King Elk Forest something beautiful happened here

scouting thread 4 of 4. tagging for reference, as usual. :-)

The pair is at the western most reaches of the Wilds, now. To go any further west would be to leave the Teekons behind completely; but of this Mato has no desire. He knew. The instant he stepped a paw into the King Elk Forest he could feel it in the marrow of his bones that this territory he would claim for Tindómë. For a moment the druid is struck and he recoils back, nearly forgetting for a second that he is not alone in this journey. He feels the life of the forest like a steady beat of a heart. It calls to him. “This,” He breathes in unbidden awe and then remembers @Seabreeze constant presence on the journey to find this place and he turns to her, excitement sparking alive within the deep emerald of his gaze. “this will be our kingdom. This is where we will build Tindómë.” The empyrean dictates with a breathless anticipation building within him. He can wait no longer! He strides forth and into the archaic forest and feels the earth shift around him. No, not the earth! It is Mato that changes: shedding the last vestiges of boy, of wanderer, of subordinate. His posture straightens and he steps with regal purpose, chin held aloft as if he feeds off an unseen power of the forest. It is a majestic territory and Mato strives to emulate it. To become Morwinyon not just in easily claimed title but to embody the king of the stars.

“Let us explore.” He invites his Aerlinn, circling her once to study her reaction to the place he has declared as Tindómë’s home. He sets off to the heart of the forest, trusting his faithful companion to join him in exploration though he will not hold it against her if she chooses to stay back and rest. It has been a long journey to find this place, after all.

Trajan did not linger in Rising Sun Valley. Briefly, after his wander through Swiftcurrent Creek, he visited Noctisardor Bypass, but found the memories of that land too bittersweet and painful to stay. It remained beautiful even after his father's departure, and the Roman saw, that in their absence, another pack had lived and died on those lands. It made him glad, for someone else had seen the beauty of his father's kingdom and chose to settle, but it appeared the pack hadn't lasted. Distantly, Trajan wondered if anything in Teekon Wilds, other than the Wilds itself (and even those were prone to sudden disaster and change) ever remained. 

He had left after a self-led tour around his old home and began his journey southwest. The Roman was a wolf of the North, has always been, but his search for a purpose in the northern lands had proved to be futile. Maybe, he just needed a change in scenery.  A part of him was nervous, unsure, but he pushed those thoughts away and pressed on. Romans were conquerers, after all, and what kind of conquerer would he be if he only stayed in the North and never moved? They would never conquer then, never explore. And although the greyscale soldier was never as fond of travelling as his father, he still liked to explore and found great pleasure in it.

Soldiering was more to his taste, though. Soldiering, advising, that sort of thing.

Still, when he first stepped foot in this forest, he was taken aback, a sense of awe falling over him like a heavy curtain. The trees here were huge, thick, tall and towering, and this forest was filled with them. Trajan sensed that they were old, and as he wandered, dipped his head in a brief sign of respect. Everything had spirits in them, souls of sorts, and it would be rude of him not to pay his respects to the spirits of these trees of the old. 

Trajan slipped between the trees, a wraith dancing in the shadows — they are his shelter, his camouflage. He has, after all, always felt more comfortable in shades and darkness than in the sweltering heat of the sun and the glare of light. The shadows that the trees cast were home to the Roman, but even in his wonder, the soldier was alert, eyes flickering, ebony tipped ears swivelling in an attempt to catch even the slightest bit of noise.

I will most likely not be posting with her every round, so feel free to skip unless something big and drastic happens.

The pair had trekked long and far to the furthest reaches of the Teekons and Aerlinn had begun to tire but she soldiered on, unwilling to doubt her Morwinyon.

They had traveled through many areas and to her, they were starting to blur together but she could see the change in him as he stepped into the King Elk.  A shiver runs down her spine as her compatriot turns stiff, but the anxiety quickly abates as she watches him shifting, becoming, spellbound by her compatriot's newfound confidence.  He turns to her with striking gaze and tells her at last that these woods would be home.

But his word choice shook her; "This will be our kingdom," he had said.  The girl had been under no impression that this would be their kingdom, it was Mato's — perhaps he was too overcome with excitement to consider his words.  Aerlinn knew not the significance she had to the man, but she did allow herself a moment to daydream of being at Mato's side.  It was not the rank that intrigued her (she had no desire to steal a high rank if he did not deem her worthy!) but rather just being by him; the thought filled her with warmth and it crept up to her cheeks, twitching her whiskers and ears.  It was not a feeling she had ever experienced but one that she was eager to learn.

