Dragoncrest Cliffs ‘Cause I Want More

The wind was wild here, whipping through his fur, filling his lungs with the fires of the mythos the cliffs were named for. Had the man known their name, he might have reveled further but as it was, there was a contentedness that filled him with every breath he took, with every avian cry that rose above the low roar of the wind. It was not the cry of the black feathered corvids but Stjornuati enjoyed it nonetheless.

The wilderness was the ice man's true love, a love that no other had ever touched, and a love that would never be reciprocated. She was a free and capricious thing, casting every curve and obstacle she could into the lives of those who bent to her. And all bent to the mercurial mistress known as Jörð, whether they wanted to or not.

Liver colored eyes cast to the seas below, Stjornuati kept his silence and solitude in this rare jaunt away from his brother. As curious as these wilds were, they made him feel alive; it was a feeling that would draw him in again and again, and it would keep him here for the moment, where he grew more and more sure the answer to their hringja lay.

going to say that this is around present time if that's ok! <3 you don't need to update the date on it though if you don't want, I'm not picky about my threadlog order

They'd traversed the coast together over the last few days and come to rest, presently, on the very start of the cliff's reach.  Rosalyn bid them to stay and scouted in, just to ensure that the way was still clear... one could pass more silently than a pack, and if any had marked the region, she wished to know ahead of time.

None had claimed it, but a single scent did linger.  Relief and annoyance mingled in the pirate.  She'd attend to him first, then they could begin.

Who are you? She asked, lifting her head so that her voice would cut across the wind.  There was no patience in her, only pointed questions.  She knew if she was friendly, he might have something to offer to the pack... but lately, it seemed. her patience for even men who sought to join had dwindled.  Let him take up space in another pack... theirs would no longer bear empty weight.

WC: 159

200

The time he spent standing as a statue at the edge of the sea was lost on the northerner, his consciousness slipping in and out of focus with reality. What her saw, what he thought, what he was thinking swirled in such cacophany that, when brought up and out of his reverie, Stjornuati was not quite sure of where he was. It was only the crash of the waves and the calls of the feathered creatures above that told him anything, the voice of the woman lost on him temporarily.

It was a few moments before he moved, blinking away the dryness from his eyes as he turned from his spot and stopped, finding himself in the company of wolf that he did not know. Her stark color was sharp against the grayness of the cliffs, her missing eye a question marked in his mind for later curiosities. The way her gaze was settled on him though, was expectant, as if she had requested something from him.

Fyrirgefðu? The word left his mouth before he could think about it, forgetting for a moment that these wolves did not know his tongue; wishful thinking, perhaps. Ah, this one sorry? You speak?

The first thing he said was pure nonsense to her ears.  She took him in, tried to determine how much of a thread he'd offer if decided to make trouble.  If she rushed him now it wouldn't take much, just a bit of leverage...  she huffed with amusement.  Rosalyn wasn't a killer by nature, but it was a good backup to have should things go south.

I asked who you were.  Do you have a hearing problem or a language problem?  She asked, blunt even for her.  Generally as an ambassador she was interested in making friends, but for some reason this entire move had her on edge.

WC: 108

It was possible that another would have been put off by her aggressive tone and question, the top of her spear sharp and to the point. Stjornuati was his own being, however, and he found himself grinning at the one eyed woman, his display of teeth made in amusement as well as warning. 

"Stjornuati," He answered. "This one is stjornuati. And you, sharp-tongue?"

His name was odd, which was unsurprising considering the language.  She stared back unapologetically as he smiled.  At least he had a sense of humor.  He'd answered her question in the expected way but also in the most useless way possible; as if his name were the aspect of him she was interested in.

Rosalyn.  She offered, no more friendly than before.  Are you passing through, or looking to stay a while?  We are laying claim to this place.  There was only one of her here, but she let the implication hang that more waited behind her.

