Neverwinter Forest bound for tennessee

On the borders! All welcome!

He lived on the borders. Trips "inland" were only to investigate newcomers and standing members alike. Usually from a distance. He stayed long enough to renew his scent in the inner territories and to roll around in packscent as well. He didn't want to be mistaken for an outsider — a situation he made all too likely by keeping to himself.

Today, he was hunting. It was a break from his tireless patrol of the land. In truth, he had been hoping to catch Kinusi on Forneskja's borders again. His unwelcome preoccupation with her still persisted; he had begun to feel grateful to Luhtar for scaring her away. This sentiment, however, lived alongside his resentment rather than replacing it.

Deer was his target. Catamaran rarely bothered with them when he only had himself to feed, but he was duty-bound to provide for the pack. Still, he hoped to run into reinforcements as he followed a fresh trail. Capable as he may be, two wolves were more efficient than one. Thus, his gait was slow and meandering, his ears cupped outward even as he snuffled over another tantalizing spore.

hope this is ok <3

rökkur, too, was not one to linger too long within the heart of the territory. he much preferred patrolling, marking and hunting. his paws were constantly worked, his body, too. he kept himself in a good condition, well-muscled and regularly groomed. a celebration of self. a nod to the máni, the moon, in all of her glory.

he was on his way to the border, now, and the scent of another forneskja wolf drifted towards him, of which he followed. nostrils flared as he drew closer, careful with his steps, calculated and precise. it was a man that he saw, then. moving, too. and when the shadow took in another breath of air, the smell of ungulate caught his attention.

a low woof sounded from behind the ash-blonde wolf, and, should he turn his head, rökkur would give a wordless, affirming nod. perceptive. a hunt was ongoing, and the shadow would quite like to tag along. two hunters were better than one, after all.

paws followed behind. silent. those of a tracker; a hunter; a warrior.

He paused when he sensed another coming up behind him, turning his head to face them even as his ears remained cupped toward the trail. It was another towering behemoth that emerged from the dark of the woods. Catamaran was relieved not to be faced once more with Luhtar.

The bark received a quieter sneeze in return, and — warily — the bounty hunter turned his gaze back toward the trail. Only now, one ear swiveled to track the stranger's location. He seemed friendly enough, but so had plenty of the wolves he'd been made to work with in the past. It paid to be cautious. It paid far more than any benefactor could ever offer him.

Still. Catamaran knew he was making a pariah of himself.

"Catamaran," he offered the next time the trail brought them closer together. He kept his voice low to avoid alerting their prey, but there was something like a smile on his face. If one ignored the still-mean squint of his eyes.

he followed like a shadow, slinking behind the blonde man. he held himself low, quiet. a hunter in all ways that one could embody the word. the forneskja wolf had offered his name, catamaran, and so he would deliver his own: rökkur. he said, hushed. northern accent thick and gaudy, rumbling from deep within his chest.

squinted, similarly scarlet eyes portrayed a harsh demeanor, though the curve of his maw suggested otherwise. rökkur returned his gaze forwards. he would have time to analyze this man after the hunt. deer scent grew closer, though no cries nor calls yet. still a few ways ago, though they were coming up on the tracks.

black-tipped tail begun to sway, slowly, low around his haunches. blazing eyes focused, almost to the point of ache. nostrils flared. while being a kappi had been his occupation, being a veiðimaður had been his lifeblood. a skill that he had put time and energy into honing. a part of his worth; his self-appointed duty.

Rökkur.

Yet another man of the north. Even speaking their language, Catamaran could not help but feel out of place. He'd been born to the sea, and that was a different breed no matter how close they'd been to the land of long nights. Solharr, Luhtar, Rökkur — if he dropped the -an from his name, would he fit in any better?

The question slipped easily from his mind as they drew nearer to their prey. He slowed, picking his way carefully through the brush. Low on his belly, he peered out at the gathering of deer. A male with a fearsome rack presided, and several younger bucks still clung to their mothers' sides. It was a young doe that drew his gaze instead. Old enough to have her own fawn, but inexplicably without. There was no physically weak link to pick off — so Catamaran picked her, and indicated this to Rökkur with a tip of his muzzle.

