Noctisardor Bypass I keep trying to let you go

Set a day after this thread and this thread! 

Other members of Rivenwood are welcome join too ofc! But preferably no solid post order just in case it gets held up and becomes long. Want to make sure it’ll progress fluently. <3

Setting: Evening — 18:34
Weather: 80F — Sunny, slightly windy
Tags: @Nyra @Mahler

The Grandmaster makes his way to the Bypass, unsure of what pack lies there now. All he knows is that there was one there at some point. His Overseer is at his side as well, forever a stable and trustworthy guardian. The brindled giant does not come to this pack today to make enemies, merely gain information. So he plans on it being quick, to the point, and friendly. The quicker he can get out the better.

So as they finally have the bypass in sight, they trot up to it and instantly a scent hits him. He cannot place if it is the same pack as last time he was here, but all he knows is that it is still a pack. They would stop before the borders, a safe few meters before the scent becomes too overwhelming. Kynareth would throw a massive head back and release a deep, earthshaking howl to their superiors or any who wish to answer. 

The waiting game begins.

literally thought to myself "i need to post w mahler" welp <3

laurel's sides showed now.
he kept from her unless she called for him, which he did not expect most days. mahler did not think her wounded soul would allow him so close as to whelp the children either.
and so mahler made a note of where he crossed her path, and where she was most likely to be found. he forbade the notion that she would sequester herself somewhere in this bypass, and die some untimely death in childbed. laurel deserved his diligence, even if he could not give her his love.
it was along one such evening foray that mahler was summoned by the crack of thunder from an unknown throat. 
the graf did not quicken his step, but made his way along the paths until he came to the single sandstone entrance, and looked at who had summoned him.
a gigantic brindled man and his equally hardbuilt companion.
the lavender gaze was cool, observant. in his usual fashion, mahler did not speak first.

EEEE perfect!

They don’t wait horribly long. It’s not something that bothers the Saint anyhow, but someone comes eventually. Said wolf steps up to them with a silent grace despite his large form. He’s scarred like himself, he’s seen battle then. His fur is dark, but not completely black. So as Kyn eyes him down, not in any type of malicious way, he finally looks to his eyes with wavering. The brutes own stance is confident, but not disrespectfully so. Kyn would greet him neutrally with a dip of his head. 

“Evening.” He says deeply. “I am Kynareth and this is Nyra. Alphas of a pack known as the Saints. We come wondering if we could ask a question or two about another pack that used to live nearby.” He says it professionally, but with casual undertones.

mahler did not stir.
the only pack that met such a description was ursus, and it was not a place he knew, or wished to know. their dealings with laurel, however, fledged a deep protectiveness in him over laurel.
"i am mahler, graf of rivenvood." the gargoyle shelved their faces beside the shape of their names, and the color of their eyes.
"i vill answer your questions." the words were uttered in the same level tone, but mahler was now more guarded, thinking of the daughter she had slain outside their borders.
merrick had not then known.
did these saints know it?

Freely skippable!

Wylla was, at heart, a guardian. Most often, she guarded that which she cared about. So far, Rivenwood at large had not earned much from her — never again would she give of herself with no guarantee of respectful treatment in return — but she cared for Mahler and Phaedra enough to make half an effort at the borders. Besides, she had to make up for their care somehow.

That was how she came to find Mahler, a towering brindle male, and the butchest woman she'd ever seen on the borders. What coaxed Wylla to take up Mahler's flank wasn't the size of the wolves — he was no small wolf, himself, and plenty capable despite his masquerading as an old man twice his age — but the words.

Perhaps Mahler did not recall the reason they left Sawtooth Spire, but Wylla did. She remembered the warning, and the name: Saints. The leader was called Donovan then, so it seemed their leadership had changed. Perhaps their ways, too, but Wylla was never good at giving the benefit of the doubt. She was unabashed and frigid as she lifted her single eye to meet Kynareth's. Defiant, even. She held her tongue, unwilling to weaken Mahler's stance as leader here, but the cold lines of her body might convey her feelings to the Graf.

And the visitors, too. She was an open book in that regard, and what she radiated was blatant dislike.

Kyn allows the slightest bit of a smile to tilt his lips up at Mahler’s introduction and his offer to answer said inquiries. The man seems calm, cool, and collected, so Kyn would be the same. 

Another joins then though, a small female and Kyn allows himself to shift his gaze towards her as she approaches. She hangs from Mahler’s side and despite her look of distaste for them, he dips his head in greeting, smile never leaving his maw. He almost wants it to get more smug at the way she looks at him, but he doesn’t. Wouldn’t be polite now would it? 

So Kyn turns to the matter at hand: his questions. 

“A pleasure, Mahler.” The brindled brute hums out easily with his usual charm. Not in any form of ass kissing, but simply how he always acts. He flicks canary orbs back to the woman at his side. She doesn’t offer a name, doesn’t say a word actually, but Kyn doesn’t question it, only continues.

“The pack not far from here, Ursus, they’ve left the Valley.” He informs professionally. “You wouldn’t happen to know of their whereabouts or maybe which direction they left in do you?”

The Grandmaster doesn’t immediately reveal why he’s looks for them, only that he is looking for them. Though of course if they simply need to know, he supposes he might just tell them. Depending on their answer of course.

