Meadowlark Prairie No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold

AW, or @Cicero if interested.

Tired by her efforts Pallas stopped at the cusp of a prairie. She had eaten at long last just before the break into Kintla Flatlands, having sourced a small hare. Swiftly she had eviscerated it and the only mark the juvenile rabbit ever existed was the vivid red that speckled her stark white muzzle and narrow chest. The small filling had gone a long way in improving Pallas' mood, and was with almost a content expression on her face that the she-wolf strode calmly across the open expanse of meadow.

There was still a limp to Cicero's step and the wounds on his right leg looked festering and infected. The blisters upon it oozed with pain even today, which had confirmed to the young researcher that indeed, when applied to open wounds, poison ivy was much, much worse. Presently he had taken it upon himself to rig another piece of meat he had taken from the Woods' caches; part of a deer's haunch which he had stuffed with a plant he thought to be poisonous, but was not entirely sure of.

With the piece of deer haunch in his mouth Cicero limped through the meadow, searching for a next subject or an opportunity of sorts. Maybe not a wolf, this time, but another creature as not to rouse too much suspicion from other wolves about his intentions. Just as he thought this ears perked up and he noted another wolf in the distance, heading straight towards him.

as Pallas walked across the grass she detected the scent and sound of another. She drew to an alert stop, ears pressed forward. Cicero was easy to spot, and her hazelnut eyes were drawn to the artifact held between his patterns jaws. She stepped forward with her muzzle held upright, her tail up and body language sternly expressing "I want that."

Though Cicero had not at all intended to poison any wolf today, opportunity presented itself in the strangest of ways. A female who looked a lot larger and stronger than he approached with ears forward and even before the words left her mouth it was evident from her body language what she wanted from him. Cicero lowered himself a little, nose and tail to the ground, as though he was merely submissive to the larger, stronger wolf. Cicero let go of the meat, donating it to the ground and he licked his lips submissively while he took a step backwards and looked up at the female, mismatched eyes rolling up in his downward tilted muzzle. "Don't hurt me," he feigned, finding the moniker of Inari, the submissive spineless wolf he had met, an easy one to fill in situations like these. Even so he did not truly wish to poison her and hoped for the effects to be mild, but at the same time a wolf who would take from weaker pack wolves rather than hunt for themselves would not be such a loss.

there's jimson weed in the meat, from the herbs/illnesses list: "If consumed you will experience hallucinations, have a dry mouth, and may even have a seizure." (though in this case probably not enough for seizures or anything like that, but feel free to play whatever you prefer out of these symptoms! :) )

sounds fine to me! How long before it starts? Immediately? I will post next post the effects to allow for reasonable time to pass! If that is ok. :)

The she wolf's intentions were clear: her expression read 'little wolf, you have something I want'. Her gestures were authoritative, commanding. Without a word she conveyed her wants and Cicero was quick to obey.  He crumpled to the ground and Pallas scornfully lifted her upper lip. Like taking candy from a baby. Pallas may have noticed a faint undertow of vegetation but she did not care. With a gobble the meat was gone, poison and all, and the two were left in silence.

totally fine! there are no times set and google won't inform me properly either so feel free to just let the effects kick in whenever you want ^_^

Cicero had never seen another wolf take his food so quickly. It was strange, but in a way he derived pleasure from harming wolves that did wrong onto others; particularly if a wolf thought they could take what they wanted only because they were bigger and stronger. Cicero would normally have fought or run, but now the opportunity had come at the right time. He remained cowered, just in case the herb he had planted was not any sort of poison.

"Hopefully it tasted good," he said with a pout, a sad frown on his face as he licked his lips again, still feigning to be the submissive weakling that would give away his food.

I'm going to play the hallucinations next post as to not rush the time frame if that is okay

Pallas did not even chew: in two loud crunches, the meat was swallowed entire. She licked her lips pleased with herself, and wondered why the cowering weakling was still there. He said something but she didn't pay attention to his sniveling. With a puff of her fur she stalked past him with her tail raised. The world, she thought, was hers to claim. And Cicero, he was just a pawn in the machinations of things she would make her own.

She settled a distance away and started to lick the blood from her chest and limbs. Her discontent appeared when she noticed a dryness to her mouth. With a grunt she tried to press saliva to the roof of her mouth but none came. She was inconvenienced but not yet bothered by this. Her stomach felt a little strange, but she paid no mind. She didn't even suspect Cicero yet, at this point.

Cicero followed the female with his eyes as she moved past him. He turned to look at her as she sat down and started to lick her lips, it seemed. Cicero did not know for sure if there was anything bad in there; he'd tried out a new plant, and for all he knew it may as well have no effect whatsoever.

He approached at a distance, keeping his distance and eventually calling out, "Do you... Do you have a pack?" He looked up at her and submissively licked his lips as he did, hoping she would feel obliged to answer his question.

