Northstar Vale Sleep off the destruction

For @Andraste... and possibly some of her followers?

The rescue mission was not an easy one, to say the least. Living on an island there was really only one means in which to leave it - take on the seas. Their ocean mother would not be kind, either, as she had sought to test their willingness to save their lost brethren. Aiolos nearly drowned getting tangled in the reeds but had managed to break free. It could have been far worse of a swim to the mainland. It could have stormed for days. They could have become prey to a number of sea predator underneath. They could have been swallowed by swift current.... perhaps the sea goddess blessed them yet. 

At the mainland, Aiolos felt uncomfortable. Memories of his homeland within the forestry overwhelming him. His skin crawled as he was more on guard, tense and ready to strike. Home, if you could call it as such, had not been kind to him and though he was a slave to women within the tribe he lived in now, he had never felt more like he belonged, like he was needed for something. Being a grunt bodyguard to some might not seem like much, but where Aiolos had come from proving his might and having a purpose was everything. 

Now he would prove himself further if only he could find their missing lady. Where had @Minerva gone? Perhaps he would never find out, for when the lands shook so fiercely that the ground cracked and trees fell, the island wolves ran for cover. The refuse group now seemingly needed rescuing and Olo found himself lost. He had ran so hard and so fast, taking cover within the caverns, that he had grown dizzy, loosing himself... and he collapsed. 

By the time Aiolos woke again from the adrenaline rush which had zapped his energy, his fiery eyes blinked hard to focus on the glade around him. Having found a cavern root though the mountains, Olo had made it to this safe haven seemingly uninjured savor a few cuts and scraps on his legs, feet and muzzle. He licked on the dry blood at his snout and pushed forward through the early morning at the Vale. Now what was he to do?

The wispy yearling had kept near to the Vale's inner sanctum since their arrival, eagerly scouting for what resources remained u n r a v a g e d after the earth's many rumblings. What little he discovered wasn't worth any praise and consequently forced him towards the outer reaches of the forest, eventually dropping him in the unexplored grasslands that lied nestled in the valley.

Here, he was hoping to find traces of prey or perhaps a reliable water source that had not been ruined by the quakes. What he discovered instead was the faint, faded, metallic stench of b l o o d and naturally, as any half-starved beast would do, took to following the trail.

Upon uncovering the owner behind the sweet scent that had lured him in, Dagwood let whatever hope he'd gathered in procuring a meal slip away only to be replaced seconds later, with interest and concern for the sun-kissed male.

"Are you alright?"

Fiery colored eyes squinted, trying to focus as he blinked away the morning grogginess.  How long he had been knocked out, laying there along the rock face he was not certain but a new day had been born and he was yet still alive. As he scanned, the lands around him were green and vibrant, patches of forestry and open flats alike. It seemed the whole expanse of the Vale was surrounded by mountains like a protective shield. Olo remembered now flocking to the caves in order to hide away from the falling destruction around him the night previously. The rock face was where he had taken shelter before when the sea ran wild by the ocean side. 

Soon, Aiolos would take to the scent of another, a wolf as himself. He moved a bit forward slowly until in the distance he spotted the other wold coming into his direction. A young male, still growing in his awkward yearling state and with a coat malted in monochrome color. A far cry opposite of Olo's more saturated mixture. When he was close enough, he spoke to him with questioning concern. Aiolos shifted, falling to a sit before the younger wolf and looked over his cut up forelegs. 

 I... He nearly stammered. I don't know. His mug tightened to a frown. It was obvious the wounds were only superficial and the concern was not the flesh wounds but his mental state all together. The quakes had not only shook the lands but those who resided within it. 

I'm afraid I'm lost. It had been an eager drive which had fueled the mission group before yet now on his own his needs had turned to desperation, worry and yearning. Not a moment in his life had he been out of the watchful eye of Pack. Never before had he felt so alone, so lost. Who would hunt with him and watch his back? (Everyone knows life as a rogue is dangerous,  especially in this broken land) Would he ever find his group again? Was he as lost as @Minerva now?

am assuming this takes place November 1st!

Fairylight;
her smile is there, shy, simpering; scarcely caged, entirely unbidden, by the soft and corporeal premises of shorn lips. By lulls she presides over the dead heads of foxgloves and mints; admires their hidden delight; their ever-awaiting for springtide and the blooming. Nature contains a multitude of them—the emergence of life, dampened and yawning, drawing deep for breath.[size=14px%%] [/size]Around her, everything is stretching for harvests' finale; reaching towards the shrouded shade of dawn, and the sybil breaths, taking deep into her lungs the cold and dry everything; the remnants of mist and whispers left behind, woven. Greedily scents compressed and decomposing plant life. Pine, wreathing; meltwater wends a shimmering array of serpentine rivulets.

