Ankyra Sound you're just a ghost

maybe any of his pack mates he hasn't met yet? :0 but open for anyone who wants it~ <3 successful hunt roll

Night had begun to settle over the barren wasteland that had quickly become the Teekon Wilds, and in the comfort that the dark offered the Viking's monochromacy he had exited The Grotto and begun his routine evening patrols. The skeletal limbs, spindly and naked from the devastation of the swarm rattled against one another, scraping in a way that chilled Kjalarr to the bone. There was not much that the Northman could claim he was afraid of: not truly of death, per say, not since he believed as vehemently as his father before him that when he passed the valkyries would come to escort him to Odin's hall: Valhalla — but admittedly, starving to death was not one of his top priorities. Death in battle was the only true way for a Viking to go, not wasting away to nothing in the famine that wrought itself upon them. He hunted as often as he could, even turning to fishing despite that he wasn't a fan of what had probably became something of his staple as of late. Occasionally, he would make the trek to Coconut Grove to bring what feeble remains of coconuts he could but they, too, ceased to grow without the proper nourishment of their trees and while he did not think he'd picked the territory clean others had no doubt found it and dined upon the meat of the fruit-nut.

They all struggled and most of what he was able to catch went to the pack's caches, though he did not expect his meager findings to linger long. The pack that Caiaphas, James and him had went to had not delivered upon their side of the bargain and they crossed Kjalarr's mind often. Not because he cared about them in any capacity — but because they should be made to suffer at the tooth of Saltwinter for their incompetence and for ignoring the stake that Caiaphas had set; but besides attending to his duties as Beta, patrols and hunting Kjalarr had found that there was little time for anything else. Keeping Saltwinter as fed as he could manage was the most important, but also it didn't hurt to keep himself fed, as well.

Scarred muzzle wrinkled in slight distaste as he tore at the scales of the fish he'd managed to catch (having taken a break from his patrols), having became quite a proficient fisherman as of late. It was by and far, not anywhere near his favorite thing to eat but the more he forced himself to eat of them, the less abysmal they had begun to taste and eventually he found that he was numb to the overpowering saltiness and stink that accompanied them. It was food and that counted for something.

Popping him in for meeting Kjalarr :)

All was still. The wilds were barren from any sound. In the darkening backdrop of Saltinwter, Slancio rested. While he had made himself a home inside the grotto, he spent more time on the surface than below. He laid atop the gaping cave's roof, gazing out to the coast. Night fell quickly, and he watched as the sun  dissappear, the golden glow from it disappearing. The velvet indigo of twilight washed upon him, before dimming and giving way to cobalt and navy. Speckles of brightly flecked white started to dot the sky, mapping out the world, each telling their own stories. The stars shone down on him, bathing him in a cloack of silver light. Today the moon was gone, and he took a break in simple harmony and peace, letting himself fall into tranqulity.

He was close to drifting off the sleep, but the famine which clawed at his stomach like talons kept him awake. He sighed, the rumbling of his stomach desparate for food disturbing him from his peace. In the dimly light starry night, he wondered if he would die soon, fading and ceasing to exist, becoming a part of the eternal cycle of death. He closed his eyes, hearing the silent hum of the buzzing of the air as it passed, and the gentle coaxing of the waves lapping upon the shore. He would have to rest up tonight if he did not wish to die, and stay refreshed for tomorrow. 

Within seconds of trying to rest, the sounds of footsteps pittering beneath him woke up. Angling his ears, he listened carefully, wondering, and perhaps wishing, he had simply mistaken it for the sound of water dripping off limestone. Yet the sounds were clearing, and they were slowly spiralling out of his range. Heaving himself up, he followed. They were heading towards the cache, SLancio identified when he neared and rounded the corner. The stark white fur surprised him, yet he recognised the bulky body of the wolf who stod beside Caiaphas at the fight for the der. Canting his head, he neared, hesitant footsteps falling upon the sand, ringing out through the silent night.

