Firestone Hot Springs Just keep digging.
Ghost
"God is every bit as feral as that which he creates."
816 Posts
Ooc — Talamasca
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#1
All Welcome 
Someone from Neverwinter maybe, since he's close? Or Kaistleoki! Set for Nov 30th.


The steam from the hot springs scattered everything, distorted it with mist to the point where Revui couldn't make heads or tails of his direction. The warmth emanating from the springs seemed to be contending with the general chill as it settled across the field where he stood. The snow had eased somewhat, leaving the sky streaked with a patchwork of grey clouds and a deeper grey sky, but there were no stars shining overhead yet so he couldn't use them to navigate.

All the boy had to go on was the name of Rusalka and the knowledge that he was looking for a pack; that's what Vengeance required for this job. As he backed off from the pools of steam and began to plot a course around them, he became engrossed in tracking a thin scent. It was vaguely familiar (in the sense that all wolves had a canine scent to identify them) but there was nothing much beyond that. In truth, he hoped that the trail would lead him to a fox or a coyote, for then he'd have some fresh meat to warm his belly.

The woods have always been filled with these soft doe-eyed things;
with hearts beating for the arrow, the bullet, the lance.

I have always been the huntsman.  ⤑

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#2
She kept to herself and rarely did patrols; the female stayed in the heart of the territory out of fear of running into someone from her past. The grey female had been trying to track down some sort of prey but had little luck as she approached the hot springs; the waters scent was strong and she almost didn't catch the other wolfs scent but once she did; Radar looked at him and knew what pack he was from. Not by the sight but by the scent he carried.
Hunter: 1/5
 
Ghost
"God is every bit as feral as that which he creates."
816 Posts
Ooc — Talamasca
Master Warrior
Ecologist
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#3
A final shift to the wind brought the warm almond-spice scent of a wolf to his nose, so he stopped and began to look around. The mist continued to obscure things; there was something moving by the hot springs—or rather, he thought there was something—and so he lurched in pursuit of it, then stopped. The stranger's eyes were the first thing that he focused on; they were bright against the grey of the winter-thick world. Curiously, the frost and the mist seemed to condense in to the shape of a wolf as moments passed, becoming the stranger's body. Revui wasn't a spiritual creature yet he was unnerved by the way the stranger watched him.

A low warning note rose in his throat, then died away. Revui didn't know how to proceed; he needed information, but he wasn't exactly a talkative nor imaginative person. So he opted for the usual blunt route: Are you a Rusalkan? He didn't know what made someone a Rusalkan, and should've probably gotten more information from Vengeance before he made this trip, but whatever. Hindsight wasn't important.

The woods have always been filled with these soft doe-eyed things;
with hearts beating for the arrow, the bullet, the lance.

I have always been the huntsman.  ⤑

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#4
She didn't remember him from her time in the pack so perhaps he was new and her posture relaxed slightly then more when he asked if she was from a certain pack. So they hadn't sent him after her; that's good. She looked at the male and shook her head. "Sorry I'm from Kaistleoki; I don't know if the pack you speak."
Hunter: 1/5
 
Ghost
"God is every bit as feral as that which he creates."
816 Posts
Ooc — Talamasca
Master Warrior
Ecologist
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#5
The stranger spoke of a pack he had never heard of before, and it wasn't on the agenda according to Revui's current mission and so he didn't think twice about it; it wasn't Rusalka, she wasn't one of the wolves of Rusalka, and so she did not matter to him. And as she wasn't particularly aggressive he opted to move on rather than to incite violence; although any other wolf might have taken the initiative and learned more about this Kaistleoki, the warrior wasn't a mindful sort of fellow and did not think to do that. He had a hard enough time wrapping his brain around the odd name of the place, and would sooner be rid of it from his mind. So with a grunt he began to move on—no word of thanks passed his lips, and no further communication with the grey stranger. He merely left her, each heavy stride pulling him through the snow and away again.

The woods have always been filled with these soft doe-eyed things;
with hearts beating for the arrow, the bullet, the lance.

I have always been the huntsman.  ⤑