AW! tags for visibility but ANYONE AND EVERYONE is welcome!
little isengrim had waited until @Doe had slipped out to do some reconassiance; luckily for him, his mother was not overtly attentive to his jailbreaks, and as soon as she was gone he was standing at the foot of the den with the sunlight spilling brightly over him.
there was a blanket of snow on the ground and he looked at it for a moment, not even registering it could be dangerous or worth being afraid of. curiously he stuck his face in it and was delighted by the coolness of it; with a shriek he threw himself to the ground and started wildly flurrying about in the snow in excited scampers. after a few moments of such wild play he stopped panting, wondering if either @Julep or @Whiskey had discovered that snow was the most delightful thing, like ever.
December 21, 2016, 11:00 AM
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Szymon returned home from a fruitless hunting trip feeling defeated and overwrought; the only ungulates he’d been able to come across had been hale and eager to repel the salt-white wolf with horns and hooves. Footsore and weary, he plodded past the protective ring of black rocks — and immediately came to attention at the ear-piercing shriek that had his ears flashing forward upon his narrow skull. He quickened his pace to find Isengrim zipping through the snow like the Energizer Bunny — if the Energizer Bunny had access to methamphetamines. Shortly after the boy came to a stop, his tongue lolling from his mouth as he panted, Szymon made his approach. “What’ve you got there, Grim?” he asked, wondering if his son would answer verbally or merely begin attacking his legs. Puppies were weird — and Szymon couldn’t figure out how or when they became actual wolves.
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December 26, 2016, 11:51 AM
isengrim, sloppy and loud as he was, continued to clumsily frolic in the snow. occasionally he would flip over onto the ground and roll wildly on his side, issuing small growls to no one in particular as he play-lashed back and forth.
he stopped suddenly when he heard and saw a shadow overcome him: his little growls quietened and his jaw abruptly snapped shut as he squinted skyward to decipher from the glare of sun and snow who the wolf was. "PAPA!" he shrieked, scrambling onto all four feet to -- you guessed it -- attempt to glom on papa's front legs. as for what it was -- isengrim paused mid-glom and looked curiouly up to his papa, one ear flopping and head tilted. "oo?" while his siblings may have mastered a broad diction of words, isengrim was still stuck on the basics: NO!, papa, MOM, and oooh.
he stopped suddenly when he heard and saw a shadow overcome him: his little growls quietened and his jaw abruptly snapped shut as he squinted skyward to decipher from the glare of sun and snow who the wolf was. "PAPA!" he shrieked, scrambling onto all four feet to -- you guessed it -- attempt to glom on papa's front legs. as for what it was -- isengrim paused mid-glom and looked curiouly up to his papa, one ear flopping and head tilted. "oo?" while his siblings may have mastered a broad diction of words, isengrim was still stuck on the basics: NO!, papa, MOM, and oooh.
January 13, 2017, 07:36 AM
@Isengrim, tagging for visibility. Sorry for the wait! ♥
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Bemused, Szymon watched as the little terror flipped and flopped, snarling and growling, impossibly flexible. “PAPA!” shrieked the boy, gathering his pudgy legs beneath him to launch headlong into Szymon’s forelegs with infantile ferocity. “Snow,” the father said simply, dipping his scarred muzzle and thrusting it forward in an attempt to bowl his boy over. Though he spoke freely of love when it came to Doe, he was less comfortable expressing affection to their children, and he settled for a simple: “good cub, Grim.” Recalling Qilaq’s game, the black-banded Cairn stepped away from his gunmetal child and shoved snow at the youth with a determined push of his paws. “Your sister taught me this game,” he explained, idly trying to bury the benthos while he talked. “Do you remember Qilaq, Grim? She is a good cub, like you.”
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January 28, 2017, 03:37 PM
(This post was last modified: January 28, 2017, 09:47 PM by Isengrim.)
it's all good ♥
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his father one worded-ly explained: snow. wow! giggling playfully about his new discovery, he frolicked rampantly in circles around his father. his joy was extended when his father leant down -- he assumed to kiss him -- but was alarmed when his father chose to barrel him over than to display and paternal affection to his discovery. he was shocked as he lay defeated in the snow, but no sooner scrambled to his feet, adamant on preserving his face from the mounds of snow his father was attempting to push on top of his underdeveloped body. it was a bit of a struggle to keep up, after all, his father was quite the large fellow and grimmy was but a wee nugget in comparison, but a rather fun activity in regards to his instinct to keep his head above water. no sooner later did his father awarded his efforts of play survival and deduction of person with a word of praise, that he was indeed good.
