Wolf RPG

The morning sun was obscured every so often by the thick clouds that drifted lazily in it's path, blocking it to degrees, chasing away the warm beams of sunlight to skittish shadows. The sun itself was rather warm as the dark burgundy fur at his back soaked them up, warming the tendrils of coarse winter fur like a personal heater that hung in the sky. It was not as cold today as it was most days, actually bordering on quite warm for what Nefarious would have thought as winter. Still, the shaman wasn't about to complain for the reprieve of crisp, winter frigidness that stole into the air and was arctic enough to chill a man to the marrow of his bones. Nefarious had a teeny bit of an unknown advantage, having some arctic blood in him, though he did not immediately know this. Any and all knowledge of his biological parents had been lost. Before Anik and Nefarious he had been called something else, a different name, identifying him as someone else, but he couldn't remember that either. The only thing that Nefarious could recall was the pain of hunger when Suluk had found him several days later, knowing only that he had not been nearly old enough to hunt for himself. It was odd, the Kesuk considered, how that was the only thing he could remember of the time “before”, though likely because it had been traumatic for him, having no food. It was not a pain he ever wanted to relive, that much he had concretely decided from that day forth.

Nefarious was not willing to stray too far from Swiftcurrent Creek, especially since he was still learning his way around it's internal territories, though he had a rough idea of things for the most part. It was enough to be able to make patrols without finding himself horrendously lost at the end of them, trying to find his way back to his ...work in progress den. The medicinal and poison caches were the very first thing Nefarious had set upon, putting the need for such things above his own need to reconstruct the previously too small den. His private stores were fairly bare, though this was the fault of winter. Always, he was on the search for anything that he readily knew of as either medicinal or poisonous. It had fallen to Nefarious' attention that he may have to find a healer and get a crash course on the plants indigenous to this region, since he was not and there might have been some plants exclusive to Seahawk Valley, just as there were surely ones exclusive to these Wilds. The knowledge of plants was rather versatile, thankfully, and would not require the whole re-learning of his craft. As long as he recognized them by sight (or scent) and was knowledgeable of their purposes then he was set to go.

It was with the hopes of stumbling across something that he could stock up upon that was indigenous to both these Teekon Wilds and Seahawk Valley that happened to not die in the winter (though he knew the hope was likely an extremely vain one), that he set out of Swiftcurrent Creek. Having stuck within the pack lands since his arrival, Nefarious knew eventually he would have to brave the unknown free territories beyond, especially because half of the time, the things he needed for his caches were not conveniently located anywhere near the pack lands. That was just how it was. Even if he came back empty handed then at least he could say that he gleaned some knowledge of a free territory.

His path took him to a large lake, that was, almost surprisingly, not uninhabited by “wild life”. Rather, the lake itself appeared to house quite a bit of duck families, partners, and likely the occasional grouping of widows. Nefarious was not a massive fan of the avian creatures but he admired the fact that they mated for life. If they took a mate and it tragically died, or uneventfully died even, they did not take another mate. It was kind of sweet, their bonding process. Not to mention, Nefarious added mentally with a slight cringe, getting near enough to scavenge their fallen feathers was a necessary evil. Their feathers were nice additions to talismans, and alters to Atka and Sos. There was a group of them crowded together, huddled near the bank closest to Nefarious, their eyes closed as they were presumably slumbering, likely a group of widowers. Nefarious, for the sake of not wanting to disturb them altered his course, heading to the bank a good few feet away from them, figuring now was as good a time as any to get a drink and consider his options to what he could gather. He would much rather return with mallard feathers for his own gain as opposed to returning without anything.

This land was different than Nihon, where his family had lived. It was not the sweeping valleys, hidden streams and glades that he was used to. It instead was filled with mountains, tall mountains that scraped the sky, reaching for Amaterasu in the heavens. This land was daunting, whatever it was called.

While it was nearly winter, he still felt a strange warmth in the breeze, as if summer refused to relinquish its hold on the land. The ronin walked through the hard stone ground, wondering if the sea he had been told about was anywhere nearby these mountains.

He did find another body of water instead, a lake filled with ducks in various clusters, some in families, others with their own gender. Kizuato had never seen this species of duck before, what with their mixed brown bodies and green heads. "奇妙なことは、これらのです。" The scarred man rumbled, his dark green eyes narrowing at the sight. In the corner of his eye, he saw another wolf eyeing the birds, clearly with the eyes of a hunter, but it was not Yoichi. He was lucky he looked nothing like the 臆病なやつ. Very lucky.

The water was icy cool as he lapped at it eagerly, his thirst having been greater than he had previously thought, though a soft shiver slithered down the strong curve of the shaman's spine as the refreshing water settled like an icy pool in his stomach. For a few more moments Nefarious drank before his thirst was ultimately sated and he'd had his fill, lifting his head from the shimmering surface of the moving water, taking a few steps back from the bank, water droplets rolling freely off the short fur of his chin. Salmon pink tongue swiped across his lips to catch the droplets left over. Pumpkin gaze moved to investigate first the mallards in the water and then the nearest cluster of the avians, contemplating if he was in the mood to steal the feathers straight off of their bodies — which would involve killing them when he had no real reason too — or if he wanted to scour the bank for molted feathers that were in good enough condition for him to use.

It was then that the other canine was caught out of the corner of the shaman's eye. Hackles bristled with silent unease, the language that had rumbled forth from the other man's lips foreign to Nefarious. The words, unknown though they were, did not seem to be meant for him. In fact, it seemed that the other male had not yet been made aware of the Kesuk's presence in the general vicinity. Nefarious took the chance to study the other male with reserved antipathy, unsure if the male was friend or foe, assuming the worse until proven innocent. Black, leathery nostrils flared to investigate the stranger's scent further, ascertaining that he was a lone wolf. He did not carry the scent of many wolves that a pack creature would. Brow rose into a wicked arch over his left eye though he promptly looked away just in time to see the other man notice him, his attention focused on the other male, once more, out of the corner of Nefarious' eye.