Then, leaving the other male in position, he crept around to a take up his own post. There, he would wait for Rökkur's signal.

i'm going to roll a 1d10 for this !! 1 = low effectiveness & 10 = high effectiveness. you don't have to do the same but i thought i would let you know <3

roll: 3

scents grew harsher upon his nose. deer-call ran through the air, and as catamaran picked his way through the shrubbery, he, too, followed suit, peering out at the herd. the chief, with his rack of antlers, which would soon be shed. his fellow forneskja hunter gestured towards a doe, lingering without a fawn of her own, though she was clearly of age. rökkur nodded, then. a smart choice.

he watched as the blonde man circled around the herd, opposite the shadow. teeth clicked, preparing to snap. and a low growl spilled from his lips, prompting the deer to run. to tire out. but they remained still, defiant, though the weariness that shone from beady eyes was palpable. they were afraid, but their sacrifice would fuel the forneskja wolves, an honour for them and only them to bear.

once catamaran was in place, rökkur sprung from the bushes, sprinting forwards with heavy pawsteps. jaws snapped at the chosen deer, grazing against the hairs upon her stomach. but she was quick, hooves swivelling as she reared upwards, defending herself. the shadow dashed a few steps away, providing catamaran an opportunity, as well as ensuring he did not get hit.

deer hooves, whether sharp or blunt, could prove to be fatal weapons.

rökkur did not feel like losing his life to a deer. not today, not ever.

The bounty hunter's thoughts were not so complex. He moved instinctively, actively suppressing many of his learned behaviors in order to work better with the other male. Together, they guided the movement of the herd. Catamaran did not see him duck away from danger — he was focused on his own health — but he knew exactly where Rökkur was.

The deer burst into his line of sight. He sprang forth, launching himself like a torpedo aimed at the doe's neck. His jaws found home, and his body made impact with a heavy thud against hers. Now he clung pantherine to their prey, jerking his head this way and that to try and tear something vital. She bled, but not quite enough.

Inevitably, the bounty hunter was thrown. His body slacked as he tumbled, jarred but ultimately unscathed. He hoped that Rökkur had kept pace.

roll: 10

and he certainly did. the pace was kept as he sprinted forwards, strides long, fast upon the earth as he pushed forwards, running parallel to their target. then, in one quick movement, he pushed himself upwards, jaw latching on to the deer's neck, slowing it down with his weight.

he pushed his fangs deep into the deer's neck, back paws barely pattering against the ground as he was dragged along by the deer. he could only stay locked on for a few more moments, and so he would silently beg that catamaran would use this opportunity to attack, so that they could combine their strength. work together.

It took the bounty hunter only a few moments of recovery before he was ready to give chase once more. He bounded after the pair, his breaths coming out in heavy gales of white vapor. Fleet-footed, he rushed to close the distance once more.

With a grunt of effort, Catamaran lunged once more, this time seizing the doe high on her haunch. A high-pitched bellow escaped her as he tore at her flesh. Blood streamed down her leg, down his throat, black in the low lighting. This was a grievous blow; she would run until she collapsed, and once she was down, she would not get back up.

Tearing away and bringing backward, the bounty hunter landed among the brush and detritus. He spat out a scrap of skin and muscle to call out, "Herd her," in a hoarse, winded voice. There was no need to risk further injury when they could follow her at a safe distance. They only needed to be sure she did not run too far in the wrong direction.

Taking up his scrap of flesh once more, he hurried to catch up to his hunting partner.

rökkur pulled back from the deer, taking a second, two to breath before he would throw himself back forwards, pushing his muscles, scars rippling beneath his pelt. paws landed, thudding underfoot as he rounded himself, moving to be in front of their target. she was wounded, now. limping. all it would take is for her to trip, and she would stay down.

when he was in front of her, she reared upwards, hooves threatening to strike him, but when they did not, she cried out and turned, galloping back towards the heart of the neverwinter. all it would take was a branch. an uprisen root. something for her to tumble over. he continued after her, now. carefully managing her course should she try to stray left or right. He was herding her with a clear precision.

the shadow was careful with his pace. he did not wish to over-exert himself, now, and with the injury that the doe had, they could continue after her at a sort of trot-gallop. as long as their eyes remained on the ungulate, they would be fine. trees grew thick, now, and as the deer ran, she had to weave through the trees. any moment now. she would soon find herself stumbling, and then the hunters would strike.

he looked over to catamaran. a firm nod that let him know that the hunt may nearly be over. a praise, too: a wordless 'well done'. then he focused forwards once more.

It grew darker as they moved deeper into the forest. This never failed to send a shiver down the bounty hunter's spine. He pressed on as if it did not affect him, and intercepted the nod from Rökkur with a bland flicker of his ears. He was not accustomed to receiving praise — especially for something so necessary as bringing down prey — and so the nod did not register as such.

But it was a job well done, and Catarmaran was pleased. He looked the other man over, nose twitching as he tested the air for wolf blood. None, it seemed, had spilled in their hunt.

Thus, his eyes turned back toward the doe's bloody wake.