however, the topic of conversation -- not that isengrim could really hold a decent conversation at this point -- soon switched to that of a girl he had thought little if at all about in the last few.. forever. "noop!" he shrugged the topic off with a mere shrug of his shoulders (hopefully out of his father's thought) and continued to play. he did know, but he didn't really care and hopefully, that was that; his father's full attention was better veered him rather than her. isengrim was much more important in isengrim's opinion; he continued to attempt to clamour above the rising sea of snow as he thought so.
however when syzmon praised the existence of qilaq like he had to isengrim, it became the deal breaker of his annoyance towards the topic of qilaq. his brow furrowed and his face scrunched as he leered back to glare at his father from within the snow, ceasing his attempts to rise above the snow. his squinty and accusationally fixed eyes could barely reach past the mounds that had been dumped on him but he glared all the same and with it came a defiant, “no,” not more than one of his father's children could be good all at the same time, he had come to the conclusion briefly just seconds ago and couldn't really see what this qilaq had done to earn his father's approval (nor was he particularly happy about the lack of attention he was getting).
with a huff, he plunked his butt down in the snow, sitting among the frigid material in defiance to his fathers -- qilaq's -- silly game. with a shout, he expressed his disapproval, “ME!” translating to: just him and only him.
[/td][td valign=center] [/td][/tr][/table]however, the topic of conversation -- not that isengrim could really hold a decent conversation at this point -- soon switched to that of a girl he had thought little if at all about in the last few.. forever. "noop!" he shrugged the topic off with a mere shrug of his shoulders (hopefully out of his father's thought) and continued to play. he did know, but he didn't really care and hopefully, that was that; his father's full attention was better veered him rather than her. isengrim was much more important in isengrim's opinion; he continued to attempt to clamour above the rising sea of snow as he thought so.
however when syzmon praised the existence of qilaq like he had to isengrim, it became the deal breaker of his annoyance towards the topic of qilaq. his brow furrowed and his face scrunched as he leered back to glare at his father from within the snow, ceasing his attempts to rise above the snow. his squinty and accusationally fixed eyes could barely reach past the mounds that had been dumped on him but he glared all the same and with it came a defiant, “no,” not more than one of his father's children could be good all at the same time, he had come to the conclusion briefly just seconds ago and couldn't really see what this qilaq had done to earn his father's approval (nor was he particularly happy about the lack of attention he was getting).
with a huff, he plunked his butt down in the snow, sitting among the frigid material in defiance to his fathers -- qilaq's -- silly game. with a shout, he expressed his disapproval, “ME!” translating to: just him and only him.
February 03, 2017, 06:51 AM
Short post! Eat him, Grimmy! EAT HIM UP!
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Maybe Szymon should have corrected Isengrim’s attitude toward his eldest sister — or at least called Isengrim to task for his defiance to his father — but the expression that shaped his stoic features was one of fierce pride instead. His treatment of Isengrim differed from his treatment of Qilaq and Julep, for although he doted on his girls, tough love was his weapon of choice with the incorrigible boy. “Angry, Isengrim?” he asked, a wicked grin playing about the corners of his scarred mouth. “Come and show me how angry.”
Without consulting either of the children or his wife, Szymon had determined that Julep and Isengrim would be warhounds as he was, and part of that was learning to challenge emotion into physical action. Though it was best to keep a cool head in combat situations, the black-banded Leviathan felt it couldn’t hurt to get a little berserker rage going in his gunmetal firstborn. He bowed in an exaggerated invitation to play, moving stiffly, abandoning Qilaq’s game for one that was perhaps more fitting for his sharp-fanged son. Pride at Isengrim’s defiance and his spitfire mien arose within the young father, flashing bright and warm in his golden eyes. He laughed for the sheer joy of it. “Come, Isengrim, great warrior. Teach me a lesson.”
[/td][/tr][/table]Without consulting either of the children or his wife, Szymon had determined that Julep and Isengrim would be warhounds as he was, and part of that was learning to challenge emotion into physical action. Though it was best to keep a cool head in combat situations, the black-banded Leviathan felt it couldn’t hurt to get a little berserker rage going in his gunmetal firstborn. He bowed in an exaggerated invitation to play, moving stiffly, abandoning Qilaq’s game for one that was perhaps more fitting for his sharp-fanged son. Pride at Isengrim’s defiance and his spitfire mien arose within the young father, flashing bright and warm in his golden eyes. He laughed for the sheer joy of it. “Come, Isengrim, great warrior. Teach me a lesson.”
