Blacktail Deer Plateau woke up on the wrong side

Forward-dated about a week from today. Not actually in the Plateau but a prefix was mandatory.
@Donovan Azura

Although clouds shadowed the sky this morning, Finley rose with the sun and left her riverside rest stop without a drop of sentiment. She’d traveled upstream for several days now, veering off course only briefly to avoid trespassing on claimed lands, and the mountains to the east were beginning to feel more like a wall than a challenge. How many days had she been out here, and why did she feel no more at home than when she’d first arrived?

Restlessness pricked at Finley’s back as the Blacktail Deer Plateau faded into the horizon behind her. She’d been drawn to the forested land, desperate for a taste of anything but another damn fish; but, true to its name, the flat woodland taunted her with its namesake herds. A lone wolf, she’d been taught, didn’t stand a chance against even the weakest deer. Finley scowled. At least there was another forest ahead, this one nestled between the mountains. Maybe there she could snag a rodent or two.

Yet something brought her to a pause as she drew closer. Unfamiliarity with the landscape and its mythos gave Finley no reason to be afraid here, nor was she aware of the wolves staking their claim to the Ravensblood Forest. Instead, she scanned the edge of the trees and realized that the mountains weren’t simply surrounding them, but enclosing the forest like a fortress. On her current path, she’d either have to go through the woods or over the hills, and raking her paws raw on the rocks wasn’t the most appealing option.

Early morning frustration dulled Finley’s attention to her surroundings, and she muttered curses under her breath without caring if it scared off prey or fellow travelers. No way in hell was she turning back now. With her luck she might as well get lost in those woods, never to return.

Donovan wanders aimlessly along the borders of his newly found territory. Renewing the potentially waning scent of his small but growing pack. The three of them: Nemisis — his partner in crime, Derg — the poor wolf who had also lost his pack that Donovan stumbled upon, and himself. It’s not much but it’s getting somewhere and the brindled male will work effortlessly to continue it.

So as he trots languidly along the borders, he slithers his muscular body against trees, hiking his leg of others, spreading his scent along the outskirts of the monstrous trees that make up the majority of the Ravensblood Forest. 

Though, as he casually lifts a leg and lets what little liquid he has left out into the trunk of an evergreen, his eyes drift along the flatter horizon. Meeting fields upon fields, then the ever massive, Whitefish River that breaks off into smaller streams into his own land. Lastly as his eyes drift upwards to the near plateau, they catch on something. An animal. Upon further examination, it seems to be another wolf.

The always undying curiosity within him screams like the devil on his shoulder to leave the great lands he means to protect and seek them out. So with his weak willpower, he does. 

Dropping his foot to the ground once more. He begins a slow trot to the stranger a casual yet mysteriously curious smile controls his face handsomely. As he approaches, possibly stopping about twenty feet away from said stranger, his nose helps him realize that the stranger before him is a she-wolf in fact. 

So he tilts his head, golden hues settling on her face, with his smile remaining. “Lost, dear? Or just wandering?” The words he speaks aren’t as teasing as he thought they’d be, rather it seems like a genuine question.

“Lost, dear?” Whatever self-perpetuating grumbling Finley might have entertained came to an abrupt halt, as did her walk. “Or just wandering?” She noted, with mild surprise, that despite the “dear” pet name, not a drop of condescension soured his tone.

Hulking beasts masquerading as canines were no stranger to Finley, and for a moment she might have thought the speaker was one of the Helios wolves. But distinctive markings, along with a scene that wasn’t quite wolfish, betrayed his differing heritage. And she’d certainly never seen a tail like his, thrown over the back in a curl that made her own tail sore. Finley might have found it funny if she hadn’t got the immediate sense that, if he so pleased, he could have her on the ground in seconds.

His tone indicated no such intention; Finley wasn’t going to test it. At the surprise greeting she’d instinctively raised her head, but now she brought it down, midway between full alertness and shoulder-level. He’d asked a simple question. No immediate threat. She’d respond genuinely in turn.

“Wandering,” Finley confirmed, daring a few steps forward lest he mistake her distance for hostility. “Was about to pass these woods, in fact.” She turned her nose to the forest; the stranger bore a similar scent. “You familiar?”

