Silvertip Mountain Poslání

All welcome, as always!
Raedwulf?

Majestic mountains stretched before him, a striking reminder of his homeland. One peak loomed high above the rest, daunting and impassable, its summit shrouded in a pristine mantle of snow. Frenū drew in a deep breath of crisp mountain air, a quiet smile playing on his lips—this was where he would begin anew. These lands would embrace him; in Teekon, he would forge his new home.

Broad-shouldered and heavyset, his gait was ungainly, elbows jutting outward, each step a slow and deliberate sway. And yet, for all his bulk, he moved with an uncanny ease across the rugged terrain. There was something almost unreal about it—how could a creature so compact and rigid navigate the rocks with such effortless grace?

Lifting his head, he sought the subtlest whisper of the world around him. Eyes closed, ears attuned, he listened. The land hummed with life, a ceaseless flurry of movement—an anthill of restless souls. Scents tangled and clashed, layered upon one another, each corner of this place bearing the mark of those who had claimed it. Great men and women had carved their legacies into the very earth. And soon, he would walk among them.

things have begun to calm, after what has felt like weeks of chaos. somewhere across the lands, he thought while looking out across the mountains, was @Qupirruarjuit—no doubt growing thick with life. well, perhaps not yet, but soon! soon, he would be a father.
he would not know them, but in his heart he would feel them.
the man @Cicerø has been forced to patch him up once more. a thick wound upon the back of his neck, now wrapped in something and lathered in a disgusting poultice the healer-man had created. raedwulf had not asked the cougar to come down with wrath upon he, @Rhaena and @Solharr! with each stride, pain shot up his shoulder, where the claws of the bear sow had struck him true.
raedwulf had seen better days, in terms of physical health. but he was still a stalwart man, unyielding, striking against the mountain top he scaled now. he knew not what called him out into the world this morning, but he went headily, with a heart full of warmth.
ignorant to how his world might yet change again—soon.

A gigantic man, a veritable titan, as if hewn from stone, sculpted by the fury of storms! When Frenū had reopened his eyes, it was this towering figure that first seized his gaze, commanding his attention.

Without hesitation, the small man hurled himself down the slope, drawn inexorably toward the awe-inspiring colossus. Yet as he neared, he discerned the truth—the giant was not stone but flesh and blood, just as he was. The gash upon his body and the scent of raw wounds left no doubt. So, there were warriors in these lands, and healers too, Frenū mused.

Hail! he called out, closing the last of the distance until he stood before the giant, who loomed nearly twice his height. Be ye from these parts, friend? he inquired.

he does not expect the voice!
his ears lift and broad head turns. and there, descending the slope with more haste than grace, comes a man much smaller than he. stout, with a chest like a barrel and eyes bright with purpose. small, but no less herculean! what a mighty beast he was. his words ring formal and pleasant. damn the gods for still plaguing raedwulf with this inability to understand. at least, fully.
raedwulf comes forwards, though does keep a measurable, respectful distance.
frēond? he tests first, with a jovial tongue. then he taps his own chest with a wide paw. rǣdwulf! iċ eom seaxe.

He did not speak the common tongue—or at least, he spoke it with a peculiar accent! Some words could be discerned, and gestures, too, aided in understanding.

So, it was Rædwulf, the giant! Or at least, that was the conclusion the ash-hearted trunk* had drawn.

A deep, hearty laugh escaped him—a genuine laugh, the kind of mirth that springs from a warrior’s heart upon encountering another, and one who was not hostile, at that.

Rædwulf! I am Frenū! He too struck his chest to underscore his introduction. Then, he turned his gaze toward the peak—the jagged summit of the mountain they still had to ascend, at the end of a treacherous path they would need to navigate through brittle, sharp-edged rocks.

You climb, frēond? he asked, his mighty stride already breaking the way forward, eager for such a challenge, especially with a powerful companion at his side. Nothing stirs the fire of camaraderie like this!

*Frenu's name originally comes from "frêne" the French word for "ash tree". That's why he's sometimes referred to as the ash tree, haha! Just a quick fun fact!

the man responds with laugh, one full and from the gut. the man gestures to the mountain above. raedwulf’s gaze follows, drawn to the jagged path they now stand upon. it is the kind of climb that would test even a war-hardened soul!
it is no question to raedwulf, who beams and nods vigorously.
wē climbaþ! without fanfare, he moves—shoulder bracing the wind, gait wide and balanced. tackling jagged rock and boulder after the next, not bothering to look back for the small man. he knows he follows!
cuma, frēond! he eggs on.

He did not have such long legs; he was smaller, and yet he climbed! His steps were those of a mountaineer, a man—small, perhaps—but carved from the very rock that kissed the heavens. The ascent was no gentle undertaking; each hard-won meter stole his breath, drained his strength. It was a duel against the mountain—against its howling winds that struck like open-palmed blows, against its treacherous paths crumbling beneath their feet… But like a warrior in the arena, he would not bend the knee! He would wrestle this peak into submission and let his cry ring from its summit.

Rædwulf’s presence was a lifeline—he was not alone. A comrade stood beside him, one who could rekindle his courage, stoke the fire in his heart. Though breathless from the climb, the ash tree raised his voice in song—battle hymns, chants of conquest, words to keep the embers of defiance alive. They would reach the summit together, as brothers-in-arms.

Bratře, bratře, slyš můj hlas! Slyš, jak má čepel seky, má sekera řezá a má kladivo drtí! Bratře, bratře, kráčím za tebe! Slyš, jak mé srdce bije v rytmu kostí, které drtím!!

raedwulf climbs as he was made to. one paw after the other. the wind claws at his ears, stones shift beneath him, biting at his pads—but he moves without complaint.
and yet, what lifts his ears now is not the howl of wind, but the song that rises from behind him.
he glances back.
frenū climbs still. battered, small, but relentless. he bleeds effort with every step, but his spirit burns like a forge. the words are not known to raedwulf, but the meaning is clear.
he growls low—an answer. a sound of recognition. his paw thuds once against the stone in rhythm. then again. his voice joins, rough and foreign:
brōþor! stand fæst. wē climbaþ!