March 09, 2017, 09:14 PM
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oh yes, the boy was indeed angry. angery that his father had put some irrelevant girl before him in his thoughts, angry by his fathers enticement, rilled up by each word that passed the Leviathan's lips. the boy grew in his anger as he grew in his size, which would one day balance each other out as his physique would equally match the mass of his fury. but for now, he fumed, a low snarl growing within his underdeveloped vocal chords. at that point, he neeed little push to prove to his father exactly what his father wished to see. rage.
his attack was futile in the face of the Leviathan, but his attack was a true one at that. the boy had watched before the extend that two adults could go when their claws were invoked, and though he knew he did not have the strength to maim the man he called his father, but his movements were childlike in the sense that he was quick. nails extended, he aimed to slash at the front of his father's chest, the most calculative effort he could give until his father fought back. teeth at the ready, the tiny peircers were ready, awaiting their turn to take the scruff of flesh within his jaws. isengrim was entirely confident, and his blood pounded within his ears, his heart seeming as if it was ready to beat outside his chest. the rush, it was everything. the feeling of danger and the assurance he woud leave virtually unsacthed gave hima sense of superiority, one that would carry with him into his greater ages. and just like that, he was hooked. addicted to the bloodlust and the need of the cheap thrill that was unparralleled rage, and perhaps, assuring what would be the catalyst for his eventual downfall in the process.
[/td][/tr][/table]his attack was futile in the face of the Leviathan, but his attack was a true one at that. the boy had watched before the extend that two adults could go when their claws were invoked, and though he knew he did not have the strength to maim the man he called his father, but his movements were childlike in the sense that he was quick. nails extended, he aimed to slash at the front of his father's chest, the most calculative effort he could give until his father fought back. teeth at the ready, the tiny peircers were ready, awaiting their turn to take the scruff of flesh within his jaws. isengrim was entirely confident, and his blood pounded within his ears, his heart seeming as if it was ready to beat outside his chest. the rush, it was everything. the feeling of danger and the assurance he woud leave virtually unsacthed gave hima sense of superiority, one that would carry with him into his greater ages. and just like that, he was hooked. addicted to the bloodlust and the need of the cheap thrill that was unparralleled rage, and perhaps, assuring what would be the catalyst for his eventual downfall in the process.
Last post from Szymon!
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The Leviathan observed with pride as his young son’s claws swiped viciously — and quickly — across his chest; it didn’t fit with Szymon’s personal fighting style, but he wouldn’t begrudge the boy his instincts. The shallow furrows didn’t break skin, but Szymon reacted as if they had, stumbling backward like a wounded target with a feigned grimace of pain. “Never let your guard down,” he cautioned his son in a warning rumble. “Feed that feeling but aim it with good sense. A dumb wolf is a dead wolf.” That wasn’t necessarily true all the time — Isengrim’s uncle Jagoda was a prime example of that — but Szymon didn’t hold Isengrim and Julep to Jagoda’s standards or even to Skellige’s. They were in a class all their own.
Moving slowly as befitted an adult wolf playing with a much smaller cub, he tested the barracuda — feinting first to the left, then sweeping right. He wanted to explore the young seawolf’s adaptability. Isengrim was swift, but could he think on his feet? Szymon’s scarred muzzle snaked forth in a mild attempt to butt at his son’s flank or hip, but he intentionally set his weight heavily on his forelegs, moving only his head and neck. It put him in a poor state as far as balance went and left his legs vulnerable to attack.
Szymon and his son spent the better part of the afternoon playing in this way, and by the time they were finished the Leviathan’s scarred forelegs were riddled with tiny punctures and shallow scrapes — the little berserker’s handiwork.
[/td][/tr][/table]Moving slowly as befitted an adult wolf playing with a much smaller cub, he tested the barracuda — feinting first to the left, then sweeping right. He wanted to explore the young seawolf’s adaptability. Isengrim was swift, but could he think on his feet? Szymon’s scarred muzzle snaked forth in a mild attempt to butt at his son’s flank or hip, but he intentionally set his weight heavily on his forelegs, moving only his head and neck. It put him in a poor state as far as balance went and left his legs vulnerable to attack.
Szymon and his son spent the better part of the afternoon playing in this way, and by the time they were finished the Leviathan’s scarred forelegs were riddled with tiny punctures and shallow scrapes — the little berserker’s handiwork.
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