Shimmering Sands let me be your killer king

@Skellige — sorry I rambled so much! You can skip to the last three indented segments if you want. :P He's getting rammed by a hungry old ram, or something.

So far, the emptiness had reached the last five families he had come across, and none of them had been willing to take him in. It was alright. They gave him what they could spare, sometimes, and it was a kindness he was unaccustomed to. Perhaps that was why he had fled before the gifts could be utilized? The wanderer did not dwell upon it—he simply moved on. Kept on moving, and marching, until the grass turned to dirt and then to sand, and he was met by the edge of the world.

He followed the sand bar until it became something more substantial, at which point the grizzled boy moved his lethargic self towards the interior. He barely made it more than a day's hike inland before the path pulled him outward again, towards the sea, and upon a rocky plateau. There was nothing here. No signs of life (wolf or otherwise); the heat was pleasant and quite bearable, and the sun had bleached the fresh shoots of grass to a pale yellow already. As he dipped his head towards a patch of tiny buds, sniffing and reaching with little regard for what was around him.

He was briefly stunned as a creature he had not forseen, nor ever before witnessed, came upon him quite suddenly. It was a great surprise when the ragged creature came barrelling across the plateau towards him, and surely he should have seen it coming, but he had not. It had the biggest, thickest limbs; a fact that shot through his weary mind for a split second as it came charging over. It was at least the size of a bear—maybe bigger—it seemed bigger—and the boy would think back to this moment, this split-second before its great head and strange crown dipped to meet his body, about how satisfying the sound of its head made as it connected to his body.

That singular hit, aided perhaps by the curve of his body and the immediate nature of being caught unawares, sent the silvered boy off of the pleateau altogether.

As he fell, he waited for the grinding halt of the world against his chin. He was at a crossroads. Floating as he did from the top of the sandy hilltop and down, waiting for the connect, for the crunch, and wondering if he would be alone for the rest of his life; the assailant was forgotten, but likely remained poised somewhere upon that sandy hill, gloating, gleaming in the sun. The grit shifted beneath him and as his shadow extended across the hot dark sand, he glimpsed the shining sea. The horizon in the distance — and as he landed the darkness took him.

He did wake, eventually. The pain in his ribs was matched by the throbbing in his shoulder, and a decidedly tender section of his jaw. Where the boy's mandible connected to his throat was sore indeed, as if he had been hit by a swift uppercut. Whatever had perpetrated this spontaneous crime had departed, and Tetsubo would remain ignorant as to whom the culprit was—as well as their motives. It mattered little. Mayhaps it was just fate's answer to his wandering? A way of forcing him in one direction instead of another. He had felt maddeningly lonesome and without cause; and while he was still alone, now the brooding beast wondered if fate had more in store for him.

That, and his head was filled to the brim with quite the concussion.

sorry this took me a hot minute to respond to... i wanted to match how great your post was

Warsaw was falling.
 
With the Cairn children having abandoned their homeland in search of the world that Skellige had found, their islands would be left without the most crucial members of their family. One of the surrounding packs would find out soon enough, and they would send their finest to the borders of the islands in hopes of discovering a weak point. The Cairn family would rule no more on those shores, of that he was certain. There was a piece of him that was proud of their fall, and another part of him that knew if he still belonged on their waters, they would hold the islands for years to come.
 
The wraith was forced to leave the thoughts of Warsaw and to contemplate his moves for claiming the land that sat beside Donnelaith. There was a nervousness in his mind, like a ticking clock, telling him that if he did not go forward and speak to the rulers of the forest, instead of the quiet pearl, that he would be denied access to claim beside them. While he had much to offer, it would not surprise him if they thought it a threat to have another pack so close to their own. He was gaining bodies, though, and would soon be a force to be reckoned with. Should he stake his claim and they did not want him there, he feared he would have to retaliate somehow; all alliances would have to be forsaken until Deirdre took the throne.
 
Skellige moved to keep himself busy throughout the day; he found the surrounding land to be enjoyable enough, though not as secluded or safe as the bay. He hadn’t the need to search for prey beyond the ocean water, but the silver-ribbed titan was not opposed to eating creatures that roamed the lands. With the famine fading, and the green having returned, it was likely that he would not struggle to catch sight of the larger prey animals while on the hunt.
 
