Sea Lion Shores when i die, you can push me out to sea
Private  January 10, 2019, 12:52 AM
Szymon
Approved Members

Seeking ONE other participant, please. His rib cage markings are not visible, as he is covered in seaweed. If there’s no interest, I’ll just archive it as READ ONLY. ^^

Claimed by @Wintersbane!

CAVEATS: I am a slow poster and Sizzle is a grump.

        The storm could hardly be called kind, but when she thrust the wolf ashore — amidst a ropy mass of fleshy seaweed and other such flotsam — she did so with rare gentleness. He coasted placidly before simply materializing when the seafoam fizzled away, a creature fashioned of salt and whitewater and serrated sharkteeth. Only the faint rise and fall of his narrow breast, littered with old scars that showed pinkly against his pallid fur, hinted at life — and one would have to be looking for that flicker of motion to really see it. Otherwise, there was not much to discern the sodden pile of wolfflesh from the sand or the weed that threatened to bury him alive.
January 12, 2019, 03:21 PM
Raako
Lone Wolves

        a low grumble of unverbalized complaint rumbles in the tundrian's chest as he trudges along sea lion shore. this isn't the way he'd wanted to go but a last second adjustment to his path took him this way nevertheless. besides it was a shortcut ( of sorts ) and following the coast back up towards the taiga was the easiest path. he'd had his fill of complicated trekking and scouting for a bit and there was an impatient insistence to get back to permafrost hollows and check in on the recruits he'd left to care for it and sent it's way. mostly, he just wants to begin the harrowing process of claiming it — to give himself a small and owed break from recruiting. trying to divide his attention between claiming and recruiting made wintersbane wish that he could split himself in two so he could do both at once.

        a storm must've just recently passed through, he notes, as he trudges through the sand, wet from rains and side-stepping thick tangles of seaweed that washed ashore during the upheaval. as it is, he strolls right past the living mass buried beneath the tangle of seaweed — not even realizing that he's there and missing the cue that someone's buried beneath the cover of seagrasses.

stand among the ashes
of a trillion dead souls and ask
the ghosts if honor matters —
January 18, 2019, 06:38 AM
Szymon
Approved Members

        Szymon’s instinctive response to stimuli of any kind was violence, pure and simple. His time as a mate and father had tempered this kneejerk reaction somewhat, but he hadn’t been either of those things for far too long. He roared up from the tangle of seaweed and flotsam with salt and foam at his lips, his golden eyes glittering with a desperate sort of defensiveness as he put distance between himself and the much larger male. A wrinkle of his muzzle and a flash of fangs bade the stranger to keep his distance, though it would likely be clear to the soturi that Szymon was in no shape to make demands. Weariness pulled at his limbs and he swayed on his feet, catching himself before he toppled over completely and forcing his legs to hold steady.
January 20, 2019, 12:29 PM
Raako
Lone Wolves

        it becomes rapidly evident to the tundrian as his steps are halted by the pale and gold pelaged beast that rises out of tangled seaweed with a roar and frothing lips that there was something lurking in the thick green algae that had washed upon the shore. wintersbane's hackles rise and bristle along his spine, silvery-blue maned chest rising in response to being so thoroughly startled. it is a wolf and the froth at his lips is likely sea foam but it does little to soothe the tundrian's perturbed countenance.

        threat? or not threat? these are the questions wintersbane's glacial gaze seeks an immediate answer of as he assess the stranger.

        possibly a threat, wintersbane deduces at the flash of fangs; despite that the stranger doesn't appear to be in any sort of state to be starting a fight — the sway of balance does not slip beneath wintersbane's acute and skeptical observation — wintersbane knows better than to make ill-guided assumptions. assumptions were a child's mistake and the sotaherra was no child. he does not seek to close the distance between himself and the pallid and golden dappled man but the tension in his shoulders ebbs tick by tick. easy there, wintersbane drawls. i'm not lookin' for a fight and i really don't think you are either.

stand among the ashes
of a trillion dead souls and ask
the ghosts if honor matters —
January 24, 2019, 09:39 PM
Szymon
Approved Members

        Winterbane’s nonchalance does little to sway Szymon’s inclination to believe that every interaction — even this one; even though the larger male says he’s not looking for a fight — is an altercation waiting to happen. There is no question of threat or no threat for the embittered Cairn — everything is a threat. He just needs to know whether it’s killable or not. This wolf? Decidedly not killable in Szymon’s current state, though he holds the typical Cairn arrogance when it comes to the Sea. If he needs to, he can retreat into Her arms — and if the two of them can seduce the gunmetal male into Her embrace, he will die like any other unblessed wolf.

        His tripping tongue flickers like a serpent’s tongue betwixt his bared incisors, and his GTFO visage gradually recedes into a more neutral expression. “N-No,” he agrees in a rusty baritone, fitting the words slowly to his tripping tongue, “I n-never look. The fights f-f-find me.” He is not joking, sardonic as the words may seem. His eyes, mouth, and one ear are focused on the oddly-painted wolf as he lowers cautiously to his haunches, but one ear pans in constant motion to follow with fierce alacrity each note of the symphonic soundscape. “What do you ssseek.”
February 03, 2019, 08:21 AM
Raako
Lone Wolves

        the pale, disheveled man gives a stuttering response of agreement and wintersbane watches with cautious glacial eyes as the sea salt coated man's posture shifts into something more neutral. it is enough to assuage the sotaherra, for the time being. it does not, however, warrant the full drop of his guard. there is something unpredictable about this meeting that strikes anticipation into the tundrian's core like a well-aimed lightning bolt. the pale man corrects him, telling him that the fight oft finds him. a firm nod of acknowledgment is given, meant to be an olive branch of understanding.

        once upon a time wintersbane had been the instigator of too many fights to count; but now in age came wisdom and he seeks a ...not necessarily higher path but he's no longer burdened with the pressure that he has to prove himself and knows that brawn is not his own strong suit. his tendency to pick fights has cost him plenty ...it's just taken too long to figure out. i'm on my way east to the taiga. i only seek to go home. well ...not a home yet. it was on it's way to becoming one though — once he was able to localize. for now, though, recruitment drives were key and he left the cache building and border marking to those who sought to stay in the hollow and defend it from unwanted squatters.

stand among the ashes
of a trillion dead souls and ask
the ghosts if honor matters —