Bearclaw Valley he is the bane of mortals

paging @Xan! :D

As the seasons change so too does Drogon’s considerations for his secondary trade. His eye remains ever vigilant upon the prize of becoming a master warrior but he understands the value of holding more than one trade, of honing more than one set of skills. He slips from Moonspear’s borders with ease giving the day to scouting tendencies. While Drogon does not necessarily know he could be considered diplomatic he has, technically, represented Moonspear on more than one occasion ( Nemesis and Ganondorf both come to mind ) and plays with the idea of aiming for ambassador. Yet, his intimate knowledge with the Wilds, secret passages and shortcuts learned during his time as a loner made him a fairly decent candidate for ranger, too. There is no demand for a decision immediate or otherwise and so for the moment Drogon tucks it to the back of his mind to contemplate at another time.

The snow crunches beneath his heavy footfalls, weight added by his time spent in Moonspear and good eating, and the thick and heavy winter coat that cloaks his body and the wintery light, frosted blue-grey mane he bears like plush armor. It will do little against the slice of teeth and claws but Drogon does not need it to: it’s sole purpose is to keep him warm and it does that job with no complaints from him. His pace slows, a well worn scent upon the earth as he nears a path that narrows into the valley in the distance lined with massive boulders, rocks and coniferous trees. Not quite enough to be a pack yet but the territory is definitely occupied. The soturi hesitates, toeing the line between pushing and throwing caution to the wind to sate his own curiosity and perhaps earn a little tidbit of information to relay back to Hydra and her parents or play it safe and act as if the territory is, indeed, claimed. The rebel without a cause part of him errs to throwing caution to the wind but with age has come relative ( selective? ) wisdom for the Ansbjørn.

In the end, he does not proceed further, instead favoring the diplomatic approach by tilting his head back and letting out a call for anyone in the valley’s vicinity.

I just noticed that Drogon’s lil’ side blurb are lyrics from a BMTH song... (♥ω♥*)

It was during the earliest hours of that day when the Inuk had concluded his most recent of journeys, the return to his home being necessary and welcomed. Worn from his lengthy travels, he’d done little more than release a heavy stream of urine right at the valley’s entrance prior to trotting down the path and towards the river. Although winter had since left its mark on the lands, he still made his way through the water every now and again to reach the island at its center. There, even after so long, lived the very same bear with whom his mother and father had coexisted. Since his return to the valley, Alexander had spoken with the great beast only in passing, and only on rare occasions—which wasn’t the least bit intentional. In actuality, the male had been wanting to carry out a full conversation with the bear ever since he’d realised that he was still there, wanting to share his identity with him; there were a few questions, too, that he held for Arthur, but many could wait until a later date. For now, he wanted only to exchange information—specifically, who his parents were—which was sure to make for a quick and easy interaction.

At least, it would have.

A howl rang out through the valley, bouncing off its walls and creating a seemingly endless echo. Stopping in his tracks, the albino raised his head whilst his ears perked, nose being shoved up into the air. Several deep inhales didn’t reveal anything, the distance too great for his sense of smell to cross. Understanding this, he turned and started at a steady jog in the direction of the valley’s entrance, only to break into a sprint shortly thereafter. Slowing only after reaching the rough terrain leading out, he walked up the path effortlessly, spotting the source of the howl before the distance was devoured in full. Seeing the massive wolf, he took the time to draw in a breath again, though his scent was unrecognisable; the collection of smells mingling with his own suggested a pack, but none were familiar to him. In a way, that was a good thing—it meant that he definitely wasn’t from Blackfeather Woods. Knowing that, and taking into account how the male had howled instead of trespassing, his body remained relatively relaxed—as relaxed as he could be, that is, which really just translates to him not being noticeably tense.

“Who are you?” he asked, having stopped a meter or two away. “And what brought you here?” Alexander wasn’t one for subtly, often getting right to the point, no matter the situation. This encounter, of course, was no different.

yep! it's one of my favorite songs on drogon's playlist. :D

Drogon is not made to wait for very long. Shortly after his howl recedes into from an echo back into the previous silence that he had very briefly unsettled the sound of approach can be picked up. From the path that appears to be the only entrance into the valley within the impregnable fortress an ivory shape appears. Drogon’s muzzle lifts ever so slightly, accompanied by a flare of his black leathery nostrils as he drinks in the other’s scent. It is the most prominent scent that lingers upon what Drogon presumes is the borders though the valley itself appears to have it’s own borders that are physical walls and do a much better job of keeping out trespassers and unwanted visitors than piss markings …but the unbespoken rules of territory claiming passed on instinctually from generation to generation require that scent markings are ( often times anyway ) strong enough to do the job. Not all wolves adhere to such things and Drogon thinks the physical walls would no doubt assist in that.

