Blackfeather Woods it isn’t the storm that makes the ocean dangerous

Per this thread, Drageda wolves will lose/retreat.

Once they’ve broken off, deciding which way best to go for each group based on the information they have at hand, she directs @Hvitserk a little south. It has been a long time since she’s marched upon another, with nearly an entirely different crew. With Gyda’s son beside her, she feels a little familiarity. As she casts him a glance, she longs for her friend. It has been far too long and she stands the chance she may never again.

With a deep breath, and a look at new surroundings, she makes a note to herself for later should she come out of this unscathed. The blood marked border does not give her pause. She thinks briefly of the loner Artaax slain, left to rot, unaware he’d started from this very forest.

Every so often she glances to her companion, ears swiveling upon her head for every new sound. Her nose searches for someone familiar, but she keeps most of her focus for the enemy.

i assumed he is alone for now but just wanted to get this on my threadlog. :) he's still a lil' ways into the territory. tags are just for reference.

Tension had been thick in the air for a few weeks. War was brewing, and everyone in the Woods knew that it was a matter of time before it would reach them. Cicero had dropped by @Damien's previously favourite spot that morning like he did every morning, hoping that he would somehow magically find his brother there. It made the philosopher realise that he was only still here because of the children, now; had this happened a year ago, he would've set off to find and bring home his brother. But seasons changed and so had his life in a major way since the pups had come to his life. He'd spent much time with @Euron, @Ramsay and @Maegi and often slept near them, too, for he needed body warmth to keep himself warm, since his fur had never been the best for winter. He had brought them the food he'd caught for Damien after not finding his brother anywhere before he set off to patrol the perimeter so that they would be on guard soon.

Narrow, sickly legs made their way to the borders. Keeping in motion was the only way to keep warm. He kept his attention sharp as he trotted leisurely there, keeping ears attentive and nose sharp. Yet he had to admit that staying alert was taking its toll and he wished that this would be over soon — unaware that it would be sooner than he thought.

Argent has been tense since the black-capped woman's arrival at the borders. Tactics and strategy have never been a strong suit of his, and he'd not lingered long enough to hear what Blackfeather would decide to do. And there'd been Cicero and whatever he's got in mind. The titan has to admit he's intrigued by his villain.

He does not think he will have much time to dwell on it though. They are coming, finally, they are here: Argent moves with a measured quickness, avoiding his packmates. There's someone specific he's looking for.

It seems he is the first from Blackfeather to arrive, unaware of Cicero's path nearby. He looks around anyway just to double check and then lowers his head and murmurs, "heda." He does not recognize the man with her and so pays him little attention, focused instead on the rush of emotion of this moment's culimination.

She knew what she had been feeling wasn't just made up. War had been brewing far before she had even noticed, yet she was, to her knowledge, one of the earlier observers of the strange magnetic air that had surrounded the woods. Their bad karma coming to ruin them just like how they had ruined others? Perhaps. Luckily, she was no stranger to how it felt to be in danger nor how it felt how to fight as unfairly as possible. There was no honor in losing or winning, yet she found winning to be the most valued out of the options since it meant you wouldn't die.

She blended in with the woods nearly perfectly, her silvered hackles being the horizon and her raven fur just as dark as the shadowy woods. Her uncle, however, was easier for her to spot. She had not spent much time with him, if anyone for that matter, but he was family she supposed so doing just that wouldn't hurt now their lives were in danger, right?

She kept with him, stalking him, her gut strangely twisting due to her nerves. She made just the slightest noise to make him aware of her presence, soft enough so only he could hear, giving him an uncomfortable look.

The time for battle had come, at last, creating a scene for the boy to fit perfectly into. Since the beginning, he’d been destined to someday fight alongside others, his build and teachings turning him into a wolf worthy of war. He did not doubt anyone’s skill level, which was what kept him close to Thuringwethil; he knew she could defend herself just as well as anyone else, or possibly even better, but he couldn’t run the risk of this battle being her last. It was a desire that stemmed from selfish thinking, really, having yet to fully make amends and also not wanting to be the one to deliver the news of a deceased leader—there was enough anger and distrust directed his way, he did not need to stoke the flames.

The closer they got, his muscles tensed and ears stood tall atop his crown, prepared and eager. So eager, actually, that he’d nearly lunged forth when Étoille appeared; his lips were pulled back in a silent snarl and hackles raised, ready to attack the one so bold as to approach the older woman directly—until a soft heda fell from his lips, flipping a switch in the boy and settling him back down. He looked to Thur, wondering who the male was and how he was tied in with everything, but didn’t bother to ask before turning his head back towards the stranger.

I'm going to go ahead and post to keep this moving. @Vaati pop in whenever you're ready! Do we want to do a post order or post whenever during the round? I'm up for either.