She was used to life on the Sea's shore, and even Minthe struggled to find enough to eat; she struggled to find the small game the ocean provided, for they seemed to realize that the wolves had grown hungrier for them. The Nereides made do with kelp and seaweed that washed ashore, or the occasional fish or crab. But like the rest, she went hungry, her thin and sea-carved form growing thinner. Had the Sea called her here to meet her fate in Her depths? She loved Her, and one day hoped to return to the Sea— but she was young, and had no desire to rest. Minthe still had much to do in the way of serving the Mother Sea and Mother Moon. Her life's purpose had not yet been fulfilled.

Minthe found solace in the setting sun, for it meant the watchful gaze of the Moon would cast its silver light down upon her. She meandered slowly along the shore, brooding over the situation she had found in Ankyra Sound and how she might realign the paths of these sinners; these wolves that had forsaken their Mothers. She paused as her sea green eyes caught sight of two males several yards ahead, the scent of fish causing the youth to salivate.

She did not approach. The men here did not know their places, and the Queen had allowed them their insolence. Minthe was young, and training to become Amazon— but she was not stupid, and knew the dark nature of males that were allowed their freedom and ego. Still, she lingered, fighting the urge to demand they grant her their kill— they were men, undeserving, and even the lowest ranked female was entitled to more respect than they.

The Beta was not alone for long. As he finished off his fish, eating what he could stomach to take from it, he took a few steps back, drawing his salmon pink tongue across his jowl, the aftertaste of salt and fish something that he was going to have to deal with until he could cleanse his palate with something else...if he was lucky enough to catch something further. For now, as he was learning, he accepted (however begrudgingly it was) that what he ate of the fish might be his final meal for the night, perhaps even until the next evening. His ears swiveled to either side of his head at the sound of approach — but not by one but two wolves. One he recognized as he turned to face them: the pale coated male from the fight for the deer — admittedly the first time the Beta had met him. There hadn't been any time for introductions or small talk, admittedly.

The second: a female her scent told him — he didn't know at all. She remained away from him and the other male, all but a ghostly silhouette in the distance to Kjalarr's monochromcy. “I am not a fan of fish,” Kjalarr spoke to them, ensuring that his voice carried so the female could, too, hear. “There is some left if either of you want it. It's not much but...” He trailed off with an errant shrug of his broad shoulders. Not much was pretty much all that the Teekon Wilds were offering them, at the moment. “I'm Kjalarr.” He didn't add Beta because he thought that was pretty self explanatory (or perhaps Caiaphas had informed them and thus he didn't want to be redundant).

Above them, the wind shook before falling to a standstill. He approached the shape of the builky viking without question, footsteps falling upon the soft sand of the beach softly. No doubt the other wolf had heard him now, if the flicking of the other's ears were of any indication. Slancio could smell the scent of spilled blood, and the tangy scent of raw fish hung in the air. Fish was good prey around these times, considering the locusts could not disturb the ocean. He himself had eaten a small fish, perhaps a perch the day before. It had satisfied his stomach some, and was enough to keep him going for several days. When he came back to reality, he was close enough to the viking to be heard, and it was there he stood aloof yet causally. 

Behind him another set of footsteps appraoched, a female, by the scent of it. Yet they did not near, instead opting to stay a distance away from the pair of males. Slancio ignored it for the time being, she would come to them if she wanted to. He heard the male's comment about fish, and how he could have the rest of his kill. "Neither am I," He replied to the fish comment. "But it would seem that it is the best source of food around at these times," He continued, with a nonchalant shrug. "I'll take any food I can get," He nodded, "Thanks you,". Food was food, and very much needed at these times, he swiped the remains of the fish closer with a paw, staining the milky fur a pale pink. Dipping his head, he took a small bite, chewing at the stingy meat. The white male, Kjalarr, introduced himself simply. "Slancio," He replied with a slight cant of his head towards the female in the cache with them, pondering if she would introduce herself too.

