Wolf RPG

Although summer had recently started showing signs of its entrance, the skies still held on to the cloudy grey they had gotten used to from Spring. It was strange walking under the covered sky, not a good omen. It is known. But the herds were constantly moving, and with them, the loyal dotharan followed, always cautious to keep rival predators at ray.

Coyote activity seemed to be slow in Hoshor Plains, but still Rakharo had sent two men to circle the surrounding area to the herd to make sure none of those little bastards was causing trouble. He was probably only used to dealing with the smaller canines, but they did bother him greatly. But that wasn't the main thing that kept him thinking.

Rakharo was a proud Khal, one born and raised as a warrior in Rhaesh Dahaan, and there every Khal had with him a group of trustees known as Khasaks. Blood of his and his blood theirs. But Rakharo's Khasaks had probably died back in the final battle against Drojharko, his own siblings at the paws of his own father. He would always be grateful to them even if he wasn't sure about their destiny, but he needed Khasaks to run with him in the Golden Plains.

It was Lavakho who was first in line. He was loyal, he had been ever since they had had to leave the great plains, and it seemed like the time to make it official was coming closer. But where was he? Ever since they arrived at Hoshor Plains Rakharo's brother seemed to be the least visible of the Khalas' wolves. The Khal looked for him, standing on a hillock a few paws above the rest, scanning the surrounding area to spot the pale golden pelt of his enormous brother.

Apart from slinking off with the slave girl and spending time with Zhavvi, Lavakho had made himself sparse within the Khalas. Intead, he spent most of his time following the herds of Rhoa, tracking their movements and attempting to predict where they were heading, only to briefly report his findings to his brother before setting off again. He was accumulating secrets by the handful and staying away from his brother made it easy, but at the same time it broke his carefully guarded heart. But after weeks of near solitude, Lavakho seeked his brother and Khal out.

He returned from following the herd with the intention of filling his brother in, but this time he intended to stick around awhile and possibly get some much needed bro time. His brother stood perched on a hillock, giving him the high ground on the plains, and Lavakho made his approach from behind. "Brother!" He shouted from across the great grass sea, hoping to grab his attention.

"The Rhoa head east, we should follow," he began. Lavakho motioned to the gloomy sky above with his muzzle. "With the wind comes rain. They know."

The deep voice of his brother was carried by the wind to his attentive ears, and instantly they turned around towards Lavakho, followed by Rakharo's fire-colored eyes. Lavakho was big even from afar, a true Dotharan wolf, he was, the best of the Dotharan blood ran through his veins.

So why had he been as fool as to mix it with a simple coyote?

"Brother!" Rakharo called with expressionless excitement, thrilled in his own insipid was to see his brother again at last, but still with a bitter taste at the mack of his tongue. Could it be betrayal? "I've been looking for your fat ass all over the steppes!" he joked, a thing that only happened around Lavakho.

"The Rhoa know that a hot summer is upon them. They're looking for water." he claimed with all security, knowing that there was a large current of water to the east. He would have to name it, a Dotharan name, a proper name.

Fat?  Although the term had sort of become a running joke when referring to the washed up warrior, coming from his brother, even in jest, it carried with it a twinge of self-consciousness.  Lavakho winced and sighed, but nevertheless he pushed through to join his brother's side with a rough bump by his shoulder.  "I'm not fat,"   said Lavakho as he tried to force a smile.  "I could still give you a run for your money brother."  While he may have lacked his brother's grace in combat, Lavakho was stacked in brute strength.  Although it had been a long time since the two had fought side by side in Rhaesh Dahaan, Rakharo of all wolves would know of his prowess, as he had practically escaped the bloody fray unscathed, untouched.

But after the initial hurt wore off, his brother's words sunk in.  He was looking for him. The Hoshor Plains stretched for miles in their expanse and it was quite easy to get lost in it's grassy embrace.  And get lost he did.  "Well, you found me.  Took you long enough,"  he chortled. "Guess my ass wasn't fat enough to spot, eh brother?"

Lavakho's bump was returned by Rakharo with a shove of his own; puppy things that would only ever happen around his baby brother. He constantly found himself reminded of his youth when he saw Lavakho; it had been a bloody youth, but it had been amazing.

Rakharo's thoughts drifted back to Tomahawk when his brother joined his side. He couldn't help but be disgusted by his brother's actions, but still he understood the reasons to do it. Tomahawk was in heat, a female in heat, and Lavakho wasn't the most strong-willed wolf around.

"Or maybe you were hiding from me..." Rakharo said with a tone in his voice that suggested disapproval. Maybe the big guy would identify that as the fact that his Khal knew about the coyote.

A lazy grin spread across Lavakho's maw when his brother bumped back. However, his happiness was short-lived.  A deep pit formed in the base of Lavakho's stomach. Rakharo knew.  How could he have been so stupid? Not just to want the coyote, but to care... it was perverse, and even Lavakho's warped understanding could grasp his failings.  Lavakho's ears pinned back and he hung his head in shame.  His brother was right, he was hiding.  Although he held no regret for the action itself, it's implication saddened him.  He had polluted the bloodline and brought shame to his brother.