WC: 97

She was blunt in ways that the pale furred Northerner much appreciated, the flash of his teeth growing into some terrible form of a grin. Vel mætt, Rozaleen. That she and hers were claiming these cliffs as their own formed no contention within the man, instead confiming that this would be his only venture to these cliffs. As wonderful as they were, they were not home, and they were not his.

No, this one intends to settle south of this place. Dark eyes roved her face again for a moment, considering the life-scarred woman in front of him. Why this place? If Rozaleen minds not.

Ah.  He was neither a threat nor a potential joiner, which funnily enough, made her relax a bit in his presence.  She did not even have the space for the latter right now.  She didn't smile, but she was no longer staring quite so pointedly, and her posture slouched into something slightly more languid.

It is the high ground on the coast, defensible and yet still adequate to provide for a solid crew.  She answered simply, then stepped forward a pace to look out over the cliff as well.  It truly was a sight to behold.  And the view doesn't hurt much either.

Her turn.  Why south?

WC: 107

Her reasons for taking the cliffs were sound, borne of survival tactics and impressive. His gaze followed her to where he had stared before, out to the churlish and enigmatic presence that was the sea. It was a view that he appreciated, yes, but not one that he would want to wake to every day. It will be cold here. A bone-cold, with wetness of the air. Another reason he was not keen on being here long term.

The question she posed gave him pause, head tilting as he thought about the why. So few here knew the meaning of hringja that he tired of explaining it and yet, he did not know how else to put it. Still, Stjornuati would try. This one follows hringja, ah, call of wilds. Mm... Insinct? Feeling of gut.

It always is, along the sea.  She answered dismissively.  They were further north than she was accustomed to, but it had been the same wintering in Ankyra.  At least the cliffs will keep the wind at bay.  His opinion of the claim didn't matter, so why was she even bothering to defend it?  Her jaw tightened with a touch of annoyance.

It disappeared, though, when he told why he was going south.  Instinct.  She let out a small laugh.  I used to live like that.  Turns out my instincts are shit.  She turned her head, scars full on display.  I hope your luck is better, but I'd watch out for bears.  It was a half-joke, but the fur along her spine involuntarily rose as she remembered the creature.  Valravn...

WC: 129

A thoughtful sound slipped his throat, looking down the ridge at the cliffs that jutted so angrily towards the sea. They matched the woman of red, Rozaleen, beautiful and dangerous all in the same breath. Were she younger, she might have illicited enamor from the Northerner, but even he could tell the difference of age between them, could see the hardness that glinted in her eye much the same as had in the eyes of the Stormskyli elders.

Her humor was dry, edged like an old sword; still sharp, still pointed. It drew a new grin from him. This one says instinct has served Rozaleen well. She is still alive. Still berjast, nei? His ears flickered, plastering against his skull as a particularly strong gust of wind interrupted their conversation. Waiting until it died away, liver colored eyes watched his new acquaintance with a quiet contemplation.

This one hopes the cliffs serve you and yours well. Megum við hittast aftur. His head dipped then, giving her a wide berth as he moved away from the cliffs, away from her cliffs. If she had no other words for him, Stjornuati would move inland once more, making his way back to the Watch.

As much as Rosalyn enjoyed an image of resolute iron, flattery still had the capability to melt her.  He was not wrong; she was still alive, and  intended to keep on living, right up until the moment when life dragged her, biting and howling, from this world.  Aye,  she agreed, and regarded him with a new kind of appraisal as most of her ire died gave way to curiosity.

Of course, this was the moment he dismissed himself.  She had no reason to see him stay, no questions to ask him, so she accepted his parting well wishes and watched as he stepped past and out.  I hope you find what you are looking for, gut-chaser.  She answered back, lips turning to a half-smile as he disappeared.  Then she lifted her head and howled, an invitation to the ones who she'd left behind - all was clear.

WC: 146

Walking away, Stjornuati concluded that he liked the woman he left behind. Her hardened exterior and cut-glass eyes were things he appreciate, respected, and he would no doubt find his way back to visit in the future. Perhaps once he and his brother had settled their claim.

Fade!