Sound of footballs in the distance causes her to turn. They are soft and much closer than she anticipates, and everything begins to lock in place. Her muscles tense and she searches, her footsteps slowing. They are the only wolves going in with only two but they are not too far from another group should she need to change courses and she begins to map the backtrack until she realizes it is Étoille that has made an approaching. Heda does not step closer, or offer any words. She remains tense, still, and glances subtly behind the large wolf for signs of another. They do not have the home field advantage and any hiding spots are just that but with one of her own in her grasp again, she feels a little bit better.

She is glad to see the large wolf is still alive, and intact, meaning he has so far succeeded in his duties. Even if he has not learned much, they did not figure out who he is. She is scarce to think they may have turned him instead but she waits to see the outcome on the other side. Thuringwethil nods her head slightly, only once to indicate him she sees him. She catches Hvitserk’s reaction from the corner of her eyes and she looks at him sideways when he turns to her for comfort and she gives him a slight indication that everything is okay.

“Are they near?” she whispers, wishing the brute knew their language but she has Hvitserk to her right if the need arises for something sensitive.

i prefer whenever during the round and make the rounds anywhere between 4-7 days so everyone has ample time to reply, to keep stuff moving.

In the distance scents approached even before he saw or heard them, causing Cicero to keep his body low and keep moving, yet at a slow pace, making sure to stay within the shadows of the Woods that he had grown up within.

The softest of sounds reached his ears, though it caused no movement other than a tilt of his ear in Koume's direction. He was not sure whether it was Koume or Kotake that was behind him but knowing either of them was near enough to help should it be necessary was enough. Cicero did not know much on who to rely on these days even within the boundaries of his pack but these were not things that he had ever cared for. Damien had not exactly been a wolf to rely on either and yet his love for his brother was endless even now that he had abandoned them.

He heard a voice in the distance and kept going, slow and steady pace so that they may not see him, at a distance. As soon as he could see the wolves in the distance he saw that Argent was among them, standing by the side of one of the foreigners that had come to invade their territory. Cicero slipped from the darkness onto the path they were walking between the dark trees and murmured, "Well, well..." before he turned 'round, almost invitingly so, and started heading towards the Weeping Meadow, which he knew was not too far. He took a moment to look over his shoulder to see how fast they were going: should they have broken into a run to try and catch him, he'd do the same, but if not he would continue on in a brisk trot.

They have come, and it is long overdue.

The winds change as the shadows the dark forest loom in animosity, their enemies, upon the banks of their home in considerable numbers. The Dark Master breathes in, eyelids fluttering closed as he takes in the invading scents surrounding the woods, counting silently within his head. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Five forces come to drive them out... but they are prepared. His eyes snap open only to narrow, throwing his head back and sounding a long, commencing call for the wolves of Blackfeather Woods with one clear message: burn them all. 

As if a storm trapped within his feet, his paws hit the ground thunderously as he moves with a dire, blood-thirsty haste; well-defined muscles churning beneath his thick, stark white pelage that sticks out like a neon sign amidst the dark as he pushes forth. Cicero and Koume's scent converging in one general area is where he heads for, and eventually falls alongside his estranged uncle as they lead the intruders to the meadow of sweet death; the one of hallucinogens he had since become immune to over the course of his life. And in time too, the toxins are more than guaranteed to knock off a few of Drageda's forces as the rest of the forest snares the unsuspecting attackers within its geological booby traps.

The rest of Blackfeather will do the same, utilizing what they have to the highest degree -- playing dirty -- but playing wise. Redhawk Caldera and Drageda have made a critical lapse in judgement to seek out war with a pack as conniving as they, and to do so on their home turf... it is not something even Vaati would do. Allowing himself the freedom of a laugh, the yearling releases what can only be described as a cackle of the unholy itself, before disappearing into the eerie mist of the Weeping Willow.

It is here he waits, among the smoke and low lights, his breathing reduced to heavy pants as the air of the wicked fills is lungs. But its effects will be even more detrimental to those who follow, those who have no clue what they stumble into. Vaati licks over his canines. "Come along little piggies... we're all waiting." The yearling snickers mockingly to himself, and to whomever may hear. He has waited too long to be afraid of what comes next, having tasted blood and longed for war for too long to run and hide. Another error they have yet made, waiting too long to make their move. They have left him waiting, and now he is bloodthirsty. Bloodthirsty and reckless. Bad things happen when Vaati is reckless.

He ignores the reaction of the man with heda. They haven't met, and it's a fair one, given Argent is for all intents and purposes a member of Blackfeather. He pauses before answering heda's question - enough time to see Cicero slip into view. It's a calculated move, for sure. The darkness of the forest provides ample cover for those native to it, and especially for the sneak.

