Permafrost Hollows otherwise they would not be worshipped

the vartija scouting thread || part i.

if wintersbane could sweat he'd be drenched in it. that cold sweat brought forth from something that is equal parts exciting and dreadful. maybe it was the mouth of the cavern he'd taken refuge in long enough to get a few hours of sleep — using the abysmal shadows to hide him from immediate view of anyone venturing this way — maybe it was his constant and nagging worry about blackfeather woods' future and their withering numbers but his dreams were not peaceful. it's been a long time since he's had a nightmare of any sorts but flashes of it still linger, imprinted on the forefront of his mind.

there was a change and chill in the winds that had nothing to do with winter and everything to do with the tundrian himself. he'd set out from blackfeather woods in order to broker some tentative peace between them and the packs that are hungry for their blood and yet, the direction he ventures, following a gut instinct that he cannot place ( presumably guided by mephala's hand ) takes him far away from either of the packs with whom the tensions that birth wars linger. war from either one of those packs — let alone both — would bring nothing but slaughter.

he notes as he makes his way across the sunspire mountains that there are new packs that he doesn't remember being there previously in the area and thus he keeps going, heading towards the taiga where the pack scents dwindled and thin to nothing. as far as he can tell thus far the taiga appears entirely unclaimed. it's been some time since he's thought about it — about striking out on his own. why had he needed to? he'd been happy in blackfeather woods.

he knows why he's out here. he knows it like the unheard thrum of his heartbeat, steady like a war drum within it's prison of flesh and bone. he's tried to convince himself that it wasn't true — but the evidence is indisputable. it presses on him that he must keep his word, that he must try to do what he can for them before he parts ways with them — and more importantly he needs to make sure he tells them he's leaving. to not do like he's done so many times before and simply vanish without a word and a trace.

he will, he assures himself as he pushes himself to his paws and stretches, stepping out of the mouth of the cavern and into the early morning light. the sun hasn't yet began it's ascension and the clouds overhead drift, skirting over the half crescent moon. he ventures away from the base of the mountain in search of breakfast to quiet the rumble of his stomach for a few hours. he follows the eerie yip of a fox and dispatches it with relative ease. once his stomach is full he discards what's left of the corpse for the scavengers and continues exploring the the hollow, thoughts heavy with the weight of what this might ultimately mean.

---

He'd left his sister.
Like the pathetic, weedy creature he was. Slithering away from her side as he had too many times before.
It brought a weight on his shoulders, a weight he didn't know how long he could bear for. But he didn't want to join a pack of a friend. No matter how deep or shallow the bond ran. He may return to her when she seeks him; for her pack. Not the empire she should make.
No, just a pack on a slither of territory like the rest.
The thoughts set him grumbling, but he'd return. He knew that. He'd promised that; his word was his word. Like his sister's word was hers.
Before long, he found himself in a cold and dismal place. Unyielding, yet somewhat homely. Caves around, yet... a mystery. He was interested, he wanted to explore. He needed to eat.

A fox's cry pierced the air, setting him in that direction. Steady, easy. He wasn't concerned for availability. Not until he beheld the tundrian that stood over the corpse, finishing his meal. His maw hung slightly ajar. Surprise was a feeling Derg didn't often feel.

He chuffed softly, hoping to alert the man, but not startle him. His tail hung by his ankles with a soft wave of greeting, no dominance, no fear. A submissive-neutrality. He didn't want to fight today.
"What are you doing so far from home, friend?" 
His voice softer, clearer. He hated the sound of it.
Perhaps why he'd stopped speaking, yet others seemed to not be so opposed to it as he.

It was strange to see such protector -- guardian -- so far from the borders of the pack. Had he left? Was he thinking of leaving? Much like his cowardly ass had left Grezig.

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a relative quiet that encompasses the hollows. the more wintersbane walks it, mulling it over in his mind, the more he thinks he might've found a good place to settle ...but this is just the surface of the territory. what lies hidden in the depths of the caverns and tunnels below is yet undiscovered. he'd need to make a thorough vetting of the territory, of the tunnels and caverns below but thus far he's pretty sold. if for the reasons that a: there are no other packs in the immediate area and b: the prey is plentiful here. two perfectly damn good reasons to stake a claim on a territory; and there was the added bonus of it having a very 'enok tundra' feel to it.

a soft chuff breaks the tundrian out of his thoughts and he turns to face the male, glacial gaze assessing him. he's an agouti mixture of greys, browns and creams. the posture of submissive neutrality does not go unnoticed by wintersbane's keen eye either. it appeases the territorial fiend within — though as he's yet to stake a physical claim yet he supposes he has no actual right to be territorial. terveisiä vieraita, the fact that the tundrian slips from betwixt wintersbane's lips without him catching himself only serves to prove that this territory would make a fine home for the vartija. greetings stranger. he offers in common tongue now, a neutral and amiable wag of his tail given.

a lift of his chin is followed by a low chuckle that lingers in his chest like the rumble of a distant thunderstorm. who says i'm not home? he poses the question to the stranger with a quirk of a brow. i think this is a great place to plant roots. spoken with absolute sincerity. although i haven't gotten the chance to explore the tunnels and caverns below. there's still a good bit to vet. a shrug of his shoulders is given. it's not as if he doesn't have time.

what about you? wintersbane asks in return, though an assesment of the other male's scent tells wintersbane that he's lone ...or at the very least it's been some time since he's been around a pack.

