Dragoncrest Cliffs Lo-Fi Listening

For any Rusalkan

In winter, the nights were long and the days were painstakingly short. Even then, the sun might not appear from behind a pale, grey sky. Sunlight was fleeting, and if you did catch a ray it was like finding a piece of gold or buried treasure. Njord had managed to find a sunny spot, on one lucky afternoon.

The islander had arrived in Dragoncrest just the other day with Erzulie. It was a long and hard trip for the foreigner. He was used to swimming, not traveling many miles at a time. Though he had arrived in good spirits and optimistic excitement, he quickly succumbed to weariness and passed out in an old, worn den he had found. In the morning, a puddle of light pooled in front of its opening (maybe why the previous occupant had dug it there), and Njord had scooted out into the rays, curled into a tight ball with his fox red tail covering his nose, dreaming of fish and crabs and sealions.

Grímnismál had trouble finding a den- one that not only would hold herself, but the medical supplies she would need. At the moment her supplies were huddled deep inside cliff, underneath the secret passage to the beach of the territory She hoped no tide would take it away. Though little did she know, it was a completely new area to be discovered.

Tuck away from one of the many passages, she sought hard to find the sea through the cliff, for her mind had thought about Erzulie's lesson on kelp. She was rather determined to find them, and make sure some were nearby. Surely, with such tunnels, the reaper assumed a beach would be somewhere.. And so she found. However to get toward it required climbing a few boulders within the passageway. 

Upon returning on storing various of herbs in the same area just for a temporary lodge, she encountered the red-tail man from earlier, "Oh, excuse me.." Not meaning to disrupt his activities, as now it was time to continue searching for her own lodge.

Like many wolves, Njord was a light sleeper and so when Grímnismál walked by he awoke with heavy lids and a groggy expression. The islander blinked a few times… not quite sure if he was seeing straight because the wolf before him hardly looked like a wolf at all. Her pelt was marbled with black, silver and white, she was missing her tail, and her eyes glowed a bright crimson. She looked more a shark than a canine!

The grey-capped man stood up abruptly and stretched downward dog. “Hey, hi there,” he said, but she scarcely stopped on her way. Njord kicked up dirt and hurried after her. “Where are you going?” he asked nosily, a wolf’s length behind the yearling.

If Grímnismál was told she looked more of a shark then a wolf, surely she would be speechless. For her own tail, long ago had been taken by a shark, as she was just a lil' girl swimming in the deep waters. Perhaps too far, did she go on that day, and a regret ever since had formed. She couldn't even remember what her tail looked like.

"Oh, um, i'm trying to find a home-den.. For herbs, and," she stuttered, "p-patients." It was somewhat hard to find a secluded area not only herself could be fit in, but alongside any injured bodies. She mourned the day that would happen, but also wouldn't feel comfortable being selfish enough to find only one her size if someone actually did get injured.

She also needed a proper storage.. And for the spider-gathering. That was important. But would she need them anymore with the kelp..?

Njord matched pace as he pulled up besides Grímnismál, a bit oblivious that the young woman might have preferred a larger personal bubble. “Patients?” he asked, his kind expression becoming curious. “Are Rusalkans sickly often?” he asked with genuine concern. The man had never been to the mainland before (perhaps wolves fell ill more frequently, here) and he didn’t know anything of war. His family lived on an island and only had a traders pass by every rare moon, using a narrow land bridge to cross the sea. The wolves of Meares were scarcely injured.

“My name’s Njord by the way,” he added, “what’s yours? Maybe I can help you look for a good den… or dig you a new one!” he offered, a bit excited to show off his tough-guy-man-strength and prove himself.

"Oh no," the reaper shook her head. It wasn't that they got sick often, but it also was a rather hobby of hers to simply collect herbs and the like. It was also but simple procedure for a medic, to make room for any who is. No one was sure when the day they would catch a could or a joint ache, and she would like to show some use.

"I'm Grímnismál, but um, Grim is fine too." She didn't know where he came from, or if was from the same pack that had once held the same name she has. Many seemed from an unknown area, and she actually doesn't know where majority were from.. Though it seemed some, mostly carried a common theme; the love for the sea.

"I'm looking for maybe an.. Area in the caverns.. With water! And, and open." Since there was a cavern within the cliff, she thought maybe it would be best to find an area within. It was a preference, but if anything, she could just start by the lil' beach. The only worry was if the herbs would wash away by the tides..

