+- Wolf RPG (https://wolf-rpg.com)
+-- Forum: In Character: Roleplaying (https://wolf-rpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=5)
+--- Forum: Archives (https://wolf-rpg.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=11)
+--- Thread: Dragoncrest Cliffs i beg your parsley (/showthread.php?tid=31230)
i beg your parsley - Coelacanth - December 08, 2018
@Antumbra
She is a very respectful distance from the western border of Drageda.
She is a very respectful distance from the western border of Drageda.
The sheepdog has been here before, but the when and the why are blurred and blotted. The memories of her exodus from Blackfeather Woods have been stirred and sifted together over time, leaving everything an indecipherable hodgepodge of brownish gray slush. It’s her own curiosity and not her search for @Thresher that spurs her further eastward along the coast, stopping at the cornucopia of scents that warn her she is nearing a long-established pack territory. Tufted ears fan backward upon her skull; she urges her lambs into the thick cover of the cliffside sequoia forest and approaches alone, taking a short detour to nab a plump, cottontailed rabbit as an offering. Aside from the crimson strike of her killbite, the meal is pristine and intact. She has known some packs to be territorial of the neutral territory around their claimed lands, and she does not want to rouse the ire of whoever leads here.
Though she does not cringe or cower, her body language conveys cautious deference, plumed tail still and loose betwixt her hocks, the scalloped gradient of her rib cage and hollow of her flank facing the unknown pack, muzzle pointed toward the sea. Lacking the physical ability to call to the wolves she smells but cannot see, she resigns herself to waiting however long it takes. She does not sit or lie down. It seems rude — she has not been invited to loiter here — and she wants to be ready to run.
Though she does not cringe or cower, her body language conveys cautious deference, plumed tail still and loose betwixt her hocks, the scalloped gradient of her rib cage and hollow of her flank facing the unknown pack, muzzle pointed toward the sea. Lacking the physical ability to call to the wolves she smells but cannot see, she resigns herself to waiting however long it takes. She does not sit or lie down. It seems rude — she has not been invited to loiter here — and she wants to be ready to run.
RE: i beg your parsley - Antumbra - December 14, 2018
I have no idea where this falls in my timeline. Shrug emoji.
Antumbra is trying to get back into her normal routine when it comes to Drageda but each passing day proves there is nothing normal. There is something vacant in her chest she wishes she could ignore, cold and hardened and displaced. It is easy to shove the thoughts away and not deal with them but eventually they linger, threatening to pop out and ruin the day.
For now, she tries, and she makes her way along the border and strengthens her absent scene in places she hasn’t seen in months.
Up ahead, the form of another catches her attention. Fur bristles along her back and she quickens her pace, growling lowly until she can get a better view. The kill is noted first and the easy posture causes her to relax, but not enough that she is not skeptical. There hadn’t been a call, right? Had she been so lost in thought she’d missed it entirely? She narrows her dark eyes, slowing her approach to an easy trot, circling around to a comfortable distance away.
“Why are you here,” she demands of the stranger, nose twitching for familiar scent but does not find any.
RE: i beg your parsley - Coelacanth - December 21, 2018
The moment Coelacanth lays eyes on the dragonwolf, she is struck by an intense spur of recognition. I know you. I know you! The details are still murky, though, and for a few tense moments her only reaction is to submit to the larger, older female’s will. Her slim jaws loosen and the rabbit falls to the chilled earth; she dances nimbly away a pace or two and then holds her ground respectfully, keeping her flank to the pack wolf and her ears tucked against her skull. It is only when the woman speaks, a fierce, “Why are you here,” not a question but a command, that she remembers anything at all. It’s always been easy for the sheepdog to hang onto voices and phrases, and the gray-eyed warrior woman’s richly accented timbre is utterly unique — unlike any other. Now Seelie remembers there was another female, too, but trauma and time have blurred her out. Obediently, she repeats what she remembers, essentially butchering the dragoness’ native tongue with an apologetic air:
“Heda — weremkom — sha…Heda?” The words barely break frost from the sheepdog’s lips, but the quizzical tilt of her head adds a question mark to her clumsy parroting. Maybe Heda is the giant wolf’s name? Seelie doesn’t know, but she hastens to introduce herself, one fluid sentence after the other. She gets her rank wrong, but perhaps she can be forgiven; she’s kind of like one of those dolls where you pull the string and they have a limited number of phrases they can say. “Coelacanth Corten — Undersea, across water,” she points in the island’s general direction, nose and tail jutting out straight and true as one feathered forelimb tucks against her sloping ribcage, then turns back to Antumbra. “Aralez — allmother. First…first female.”
What was that next part, again?
“Greet gift,” she remembers, her tail whisking shyly. “For peace. Peace be.”
“Heda — weremkom — sha…Heda?” The words barely break frost from the sheepdog’s lips, but the quizzical tilt of her head adds a question mark to her clumsy parroting. Maybe Heda is the giant wolf’s name? Seelie doesn’t know, but she hastens to introduce herself, one fluid sentence after the other. She gets her rank wrong, but perhaps she can be forgiven; she’s kind of like one of those dolls where you pull the string and they have a limited number of phrases they can say. “Coelacanth Corten — Undersea, across water,” she points in the island’s general direction, nose and tail jutting out straight and true as one feathered forelimb tucks against her sloping ribcage, then turns back to Antumbra. “Aralez — allmother. First…first female.”
What was that next part, again?
“Greet gift,” she remembers, her tail whisking shyly. “For peace. Peace be.”
RE: i beg your parsley - Antumbra - December 22, 2018
Antumbra doesn’t notice the reaction as recognition at first but the smaller creature drops the kill and slinks back. Dark eye look past her before coming back, ears cupped forward to listen to the woman speak her name and try to say something else in her tongue but hardly pieces it together. Where she is normally stoic and free of expression, she cannot hide the burrow of her eyebrows and the slight, demanding step forward. Her mouth is about to open to say something (not that she knows what, exactly), but she sheepdog continues and introduces herself.