Minthe loved fish, and particular those that were found in the ocean's depths; they were a rare treat, for they were not known to stray near the shallows, most often caught when captured within tide pools or dropped by gulls overhead. It did not take a second invitation for the headstrong yearling to approach, and when she did it was with disdain. That she needed the invitation at all was disturbing, and not for the first time did she wonder what the Sea sought to teach her. It was all backwards, here.

Still. A Siren Queen-- Caiaphas-- was a mouthpiece of the Mothers. The coywolf was an embodiment of their Wills, and as a mere Adept, Minthe was not like to understand the true nature of her Goddess' Work. Old habits were hard to break, however, and the yearling didn't have to love this new world order. And so she said nothing as she neared the two males, digging into the fish as though they were not there at all.

Kjalarr offered Slancio a sage nod when the other light coated male spoke that, he, too was not a fan of fish either. That made Kjalarr feel a little bit better — there was a part of him considered that because he'd been born near the ocean and now lived near it once more that he should have been born with some kind of taste for the delicacies that the sea had to offer them; but that wasn't the truth. And he supposed not a fair thing to place upon himself because most of his life had been spent inland with the Frostfur's. The scarred Loðbrók watched as he spoke his name in return and moved closer to take a small bite of the fish. Kjalarr took a step back as to not intrude in the meager meal, though he looked to the female with unbridled surprise when she approached and wordlessly began to dig into his leftovers.

He licked his chops, considering for a moment as he watched her eat it with ...something of a cold shoulder towards him and Slancio. Kjalarr was not accustomed to being ignored — in fact was vain enough to mind being ignored — but let it roll off his shoulders with a slight roll of them. So long as she was not insubordinate towards him, Kjalarr saw no reason why he had to force her to acknowledge them. “I hope that green will begin to appear again and soon.” Already, several of them — Kjalarr included — had resulted to cannibalism though Kjalarr didn't see anything wrong with the barbaric act. It was food and the famine ensured that they could not waste anything that was gifted to them. Ordained by his Gods, Kjalarr told himself. What happened did so because the Gods willed it.

“I look forward to the return of the herds.” He wanted to feast ...he wanted to feast until he felt like he might burst. Thinking of having the luxury of eating all that food without feeling guilty about it only served to torture him and quickly Kjalarr banished the thought. There was no sense in getting over eager yet. The famine was far from over and they were weathering it ...and for now that was enough.

He forced the stingy meat down his throat, the raw flavour of the fish no longer prickling at him. Barely beant down to take another bit of whatever was left, he almost took a step backwards when the aloof female shoved in front of him and started chewing at him. He watched in slight alarm as the female ignored him and Kjalarr, bent over to chew at the fish. He reached out, hooking a claw around the end of it and pulling the end part of the fish free, a non existant eyebrow raised as he savored the meat that was left. It would fill his stomach for now, and he was satisifed what that. 

Fish was not a common prey where he had come from, only the salmon that sometimes leapt into their stream during autumn. Yet here he had grown use to the taste. He longed for some solid prey, anything larger than a rabbit to appear. Yet al the herds were gone, as well as the food that filled him. As the female dug into the remains of the fish between him and Kjalarr, he thought he saw a flicker of annoyance pass, but was let off with a roll of his shoulders. "Who wouldn't hope for it. It might bring larger food to fill us again." It wasn't rare to see wolves commiting cannabalism, Slancio included. Honestly, he did not want to be pushed across the line, but during desperate times, all food was needed.

"As do I," He replied with a simple shrug. "When they do, we'll paint the oceans red," He continued, the unusally malicious side of him coming out for a moment. Maybe in a month or two, the wilds will start to become beautiful again. For now, Slancio was content with the little amount of food filling his stomach. He would not ask for much more, as long as he remained alive.