Despite that he had just been assessing the other male himself, Nefarious did not directly like being eyed to much of any degree and thus turned his orange gaze back to the male, letting the stranger know that he was aware of his presence, as well, though the Kesuk made no move to dissolve the silence that hung thickly in the air between them.

The two men met eyes, the other male warning him in his silence. Kizuato met the man's orange eyes with his own dark green, his hackles slightly raising if the other wanted an altercation. The scarred ronin bared his fangs slightly, but did not move his gaze. He did not want a fight, but was prepared to fight one if need be. And possibly kill if need be.

The other male was riddled with scars, Nefarious noted, and though they likely begged for rather interesting tales, he was not curious enough to ask. Not to mention, he knew nothing of the other male and outsiders were subjected to condescending behavior from the shaman. Nefarious had always seen it like Suluk, taking his father's proud example: it was the opinions of his pack mates that mattered because at the end of the day it was they that would have his back. They deserved his loyalty, and it was they that deserved the effort to implore his natural charisma. Anyone else was fair game. It was why Nefarious had only went outside of Akkuma's territory when it was absolutely necessary, and why the young Tonrar had usually taken one of his siblings with him. If Arux went with him it was usually a shitstorm of trouble because Arux was the most like Suluk out of the three of them personality wise, but Janelle was good at balancing out Nefarious, though her self-depreciating personality gave the impression that she had no confidence, though Nefarious did not believe that, simply she was just extremely humble. It was apart of his sister's charm, and charming she was. Though Nefarious had sought permission to leave Akkuma too soon before a new leader could be chosen from his siblings in place of Suluk, giving up his own right to Angakkuq which would make him second alpha — the spiritual half — beside which ever of his siblings that was chosen to rule in Suluk's stead.

Regardless of what he'd been giving up, a guarantee at leadership, taking over for his Master, Nefarious had left, wanting to become more cultured, wanting to spread the word of Atka and Sos in the hopes that the reach of the Great Bears could extend to other lands.

Nefarious' pumpkin orange gaze was met boldly when the other male met his eyes, the dark green touching the fiery blaze of Nefarious' own, watching as the scarred man bared his teeth slightly. The shaman simply continued to stare, a slight raise in his brow as he wondered if the other was truly threatening him. This was free territory, and Nefarious had every right to be there just as the other did. Threatening the shaman, to Nefarious of course, did not play as a wise move. “Is there a problem?” The shaman inquired coolly, keeping his tone neutral. Neutral was what the shaman was good at, having to balance the mother of light and father of darkness. Just because Nefarious didn't care for socializing with outsiders, unless it was deemed necessary, didn't mean that he was going to run around causing trouble, especially on lands that no-one owned.

And again the man spoke, in that damned foreign tongue. He didn't understand a word he was saying. Despite his tone being neutral, he still had no idea what this wolf was saying. And he was angry because of this. Angry that he couldn't understand. "Īe!! Īe Engrishu!" He hissed. "私はあなたの神々 - のろわ外国語を理解していない！"

The young samurai's green eyes blazed with fire again, stoked by his frustration with his inability to understand the people. All his life he was the prodigal son, able to grasp concepts in moments and perform them without flaws. Even when he did have difficulties, he overcame them. But he still had yet to overcome this hurdle, and it had been months since he first encounter with an English-speaking wolf. He was a literal flame of anger built ever since the death of his lover. Each difficult only added to the green flames.

It became quickly apparent to Nefarious that he and the scarred, ivory man would have issue with communication. The other male's expression took on one of choler, leaving the shaman with a swell of frustration within his chest, amplified when the male hissed at him in some other language. One that Nefarious could not understand. Unfortunate though it was, Nefarious was only bilingual and whatever tongue this male was hissing and spitting at him at it was not one of the two. Inuit had been taught to him by Suluk, and common tongue was, well what it was: common. Most wolves were able to speak the language that they all, for the most part, referred to as 'common tongue'. That did not seem to the be the case here. Pumpkin gaze stared unwavering at the scarred man, unimpressed that it was, somehow, his (Nefarious) fault for not speaking whatever language it was that he used. Perhaps that was not what was being thought — after all Nefarious was not a mind reader — but it was the feeling that Nefarious received, whether it was correct or not.

Nefarious' lips curled in a warning when the male spoke to him again in his foreign language, the words sounding harsh to Nefarious' ears, confirming what the shaman assumed. “Look it's not my fault you can't speak common tongue. Don't take it out on me.” The shaman hissed in return, hackles bristling with unease and irritation. The shaman contemplated asking Sos to curse the male but as it appeared to Nefarious he was already suffering a curse. It could not have been easy to suffer with not understanding the common tongue, which tended to be what the wolves of these Wilds spoke, and the light half, the part that Atka called too of the neutral shaman spoke that it was a curse enough.

The other male did not understand his language either, leaving him yet again with only body language to communicate. And the body language that was being exchanged was on the tense side. The other male's hackles were raised, bristling with warning. Kizuato's dark green eyes narrowed as the wolf snapped words back at him, their meaning beyond him.

Kizuato's tail lashed and he paced back and forth in a tight spot, thinking of an English word he could use to communicate to the man. "Engrishu, Īe....n-n-no..." He stammered, annoyed that he looked a fool in front of this man. "Suiftocurriento Creeku, no?"