"This must be a pack of northerners," he commented, one ear swiveling toward Rökkur in wait of his response.

they followed behind the doe, now, almost meandering as her pace slowed. she was bleeding heavily, now. and soon this would be over, and they would be supplied with a meal. the blonde man spoke, then, and scarlet eyes flicked over, ears swivelling to listen.

yes, it is, he said. i am within them. and so are you, judging by your smell, and your presence upon the borders. tone hushed, though he doubted that the deer could be startled any further. he watched as the trees grew thicker, closer to one another, and she tripped. stumbling upon a thick root. and the shadow sprinted forwards, barking for catamaran to follow suit; his tail waving him over.

he moved quickly, lunging his fangs towards the creatures neck as she lay on the ground, trying to push herself up. nostrils flared, eyes widening as to find the others' figure. waiting for his aid. this would finish quickly. blood trickled from where she had already been bitten, and her eyes were beady, wet, and tired.

a prayer would be said after her passing. her sacrifice.

The bounty hunter did not answer; it seemed that he had been lumped amongst the northerners regardless of his place of birth. And why shouldn't they? If he could speak like them, perhaps that was all it took.

The man's attention turned quickly back to the doe. Catamaran did not understand his hurry, but then supposed he must have been especially hungry. In deference to the behemoth's stomach, he moved quickly when called to action. Rökkur was already at her throat, so the bounty hunter took hold of her haunch once more and twisted until she was flat on the ground. Soon enough, she would have no more strength to fight.

This was kindness, in his eyes. He felt no need for a prayer when they had been the ones to end her suffering. Yes, they had increased her suffering to feed themselves — but it was only brief. It was only the way of things. Catamaran, too, had often gone through terrifying ordeals, and he had been made to live with himself in the end. They would not be doing the doe the same discourtesy.

Even so — he was in no rush to speed her along to her painful end. These things came in their own time, and it was no skin off his hide if that time stretched long.

he felt that catamaran may be slow when it came to the does death, but perhaps they just did things differently. the wolves of tunglbörn had been quick with their prey, their deaths a rite of passage to take place in the sky with the máni. and he knew that this deer, too, would join the lady of the moon, another star in her navy sky.

he sunk his fangs deeper, as deep as possible into the ungulates neck, until a thick vein was hit. he could feel it, rubbery beneath his teeth, and pierced it. her eyes went wide, watery, as she bellowed, crying out. her beady, dark gaze flicked up to his own, and a pang of sorrow shot through his heart like an arrow. but she would find peace.

when her breathing slowed, and she grew still, he released his grip upon her. standing, panting, flicking his tongue against his lips and his nose as to clean any blood that may be upon her maw. a quick murmur was spoken: börn tunglanna, þakka þér fyrir fórn þitt. við flytjum þig til gyðju vorrar, þar sem þú getur orðið ein af henni í líf eftir dauða. hædd fyrir ævinlega. and he dipped his head. honour embodied.

rökkur looked up, then. we should bring this to the cache, after we eat. he said, nodding at the man, gesturing for him to eat. and the shadow would watch carefully to ensure he did before he begun. perhaps he would offer some to the king and his bride-to-be. a gift, a sign of loyalty. furrowed brows a sign of thought.

When its time was up, the doe expired. Catamaran broke away with an effortful sigh, licking blood and fur from his chops. First his ear and then his head swiveled toward Rökkur as he began to speak, but it soon became clear that Catamaran was not the addressee; the man way praying.

The bounty hunter looked away, his hackles half-rising as he tried to ignore the uncomfortable display. It was none of his business, of course, and he did not begrudge the average man his average religion. But he had had dealings with more sinister packs in the past, and they were almost always connected to strange religions. To hear unfamiliar intonations put him in a mind to defend himself —

But there was no call for that, of course. Despite his bristling, Catamaran bowed his head and bore silent witness to the prayer; the best he could do in lieu of active participation.

Of the suggestion to drag the deer to the caches, Catamaran had little to say. Only, "Alright," though he did not know the purpose of moving the kill to a different location. Sometimes, he would bring a rabbit or a turkey to someplace more comfortable to eat, but surely a kill belonged far from comforts? He assumed that there was some tradition or wisdom that he was lacking in; either way, he was resigned to seeing this job done as his packmate thought best.

He had fewer qualms about Rökkur's next act, which was to offer him the first bite. The bounty had not expected it, but he did not waste their time with discourse. "To your health, then," he said with a rare wheel of his tail. Then he dug in to eat his fill.

Feel free to fade after your post! We can also keep going if you'd like :)

and to yours, he replied. a smile tugging at his lips, too, before he began to eat. a hearty meal, though one that should be savoured. winter was coming. soon, too. in a moon, snow would begin to blanket the ground, and all would be bright, white. he was reminded of the tundra, then, and a shiver threatened his spine.

but he remained still, taking his share of the meat. once filled, he would raise, craning his head upwards, stretching. and to forneskja's. he said with a sense of finality. when catamaran eventually finished, rökkur would eventually begin breaking pieces off from the carcass, taking the meat to the nearest cache.

back and forth, back and forth, well into the night. whether or not the blonde helped him, the shadow felt pleased with himself and his work, and once the moon was within the sky, he would bathe himself, and then retreat to his den.

perhaps he could share another hunt with this packmate sometime.

fade here!