Her teeth peeled only slightly as one of the males dared to tear at the fish she had begun to assume-- but though these men were beneath her, they did not know it, nor did the Siren Queen seem keen to enforce the hierarchy of her adopted culture. Minthe was an amazon, and young, but she was not stupid; to pick a fight, here, would lead to her death. And so as her last mouthful was swallowed, the foreign yearling left the pair as swiftly as she had joined them.

Kjalarr watched the exchange between the female and Slancio, hackles bristling slightly as she attempted to steal it from the male. Clearly, the woman did not understand the notion of share. For a moment, he hesitated, wondering if he should intervene or allow them to work it out on their own. It was a moment of great irony for the Loðbrok, so very ready to play mediator as he was, for usually he was the one instigating the fight. “You should learn to share,” Kjalarr did address the female but his words went largely ignored he realized as she left them just as quickly and silently as she'd came. He looked to Slancio and simply offered the other male a sheepish rise and fall of his broad shoulders. The truth was: he knew not who she was or why she had acted the way she had and could offer no insight for Slancio.

At the poetic mention of painting the sea's red, Kjalarr couldn't help the devilish smirk that tugged at the edges of his muzzle. That sounded grand. To hunt with reckless abandon: to have the energy to hunt for the pack and then for one's self without feeling inherently guilty about it. Though the strange female had left, Kjalarr had been affronted by her behavior towards them and his thoughts kept circling back to it. “I have to admit I do not know who that was,” Kjalarr spoke. “Perhaps she is new, perhaps she is not but if she gives you further trouble or ignores your rank again, come find me and I will take care of it.” Kjalarr promised. To the dual silver and sand colored viking rank was everything and he could not abide insubordination by any means (though he'd been insubordinate enough in Moonspear, ironically). “If I need to, I will speak to Caiaphas about her.” Though Kjalarr could not know that it wouldn't be necessary for long for the female would eventually take her leave.

He noted the slightly raised hackles on Kjalarr, but didn't think much on it. While he did not enjoy the female simply trying to take the food Kjalarr had offered him without a word, her evident hunger might be the source for it. He'd go hunting later, anyways, to scavange the remaining bit of whatever was left in the coastside near Near Saltwinter. Hopefully he would be able to get something to fill his stomach better. Something other than fish would be highly welcomed, and if he was lucky enough to get a seagull he would be satisfied with his day. Slancio raised his head and turned to gauge the female's reaction when Kjalarr, inwardly nodding at the words. Yet the female simply left without a word, leading to a small frown on his face. It melted away when Kjallar offered him a shrug, the beta probably just as confused as Slancio as to why the female had came and went without a single word to the male wolves.

His words about hunting seem to lift both their spirits, and they faded back into an easy conversation. He had truly missed the carefree feeling of hunting and not coming back empty-handed. When the green returned to Teekon wilds, he would feast. He would regain the weight he had lost and finally feel the true satisfaction of having a full meal. Kjalarr still looked dimly disturbed, and spoke up first, about the female. Apparently not even he knew who she was, chalking up her behavior to being new and not understanding ranks. Slancio nodded at the white viking's words, himself echoing his thoughts. "It's not much of a problem to me personally, but that might offend some other wolf one day. Maybe she was just hungry? Though that doesn't really explain her...rather cold behavior towards us." He suggested. It didn't offend him greatly when the female simply put him aside, but more of it had to do with the rudeness of her actions rather than the ranks. "There is no need to bother Caiaphas on the matter unless it furthur escalates." He tried to placate Kjalarr, to convince him that it was not too much of a big deal. "But she should watch what she does." He simply stated, the slight frown etching onto his face again.

While it was reassuring to learn that Slancio was not personally bothered by the female's behavior the fact of the matter that Kjalarr had been and it was part of his job to enforce the hierarchy, to enforce the laws that Caiaphas had set for them to abide by. “Hunger is no excuse. We are all hungry.” Despite the hunger that the two males also experienced they had acted how pack mates were expected to act towards one another. While he could (and would not) speak for Slancio, Kjalarr himself did not treat the subordinates of Saltwinter with the coldness they'd been displayed and thus far Slancio had not shown any hostility nor coldness towards Kjalarr and there was no doubt in the Viking's mind that the other male was just as hungry as they all were.