He’s glad to find the wolf replying in a calm and collected way. He’s always ready to dirty his teeth with that sweet crimson, but he like to see how situations play out. After all, his pack isn’t big enough for him to constantly be terrorizing the the many individuals that pass by.

At her words he absentmindedly nods, listening. Eyes flick briefly to the forest that is meant to bear his pack and he nods once more to her question. Uncaring to the calculating steps she takes to close the distance between them.

“Yes. It’s my home for the moment. I’m rebuilding my fallen pack here.” His voice doesn’t display any weakness towards the subject, but if one pays enough attention, the calm canary color of his eyes sour with the thought of his dead brethren. “I’m willing to walk you through so my partner doesn’t rip you apart. She’s known to do that sometimes.” He laughs casually, the noise deep and rumbling, attractive and almost unintentionally seductive. Even though the words probably shouldn’t be delivered so carelessly. 

Then he dips his head into halfway now and introduces himself. “Donovan Azura of the Abbey.” His smile is cocky when he revels in his birth name. “Yours, dear?”

Ah, so not only was the male familiar, he lived here. Finley kept her stance steady, feeling no need to drop into further submission, and paused her approach when he didn’t mirror it. He was an attentive listener at least, and continued to show no sign of aggression. Good.

Then he delivered two jarring lines in a row: “I’m rebuilding my fallen pack here,” followed shortly by “…so my partner doesn’t rip you apart” and a casual laugh, as though that was something to laugh about. On one hand Finley’s heart lurched at the mention of a pack; this was the second time she’d heard of a new group founding here, and while the first hadn’t appealed, now she was certain the right pack was in the area somewhere. On the other, the mention of the stranger’s aggressive partner gave Finley pause. Was the unnamed “she” merely being territorial?

If nothing else, the brute’s escort offer suggested that his partner was at least willing to listen to him. He introduced himself as Donovan Azura of the Abbey; bold of him, Finley thought, to introduce his honorific as though this “Abbey” wasn’t being rebuilt as he spoke. And she could appreciate his confidence.

“Finley,” she said, resuming her approach. Her tone was distant still; for all she knew she was trotting facefirst into a trap. But a quick sniff confirmed that, even if Donovan had been around others recently, it wasn’t enough to form a stable pack scent. And Finley had no reason to doubt the rest of his words. To stay on the safe side, she slowed a few feet away even then—but in the continued interest of not appearing suspicious, she offered a grateful nod. “Sounds like quite a partner.” She was careful to keep judgment out of her tone, making the statement as though commenting on the weather; if Donovan cared to clarify, Finley would be happy to listen.

Minor clarification on the pack bit: Finley has a thread planned with a (future) Seelie Court member, hence the pack mention, but said thread hasn’t started yet. It’s safe to assume she wouldn’t be into the fairy theme.

That’s okay! Yeah I can see her fitting in well with the prideful violence known with the Saints haha.
Of course, I’ll respect any decision you make! ;>

As the she wolf introduces herself Donovan nods briefly. Then as she approaches more, he bravely turns his back to her, continuously following her with his own coin gold hues. The action beckons for her to step in next to them as he begins walking towards, and into, the tree line of Ravensblood. The hair raising calls of the forests signature bird sound off ominously in the canopy above them.

“Finley?” He parrots back to make sure he pronounces it correctly. Then he chuckles again at the comment regarding Nemisis. “She’s something, alright. Always itching to kill. Sometimes for no reason too.” The words are fond and he delivers them comically. “Where do you suppose your wandering will take you, Finley?”

At this point I’m leaning very heavily towards having her recruited, if not on the spot then in the near future >:>c Could be interesting if she hears about Donovan or Nemisis’, uh, other exploits (somewhere along the line), but I’ll see how IC interaction goes!

also, finley not picking up any aggression from donnie here like

Donovan turned his back to her without hesitation, and just like that they were into the woods. Again, Finley noted, entirely self-assured of the male, turning his back on her like that. Was he that confident in his superiority, were she more volatile and willing to attack? Their heights weren’t as offset as she’d first assumed.

She gave a small nod of acknowledgment as he echoed her name; idly she realized she’d left out her “surname,” but it wasn’t as though Donovan, who for all purposes was still a stranger, needed to know this information. He certainly didn’t need to know what, exactly, it was. Although Finley stayed behind him, he might have noticed her ears flatten as she dismissed the thought. The croaking caw of ravens above them, as if warning their brethren of the passing beasts, was excuse enough.