Drogon’s ears cup forth, attentive, as the older male speaks to him. The sakaali draws in a breath. “I am Drogon Ansbjørn,” It is the first time that the tundrian has spoken his mother’s surname — the surname he took to honor her — aloud and tied it exclusively with his own name. Roarke, Kahlil …they are the names of a ghost. It feels significant to speak it out loud for the first time, to officially put his claim upon his heritage. His birthright; the legacy of the nightingale queen. “Just a informal scouting trip,” The sakaali makes to assure the Valley’s sovereign. While his trip thus far was informal, to fulfill his earn himself the scout trade and begin working towards ranger ( or perhaps ambassador ) Drogon does not turn a blind eye to the potential benefits of this conversation. Bearclaw Valley is far enough away from Moonspear that they pose no sort of threat: no competition for food or other resources and this, in Drogon’s mind, is a boon. There needs not be any animosity. “when I smelled your claim upon this valley I had hoped there might be something beneficial to be shared in conversation.” At the very least Drogon will be able to tell his leaders and by proxy the other wolves of Moonspear of the claim so that they give the Valley the wide berth expected when traveling near claimed lands.

The names were not familiar to him; he hadn’t considered the possibility of knowing the male, his appearance unfamiliar, so he wasn’t the least bit disappointed. The names were tied to his scent, both of which he intended to at least try and remember, just in case the information should ever be needed. The reason behind his being there further prompted the Inuk to remember him, should the scout ever return with others in tow; although he doubted that, that would happen, it helped to be prepared. Besides, the scents of other packs and the names of their scouts were things that he needed to learn to prioritise anyways, given the claim that he was working towards staking; whilst he wouldn’t mind being entirely cut off from those outside of his valley—his family members excluded—he’d started to realise that it wasn’t realistic to do so. This left him to act against himself, doing things he wouldn’t normally do had he not taken the step towards reclaiming the throne that was rightfully his.

Despite wanting to, he refrained from avoiding introductions this time around and said, “I’m Alexander Apaata.” Alexander. Although he wasn’t accustomed to using his full name—he’d spent much of his youth yelling at others for not calling him Xan, actually—he decided to start at least trying to use it; the name was linked to Bearclaw, his status as the heir, so ditching it entirely now seemed… disgraceful. Ignoring his internal monologue, for the time being, he stared at the other male, considering what information could be shared—what information he could use. “There could be something,” he decided. “What pack are you from?” The albino was curious, and the information could be considered beneficial—to him, anyways.

Alexander Apaata is how the ivory colored male introduces himself to the aspiring ranger. Drogon’s not sure if he has anything of actual value to share with this male: he never discussed at length what he was allowed and not allowed to tell outsiders; and he’s in no position to make any sort of official deals. Drogon figures that the only safe information is the standard description of Moonspear given to those who requested an audience at the borders. “Moonspear, to the south west of here.” Drogon gestures in the general direction he came from with a jab of his muzzle. “This is an unofficial, impromptu scouting trip so I’m not authorized to offer you an alliance or anything of the sort,” Drogon figures it’s better to cover the basics here and now. Probably should have started off with that, he thinks to himself. “but I can give you the basic information in exchange for your basic info. …If you aren’t already familiar with Moonspear.” Drogon has no actual idea how long the pack’s been around but he holds the suspicion that it’s older than he is. Drogon shifts his weight, as he waits to see if Alexander would be willing to exchange or not.

Moonspear.

He racked his brain for the name, discovering quickly that it was an entirely unfamiliar group; if he’d ever encountered one of their members or heard about them in the past, he couldn’t remember. Southwest. Depending on how long they’ve been around, perhaps he should have at least heard their name in passing once or twice, but he hadn’t; goes to show just how involved he was in the affair of the woods back then.

There was little that could be obtained from their meeting, not that he’d really been expecting a lot. “That’s fine,” he said. Honestly, he wasn’t so sure he wanted any alliances—not this early in his reign, anyways. If there was anything that he knew about alliances, it was that either side could request the other to join them in battle, should their assistance be needed. And whilst this could be a good thing, Alexander wasn’t interested in it. If his pack were to come under fire, he wanted to be the one to take them on, to prove to those backing him that he was strong enough to both protect and guide them. It was incredibly stupid, really, but he was too arrogant to see the flaws in his mindset.

Saying, “I’ve never heard of Moonspear,” was his way of accepting the offer. “Tell me about it,” he continued. “And then I’ll tell you about my pack—Bearclaw Valley.” It felt kind of strange saying that, he wouldn’t lie, but it also felt amazing. If only his parents could see him now, representing their old home together—surely, they’d be proud.

this post is super late and it sucks. i had a lot of trouble writing about moonspear, lmao.