A low grunt left the Viking as the other male attempted to assuage him and assure him that he needn't get Caiaphas involved — not unless it got worse. But disrespect and insubordination was a capital offense to the proud Loðbrok and he did not (clearly) tolerate it well. “Yes, she should.” Kjalarr agreed grimly but let the matter drop with a slow shake of his head and a low snort. “So,” Kjalarr broached. “I know your name,” He gave a soft pause and continued with, “but that's the extent of my knowledge. Where do you hail from? Are there any trades you're interested in working towards?” Admittedly, Kjalarr didn't know much about how one went about getting to know another but figured the basic questions would have to do, for the moment: and of course he expected them to be reiterated back at him.

Glancing off into the distance towards the direction the female had left in, he offered a sage nod when Kjalarr said that hunger wasn't an excuse for her behavior. "Hunger can drive many to do desperate things." He offered. Inwardly, he agreed, but she probbaly had her reasonf or doing what she did. Hopefully the female did know that her behavior was considered not as mannered. He turned his gaze back onto Kjalarr, noting how he still looked dimly bothered by the problem. Perhaps where the white male had came from did not tolerate disrespect with a kind hand, Slancio speculated. The topic was dropped as Kjalarr gave some last words, agreeing to his statement about her attitude. The quicksilver male gave a small sigh, brushing off the matter of the female. 

The topic shifted to a more friendly one, and Slancio gave Kjalarr a sunny grin when the viking enquired about his past. "I came from a small valley of trees in the east. Horned Owl Valley was it's name, as owls fly through the trees with beauty and grace. I left a while back as I had grown too old for the pack to sustain me, and it was time to move on." He answered truthfully to the first question, a fond look coming onto his face when he mentioned his old home. When Kjalarr asked about the trades, he thought back to the time he had learned of them. "I'm mostly aiming for scout, then maybe ranger afterwards. As for the other, I'm probably going for hunter. I've had better progress with the scout trade though, due to my high amount of wanderlust." He said sheepishly. It was true he loved travelling, and he always took breaks fom Saltwinter to saified his need. "What about you? You don't look like you're from his land either, and with a stocky build like yours I'm guess you'd be going for mercenary or something close to it?" He asked back, wondering where the other wolf had came from.

The other male's cheery smile was almost disarming to Kjalarr who returned it with a soft twitch of his lips upwards, politely giving Slancio his rapt and undivided attention when he began to speak and thus began to answer Kjalarr's questions. Kjalarr had tried not to be too personal with them, unsure what Slancio might consider unnecessary and unneeded information and what he would not have issue sharing. It turned out that Slancio came from a place called Horned Owl Valley. A valley of trees, as the other male had described it. For a moment Kjalarr's eyes left his companion to flit around the spindly and skeletal remains with a pang in his heart. Absently, he came to the conclusion that he was willing to bet this “Horned Owl Valley” wasn't suffering from the famine as they were. In some ways, this hope was something that Kjalarr needed to have, he realized. That the swarm did not stretch on endlessly, forever, ravaging the earth until nothing remained. The world...and he was not ready for Ragnarök.

In some ways, it was nice to hear a simple history. Slancio's was nice, Kjalarr realized. He grew up and he made the decision to leave his home, presumably on good terms. Nothing like the mess that had been Kjalarr's own puphood. No bear Hel bent on eating him, no sea sweeping him onto this very Sound, no nearly starving to death, no manipulating adoptive mother who liked to use his once fear of bears against him to bend him into obedience, no speak of family feuds. It was almost relieving to hear that wolves could have what Kjalarr would consider a normal puphood. Hearing that it was possible Kjalarr made a silent vow that his children would know a simple and happy childhood.