---

His brows furrowed at the foreign language but assumed that the next words were the same; just in the correct language.
Did it make him an objective fool?
He offers a soft grin to his words and cast another look around himself. Indeed, it would serve a grand place to call home. Did he leave the rancid, forested pack?
"I'm sure those," he said with a gesture to save himself from hearing his voice, "would prove as great as here." His ears cupped, he hadn't missed the sincerity. The Fondness of a place only just new to the man. A passion and seeking; perhaps he'd strode out for his own pack.

"I'm looking for a pack, somewhere for the winter." Damn him, Grezig had torn up his remaining, stone heart. He'd damn himself until the day he returned to Grezig and forever more. For being useless as others around her. No doubt she'd expected more, better. 
It was done now, he wouldn't return to her until spring. If she kept that long. A soft shadow of horror passed over his face; not wanting to begin thinking of how his sister could be damned.
"So you deem this place to be home, not those woods?" His hazel gaze studied the reaction for guilt, like his own. Or a pride of breaking from a place that had tied him for so long. Like himself leaving his homelands.

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edit. you get my 600th post!

perhaps, wintersbane allows vaguely with a roll of his shoulders. i guess there's only one way to find out if that holds true. and he wasn't in the habit of assuming. he wanted to be thorough with the vetting process. he states he's looking for a pack and then clarifies that he seeks a place to ride out the winter. the words suggest a short term commitment but in the recruiting stages he couldn't afford to be a fussy asshole about it. everyone had a right to come and go as they pleased and the truth was that they would, eventually, leave.

for a long moment wintersbane stared at the other male, trying to piece together how he knew he was from blackfeather. their scent still might've been on him but it was severely diluted if it was. and then, ah, was vocalized as he realized that he did recognize him. you're the rotting corpse thief. wintersbane states leveling a stare and slower assessment of derg.

as for blackfeather woods, things change. perhaps others are too proud to admit it but the woods have been an echo of what they once were for months and our numbers rapidly dwindled. i know a sinking ship when i see one. he should because he was the cause of a sinking ship ( probably twice ) in his life. i haven't decided yet where i'm going to settle and build my ideal pack but i know it's going to be somewhere in this taiga.

---

He nodded vaguely. If this man was starting out for his own pack why shouldn't he help? It is what he wanted to do in coming here anyway; in finding Grezig. The soldier, after all, needed somewhere to stay. So why shouldn't he?

He let a low laugh ripple from him at Wintersbane's realisation, "Indeed, Wintersbane. Perhaps it is lucky the corpse was laden with poison, hm?"  He grinned with all the cunning a wolf owned. He could seek allegiance here if he was successful it would lead on to greater things. Grezig... would she be proud or disgusted?
He merely nodded in agreement for he was correct. Things did change, like himself.
"You made the right call to take the lifeboat."  He grinned again with that wolfish cunning. And why shouldn't he? They were all here to make their own paths.
Just as he was making his, damned to Grezig.
"Need a follower for this pack?" He offered, curious at availability. Curious about the purpose of the pack.

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wintersbane's proclamation of recognition was met with a low laugh from derg. perhaps, the maned tundrian murmurs with a satirical quirk of his lips and rise of his brow. i'd say i was bluffing but the truth is that i had no idea. sounded like something they'd do ...as an extra deterrent. not that it really mattered much. well, no. that wasn't true. as long as relmyna and astara remained in the woods it fucking mattered to him. his time might've been done there but he still cared for the dark priestess and her savage shadow daughter. mephala might be leading him to pursue his own path in life as opposed to continuing the pattern of following in the paths forged and lead by others but that didn't stop him from caring.

maybe. but i have no false pretenses about it. it's a selfish choice. i left behind wolves i care about. but he's also not apologetic for it. they'll know where to find him and be undoubtedly welcome if they change their minds. the answer to that depends on you, really. i can give you the run-down on my ideas for the pack and you can decide from there whether you want to pledge yourself or not. wintersbane offers.

---

The man shrugged, settling to an easier feel around the man. They had not come to blows, nor was it unincited hostility. Yet he kept checking the tundrian's stance, his energy and made sure he kept himself just so. He could join here, help mould and shape a pack not yet formed and made. Help it rise and bring Grezig here.
No, that wouldn't do for her. But would he leave whatever position he may make here for her?
The time would come for that decision.

