it, or even on it. She wrinkled her muzzle in thought. We are Natigvik. Sakhmet and Kigipigak are my leaders. We hail from Snowforest Taiga Territory.

shells are sharp and bones of the dead things that wash ashore are useful. for reading, as enrichment for the young. surely there are more uses that escape the dreadfather's mind in that moment but they offer a lofty shrug of shadow draped shoulders.

the dreadfather receives a bit more than they've asked for; shifting thru her words for what was important and disregarding the rest. unless her family was here in the wilds they weren't particularly interested.

the speak of her present pack: natigvik, it's leaders: kigipigak and sakhmet and its location: snowforest taiga was useful, filed away to be taken back to their nightwife upon their return to blackwater. it was not as specific as they'd like but for now, it is enough. well, draws the dreadfather. you best not dally here, lest your party moves on without you.

She listened, drank in his knowledge like a dying woman. He was brim full of it, even if he only shared tidbits, it was enough to sate her curiosity in most things. You could set bones with the bones couldn't you or carve things. Her mind ran with all the possibilities and now she wanted to find them too. The treasures he spoke of, the useful things.

Amalia finally got moved backward and stood on limbs tired from laying still. She shook out her fur, far away from the edge of the cliff face. And looked to the black beast beside her. She offered a small smile knowing it was both a request and a demand wrapped in a careful nugget of advice. He was ready for her to be gone now. 

She dipped her muzzle. Thank you for speaking with me today, and the knowledge you imparted. I appreciate it. Have a good day.

She turned and started away. 

perhaps. the dreadfather speaks simply; for they are not sure that bones could be used to set bones. they are not a healer and have no desire to be, in every truth. they would much rather take life than save it. she thanks them and takes her leave and the dreadfather watches like the iron guardian they are.

it is only when she has disappeared out of their sight that the dreadfather makes their way back to blackwater to speak to their nightwife and tell her what little he's learned of this natigvik.