Andraste, Andraste;
made to shift in, ebb out; thrumming, vibrant flesh, and then moss and lurking lichens, stationed. Ageless; mock-sentinel. Pining for an irregular for-ever and is now resigned vaguely, blearily, in that her only pregnancy is wonderlost; and that her womb will never again swell; undeserving. A delicate yawn; the knowing of it and this therein. 

She tries not to long for those she cannot have — aquiver though her heart may be.

But! soul encompasses her; and in time she arrives to this meet of the yearling and his elder; ash, enquiring towards ember. Arrives, and remains hushed, wisping,  "Where might you be meaning to chart to?"  halfsight somnolent, though not without the clarity that comes with curiosity.

Leathery lips tugged downward to mirror that of the fiery cast away's own frown, heart distressed in the unfortunate truth that there was little to nothing he could do to aid the man in his troubles. The cuts would heal on their own given time so that was not to cause worry, but rather that Dagwood himself was new to these lands and could offer no assistance in pointing the bronzed male to wherever it is he might seek.

How u s e l e s s the druid felt now.

As lips parted to reveal what truth he had to offer, a familiar voice interrupted the scene and caused his attention to swing toward the scarred crown of the court. His jaws immediately drew shut as he offered a greeting towards the pale maiden before once again, turning his sights toward to the stranger.

The young sooty wolf had no reassurances for him. No aid in asking where he might be coming from and what exactly he was looking for. If Olo explained, he wondered if it would have done any good at all. The young man's mouth opened and Aiolos' head lifted to the arrival of another. Another which apparently the other male knew for when he turned his head he not only greeted her silently, he remained silent for her to take the stand as well. She was superior. As a woman, Aiolos believed her above the lot of them anyhow. He was unsure how to react. Though she was not Nereides, she was woman. 

Aiolos scrambles up on cut limbs from his seated position before her. Tall as he was, his head comes down low, ears back. His fiery gaze not to dare meet her pale attention but to fall to the delicate snow of her footing. Not where, but whom, Miss. He speaks, correcting delicately. My group and I come to these lands in search of a lost comrade. Now we've lost eachother. He stops and awaits her reply, eyes lifting to steal a glance at her slender and scarred features.

Subservience;
kowtowing only remembered in the bleary vestiges when once she had been an uncharted heiress. The stricken had never felt the need to present herself preeminently; not when she felt such instances must be a last resort. Neither would she begin now, and most certainly when she believed there to be a reason to. If there was another encompassing ambition to provide to her Courtiers other than guidance — then let it be the encouragement of independence. She would not consort with blindness when there was so much  (formal)  bickering to be had.

And so, perhaps she might encourage such by the gracious, slantwise cant of rubied crown:  “You may rise.”  The words laden upon her tongue, forgotten.  “These are ze Sunspire Mountains, and you have awoken in ze realm of our Court,”  unwieldy with the lilt of one who is not only foreign but has since become unfamiliar with her position of power. Halfsight resting upon the anxious embers, now,  “As for your plight ... what say you, that I would allow you to find respite within our Vale? Or, perchance, a purpose?”  What else might she offer, but this? To offer the shielding of that which her wolves sought to birth: sages, striders; seekers, soldiers?

“We are not many, yet we flourish steadily. Should you choose to recover from your travails, in time, then, I would call upon my striders to aid you in looking for those you have lost.”

The merle yearling was a bit taken aback at the man's curious way of greeting the pale sylph, even more so since they did not know one another. Perhaps it was custom where he came from to give such an extravagant greeting to those he met? Then again, he'd not done the same for Dagwood.

As the two exchanged words, hyaline eyes remained fixed on the court's queen, observant and intrigued as she offered the sun-kissed male a place to rest among them. Were they to treat all strangers so kindly or was he an exception?

Either way, he didn't mind the idea of the their lost visitor staying with them for awhile or longer should he choose so.

On long, lean limbs the young man would rise to his full height by the willing command of the pale woman which stood before him. Head evermore tilted downward by his lowered muzzle, those fiery eyes cast to the side and up, once more taking in the features of her war-torn appearance. Despite her marring, she looked delicate and willowy, though held herself gracefully, elegance...

He was in the realm of their Court. Aiolos in his desperation to free himself from the onslaught of the quakes had managed to trample into the home of a founding pack. Worry would have plagued him further had it not been for the comforting foreign tongue of the woman before him. She offers him a chance, a trust which he is not accustom to gaining to easily. His eyes shift to the yearling a moment, looking for anything he might give away should the pale Queen's words be anything less then honest. He felt awkward, uncomfortable, as though the honest offering may be underlined with some kind of trick....

But his muscles were sore, his cuts stung and his bones ached. He was tired and worn from travel and the earth had shaken him down to his last will. What choice would he have other then this? How much longer would he survive, now on his own, in a lost land and with winters approach? Perhaps Mother Sea had brought him to their doorstep in order to insure his survival, to bless his endeavor yet. 

