Cassiopeia's View The hand of Gods

This occurres just after this thread.

It would seem Hemlocke's prayers would be answered. The wolf thought, as a great light flashed the skies. As the Gods hurled a massive star, to strike down havoc, pain and death upon Moonspear. Their enemies would be made to stop any reproach and action by it. The Saints would be prosperous through winter and they would be safe. To be heard by the Gods for the very first time the little hellhound was both shocked and horrified by it. At what cost, was this? How many deaths lay scattered across the mountain side? How many sacrifices made? And would what would be seen as a Saints victory today, would it mean a great loss for them at later times?

Hemlocke takes a large gulp. His dark, bloodied eyes staring up at the mountain in obvious fear and grief. From here at this view  he could nearly see it all- from the area which had been struck, from the great dirt cloud down the side, likely leaving a horrible landslide into the Glen below, all the way to the sea, wild and great. It was a sight he was certain he would never forget.

On the return trip she followed the mountains, wondering if she would see anyone familiar along the way. The smell of sulfur persisted and the sky, having grayed, remained smog-filled as she dispersed; the mountainside was steady here and left Ibis wondering what chaos had befallen the more northerly peak. Better not to speculate. She had to head home regardless — Lilitu would be worrying.

Along the way she climbed the lower paths of the range, taking this time to reach as far as she dared on her hunt for those she was left missing. By happenstance she crossed a gap in the snow that smelled of wolf; the paw-tread was wide, and Ibis' first thought was of her husband who was still absent. Had he come this way recently? His scent would be different — no longer carrying her own mark, nor Wraen's — not that Ibis could discern much with the sulfur stench hanging in the air too.

She turned and began to follow this path. Her nimble steps gave her stride a deer-like quailty as she hopped from spot to spot, filling those massive prints with her much smaller ones. When a shape came in to view it wasn't because Ibis had been successful in her hunt.

The stranger was standing still and watching the distant mountain, where there was smoke rising on the horizon. Their dark coat only moved to the slightest crisp breeze. This wasn't Akavir; but it was too late now to do anything about that.

The dust, the dirt, and the heat which came from the great star which touched the earth rose up into the skies. It darkened them, filling the air with something unsavory and Hemlocke's nose wrinkled and a cough there after. His curious heart wanted him to decend the view here and see the destruction up close and all which it had done but his mind knew it best not to.

He knew he would have to descend the mountains either way, though back toward home and tell his packmates of what had transpired if they had not seen to it already. This is when he takes note then that he is not alone, his senses having betrayed him by not knowing far sooner.

She had come directly to him, as though she wished to stand by his side and view the might of the Gods as well. A tiny woman compared to his own height and colored rather softly and lovely. So small, he thought her to be perhaps coywolf instead. His ears and head falls, offering a silent agreement that he meant her no harm should she not the same.

The stranger turns his attention to her and briefly Ibis is afraid. The expression on his face is cold. The light in his eyes is a sombre carmine not unlike dried roses, an otherwise pleasant color, but it is not the shade she seeks. These are not the warmly lit embers of her husband; the face is wrong, too. Rugged and wild, but thickly set, bullish.

I-I... I'm—um, Ibis stammered, not sure what to say. She wants to apologize. Something about this moment feels intimate, but maybe she is only intimidated because of his greater size and unfamiliar stoicism. The pervasive smell hanging in the air feels as if it fights its way in to her lungs, down her throat. It burns.

Do you know what is going on? What happened? The voice that emerges from her feels out of place; it is not the brave sound of an intrepid young messenger or the harpy call of a struggling mother, but something altogether different. Ibis doesn't recognize herself and it startles her.

She does not know much about the wolves upon the mountain, but she thinks of the loss all the same, empathizing. Wondering if this man lost something dear to him — but from the way he reveled in the fell glow of distant destruction, Ibis doubted that initial belief.

And there it was. The same fear in her eyes he had seen time and time before in others. Fear, confusion, unsettling interest... He was much used to it now and hardly could blame anyone. When she speaks, her voice a stammer, his overly large and pointed ears perk upwards, catching her words over what sounded like the rolling of thunder in the background. Nay, it was but the falling of rock spilling down the heights.

Hemlocke turned those dark, bloodied eyes from her then and back to the view down below. The Gods hurled a star from the heavens and unto the mountain wolves domain. He answered, his voice a hushed dark melody. A side glance to her again, wondering if she would go to them now that she had her answer or if she would linger further despite her fears. I've never seen anything like it before...