Lavakho shrunk back like a wounded child.  "Brother—" he managed to croak. "I— I fucked up."  It hadn't been the first time he had taken one of the Coyotes, but in this instance, it had been the first time with one in heat.  Without a Khaleesi to chase her away, Lavakho found himself too easily tempted.  Like a fat man at an all you can eat buffett, he couldn't control himself.  

"She was just, there,"  he continued, voice forlorn, as he half-heartedly tried to defend his actions.  "I just couldn't help myself... you know me."  Lavakho paused before saying something he hadn't said in a very, very, very long time.  "I'm sorry brother."

Rakharo understood the circumstances in which his brother had been when he made the foul desicion to mate with a slave, but that didn't make it right. He wouldn't have said anything if the female had not been in heat at the time, but Rakharo was proud of his Dotharan blood, even if his father had been a crazy bastard, and he didn't want it ruined by some stupid slip-up.

"Coyotes are weak and inferior. They don't deserve to be given Dotharan pups. That is a blessing that does not correspond to such filth..." Rakharo said as his face turned grim. He wasn't completely disappointed on his brother, but he was sorry that the pups resulting from his encounter with Tomahawk would have to be vanished in order to keep the bloodline clean.

"I will not feed filthy hibrids with my Khalas' food..." the Khal claimed, implicitly stating what he would be capable of, and expecting his brother to agree. He wouldn't care if Lavakho developed any kind of affection for his bastards, in fact, he didn't even consider it a possibility. It was disgusting.

Although Lavakho had never been of the mentally quick sort, it didn't take long for him to understand the implications of what his brother had said. If he begat bastards, they would die. Lavakho's heart sank like a stone, and for a brief moment, Lavakho felt as if he could understand the grief Rakharo had felt when their father had stolen the life from his children. His blood. Rakharo sounded so much like their father. He quickly pushed the thought from his head. These where bastards, not proper children. Lavakho's throat when dry as he tried to speak. I— I understand brother," he croaked. He understood, but he didn't agree.

But the word of the Khal was law, and Lavakho was in no place to argue for the lives of his possible pups. "Come what may," he affirmed with a forced nod. Lavakho's head lowered as he stared guiltily at his paws. He felt broken, dejected, and helpless at the mercy of his brother. His best friend. "Is this the only reason you seeked me out?" He asked. The hope that his brother was looking to hang had but died, and instead of bro-time, Lavakho hoped for mercy.

Had Rakharo known of his borther's thoughts he would have probably felt guilty, but the rejection for the coyotes as a species and the mixture of bloods was more powerful than that, and bearing hybrids was not a thing he would consider, not even if they were of his own blood. Rakharo was a radical being having been raised under his own father's beliefs, but he had one advantage over Drojharko; his mother had been the most tender and humble woman among the Dotharan, and Rakharo had inherited some of that.

"No. That is not all." Rakharo answered with a more relaxed voice. He too was looking to have a moment with his brother, a bro-time as Lavakho would have called it, but after the severity of the implications Rakharo had exposed there was no space for fun afterwards. But maybe there was space for a little ceremony...

"Even if you chose to fuck slaves you are my brother. There is no one in the world I trust more than you, Lavakho." he said moving to face his brother and sitting to carry on his main purpose for the encounter. "You are loyal to me." there was nostalgia to his voice as well, brought out by the memories of his life before the tragedy. He'd had so much before that. A family, loyal followers, a Khaleesi he loved. Only Lavakho and Zhavvi were left. They were his blood.

With pride and convincement, the Khal said the ritual words, "I ask your oath, that will live and die as blood of my blood, running at my side to keep me safe from harm." He knew that Lavakho had been expecting the moment, and those words needed no explanation. Rakharo was inviting Lavakho to be his Khasak, his Bloodfang. He would put his trust in him and listen to his counsel. He would share the life with him and be his protector. They would be one, if Lavakho accepted...

Lavakho braced himself for the punishment that was sure to ensue, however it never came.  In it's place, Rakharo offered him the highest honor that any of the Dotharan could be given.  Khasak. It seemed that a little bit of healthy nepotism does have certain benefits.  Lavakho was flabbergasted with the news and shot his brother a confused expression before it twisted into a dopey grin.  He had been waiting for this moment his entire life... however, he did expect it to go a bit, er, differently.

Ever since the war with Drojharko, Lavakho had wondered why his brother hadn't offered the title to him.  Perhaps it was his penchant for making poor decisions on and off the battlefield.  Briefly, Lavaho wondered if his brother was only offering him this honor because Lavakho was all that he had left.  A second choice, if you will.  But he pushed the thought away like spoiled meat and readied himself to take his oath.  To bind his life with his brother permanently.

"Of course brother,"  he stated with pride.  "I will protect you until my dying breath.  Blood of my blood."  

In spite of Lavakho's thoughts on Rakharo's decision, the Khal trusted his brother endlessly. He had already planned on asking his brother's oath even before their arrival to Hoshor Plains, but the moment was not right. Rakharo wanted to know that he had made the right decision, leaving Rhaesh Dahaan, before making his last brother his own Khasak, binding their lives until their last breaths.

"I have been waiting for this day, qoy qoyi. Yer chomoe anna." the Khal said with pride. Lavakho, although considerably younger than him, had been the most loyal wolf that ever followed him into the battlefield. Not even his own littermates, the ones he made his Khasaks before the tragedy, had been as loyal as Lavakho. He deserved his title. He'd earned it.