"Yes," he murmurs, watching him walk away at his almost casual pace. The titan glances at heda and her companion, ready to follow her orders, but: "the forest is treacherous and dark," he warns, "they will want to take us by surprise." And Argent is of no use to them there - he is a light coated giant, a bright beacon of their position. 

He wonders if he should part from them, even though Cicero surely knows the ruse by now and will report it to Vaati... with heda's coloration, she could make more use of the shadows than he. He has largely avoided the meadow where that dangerous Willow lies -- unaware of the existence of the spores, but knowing that proximity brings with it enough feelings of unease he did not want to venture close enough to figure out the cause. "However you decide to proceed, be cautious." 

At the end of the day, Argent is not clever enough to be a strategist. His role as rogue has drawn to a close; it is heda's law he will follow now, however the commander decides to proceed.

They were close - she could nearly feel the vibrations in the earth itself. Or perhaps that was the thunderous way of galloping Vaati had as he rushed to their side of the woods. She nearly smiled upon seeing his scarred face, though she did not prefer him as a leader. She preferred no one now she thought of it. Still, she followed him and her uncle to the Weeping Willow she had never found so interesting as to explore it. There, she waited with them, posture hunched and ready to leap whenever necessary to ensure their victory.

Posting since it's been 7 days.

Not long after she speaks, and gets an answer, there’s movement ahead and her eyes trail off and widen when she sees him. In the dark of the forest, it is hard to determine any specific features, but she shifts a little, prepared to launch forward but her feet do not move. Instead, she listens but her eyes do not trail off from the disappearing form.

Be cautious.

Thuringwethil slowly turns her head back to the brute, then her nose points the way the shadow disappeared. Her paws set in motion down the path. “What is that way?” she asks, turning back to offer a gesture of her muzzle. It is where they want them to go but she does not rush after them, perhaps like they intended, and studies her surroundings as they move.

As he noticed that they did not follow too speedily along, Cicero's pace remained slow and casual. He looked 'round to see a wolf speak with Argent, who surely would tell them of where they were headed. Yet he did not care much, for even if they would know where they were going, then at least it would keep the Blackfeather wolves relatively safe regardless should that mean they choose not to follow.

He licked his lips as he continued to walk at a pace relative to his pursuit, while keeping his eyes on his surroundings, not expecting to be overtaken by anyone. Cicero did not enjoy fighting, but he enjoyed the thrill of a chase and he would postpone the former as long as he could.

short, trying to keep this moving

He follows the gesture to where Cicero has vanished, falling into step alongside his heda. "A clearing," the titan answers lowly, "marked by a weeping willow." He does not mention the unease he's felt about it, assuming it is psychological, unaware of the spores that particular location carries. Étoille waits a beat and then adds, "and Cicero," in reference to the shadow they follow, who he assumes is making his way to that very clearing. He is sure heda will want to know where the man responsible for Wildfire's condition is, after all.

Sorry this round went longer than before, it was kind of a filler round, but please post next round — they've essentially arrived in the clearing. Tagging @Vaati, @Koume, and @Hvitserk since they’ve missed the last 1-2 rounds. Rounds will be seven days and continued missed round will have your character played out of the thread.

There is not much ahead other than a clearing with a weeping willow and she is curious. The blur of a wolf earlier moves in the same direction and she can’t help but wonder what is ahead, however, Étoille confirms her suspicion that it is Cicero ahead—Wildfire’s description isn’t too far off—and the fur along her nape bristles slightly, ruffling up along her spine. The closer they get, the more obvious the aggression appears, and she puts her focus ahead. Scents left behind those that have traveled this way don’t differentiate between who is who but she will know soon enough. She glances back to see if Hvitserk is still following but he has fallen out of view. Thuringwethil slows only a moment, hoping he will pick, but her focus returns to the spy as the move and get closer, approaching the clearing ahead where their fate awaits.

Not the least bit unusual for him, the yearling remained silent, listening and observing the interaction before him. The splotch-patterned wolf, though not unnoticed, was offered little of the boy’s attention save for the urge to follow him—but he remained where he was at Thuringwethil’s side, awaiting the order to either proceed or attack. And although neither was offered to him, the continuation of the leader’s movements told him to follow, but he was slow to do so. Hanging back for a moment too long, he glanced over their surroundings and listened for footfalls, ensuring there was no one coming up to attack them from the rear. Once satisfied with his lack of findings, Hvitserk continued forward, catching up with and then keeping to the right side of his heda.

An ear stayed to his back as the wolves followed at an even pace. They seemed wary and Cicero wondered if Argent knew about the weeping willow; it would not surprise him if he had at one point wandered there and knew of the spores. Yet they continued to follow until they reached the clearing. Cicero followed along the side of the clearing and he could feel the spores affecting him fairly fast; he had never been immune to them, either. The big advantage it would give him was that he was used to them while the attackers were not. If nothing else, it might mean that they would leave him to be saved by his pack mates before being able to kill him.