It was a different creature that he saw, though, as he trailed the land over the sands. He had thought the brightly coated granules to have been a good potential home, should the bay not have worked. It had bothered him that the only surrounding land was the small patch of trees that belonged to the wood not too far away. He did not want to find himself in the thick of trees; he needed the breath of salt and the sound of the waves against the shore. There was little protection on the coast of the shimmering sands; he would not bring his wolves there to live in the open with the potential for attack.
 
A stranger’s scent mingled with that of the weeds in the water and the saline of the ocean caught the attention of the great wraith. His brows furrowed tightly over his eyes and he peered across the sands until a sharp figure caught his optics and held their attention for a quiet moment.
 
The wolf was sprawled in the sand with only a gentle rise and fall of his chest to suggest that he had not perished near the water. Skellige watched him for a moment longer before he took a few steps forward, head low to the earth. The hackles along his back and spine seemed to prickle with unease at the sight of the man in the sands. With tightly knitted brows, the titan appeared as a looming shadow on the brightly painted shoreline. The ink of his pelt stood out among the pale grains of sand. Closer he drew until he could partake in the scent of this strange wolf, but he did not seem to be allied with any of the packs nearby.
 
“What are you doing?” the wraith hissed through yellowed fangs. His eyes were locked with the male and he found himself growing far more curious than he was wary. Still, he did not know this brood, and he was not likely to trust the beast simply because he enjoyed leisure in the sand. So he would demand an answer.  

Had he been near a still pool of water, he could've taken stock of the visual his limp body represented; or perhaps if he had been experiencing some kind of out-of-body experience, staring down at himself from afar, as if in a dream. Certainly any beast that came upon him now would witness his current state: prone upon the sand, eyes flickering open, one pupil dilated oddly out of proportion from the other. He blinked and tried to rise. His shoulders lifted and his forelimbs propped him up for a mere moment, then down he went again, feeling a spasm of pain between the blades of his shoulders and the junction of his neck to the base of his skull. Down again, the boy breathed deeply of the saline-filled air, then yawned. Tetsubo vaguely resembled a hippopotamus—or some form of crocodile— as he yawned, his teeth flashing above the irregular dunes of sand around his face. Some grains slipped free and pooled at his jowels, other bits scattered upon his tongue, which he then worked over within his mouth and without much thought.

What are you doing? came a disembodied voice. Tetsubo was usually much faster with his reactions. He should have heard them coming, or smelled them, or been in some manner aware, but his conciousness had been sullied by the fall. He lifted his head—then his shoulders, despite the fierce protest of the rest of him—and forced himself to his feet. Then, against all better judgement, he shook the sand from his scruff. His ears flopped uselessly on either side of his head. His jaw smarted with pain, yet he fought to remain composed, and only bore his fangs for a split-second as it came and went. There was a crunch as he settled his rear in to the sand again, and once he had finished his shaking and the world stopped its spinning, he looked lazily towards the other wolf. His gaze narrowed—and the large pupil in his left eye grew another size.

Watashi wa ochita. The boy rumbled in response. While he spoke plainly, his words sounded more like an assumption than a declaration; as if he was confirming with himself what had earlier transpired. Then, licking the sand from his lips, his features relaxed, and he looked around. Parts of his body throbbed, and his head swam, like it had been filled with seawater that threatened to drip from his nose; something was dripping there, slowly tinting the sand in front of him with a streaky bright red. It dribbled over his lip, and as he tasted the blood, Tetsubo remembered his travels and the encounter—and he was thus made aware that his home was gone, and this place was completely new to him.

He also remembered that few spoke his language, so he would have to adapt.

I appear to be resting, his voice finally rang out again, this time more speculative, but firm, directed at the stranger. And I... Am injured. The blood collected on his tongue and Tetsubo, thoughtful and a bit worried, let it roll around there, before swallowing. He did not ask the stranger anything—nor would he apologize for being present—but he still regarded them with a curious expression, made more surreal by the dilation of that one pupil. Perhaps this entity was the reason for his fall? But no, he had sensed no wolves nearby before—and that could have been hours ago, or days. There was no way for Tetsubo to know for sure.