His head canted slightly before nodding softly, an invitation for Wintersbane to explain his pack, the morals that he could influence. To make sure others would find the cause worthy. He breathed out a soft sigh, his breath a curling form that was taken away by the chill air -- obliterated by winter.
His ears cupped to attention to listen to the man, ready and waiting yet not interjecting just yet. To do so would have to be done slowly and carefully, making the structure was the most important part to a mould.

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derg appears to have forgone further verbal communication ( at least, for the moment ) and simply nods for wintersbane to proceed. the vartija is going to operate a bit differently than a 'traditional' pack. it's going to be a war clan where regular spars are encouraged to keep skills sharp ...but wolves don't have to be warriors or rogues to join. i just feel that it's beneficial to know how to fight even if it's to defend one's self. pretty much what i've seen of the packs i've ran with are that ranks are unchallengeable. you claw your way up and hope that if you're ambitious enough you reach as high as you want to go. there's nothing wrong with that but i like the idea of ranks being decided by contribution, yes, but also by one's own ambition. all ranks in the regular hierarchy should be challengeable but the pack should get it's say, should be allowed to interfere if they don't agree especially if it comes to leadership. he's got his monologue of how he expects the vartija to come to down to a science now. the ideas smoothed out into a certainty that this was what he wants to build.

maybe it was risky, letting all ranks — even his own once all the work is done and the pack is settled — open for challenge. wintersbane's considered this risk numerous times, over and over. his own rules state that a loser of a challenge can re-challenge and the pack has the right to interfere if they don't want to see a leadership overhaul. wintersbane doubts he's going to have to fight tooth and nail every single day for his title among them ...and if he does well then, that's just the nature of the beast, isn't it?

sound like something you'd be interested in joining? wintersbane inquires of derg then after giving the older man some time to process the information that'd been thrown at him and ask any questions if he had any.

---

He mused for a few moments. The pack this one was creating certainly sounded like the one he hailed from; yet better. He wouldn't lose his control, that fine thread he called control. He sighed softly, casting a gaze around. It would be ideal for him, teaching others to fight, to hunt. Teaching others in general. 
"I will."  There, done. He'd pledged himself and left Grezig behind.
But wasn't that what she'd done leaving in the first place?

He offered a small smile to Wintersbane, "Where would you like to start?"  He offered, knowing the trouble of starting a pack. He wanted to be part of its founding of course. Making dens, making borders, more recruitment. He didn't know, but he'd do it. A pack required sacrifices and he'd willingly make them. 

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there's a few minutes of silence that settles between them as the other man makes his decision; and then the decision is vocalized i will; and just like that it was a done deal. welcome aboard, derg. wintersbane says and signals for the other man to follow him with a gesture of his muzzle. it was almost ironic. if someone'd told him the man who stole a rotting corpse from blackfeather woods' borders would be a founding member of the pack that'd been cooking up in the back of his head for months the tundrian wouldn't have believed them; but nothing in life was set in stone. things and opinions could change at the drop of a hat and first impressions weren't always what they were cracked up to be.

first we explore the tunnels and caverns below. the woodland's probably pretty standard. you've seen one, you've seen 'em all. we should look out for any fresh water melt in the caverns, if there's a place big enough for communal denning, maybe a safe birthing den for expecting mothers ...and for emergency exit plans. after that's vetted then the border marking and cache building and recruiting begins. wintersbane sets out the ( tentative ) order in which he wants to go about things, sparing derg a glimpse to see if his plan was acknowledged.

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The man only nodded, stepping after his new leader. Leaving the regret of his sister behind. He could dwell on it later when he had the time. He half wondered what the man thought of him, clearly not too ill after his...relapse, one could say. He'd prove himself to be above that twisted creature that lingered in the back of his mind -- his gut -- and be of use to this pack.

He listened to the plan, only giving another nod in agreement. He wouldn't want to find something lurking underground, especially when the caverns and tunnels could be used for protection. The last thing they'd want to find is a hibernating bear -- or something equally unpleasant. At least there wasn't the acidic stench of cougar lingering in the area. That would upset their plans a great deal.
"Would you like to start investigating now?" He would be glad to have something to focus on, keep him busy.

---

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we can probably wrap this up with your post — or you can archive as is if you'd rather! :-)

wintersbane leads the way towards the cave mouth, curious about what lies beneath the woodland's surface. he doesn't think there will be any nasty surprises waiting for the pair of them beneath the surface in the depths of the tunnels or caverns but ...he knows that it's better to be safe than sorry; and definitely better to go as a team. derg's nod of acknowledgement does not go unnoticed by the tundrian despite that he spares the male a glimpse every here and there just to ensure that he is, indeed, following. yeah. it's definitely better to explore it with two of us than just one. despite that just in case goes unsaid it's heavily implied in wintersbane's tone nevertheless. the tundrian boldly shrugs into the cave, steps erring on the side of caution as he leads the way into the dark to see what hidden gems lie below that the eye cannot see.