Teeth parted in invitation as Cicero made his way closer to the tree and waited halfway through the clearing. Almost dutiful as he greeted his potential death while his head was beginning to swim with the familiar and soothing works of the pollen.

this is a description of the territory, but feel free to choose however much and in what way you do/don't want the pollen to affect your character :)

WEEPING MEADOW · A small field that has a Weeping Willow tree smack in the center of it. The tree is infected and releases spores into the air, filling the field up with them. WARNING: Side effects of inhaling the spores include: Hallucination, fatigue, disorientation and vomiting. Long-time exposure can lead addiction and eventual health conditions (trouble breathing, persistent coughing, deficient smelling abilities).

Just a cameo, please skip Ramsay unless someone goes for him directly (please tag if that happens). Open to minor scuffing but no major injuries since I've had to assume he's mostly healthy beyond this point. ^^; Assuming the fighting is starting here somewhere.

Ramsay didn't go to the place where the air was thick with contagion. He knew from afar it was the work of the noxious tree growing there, but there was an animal instinct in him that kept him from getting too close. But now he approached it on a mission. From afar, separated from the Drageda wolves by more than a handful of yards, Ramsay followed the shadow of Cicero through the trees toward the glade. Normally his father was stealthy, difficult to find and difficult to track, not unlike Euron, but Cicero was being careless today, and his stunted son didn't realize why. He felt successful in his stalking.

However, he didn't know of the danger lurking near in the form of enemies. The war was something he'd talked to his siblings about in giddy whispers, thinking it, like everything else in Blackfeather Woods, was just someone playing at being a tough guy. He didn't realize how real and close it was until the fighting started with snarls and clashing fangs, and then Ramsay hunkered down in the bushes, attempting to hide himself while the spores even at this distance made him woozy, and allowed the trauma of witnessing his pack mates fighting to burn itself into the backs of his eyes.

Since we're going into the third round without a reply, do you want to wrap this up in a few posts, Iris? I figure the tree can cause enough issues in hallucinations that will make them retreat before they can kill him and we can get this over with?

It does not take long for her eyes to find Cicero. In that moment, any other Blackfeather wolf ceases to exist. The sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach doesn’t deter her as she moves, slowly at first into the opening. Hvitserk and Étoille are forgotten for the moment—they can take care of themselves—as she makes it known exactly who she’s going for. The poisonous tree in the background doesn’t get a second look but as the moments tick by, one tendril after another clasping to her mind.

Thuringwethil closes the distant in record speed when she takes off with lips pulled back as her snarl marks her intention. It is his blood she will drink this day and nothing will get in her way.

i'm fine with a fade or just a few quick posts, whichever you prefer. i'd like to get cicero's threads wrapped up soon anyway :) edit: feel free to pp him in any way you'd like if you are gonna tack on a fade, i've wrapped up cicero's other threads already

One of the wolves in Argent's company focusses on him instantly, though it was what he intended anyway; he braced himself for impact, but when she was nearly there darted out the way. At first it seemed that he had succeeded in getting out the way but soon he felt teeth tear at his shoulder. The pain was welcome, for he had always thrived upon it, but he knew the implications it held. His head was swimming but at least his enemy was in here too, which he knew would increase his odds at survival.

Lips peeled back to reveal a snarl and Cicero dove in to try and hit what he could, do as much damage as he could; keep them busy as long as he could, so that he would have more chances that he would not be dead by the time the spores drove them back.

The fighting begins as the weeping willow swims into vision. Heda goes after Cicero and Argent-Étoille follows, ever the obedient soldier. In a novel, the words would flow with poetry and death, capturing the intimate intricacies of teeth and blood and the creeping nausea overcoming him. But real life does not move so slowly painted. There are bodies on either side -- Étoille-Argent feels the sudden sting of pain blossoming against the right side of his skull, snarls, a haziness descending upon him. "Heda," he grinds out, dread descending upon him, but what the cause is he cannot say. An inexperienced fighter to begin with, crippled by the affects of the spores, the titan's fighting grows largely ineffectual and slow, but he will remain by heda's side until victory or defeat arrives to take them.

Vague and fading with permission.

At first, she doesn’t notice the latch on her mind, focused solely on Cicero as he begins to close the distance too. They collide, and she surges forward at once and begins her onslaught of bites and tears where she can. She does not react to what damage he gets in on her, fighting through the pain with adrenaline pumping through her ears. It speeds up the effects of the spores to all at once and her eyes widened, uncertain to what she sees.

The scrawny male morphs, becomes larger. His teeth elongate and her ears fall back. She glances to either side of her warriors, fighting alongside to see if they see the same thing, but she doesn’t hesitate a moment longer. She commands them in her native tongue, unable to decipher the distinction in the moment, but both of them get the hint and fall back, leaving a broken and battered demon behind.