The wraith was met with foreign words, and his pelt bristled at the sound of them falling from this stranger’s lips. He was a curious looking thing; a man who appeared as though he had seen enough of battle, though touched by something more. There was a lackadaisical nonchalance to his mannerisms, as Skellige watched the glint of his canines in a parted yawn. The brute was wary of his presence for only a moment before he drew himself closer and captured the image of the stranger in the darkness of his own gaze. He was an odd figure, indeed.
 
The strange words seemed to have disappeared when the wolf spoke once more, this time in a sort of observance of his own being. The wraith peered at him coldly at the mention of resting in the sands beside the shore. He swiveled a single ear atop his skull in preparedness for any others who might have been nearby. The russet of his gaze darted away from the stranger for a moment when he had mentioned an injury on his being. The blood that had dribbled from his lips had been a sure sign that something had happened to him to leave him dazed and confused in the granules of sand that littered the shoreline.
 
“An odd thing to do after finding yourself injured,” the brute observed after a quiet moment of ensuring they were alone. He pulled his vision back to the stranger and tilted a brow atop his forehead. Pulling both of his auds forward so that they cupped to meet the words from the other wolf, he found himself wondering why the beast would take to lying in the sand if he had just been wounded. Certainly, there was more than what met the eye with this creature of the sand.
 
Fixing him with an inquisitive look, the dark titan pondered his next sentence before allowing it to slip past his leathery lips. “What brings you to the shore?” he had decided to ask. If answers could be obtained this way, he would settle, but he was still wary of the stranger and maintained a stretch of distance between the two of them.

The Witch Doctor would be able to clean this boy up if he had endured his happy accident somewhere closer to the bay. Instead, Skellige opted not to share this information just yet. Should he prove an interesting or worthy creature, then healing herbs would be an offer that he could easily make. 

What brought him, indeed. He did not know. Aside from the need to wander, procure meat for his belly and water for his tongue, he had no reason to be here. The salt of the sea was not something he could feast upon. The shore was far too foreign to him to be of use, and in his current state the young ronin was at a loss for what to do next. He merely shrugged, and turned his deviated gaze upon the swarthy stranger; instantly he squinted, half closing the eye with the ink-blot of pupil, because it hardly helped him to view the other wolf. The stranger was a blurry mess to that eye, and so Tetsubo disregarded what he saw with it.

I am without a master, he concluded, as if this answer was all that the other beast required of him. That this sentiment would lift the fog of confusion and spread some sort of knowledge—but the gray boy, prone upon the sand, already knew that this place was a far cry from his home, and thus he would need to speak at length to explain himself. It was not something he felt eager to do, though, so he remained grim and silent for a bit longer, relishing the quiet, and the lull of the sea.

I think... I was in search of something. Before I was hit. I do not know what hit me, and so he cast his gaze around, looking to the sand and the soil, at the crushed grass which had been flattened by his body as it had connected following its brief flight, and saw the ridge upon which he had been standing - but there was no memory of that moment. Nor any thought of the hungry animal which had driven him over the edge. It must be gone now. Curious. But it mattered little. He needed to recover before this stranger, whoever they were, decided to make him a target—or so his instincts told him.

The leviathan knew very little of medical maladies, and so the peculiar nature of the male was nothing more than just that… peculiar. Skellige watched on as the creature seemed to squint at him through optics that were plagued by a concussion. Were he to have known this, he would have simply set himself onward and forgotten the stranger in the sands. Instead, he awaited the response to his query.
 
Once the answer struck his ears, the inky brute nodded his head in understanding. The silver-cloaked beast was without a master; in other words, he was without a home. This was something to be found troublesome by most, but the sea king was reaching into the far corners of his mind in hopes of finding answers to the many questions that flitted about inside of his skull. The brute before him reminded Skellige strongly of his younger brother Jagoda, but it was not bothersome to the man of the sea. There was – once again – a familiar way about the nature of the stranger. So the leviathan did not depart. He remained to hear the rest of what the silver-toned male had to say. What was unveiled was as vague as the creature before him.
 
Perhaps it had been destined by the mystics that this creature should show up on the shores, knocked into the sands and grass by some unknown force. “The world has a strange way of correcting the paths of those who wander through,” he returned to the citrine-eyed stranger. “Perhaps they had sent you to these shores with a purpose in mind,” Skellige then ventured carefully. He did not know the beliefs of this wolf, or who he spoke to in his dark times. The leviathan did know that he would be frowned upon if he should not answer the sign that had been sent by the great ones.
 