Drogon offers his pale companion a small, firm nod when the older male assures him that it is fine that Drogon does not have the official writ to offer him anything more than the basic information. The jackal’s ears swivel to the side as the other man tells him that he’s never heard of Moonspear and encourages the jackal to tell him about it. Admittedly, Drogon knows very little of the pack’s history. He isn’t sure if it was founded by Charon and Amekaze or not but deduces that the past matters little. What matters is what it is now. “Moonspear is led by Charon and Amekaze Ostrega with their daughter Hydra as their second in command,” Drogon realizes as he tries to gather his thoughts regarding Moonspear that he actually isn’t sure what to say to Xan. It’s not as if they follow a religion or have creeds ( that he’s noticed anyway ). It’s just a regular pack and as far as weaving tales goes it’s kind of …bland — or perhaps this is simply a rude awakening to tell him that he doesn’t know his own pack half as much as he should ( which is also very likely ). Though majority of the pack seems to be Charon’s kids Drogon isn’t overly sure he’d call it ‘family oriented’ for any other reason and smooths out the slight frown that had begun to ghost upon his muzzle before it can be noticed. “The Cerberus guards our mountain and any that seeks to join our ranks must first go through them,” for the most part, he thinks but does not add. Hydra and her sister’s ‘legend’ is the most exciting thing about Moonspear that Drogon can currently draw up and even then he wonders if he stretches truth. “We are loyal to one another and take care of our own. In some aspects I guess you could consider us family oriented.” He adds it regardless if only because a good chunk of Moonspear is related by blood anyway. Ok, so maybe ambassador wasn’t Drogon’s thing.

Your post is fine <3

Alexander hung on to each word as they left the boy’s mouth, paying especially close attention to the names that were given—and there were a few. None of them were familiar to him, of course, but he’d keep them in mind in case he should ever encounter one of them. However unlikely said meetings might be received little attention from him, even with the distance between their lands. After all, Drogon had made the long journey north, so who could say with absolute certainty that others of his homeland would not do the same?

The albino was quiet until the scout finished, even at the mention of the Cerberus. The name, for whatever reason, stood out to him; he’d never heard of them before that day, but now he was interested in hearing more. So the second he finished speaking, Xan asked, “What’s the Cerberus?” Or maybe he should have asked who, given the usage of the word them. No matter, he didn’t bother with fixing his wording.

In what felt like seconds it was his turn to speak, upholding his end of the deal. “Like I said, this is Bearclaw Valley,” he said again. “My parents used to lead a pack here long ago, but now I’m the leader.” He didn’t have a beta—he wasn’t sure if he wanted one—so he stopped there. He had to think then, carefully considering what else he could say. “We have a bear here that lives in unison with us,” he settled for revealing, saying it as if it was no big deal. “This is our only way in, too. Makes it a nice fortress and good hunting grounds—the herd can’t escape.” They could try but, as long as a group was there to chase them back towards the heart of the valley, they weren’t going anywhere. “I think that’s it,” he ended with. “I could tell you the history of my parents’ reign, but that doesn’t really influence my pack. Our history is still being made.” Besides, the history as he knew it had long since been warped by a child’s mind, leaving it exaggerated and maybe even a bit fabricated.

@Xan feel free to archive as is or post once more. it's up to you! :-)

what is the cerberus? a fair enough question but one that explained might cause it's to lose it's legend, it's enigmatic and magnetizing allure. "they are the protectors of moonspear. three warrior women whose skills are as sharp and deadly as their beauty." it was easy to speak of hydra, lyra and ayla as a single unit because he's seen them operate as one well enough. he does not know half as much about lyra and ayla as he does hydra but he doesn't think he needs to to build their legend. he knows enough to weave the tale and that was all that was necessary.

xan's information is as small as his own which makes drogon feel a little better about not being able to offer up as many details as he maybe should have. even if drogon would have known the entire history of moonspear he might've very well elected to keep things elusive in the interest of protecting moonspear. knowledge was power, after all, the sakaali knows this well. it is why he was so covetous of it. "thank you for sharing with me," the jackal dips his head ever-so-slightly. "i'll leave you to your duties. i should be thinking about heading back." drogon offers a slight, charming grin that tugs at the edges of his lips — a break of his stoic, down-to-business disposition that he'd adopted.

he takes his leave from the forming borders, heading back home. back to moonspear to share his information with his leaders.

With the Cerberus explained, he couldn’t rid himself of the sudden urge to seek them out and fight them. He still intended to someday claim the title of the greatest warrior around, and taking on a group of skilled warriors seemed like a good way to get closer to accomplishing his goal. His intentions were not made known, of course, for obvious reasons—he just nodded in response, too distracted to form a verbal reply anyways.

The irrelevance of his parents’ reign saved him from having to share a history that was before his time, much to his relief. “You, too,” he said, appreciative of the information given, however little it was. As he dismissed himself, Alexander nodded once more and saw him on his way. He lingered at the mouth of the valley, watching until the male was just a speck on the horizon. Then he turned and headed back inside, off to do whatever minuscule tasks he’d thought up for the day.