Despite Njord’s abrupt companionship, Grímnismál did not turn him away. She was a small thing and spoke meekly, but with with a kind voice, and denied Rusalkans to be prone to illness, though she did not extrapolate. “Oohh,” he replied to denote his imagined competence.

She had a long and complicated name, much like Kigipigak, of a different tongue. “Grim!” Njord parroted, “though you don’t look that grim to me,” he added with a smirk… thinking himself hilarious for tacking on a dad joke. Queue eye roll.

She described what she was looking for, and Njord thought he recalled something like that from his recent patrol of the territory. “Salt water is good for healing wounds,” he acknowledged… Njord did not truly know the art of medicine but he had a good grip on surviving island life and using the coast to one's advantage. “Let’s check down by the cliffs, then?” he suggested, thinking on the same wave as Grim.

"Some seem to be put off by my eyes.. So maybe?" While red-eyes were common to the isle she hailed from, Grímnismál couldn't help but notice at times many were struck by her ruby-eyes before continuing on with whatever. The eye contact would throw her off, but gradually she was getting used to it as now she started to assume it was a rather uncommon relic for most wolves. She hasn't met another with eyes like her own, and it honestly felt a bit lonely- being the odd one out.

The word 'grim' through definition was a bit hard but how he phrased made her understand it wasn't something, good, and it felt.. A bit uneasy knowing that was also a nickname she gave herself. Though the reaper was too timid to ask.

"I found a tunnel leading to the beach, but it's too close for a den.. Herbs can wash away." She fell behind Njord, offering he lead the way if he knew one. While she knew the way to the beach, the other parts of the caverns were unknown.

Still not quite sure what dragoncrest looks like, haha

Though his dad-joke pun didn’t seem to land, Njord didn’t give up on forming a friendship with Grímnismál. She was like a little stormy raincloud. “Is that so?” Njord replied, peering over to glance at her scarlet gaze, “I’ve seen green and brown and blue and nearly purple eyes… but never red ones like yours! I like them. Red’s my favorite color,” he smiled, with a wag of his matching red tail.

The duo made their way towards the direction of the sea, Grímnismál falling behind in his tracks. “A tunnel huh? Wondered how that formed,” Njord thought pensively, trying to wrap his brain around the best way to make a den in that area.
Eventually they came upon the cavern’s mouth, the sound of ocean waves echoing through its chambers. “How far does the water come up?” Njord asked Grimm, “Should we explore the cave or find you a den nearby the tunnel? You’d have beach access!”

There was a streak of heat that flashed to her face, and paws feeling a bit wet from embarrassment. She wasn't too used to compliments, rather she only remembered the insults her mother would give when she would mess up. She had to look away in embarrassment while whispering so low it was almost like a squeak, "Thank you.." While Grímnismál would like to say something back, she was feeling too shy at the moment.

"Maybe find a tunnel by the beach..? I'm not sure how far it comes up yet.." To try and diverge how she felt, the small medic shook her head and focused onto the topic at hand; her den and the medic den. She started to venture down the tunnel where she had found the beach, leading Njord to the location.

Out of the corner of his eye, Njord could see Grímnismál divert her gaze… but her coy expression and meek voice were not lost on to the castaway. “Alright,” he agreed, and followed the girl through the tunnel. It was eerily quiet, the exit like a window to a different world – a landscape painting hung on a dark wall. The smell of salt was strong and wind whistled against the oystered rock.

They emerged onto a private getaway beach. Water lapped against the sand flirtatiously, unlike the violent crashing waves against the adjacent cliffs. “Hey, this is pretty neat!” Njord exclaimed. He had no idea this was here! Suddenly, he got the urge to RUN!

Njord kicked up sand and sprinted away down to the length of the beach (for it wasn’t that big), only to 180 and loop back around going at mach ten. His red tail was partially curled beneath him (in classic zoomie fashion, to make him more aerodynamic). He lept at Grimm, pawing the air, and ran away again as if to entice her to chase.

Hmm… must be all that energy from the nap he had! For now, their mission to find the den was set aside for a little romp in the sand.

Wrapping this up since Grimm’s gone inactive and I’m cleaning up my threadlog for the new year ^_^ If you want to restart it, just lmk!

Though the red-tailed islander became momentarily distracted by a game of chase, he eventually helped Grímnismál locate a den suitable for her medical bay. After, he would return to Sapphique’s time and time again, to play and hunt.