"Let us explore," he beckons eagerly, and she wants nothing but to succumb to Mato and his wishes but she knows if she wants to make it back to the Vale she will have to take it slow. Go, she bids him, brushing up against him and leaning her weight into him fondly, I will not be far behind.

Aerlinn brushes up against him, and given Mato does not expect the contact the empyrean starts with surprise but does not create distance between them. His skin quivers with anticipation, fur bristling for a second (though not in hostility!) to dispel the electric jolt that races through him. It catches Morwinyon off guard but he does not particularly find the sensation, nor her warmth or the press of her weight as she leans against him with fondness as unpleasant. Quite the contrary, in truth! He hesitates when she encourages him to go forth, assuring him that she will not be far behind. He almost argues, if only because he wants to discover it with her by his side not behind him but concedes to her wishes, nevertheless. As he was taught to do.

He ventures forward, but halts suddenly, ears perking atop his skull and steps ceasing at the sound of nearby footfalls. He draws in a deep breath meant to analyze the scents of the air, to discern what beast makes the sound of approach. “Who goes there?” Mato calls out to the stranger, for the empyrean has heard him, can smell him. He is not close enough to discern much from his scent aside from that the stranger is a male. The King Elk Forest bears no pack scent and thus Mato does not fear he has intruded …instead quite the opposite. He is met with a sudden burst of territoriality: a heavy sense to protect what is his — which also happened to include Seabreeze in a (much) less possessive way as Mato instinctually adjusts his stance, seeking to be a shield between her and the stranger in case the other turned out to be hostile.

Trajan is under no impression that he is alone. Just as Mato did, he hears pawsteps and with a flare of his nostrils, catches the fresh scents lingering in the air of the forest. He does not venture to find them; he wishes to past by and explore quietly without hostile interference. However, when a voice sounds out in the air, the Roman heaves an inaudible sigh and stops in his exploration, silently resigning himself to an encounter with strangers. 

"A stranger," Trajan replies, his voice low and lilting and devoid of emotion. Quietly, he makes his way towards the strangers, following the scents. It doesn't take long and soon he sees them, bi-coloured eyes carefully guarded as he analyses the scene before him. One is a male, still young, draped in a pelt of silver and bearing eyes of bright green. The other is a female, and here he notes with a flicker of amusement, that the male is positioned in such a way that he is shielding the female. From what? Him? He is flattered, if only briefly. Mostly, he is amused, though his countenance remains carefully indifferent.

"I come in peace," Trajan states dryly, his posture passively neutral. He cocks his head curiously, in a manner resembling that of a bird but does not say anything else, quietly wondering what they would do next.

Mato is not sure what overcomes him, or where this protectiveness is borne from but he feels it to the marrow of his bones and he acts upon impulse and instinct alone despite how it may seem to the stranger who answers that he is such. Obviously. Mato only barely resists the urge to respond with a sassy remark as the other male comes into view but bites lightly down upon his tongue. It would likely be unseemly for a soon to be king, he thinks. It is his nature but nature cannot always explain behavior. Mato understands that if he seeks to be a leader he must become responsible for such things. “We are all strangers,” Mato speaks shifting so he does not stand entirely in front of Seabreeze, speaking that he means the duo is stranger to him as well. “but we need not remain so.” The druid speaks with a slight lift of his chin. “I am Mato and this is Seabreeze.” The empyrean introduces, gesturing to his companion with a elegant nod of his muzzle towards her. Apple green gaze assess the stranger before them, noting that he is older than Seabreeze and himself and the Rochester wonders if he is simply a vagabond passing by. “We will claim this forest as our home.” Not seek. They will. The empyrean knows it is as certain as he knows his heart beats within it’s prison of flesh and bone; and it seems prudent to let this stranger in on that if for nothing else than to explain that very soon it will no longer be accessible for him to traverse to and fro as he wishes …lest he join them, of course.