“Always itching to kill.” Hm. Had Donovan answered with something about protecting the land or proving her own or the fledgling pack’s strength, Finley would have no further questions. But killing for no reason sounded like a great way to make enemies. And he spoke as though his “partner” was a foolish pup who liked tearing frogs’ limbs for fun.

Before she could decide whether to press the question, Donovan asked the key question: her intentions. Ah. Of course Finley didn’t have an answer. And, seeing as he was founding a pack, she wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a deeper question in play.

Again she had no reason to lie. “I suppose I’m taking it day by day.” No reason to divulge the sordid, hopeless details, either. “I’ve heard these are popular lands.” Still sensing no danger, Finley added, “Is your partner the only recruit?”

Yooo you have no idea how hard I just laughed because of that. :’> Shit made my day better ngl. Also yeah Donnie is having a good day today so that’s why he’s so calm haha.

As they walk further into the territory, the shade of the canopy covers them in a cooler, much more bearable environment. Though the way she continues to lag behind him rather than beside him, causes the male to raise a curious brow at her. The way she flattens her ears momentarily also has him wondering what’s going through her mind.

At her first reply he nods in understanding. “I can get behind that.” Then to her next sentence. “No. We have another male named Derg. Found him lying in a puddle of his own tears a few days ago. Weak with nowhere to go. I offered him a home where he will strive and he will grow stronger physically and mentally.” He says this with such confidence and a inspired tone to his deep voice. “We focus on physical strength and skill just as much as schooling.”

“While Nemisis, my partner, comes from a violent pack, she does it for good reasons. Protecting our food cache and pack mates, watching over wolves that come too close to our sleeping grounds are the ones she really turns her teeth on.” Then he laughs. “She’s not all bad, just conditioned differently.”

Aw, glad to hear it :,> Hope the rest of the day goes better!

The forest changed as they moved through it, the heat of the plain giving way to a cool, shaded canopy. Finley hadn’t noticed just how humid it had been elsewhere, but this, this was comfortable. Maybe too comfortable—Donovan raised a brow at her and she quickened her pace. She still didn’t risk venturing to a side-by-side position, but keeping her head around his midsection could work. If he snapped, she would have warning. As long as she didn’t get distracted by that curly tail.

Fortunately Donovan kept talking, keeping Finley’s focus on their conversation. “Derg” also sounded like… quite a character. Back in the Helios clan, a stray like that would have been chased out without pause at best. But Donovan presented Derg’s story with confidence, making the weakling sound less like a lost soul and more like a lost pup with potential. From the description alone Finley wasn’t sure what he saw in a wolf “lying in a puddle of his own tears,” but once more she bit back any vocal judgment.

Still, he seemed to have picked up on her doubts about his partner, as Donovan explained Nemesis’ own virulent upbringing. Finley nodded, understanding now that his volatile partner more than compensated for her reckless behavior through other contributions to the pack. The fatalities were just… outlets! That was it. Yes.

Finley found herself chuckling lightly as Donovan finished his story, though she wasn’t sure what she found so funny about it. “A… trainee,” and this time she couldn’t help but slip some distaste into the weasel word, “and a bloodthirsty partner.” She hoped the musing wouldn’t come off as laughing at the fledgling pack, and quickly tried to shift focus: “Is there a particular ends for which the pack exists?”

He decides to pay no mind to her not coming to walk next to him. He knows she’s cautious of him. He likes that. She’s smart. What else piques his interest in her is that fact that the brave she-wolf questions him. Though at her words his golden eyes shift back towards her, a chiding shake of his head and a confident chuckle.

“Every pack must start somewhere. Especially with both Nem and I having started from scratch in a place that is unfamiliar to us. Her former pack is savage, with their odd stories tell of blood rituals and cannibalism; honoring every part of their fallen.” He says the words normally. As if he isn’t talking about straight up cannibalism. “My pack was a highly feared and respected one. We made deadly warriors out of wolves who thought they were nothing. We made unbeatable killers with mere pups. The Saints were highly militarized, most of our numbers being the ones we called The Blades. An unspeakable amount of time goes into our training.” Then canary meets her hazel eyes. “We look to find satisfaction in rebuilding something we both lost from our pasts. An unbelievably strong pack made up of warriors. We give those who’d like to redeem themselves a second, more ferocious, chance.” The entirety of the words he spills are heated with pride and strength. Confidence in his ability to build a worthy pack able to take down any who oppose him. 