The man spoke plainly enough. A star had fallen somehow, crashing in to the mountain and obliterating a portion. It sounded fantastical, unbelievable. Ibis stared at the darkening sky while trying to understand exactly what had been detailed but she could hardly fathom it. The twist in her stomach gave way, bottoming out completely.

There are families there, she says, not knowing for certain if this is true but, Kukutux had mentioned a daughter at the very least; a stranger's daughter and a stranger's family could not mean more than her own, Ibis reasoned, and yet — wolves call that mountain home. And you stand here, watching it fall apart? She is incredulous; she is disgusted, awe-struck, all of these things at once.

She is also, unfortunately, frozen in place. Afraid to move towards the shadows in the sky. No, Ibis found herself yearning to see her own daughter. They need help. She says, voicing a thought as if to coax her limbs to move - only to stagnate.

I cannot change their fate. He says then, his body muzzle turning and his red eyes befalling the little woman once more. This is the will of the Gods. There was, really, nothing he could do about the star falling. Nothing he could will that would have stopped the mountain from crumpling. Nothing in his power to keep it held together and from tearing down the mountain side into the glen below.

He frowns and turns back. Hemlocke could however, help. But to what cost? The shadow cared little for his own wellbeing in getting harmed while trying to help save, recover and heal those in need, so why not help? Simply because, if anything, the Moonspear wolves were not his family. Not his friends, his pack, his allies. They were all but strangers to him and his placement was with the Saints. Should only they command it of him, would the hellhound leave his charge.

Go to them, then. He would finally beckon her, a jut of his muzzle given. If she cared for them, if she wanted to risk her own self worth, then so be it.

The concept of gods was not new to Ibis, but she did not fancy herself a believer. There was no mistaking the awesome power that now befell the mountain; whatever caused it, be it a force or a will or purely fate, did not remove the empathy she felt towards those who were losing their homes, families, or lives. The way the man spoke was almost clinical; Ibis' gaze shifted to his dark figure, looming as it did over her. Standing there like a reaper awaiting orders to gather those lost souls.

Go to them, then. He instructed with a motion. In that moment Ibis saw in the man a stallion-like regality, but it was those eyes that unnerved her. The tone of his voice too, with its gravid quality. I am not prepared. She utters, tucking her chin against the smallness of her clavicle.

A frown writhes across her face. She was thinking. To go to them now meant putting herself at risk but if she waited and let the rubble settle, it would be better. Some lives would be lost — but she could take the time to gather what she could, perhaps find assistance with the wolves of the fen, then return — the question then becomes one of deeper morality. Maybe Ibis should stay here, dive in alone and do her best. She could mend some things... More with assistance; was there time? Her mind was buzzing. Her heart felt heavy.

In silence she turns and begins to race away from the shadow-man, letting him lurk again in privacy. Her retreat would be temporary, she told herself — Wraen would know what to do. There were some small stores of herbs that could be fetched; help would come, but it would not be a god's will by any stretch.

He listens to her words with an intensity, his devilishly pointed ears cupped into her direction. It was as though each word, each expression she gave, he held onto it, paid close attention to it as though her presence commanded his attention despite the obvious chaos which loomed below. Hemlocke was always a very observant wolf, a good listener and he was curious of her initial reactions to all of this.


She wanted to help, willed herself to go down there into the fray and do all that she could. But her legs did not move and her placement remained here atop the view near him, her chin falling with her words. A good woman, but not a foolish one. She needed time to think, needed time to collect herself.


Then, she ran off. Not down the slope in the exact direction of Moonspear, but perhaps towards home. She could collect herself there, Hemlocke thinks, bring reinforcements to help dig out the wounded, find what herbs they could to mend them. The hellhund did not follow. As far as he knew, the Saint wolves did not have any allies and those who were not enemies likely were only wolves who had not yet joined the forces against them. Hemlocke would not say it aloud, but the destruction which befell Moonspear would only turn out to be good news for the Saints.


Instead, Hemlocke turns and takes down the path that would lead him back into the valley of their home. @Kynareth and @Nyra would definitely need to be informed by him and Hemlocke could only expect that Dove would be happy at the prospect of more skulls of the fallen to be added to her collection.