The gray male speaks with eloquence and introduces himself and the female. Trajan, for some reason, finds the way Mato speaks amusing, perhaps it is because he himself rarely ever speaks in that manner, not finding it as practical as straightforward bluntness. But again, that is hypocritical of him, given that there had been numerous occasions where he speaks with more words than needed, twisting them to sound more elegant than what it actually meant. He likes to see the confusion dance across their faces.

The two are young. Younger than he, and yet the male, who could hardly be more than a yearling, if he even was that, was seeking to claim this land. Trajan wants to laugh, but he keeps his incredulity hidden behind his carefully constructed facade of indifference. They didn't have enough life experience to lead a pack properly, and here, this wolf wants to play being King. Trajan gives a mental shrug — he couldn't really care less, given that he has never been interested in playing leader and claiming a land, preferring to wander and wander, and maybe one day claim the kingdom of his ancestors. He is more than qualified for that, after all, and he feels no need to rule a new piece of land when he knows it will not be more than an experiment.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts and cants his head, bi-coloured eyes drifting from Mato to Seabreeze, then back to Mato again. Trajan finds the wolf intriguing, and his determination admirable. Perhaps, he thinks tentatively, he would be a fair enough king. But Traj doesn't know enough to judge, so he doesn't. He knows, however, that he likes this forest and wishes to live here longer.

"Traianus," the Roman introduces himself, "Traianus Frostfur-diAngelo." There is a certain kind of elegance in full names, Trajan thinks, it brings to you a history, a noble ancestry that you show off, but are only a tiny part of. "But everyone calls me Trajan," the corner of his lip quirks upwards and he dabbles with the idea of joining. The more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. He liked this forest, and although Mato and Seabreeze were young, well, they could be good leaders. And besides, Trajan has no ambition to start a pack — to climb the ladders of one and become a leader, sure, but starting one, really, anyone could, but keeping one alive over the years, that isnn't something just anyone can do.

"You know, I like this forest a lot," Trajan begins, eyeing his surroundings thoughtfully. "Are you looking for followers?"

Mato does not go forth with this thinking that he will not face adversary. He is young, after all; but younger wolves than him have been made leaders …and Rannoch is proof that age has nothing to do with it. Experience is useful, yes, but some wolves were born to be leaders: they have the heart and the ability to do it. Mato does not assume he has the stuff it takes to be a leader but he knows, given time, he will discover it. The world is his oyster and he would never be content to settle for the what-if’s. He is unafraid to take the risk. The name that the man — Trajan as he settles for — offers is lofty and …means nothing to the druid. Names only carry the accomplishments of those that came before, he has always thought. He is Rochester but if there is anything it is recognized for it is not of Mato’s own creation but Sebastian’s and Burke’s and he would not cling to their accomplishments. The empyrean would much rather create his own. “We are,” Mato responds with a pause and a thoughtful sway of his tail as he ghosts forward a step. “but you should know Tindómë will not be a traditional pack.” And if that is what Trajan seeks then he should rid himself of ideas of lingering in this forest.

“The hierarchy will be based off of trades, their specialties and masteries. Masters sit beneath leadership, wolves that bear a speciality beneath the masters, those who hold the basic trade and beneath them the apprentices. This eliminates favoritism and bias. It creates an environment of a wolf’s own making: if you wish to climb to the top of the hierarchy you must earn it by contributing and honing your trades.” Mato speaks, laying it all out on the table. Perhaps it is not fail proof — is anything? — but Mato feels it has a strong foundation and he has yet to come across another pack like it.

“If you can commit to this, then you are welcome.” Mato concludes, searching Trajan's face for any reaction.

Trajan is a creature of tradition, as was his father...perhaps not his father's father, but the majority of his bloodline — the Roman side of it, at least — values tradition. His last name might not mean anything to the younger wolf, but it meant everything to the Roman, much unlike his attitude towards first names in general which he thought of as skins to wear and shed. He wishes to live up to his ancestors, his ancestors of both bloodlines, and although he has changed his surname, he still feels very much part of his ancestry.

"That's good," Trajan smiles thoughtfully, "I like nontraditional packs." Yes, he values tradition, but Noctem Vagus wasn't exactly a traditional pack, with its legionnaires and praetors and senates. Traj values tradition, not tradition in general, but his and his family's tradition.

Mato proceeds to tell him the basic foundation of the pack, and his ideas for it. It is to be based on trades, it appears, where skills and knowledge would allow you to rise. He licks his lip, gazing thoughtfully at the younger male through orbs of copper and ocean. 