A smirk overhauls his expression, gleaming, deadly teeth show. “We will be positivity deadly.”

So he didn’t deny that the lineup thus far was… less than formidable, and seemed to take casual amusement in her questioning. Finley kept quiet as Donovan continued his story; remarkable, she thought, just how much one could learn by saying absolutely nothing.

The pieces fell together: Nemesis was not partner-as-in-mate (or if she was, then it was less important to the purpose of the pack’s founding), but a partner-in-founding. In “crime,” if one would. But as Donovan explained the noble means of his own old pack, Finley’s eyes widened and her ears pricked with interest. Of course he would take in a weakling like Derg if the pack—the Saints, she noted, not the Abbey; a noble name indeed—was something of a mercenary group. And of particular interest to Finley was the unspoken vow that even those fallen, helpless and cast out seemingly beyond repair, had a second chance with the Saints. No, more than a passive “chance”—a future.

She hadn’t told Donovan anything of her own past, right? His eyes gleamed as he smirked a toothy smirk; the slightest jerk of her head gave away her surprise. But it was instinctual, nothing more, and if anything her conscious mind was screaming in the opposite direction. If Donovan was trying to recruit her, his words snaked around her mind like a charm. There was raw ambition to his statements, a promise: this was, if not now then in the future, so much more than a brute, a wild card, and a pitiable sod. These were the Saints. And they would be, in his own words, “positively deadly.”

He hadn’t said a thing about Finley herself, yet her tail lowered and her wordless nod dipped into an almost-bow. She still didn’t look away, wouldn’t roll over for an unproven king. But, clear and shining as the sap down the sequoias, Finley was entranced. If nothing else, Donovan had a way with words.

After his more than impressive and seemingly convincing speech filled to the brim with the horribly brave will that Donovan had viciously swirling inside like a raging fire, he looks to her. Tilting a chin in her direction. “Tell me about yourself. Are you seasoned in battle? Perhaps you’d rather show me...” His brow cocks and his casual smile carefully turns mischievous, challenging. “How about a friendly spar to gage your skills?” 

Besides his facial expressions, his body language doesn’t display predictions of possible movement. The brindled male continues walking just as he was before.

Spar thread here! No success.

Snap out of it, Fin. Focus shifted squarely on her shoulders as Donovan challenged her to a spar. Reassess: he was bigger than her, in his own territory. He had the bulk to back up his words; she’d be on defense. But if he kept to his word, and this would truly be a test of skill and nothing more, maybe Finley had a chance.

He kept walking, showing no sign of initiating the challenge; she could have the advantage of surprise. Could she throw him over? Unlikely. Was he watching? She could get him off-balance. The hair along her spine rose and without warning Finley lunged, aiming to throw herself at his midsection just under the chest.

Roll here. Successful!

Donovan definitely doesn’t expect the female to jump straight at him at the mention of a spar. Successfully getting the beat on him due to the element of surprise, the brindled male stumbles at the attempt to knock him over. The she-wolf before him isn’t some weak, sniffling female. She’s strong enough to almost cause his massive form to topple over. Finley has him stumbling a good few feet over in an attempt to right himself and he hardly succeeds.

When he’s able to catch his footing, his grin gleams with teeth as he comes towards her. Looking like he’s going to the left of her body only to quickly juke and run towards the right. Sprinting down the line of her form, jaws snatch up her tail in his grasp and give a hearty, yet playful, tug. Not enough to hurt thankfully. 

Then he’s bounding off and planting his feet firmly in place. Attempt to ready himself for her next move he tilts his chin up to her in challenge. “Come get me, darling.” He hums teasingly.

Roll here, big F

The tackle sent Donovan stumbling, not falling over but enough to throw Finley off-kilter for a wild second. She skidded back just in time to catch a flash of teeth as he launched himself leftward; dodging brought her right in his path, the tricky bastard, and he caught her tail with a firm tug.