“Perhaps you have found what you were searching for.”

The beast was idled by his thoughts, slow to form as they were. He imagined the places he had been, the faces he had once studied in the hopes of finding a master among them; of the packs and families he had marched for, protected, and left behind.

This stranger was alone.

He did not appear to have a family to root him, nor a kingdom to defend, yet there had to be a reason for this spontaneous meeting—such things did not occur to Tetsubo often. It was peculiar too, that his own explanation did not arise some kind of apprehension in the stranger. Not even an inkling of doubt appeared within the foreign man before the boy. It was entirely possible that he was too addled by his malady to notice such things. Still, he was eager, and when the dark beast spoke of paths and some disembodied force which may have struck him on a new course, Tetsubo listened. It was not unlike the old shaman of his birthplace—the kannushi of the family shrine—and strangely, Tetsubo felt more at ease because of this. He had never been particularly close to anyone among that place; always training, always alone, nurtured by the world around him and not the assistance of a pack. They were there, but he was in the background, always—bettering himself, learning the ways of the warrior, until being set on this path.

This path. It led him here—forced him in to this position of weakness, with this particular beast to guide him to the next stage. Of his life? Perhaps. Or maybe just the next stage of his training. Either way, the boy had nowhere else to go, and the offer—subtle though it was—intrigued him. Perhaps, his voice rumbled in response, monotonous as always. He paused for a moment as if to think, to consider whether he should accept the offer or not, but in truth he was figuring out the new logic behind his body. With his depth perception muddied by his concussion, Tetsubo took an extra few seconds to get to his feet, and staggered towards the dark figure—he was mindful enough to face him with his good eye, just in case this was all a trick. He had to be ready for anything.

I have long awaited a master to serve, he murmured next, as an aside to himself more than anything. He sighed those words, and the sea crashed in response behind him. Then, closing his eyes and bowing his head, he reached with his snout to touch the sand by the stranger's paws and purposefully extend his neck before the beast. I am Tetsubō — warrior, wanderer, and I pledge myself to you, to be your weapon. He did not move from that spot, not until the offer was taken up by this man. It was a peculiar ritual, but one that had been taught to him (and others) within Minpei no oka.

The monotonous response again reminded Skellige of his brother. All of this and the way in which the silver beast spoke of happening upon the sands; it was a soft reminder for the leviathan to remember his roots and the mystics who had brought him to those lands. Though the wraith did not know if this strange man had many strong beliefs in the great ones who watched over them, or the power of the ocean’s tide, but he did not need to. The familiarity was sign enough for the silver-ribbed sea king.
 
While he traveled to that end of the shore on his own, there would be others at the bay who would be capable of making sure this man was tended to. Whether it was the Witch Doctor or Deirdre who came to his aid, the slate-cloaked wolf of the sands would have someone to tend to his wounds. Fixing him with the same lackluster expression, Skellige waited to see what he would have to say to the matter of finding his purpose by sheer serendipity. While he was concussed and could not recall his true meaning for having approached the shore, it mattered very little to Skellige. The leviathan wanted only to know what this man’s plans were; what he intended to do with the new life that had been struck into his skull by a creature from nowhere… a creature that had since disappeared from sight.
 
When at last the long silence seemed to fade, and the canary-eyed male had made a decision, he closed the distance that was stretched before the wraith and lowered his skull toward the inky feet of Skellige. He had been seeking a master to serve, he said in a quiet and rumbling voice. The dark gaze of the sea wolf fell on the silver of his back and spine and noted the sharp rippling of his muscles as he lowered his frame. The brute would make for a handsome dredge. Once introduced, he fancied himself a warrior and wanderer and then pledged himself to the wraith of the water.
 
Blinking once, the great sea king nodded his head. “Tetsubō,” the man repeated with a careful flick of his tongue. “I am Skellige Cairn. My claim is not here, but further down the shoreline. Travel with me and the witch doctor will tend to your wounds,” he remarked to the man. Doe would be a suitable woman to see if this man was fit to begin helping their claim on the bay. If she could not do it on her own, Skellige knew that he could rely on the knowledge that Deirdre had. She had proficiently tended to the wound on his shoulder and neck. She could do the same to this wolf.