"It's unique," Trajan says, after a moment, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension that had gathered. He pauses again, gaze wandering elsewhere — to the trees that surrounded them and the dancing shadows and the rays of light on the forest floor. "I'm a soldier, a mercenary, mainly," Trajan's shifts his weight between his paws, "I aim to be a counselor as well and I'll like to join, if you'll have me." The silver beast's crown lowers respectfully to the aspiring King of the forest. He has no qualms with submitting to the younger male — many times he finds himself underestimated by older wolves, and although he had judged Mato when he first hears of his wish, he does not want to act like the wolves who looked down upon him. Mato seems like he would do a good job, and Trajan wishes to support him.

"Tindómë," the word feels unfamiliar on Trajan's tongue, but he has learned a lot of languages in his life. "What language is that, by the way?" he asks, his eyes softening just a fraction. "It's very nice. I'll love to learn."

I feel like we could probably wrap this thread up with your next post or you can archive as is, if you'd wish. Feel free to start cache building, border marking, territory exploring, recruitment threads, etc & I'll be sure to add them to our list. I would also love a Trajan x Mato thread so they can get to know one another better. :-)

Mato takes a certain measure of pride in his ideas for Tindómë but such is only natural, he thinks. They have been cultivating for months waiting for their time to burst free of their carefully composed cocoon; but just because he had been entertaining ideas for months did not necessarily mean that the druid had planned to act upon them. At first, he had not. He had joined with Cypress and his brothers, the Valeians, and they are wonderful and the empyrean thought that his ideas were better locked away in a treasure chest to examine as one would a priceless piece of jewelry: too fragile to wear but fascinating to look at. Mato can not detect the source of the change within him, the moment that the smoldering ember was given oxygen to become a flame; it matters little, he supposes. Things have been set in motioning there is no going back from it now. No desire to abandon it. There is two that will follow him, now.

“You will be ranked upon your primary trade. Mercenary will put you in the tier of Fire composed of Hunters as well when you have earned the trade...if you do not already have it.” Mato offers in explanation. First, however, they needed to begin, to build. Tindómë had a territory, it had three wolves pledged to it (including himself, of course). It was a start, a good start Mato thinks but he knows that he has his work yet cut out for him. In recruitment, in marking, in returning to the Vale only to inform Rannoch of these developments, something that he knows Seabreeze and him should do soon so they are not thought traitors or deserters of the Vale. “I call it the language of the druids,” Mato says with a curl of his lips. “but perhaps it shall be given a more fitting name.” Tindómëian? Tuktuian? He would work on that later, there more pressing things to concern himself with than the name of the second language he speaks. “I will be happy to teach you.” Mato responds with a genuine smile upon his face and an amiable wag of his tail. Language is a binding tool, he thinks. It will help the wolves of Tindómë to bond, he believes and he is willing to teach it to his subjects.

“Join us in exploration?” Mato makes the offer though he would not be insulted if Trajan would rather explore on his own.

will do! thanks for the thread :)

Fire. A part of him is amused, once again. He has always considered himself more ice than fire — he is not the blazing heat that draws everyone's attention, the heat that burns bright hot and fiery and seeks to burn everything in its path. Trajan has bouts of recklessness, sure, but he has always looked down upon those with rash stupidity that they call bravery. He is the ice that burns your skin after time, the ice that does not hurt on touch, but instead numbs your senses until you can't feel anything as your fingers drop off one by one. The shadow is a creature of the darkness, of the cold and the snow and the wind biting harshly against your cheek.

But not every warrior is like him. Trajan thinks that perhaps, he is one of a kind. Most mercenaries he has met were the perfect epitome of fire. He is an exception. He will be the Ice King among the Fires. 

A shadow of a smirk dances on the Roman's lips. "Thank you," he says quietly, glad that Mato has accepted him into their fledgling pack and has also agreed to teach him the language of the druids. Trajan, at heart, is a lover of languages, much like his father, and Mato's tongue is particularly elegant and enigmatic. He likes that. 

"Perhaps another time," Trajan says apologetically, dipping his silver crown. "But I'll see you soon." After all, there would be plenty of time to become acquainted with Mato later, and no time to explore on his own.