Kjalarr offered Slancio a sage nod of his head, tail sweeping against his hind legs as he then spoke of the trades — one of which Kjalarr himself had his eye upon. “I too aim for Scout, though I'm aiming for both Ranger and Ambassador.” One of which was only recently added as a goal due to his promotion to leadership. It seemed important, somehow, that a leader be able to fill the role of Ambassador, as they were the embodiment of the pack and it's representative.

A soft chuckle left Kjalarr's lips as Slancio made his own deductions, right on some and wrong on others. “I do aim for Mercenary, that is correct,” Kjalarr conceded giving pause to draw his salmon pink tongue across his chops. “I was born in these Wilds, actually. In a territory south of here called Stavanger Bay.” Kjalarr informed him slightly sheepish. “My father was a Northerner though, hailing from a Valley in the very far North.” As to where Thistle came from, Kjalarr was ashamed to say that he did not know but he looked much more like Ragnar than his mother so it seemed the most appropriate to speak of Ragnar and his origins instead.

He watched with undivided interest at Kjalarr when he spoke of his story, simple and clean. Watching the impassive features twist slightly made him wonder if Kjalarr's childhood was less pleasant than his. Feeling a slight stab of pity for not only Kjalarr, but all of those who did not have such fortunate childhoods like his, Slancio was once again glad that he had gotten a simple and joyful experience growing up. Horned Owl Vallet had his own paradise, and Slancio had decided to leave simply because he was grown. Thinking back on it, he had really gotten off the lucky end. He could have been considered a spoiled and selfish brat back then, pampered by the easy hunting and life with his family. He had left Horned Owl Valley on good terms with them, with a promise of someday coming back to visit. Watching Kjalarr now, he realised, not for the first time, but the first time in a while, that the world was not perfect. Wolves remained shunned of what should have been a happy childhood. While Slancio had not been one of those wolves, he felt sympathy towards them, hoping they would remain strong. 

When Kjalarr spoke up again after a moment's pause, he simply mentioned that he was going for scout as well. Slancio noted the new information down, wondering if one day they would be able to go on a scouting trip. So far, he had visited some of the territory beyong Felltree Marsh, as well as shoreline along the coast. Ambassador was not a part of the trade he had considered before, but he could see how Kjalarr would go for it. He was correct in his assumption that the bulky wolf was going for mercenary, but he was surprised to hear that the beta had been born inside of Teekon. Thinking back onto the thoughts he had developed earlier, Slancio did not miss how little Kjalarr mentioned his past, but chose not to comment on it. "I had not expected that." He admitted sheepishly. "You do not have the looks of a wolf born inside these wilds. But perhaps your heritage from your father's bloodline would explain that." He said at last, hoping he was prodding too much.

“I know little about my father, in truth,” Kjalarr admitted. Though Caiaphas was the only one that he could say possibly knew the whole story (and perhaps even then she did not know all of Kjalarr — he and Tori can't remember) he realized that holding it like some of secret might make him seem untrustworthy. He had nothing to hide, in reality. It was simply a tragic story. There was no great shame in it. “All that I know of him comes from stories. He was killed before I could really know him, I was probably only two, maybe three months old and very shortly after his death I...there was a bear that had came into our borders and I was a stupid child. I approached it and when it tried to eat me I flung myself in the sea and was taken away from my family. I washed up on this very Sound.”

There was a furrow to Kjalarr's brow and his salmon pink tongue grazed across his jowls as he recounted it, skipping parts unless Slancio was determined to ask for them in full. “When I found my family again,” What a nightmare that had been! “my mother was very distant with me but she answered my questions about my father well enough." Kjalarr took a moment's breath offering a soft pause. “I am told I resemble him greatly, except for my legs that is.” He held up a sand socked leg which to his monochromacy simply looked like a darker grey against the platinum silver of his coat, but that was all Kjalarr had: the word of others. Sure, he'd seen Ragnar true enough in his dreams but if the wraith of his father was to his actual likeness or simply how Kjalarr dreamed and imagined him to be the young Viking could not say for sure.