Her teeth click together and she relaxes slightly, removing the initial step to listen to the broken words. The way she struggles to speak gives her pause but she listens anyway and is able to piece it together.
“Peace be,” she repeats with a dip of her head. There is no threat to this wispy thing but she does have questions. “How do you know me?”
RE: i beg your parsley - Moor - January 05, 2019
After giving @Sixgill and Koi a firm command of downstay, Moorhen edged toward Seelie and the stranger, bringing herself out of hiding. The step forward had seemed threatening to her, but since Coelacanth had been adamant about her staying with the children (who had remained glued to her heels rather than remaining hidden, but Moorhen supposed that was a valid interpretation of her orders), she kept her distance and simply watched, hoping the presence of a witness (and a none-too-helpless looking one, at that) would help to deter and violence.
It seemed as though the conversation was still going on peaceably, however. Moorhen shifted uncomfortably, side-eyeing the children and wondering if she ought to have trusted Seelie a little more. But no - she was the family's self-appointed guardian. She answered to Coelacanth's needs first and her orders second.
RE: i beg your parsley - Coelacanth - January 11, 2019
There are a lot of words and abstract concepts involved in explaining how she knows Antumbra. Coelacanth tries to piece them together, but ultimately fails: “Far…long away, summer,” she breathes, her gaze flickering immediately to Moorhen, Sixgill, and Koi — who are not supposed to be here right now! A stricken expression crosses her face, but she soldiers on: “I come. I come…to here, um…hurt.” She retreats to body language to convey what she cannot force her tongue to express, curling on the ground as she had that day so long ago, her ears flattened against her head in abject fear, trembling eloquently. Then she straightens, eyes pleading with the warrior queen to understand even as her gaze skitters submissively away. “‘Bumau?’” she breathes, trying to remember what exactly was said. “‘Bukau?’ Then, I leaf. Run.”
“My guard, Moorhen,” she introduces, though she is displeased that the banded raven disobeyed her command. Perhaps the crick in her tail expresses this, but most likely not, because it’s gone again the moment she looks at the mahogany-eyed female. She can’t be mad at the girl. “My puppies, Sixgill, Koi.” She continues, “My puppy Treasure, lost. Now look. Search. Do you find small girl, pale fur, long ear?”
“My guard, Moorhen,” she introduces, though she is displeased that the banded raven disobeyed her command. Perhaps the crick in her tail expresses this, but most likely not, because it’s gone again the moment she looks at the mahogany-eyed female. She can’t be mad at the girl. “My puppies, Sixgill, Koi.” She continues, “My puppy Treasure, lost. Now look. Search. Do you find small girl, pale fur, long ear?”
RE: i beg your parsley - Antumbra - January 20, 2019
The stumble the stranger has over the common tongue does not deter her. Antumbra can pick up the pieces. Perhaps it is not her native tongue but the sound of her voice leaves her to wonder if something else has happened instead. As well as she can understand what’s being said, it doesn’t make sense with what she recalls. An unimportant memory, if she had to guess.
She doesn’t have a chance to properly search when the sight of another comes up. Ear twitch and her fur bristles only slightly, but two young bodies to follow forces her to ease up. She glances at Coelacanth but doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary but she quickly introduces those in tow. A guard and two puppies. She raises her brows and looks at the guard with a slight nod, appreciation for her work. She had not intended to find company upon the borders, lacking in @Vercingtorix’s absence.
As she explains they are missing a child, Antumbra frowns. Slowly, she shakes her head.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t,” she explains but she lifts her nose, “but I will keep an eye out. What is her name? And where is your land?” She hears words that don’t quite come together but the barrier between them slowed things down. Still, there’s no reason for her to not offer the gentle thing a hand if she can do anything.
RE: i beg your parsley - Moor - January 20, 2019
Focused as she was on the stranger, Moorhen did not notice her leader's disapproval. If she had, she likely wouldn't have cared very much. She was doing her job, as far as she was concerned - but she wished the guppies had stayed out of sight.
She corralled them now, bringing them to heel as best she could while they were so focused on the large shewolf their mother was speaking to. Moorhen kept half an eye on them as well, but it seemed that Coelacanth had herself handled. Still, she did not miss the slight nod, and returned it with a slightly awkward one of her own - only to give into the temptation to glance over her shoulder for someone else.
RE: i beg your parsley - Coelacanth - January 25, 2019
“Treasure — Thresher — is her name. West, many west, across water, is our land,” Seelie responds, mimicking the other’s syntax to achieve some semblance of fluency. She can’t point to it from here, but she tries to think of helpful landmarks. “Mirror-river,” she breathes. “Sea lion.” Her feathered tail wavers with tentative friendliness, particularly when she sees Antumbra’s respect for Moorhen. “Storm sun,” she informs the warrior woman. “Soon. Storm soon. After storm…please see, please find. Island.” Her throat is beginning to tire from all this talking, and she clears it with a soft wheeze of a dry cough. “Peace,” she repeats finally. “For peace, welcome ever.”
RE: i beg your parsley - Moor - February 27, 2019
Moorhen did not fully relax until the two leaders had parted ways, and Coelacanth had returned to her side. The warrior fretted over her for a moment, even though she'd seen with her own eyes that no harm had befallen the other woman while she spoke with Drageda's leader. She was fine. They were all fine.
The quartet continued on their search, Moorhen piping up to tell Coelacanth about the other Drageda wolf that she'd met - a quiet man by the name of Eastwood. Although she hadn't quite noticed at the time, the story was now embellished with a description of how handsome and stoic the man had been.