You offer this, then, for a wolf whose allegiance remains so split? Between the Vale and women of the Sea? He speaks, questioning, wondering of such an offer to stay temporarily to rest and then offer her Sentry to help him find the lost kin that would, in the end, take him from her? What is the name, then, of the Courted Queen who offers me such leniency? He so desperately had to know.

A diverted quiver strummed at the corners of shorn lips at Aiolos' words; for indeed was she courted, notwithstanding the furtivness of it: none have assumed nor asked after such, and so the stricken had not felt to voice it unless enquired after. Was it truly secrecy, then, if there was no shame within her of it? But ... then there was the matter of queenship, and at this the amusement shied away behind curtains of private pensivity. No doubt her patrons thus far had believed her to be so.

And yet, having been before birthed as heiress, there was now a very visceral fear at the prospect that she had set in motion that which she now wished to lead. It is an incessant heckling at the spiderwebbed, half-known recesses of her hollow mind; a vehemnent vaugery that she indeed had tread the preposterous path of one deluded into sweet shepherdry. That the ferocity of her downfall had elicted within her a maddened state of mind: to go forth from motherhood in favor of nurturing a different sort of upbringing.

"Begging your pardon, I ... am no queen. I am only a servant to my people, you see,"  tone delicate, careful; a glance to Dagwood, then back again,  "for I do not seek to command. Reign alone, yes, but in that there is guidance to be had. I present judgement to my masses, I allude to ze direction that they might take, but ... their wills are their own, and I am but a vessel through which their voices might be heard."

Nothing more; she could not be;
and so, upon her awakening, she had decided to stay upon the only path that now seemed viable. She has since given up faith that there were those who would come to understand her, for she could not make them. Not her first brood, who no doubt faced myriad frustration in her absence; but safe would they be with the imperious Hydra, who had last bared upon the stricken scornful fangs.  ( To have taken her whelps from one dictator, only to have them reside within the care of another! )  An alliance sundered, she supposes.

Doubt herself she might, but she could not bring herself to doubt those who followed her; who had, for what-ever reason, had continued to choose doing so. Yet:  "Your invitation of partnership humbles me, ránë. If it please you, however, then I give you my blessing to appeal to your shores of our Court. Might an accord be agreeable?"

Still he knelt; and still the stricken wished to suggest that he should bow to none. Her features remained as distilled as her choice of word, and she soon quieted.

Since it's been some time I'm going to post what I typed up so we can get to a closing. Hope that's okay?

 

Her words, Aiolos fell silent, not noticing that he had finally placed his eyes fully to her face, looking directly at her in which to try and fully understand what she was saying. A vessel only which the words of her followers may be heard? As a woman, he believed her far more then such, yet perhaps it was her modesty which made her special... or weak? 

So not a Queen, then? She wished not to rule in the same manner of which one might, to be in charge of their people, give law, order and direct obedience with a sharp eye and strong jaw. The way she spoke, she meant to only to be a guide to those which believed in her. Like a priestess to those lost, or a spiritual shaman even. To many, such freedom would have sounded pleasant. With little rules and little restrictions. To Aiolos, who had only known either strict command or straight up abuse all his life felt as though what this woman was trying to accomplish would only lead to crumble. Perhaps it could work if the Court was filled with only peaceful, simple and docile wolves yet in Aiolos knowledge, there was always someone who was more dominant, always someone who wanted to be on top, to control... and if the woman before him didnt want to be Leader, would she fight for it should it come to this? Would she be forced to enforce rule,  should her followers become unruly? 

Aiolos pondered this silently and his eyes quickly fell once more, fiery gaze burning into the cool earth. The ghostly woman before him yet still assured him he could find comfort here within these walls. Yes... We have an accord. He spoke in agreement.  You have my strengths as your own, till the Nereides claim me again. And he would not give up so easily yet to find them. It had been Ovid which had trained him in his youth, whom taught him the traditions of their brethren and made him strong. Would Aiolos be so without him?

sure! tiny post but we can archive, if u want? & i can go reply to our other thread

Perhaps soon that day would come where Andraste would have no other choice but cast down those who rose against her, a change within heart and a challenge within mind. A day when she must don that inevitable mantle of the that queen that her very apostles had taken her for. A day when she would not be able to go forth from this place without it — and yet, the title of queen had been so very much some fantastical thing as a whelp, heiress or no. As little Aurëwen, she had not allowed herself the privilege of this thought, this wonderment.

Could Andraste?

On this day, however ... she only sets a budding example of her very intentions for this Court: steadfast haven, for those who wander. It was not yet time to fortify into a fortress  (marking premises aside), not when so much soulgathering must be had; and with a fair nod of shorn brow, the stricken collected her own.  "So it is,"  musing light, thankful; inviting both him and @Dagwood further into the mists of their hinters with a quirk of pinksoft nose.