"You stated that you are a warrior. In my culture, we will call you a dredge, but I see no reason why you should not do well in this role," he informed the man. The inky brute was slowly making his way back toward the bay and hoping that he might find the Doctor along the way. She had been frantic in her attempts to gather things for the blessing of the sea. Her treks had taken her all across the shore, just as Skellige had traveled it well. 

He had long awaited this particular moment. It was not the first time that someone had desired his assistance, nor would it likely be the last, but it was the only time that Tetsubo had chosen for himself; he kept that information squirreled away within his mind, ruminated over it for a moment or two longer, but eventually took in the stranger's name with a nod. Skellige. It was an odd thing, different from what he knew, but he did not doubt that Tetsubo was just as foreign upon the tongue of this dark man. It mattered little what they called one another—aside from this Skellige being master—and thus the boy accepted all that was said, and withdrew his extended throat.

The customs carried out by Skellige and whoever followed him did not interest the boy either, but he would obey, it was his duty to follow without question. To stand firm and bring forth the law, whatever that may mean to his new master. The boy breathed a deep inhalation of the salty air, and then as he exhaled, he felt a weight lift off of his shoulders. He had spent too many days wandering without a goal, but that was at an end now.

He need not say anything else. The acceptance of his role was fortuitous enough, and he only gave a sagely nod when further instruction was granted to him. Tetsubo had no need to speak unless Skellige had questions—and as it seemed more like Tetsubo was the one in need of knowledge, he remained silent, listening, and lurching along with his bear-like steps, following after his lord. Having a place to rest his head would be good too. Something of greater comfort than the sand bar which had briefly cushioned his body. Tetsubo knew his comfort was hardly important; he would likely keep himself on guard wherever Skellige slept in the future, but for now, he looked forward to the meeting with this witch doctor.

I was thinking we go ahead and fade with your next post and we can get a new one up and going with Doe or Deirdre to look over his injuries. You're totally free to thread with anyone else in the group, as well: Doe, Szymon, Arturo, Jagoda, Leokadia. <3

The two were not all that dissimilar. While Skellige had warped his sense of obedience to a fault, he had once been very close to the man that Tetsubō was. The wraith had done well at following orders and tending to the needs of those around him. He had offered only the best of service to his masters and those who stood above him, but he had grown tired of that life and had found himself disenchanted by those who would look over him for his savageness. He would blame them until the day he died for having picked his sister to rule over him. Ksenia was proficient in battle, but she was nothing when compared to the leviathan of a man. Warsaw had been his right and his alone, and the only change in his plans had been that his sights were set for a different goal.
 
The sound of his name seemed strange on the other man’s tongue, but he did not comment on it. There was no need to bother the beast with such things. Their alliance had been struck and it was time to lead the concussed warrior back to the bay to have his wounds tended to and the rest of his condition thoroughly checked. If he was to take up the life of a dredge, it would have been best to assign him something of a permanent healer, but their numbers were still small and it was not a necessity. Tetsubō would find himself in the care of some of the most adept of their kind. The witch doctors had healed wounds on his own figure that should have brought him to an untimely demise.
 
The slate-colored male was silent as they sauntered forward across the crystal sands. Skellige was not one to break such a quiet mood. Turning his skull toward the brute at his side, the inky wraith found that only one thing needed to be said before they arrived. “We have many rituals you will need to grow accustomed to, but all of that will be explained in due time. For now, we will focus on making sure you are physically well,” he remarked. Certainly Tetsubō would be struck by their culture upon arrival, but it was best to have him fully immersed than to attempt to explain it all to him. They had a ways to go and nothing more needed to be said in the meantime, so Skellige moved on.

Sounds good! This might be a bit short, but, wrapping up.

Nothing more needed to be said. The brief mention of Skellige's customs went in one ear and out the other, for surely Tetsubo saw no need to retain the comment. Whatever his lord wished, he would provide. If his way involved ritual then the boy would participate. His heart would not be in it, but it need not be. He was a tool to be used, and was contented—in the mildest sense of the word—to finally be of use again. The silence spread between them, and Tetsubo marched doggedly onward in pursuit of his new master.