But he wasn’t out for blood. “Come get me, darling.” So he was being a tease. Finley’s lips curled back in what she thought was a grin, though the shape was unfamiliar and mangled on her maw. She’d take the cockiness over put-downs any day.

Round two; her advantage gone. Maybe she could wipe that smug grin off his face. With another surge forward, now baring her own fangs, Finley aimed straight for his brindled muzzle.

Roll. Idk where these rolls coming from ngl lol. T^T

She’s shootings to look back to him and he can see the knowing glance in her eyes at his teasing. Then a borderline vicious smile shows her own teeth his a smile. The smile becoming less of a smile and more of a snarl as she shots towards him. Aiming for his muzzle, he tilts his head skyward and steps back, both steps coming in quick succession. Then he’s jumping forward, his paws meeting her before his maw does. One heavy arm lies draped over her shoulder blades and the other gripping onto her chest. His teeth are slipping through fur to grip the loose skin of her scruff. Remaining upright with his front paws holding onto her as much as he’s able to he attempts to push her backwards with his hind legs planted firmly in the ground. He will stay this way until she makes her next move.

Pfft, this is fun >:D Roll here, on which Finley gets her tail served on a brindle platter.

Well, she got him to stop smiling—because her teeth snapped at air. Then his arms were on her in a headlock and his teeth clamped her scruff. Always the damn scruff. Finley jerked her head but Donovan’s grip was solid; a growling huff of frustration escaped her. Out of practice. Weak.

If Donovan had been leader she might have dropped then and there—but he wasn’t, and she refused to do him the favor of backing up. Still snarling wordlessly Finley pushed against him, trying only to stay steady on her paws. If he would just leave an opening…

Roll. It is! ヽ(´▽｀)/

As she struggles within this potentially deadly grasp, his teeth keep the same force, but he gives a cheeky shake of his large head. Pushing further onto her to try his damnedest to secure a dominating posture over her, he ultimately fails. The she-wolf is rather strong, impressively so. 

This wrestling game only goes on for a few more seconds before he finally relents his fearsome grip on her, now drooly, scruff. Taking a step back, his black-purple tongue flops out of his maw after licking his chops. His breath comes quicker than before but not unhealthily so. 

The larger male nods down to her, impressed by her effort. “That was good. Wouldn’t mind having you in my ranks.” He compliments with a wink. “Made me work for my victory.”

It lasted seconds but felt like an eternity, drool lolling onto and over the same punctures her brutish siblings had left. Her pulse roared; she wouldn’t die here, would she? led into unfamiliar woods by an unfamiliar canine, in one final test of strength that she was destined to—

And then he was off. Finley was on her paws almost too fast and forced them to stay put with an internal snap of will; she shook her head quickly as if willing away dust. Dust, yeah, that was all, no life-threatening panic in the slightest. Shockingly, Finley realized, Donovan had kept his word: it started a spar, and ended a spar.

But the surprise of that had nothing on what he said next: Donovan Azura of the Abbey, future leader of the Saints, was impressed. And, moreover, wanted her in his ranks—wanted! her! Finley wouldn’t have to cower for his training after all!

The adrenaline ebbing away, leaving her neck and legs sore but otherwise spotless, Finley scraped up what willpower remained to dip her head in respectful acknowledgment (as opposed to dropping at his paws, which was rather tempting if shameful). Now the tug of her lip was a real grin, toothless but no less authentic. “I’d be honored,” she said, almost breathless, “to join your Saints.”

Fade and archive here and we can start a new one? :>

As she comes to he can tell there’s was something off in her eyes, surely her mind was just drifting. Who knows. Now though he’s excited to see the grin that contorts her face beautifully beam back to him. He replies with an easy chuckle and a nod. “So it’s official.” He hums. “Come, I’ll show you around.” 

With that, he’s playfully bumping shoulders with her and off on his merry way. Giving an expectant look over his shoulder to her that says follow. He trots off into the woods.

:thumbsup: Will do!

”So it’s official.” Now Finley’s heart did backflips for all the right reasons. The excitement flooding her veins was almost puplike, and she might have forced it all down if not for Donovan’s playful bump. Ah, screw it; she’d let her tail wag.

She followed with a spring in her step, the morning’s grumpiness feeling like a lifetime away. Here, now, among towering sequoias Finley had a place—and as long as she could help it, she would never back out.