The Stormthorn had not expected the wolf she stole from to follow her. She looked up mid-lick, her pink tongue protruding abruptly from a shock of black gums, yet her gaze sharp enough to cut steel. Her tongue retracted and a dryness seeped unpleasantly upon her tongue. She felt her stomach heave.

"Who is asking?" She asked gruffly, her eyes narrowing as she had difficulty focusing on the piebald wolf. She sat upright, her front limbs stiff out ahead of her but her hinds uncoordinated. What was happening, exactly? She had never felt this way and a buzzing tingle started to expand outward as if her very self was growing beyond the means of her body.

When the wolf noticed him and turned in anger, Cicero shrank back, remaining in his role, as he watched her. She asked her a question, and he answered, "No one in particular." He wasn't about to give her his name, and he hoped that whatever would happen would happen soon.

Taking another step backwards, Cicero asked, "Are you okay..?" He figured what he said could be taken in many ways -- she was grouchy to start with, so even if nothing else was wrong then he could be asking about that. Cicero waited for the answer, hoping that something would happen soon and that he would get his answers.

She didn't like this. This feeling. What was it? She felt something reverberate inside her, as if her very soul were ablaze. She cut her gaze to the pied wolf as he avoided her question. Trying her best to swallow whatever this alien feeling was that was threatening to overcome her the she-wolf sat abruptly upright and lurched towards him with a snap. "What is your name, boy?" She snarled, contemptuous as she tried to steady her limbs. They were unwilling to compromise with her and had the tenacious support of noodles. She was slow to the draw but began to connect the dots as she felt an uncontrollable tidal wave of feeling overwash her. "What..." She rocked to the side as if neurological, feeling no support whatsoever from any of her four disfunctioning limbs. "W-what was in that meat?" She asked hoarsely, oddly propped on stilt-like, unsupportive legs.

He was quick to withdraw and crouch when she snapped at him again, making himself small and playing the role that he had assumed to perfection, fully immersed into it. "Inari," Cicero lied in answer — he enjoyed the moniker of Inari and so, he reasoned, he may as well take his name after taking his dignity. In some ways he felt guilty for the way he had abused the boy and was using his identity even now, but Cicero had learned that the strong ruled the world, and somehow being humiliated by Sheogorath and the white wolf had left him with an appetite for control over weaker beings.

He knew his place — she was no weaker being to him, at least not physically. Just as Cicero began to think that the plants he had added to the meat held no effects whatsoever, she was starting to show effects. With piqued interest, Cicero dared look up at her for the first time, partially shedding the role of Inari and reverting to his own identity, to Cicero. "What do you mean? What's wrong with you?" he asked, perhaps a little too eager to know, his role overshadowed by his own personality for the moment.

She wanted to seize him, to find her teeth sinking into his scruff. But her mouth was too dry for seizure and her limbs to unsteady for advancement. She slumped to the ground, propped up sloppily by two rocking front limbs. The Stormthorn swayed back and forth slowly as if influenced by a gently hidden breeze. She tried to focus on him, but there were two. And then six. Her eyes felt tired, so tired. She would not be dissuaded from the opinion he had poisoned her. With a snarl she lunged forward at him, teeth snapping as she aimed for his scruff. But it was not him she grabbed, but one of his apparitions -- and she nearly fell over as her teeth snapped nothing but air. She crumbled to the ground, her hackles flaring and her slavering mouth working in deafening, threatening snarls.

Cicero watched her as she did not answer, instead she looked like she may attack him. And then it did happen; after swaying back and forth as though she was losing balance she lunged forward, yet not towards him, but towards a space somewhere next to him. "Interesting," Cicero established aloud, thinking her too far gone from the world to take much note of his words, nor to actually grab him in any way. He was normally fast, but in this situation he apparently had her vision on his side, too.

There was no use in hiding the fact that there was some sense of satisfaction in this for Cicero. Though normally he would feel better preying on weak, she had become the weak in the matter of an instant. She crumbled to the floor and yet she ever continued the fight; so different from Minshi, the poor fool who still believed in Cicero's good of the situation. It was clear to him that this wolf would not, regardless. And he felt no remorse for this wolf. It was no surprise to him that he did not, for he did not care for most wolves, and she was simply no exception. Her big mouth and arrogance did not bother him, for they were some of the traits he found attractive in Damien.

And so Cicero did not fully leave the wolf empty-handed. Her courage and arrogance would be rewarded with some parting words of wisdom. "Turn your wounds into wisdom." It was all Cicero said in manner as though he was presenting something to a crowd rather than speaking one-on-one with another wolf, while he walked past her — but not too close — and started to make his way towards Blackfeather Woods, leaving her to her destiny, wherever it may carry her.

She remained on the ground, the way a caged or whipped dog might lie, her belly tight and snapping jaws held quivering between two trembling and clenched paws. Cicero moved above her and all of his apparitions seemed to meld together for a moment. She lifted her skull from ground and issued a massive snarl that crinkled the entire of her muzzle and showed every wicked, exposed tooth. His words were meaningless and she was left there, snarling in the darkness until nausea and exhaustion overtook her.