Skippable if wanted! Will reply if interacted with <3

 


The two Alphas made their way to the Bypass, and as Kynareth led this song and dance, Nyra stayed silent for the time being. 
Mahler seemed steadfast and calm, though the girl at his hip seemed distasteful of the Saintswolves. Nyra only offered a hellfire glance Wylla's direction. A brief yet soul-piercing thing, but otherwise silence and almost sinister, monarchical authority rolled from the white titan.

perhaps in his masquerade, mahler had truly stumbled. wylla was suddenly at his side, and her aura sparkled as if it were a bristle of frozen razors.
though kynareth was peaceable enough, it was his wintertide co-leader that most tipped mahler's hackles. 
he was thankful for wylla, and silently reached in energy after her cold leadership in this matter.
"vylla, do you remember the saints?" he asked aloud, for there had been something overlooked. the gargoyle would not abide it.
ursus; and his blood ran scarlet and ice to think of laurel. she was the only tie of which he knew that might link rivenwood to ursus.

feel free to skip! 12 am shitpost

when the boar’s summons reverberated in the stone womb of noticistrador, astraeus decided he would satiate his curiosity. from the tones, he could guess the whomever was at the borders was burly and male.

a good few safe body lengths from his graf and— his stone profile chipped away momentarily as he remembered wylla had returned for whatever reason. should they look back to notice him, he would bow respectfully as to avoid any misunderstanding with the woman’s stiletto horns. he wasn’t as shaken as who would’ve been when younger, but he wouldn’t test it.

the pallid wolf at the contorted man’s side sneered at wylla, as if it weren’t her own home. his memory was spotty, but he remembered something of the chatter between mothers as they left for nova, of the saints causing them to flee. shoulder for bristling with indignation, he would be rivenwood’s sword need be.

I do, she confirmed, matching Nyra's stare with an equally withering one. Whoever this moron was, she was awfully cocky standing on another pack's threshold. Wylla was leader no longer, but even a blind suckling pup of the pack had more authority on Rivenwood's land than this bitch. No doubt she sported more testosterone than most men, with that grotesquely masculine body, and had something to prove. Next to her, Kynareth was utterly unremarkable.

Speaking of Kynareth, it was a crying shame Wylla did not remember the description of Donovan that she'd been given. Last I heard, they were into kidnapping and torturing others so they can get their dicks off to it. Sounds pretty fucking pathetic to me. She flashed a pointed gaze between the two, as though to say it was pretty plainly obvious they weren't wanted here. Ursus? Whoever they were, Wylla would sooner help them than the Saints.

She twisted an ear back at the sound of another's breathing, but for the moment, did not recognize Astraeus. She was merely grateful for more back up, for if these were the same wolves the realm wished to eradicate, Wylla did not doubt they would try to cause trouble when denied.

Kyn doesn’t feel a lick of anything as this man curiously asks whether or not his smaller female companion remembers the Saints. It makes him smile. Not one of his overly malicious and foreboding ones, but one that’s more interested and amused. He’s sure they remember, but he has not wronged their pack in any way. Perhaps their allies, but going off of what their leader says, he hasn’t trifled with anyone from this pack. Or at least he can’t immediately remember anything even if he did. Now, if his memory loss is intentional or not, the world may never know.

The Saint would shift his gaze onto the woman just as everyone else does. He’s waiting oh so eagerly to hear her talk shit about him and his pack. He’d love to know what she’s heard of him and his lovely crew.

I do.

Kyn’s gaze is unwavering as he watches her return Nyra’s death glare. His expression is ever inquisitive, curious, yearning to know what she’s heard — a silent inquiry in his eyes express themselves to this stranger known as Wylla.

Last I heard, they were into kidnapping and torturing others so they can get their dicks off to it. Sounds pretty fucking pathetic to me.

During her little description of their deeds Kyn’s smile grows humorous, his eyes playful. But he does not miss the third that comes to silently stand watch upon the pair. Only The Grandmasters eyes would briefly flick over to him, a silent acknowledgment in them — I see you, no need to worry about me. Yet, when she’s done Kynareth takes up a thoughtful expression, not meeting their eyes as if he were looking off into the distance trying to recall the things she said he, or rather the Saints, we’re doing. 

Meeting her eyes he’d nod his head. “Mm, yeah.” He’d confirm conversationally, but not teasingly. As if stating that — yes, this is in fact true. Showing that her weak worded insults mean nothing to him. “That’s right. But,” He begins with a grin. “my Executioners are after a common enemy now. Ursus.” A soft pause then. “I may have had quarrels with your allies, but we’ve been behaving ourselves recently and do not desire to have one with you.” He hums it easily, but truthfully — conversationally, as if they’re speaking of the weather.

The returned death glare was met with a soft, amused smile and an even gentler chuckle, as if Nyra were watching and listening to a child. It was probably condescending, but Nyra took great pleasure in letting the insults roll off her back like water off a duck and keeping a cool head, where this other woman clearly wasn't. Her hellfire-gold eyes moved to Mahler and then to her co-leader.
As Kynareth explained the situation, the Empress nodded at the end, a confirmation that this was all true. 

"We've no ill intentions towards your pack. We just want to know if you know where Ursus went. That's the end of it, we're not asking for anything else." Nyra added calmly, swishing her tail once.
That said, she glanced to Kynareth to see if he had more to say before looking back to the spiteful woman and the calmer-looking leader beside her.

the saints.
praimfaya.
the man confirmed wylla's words, and mahler was taken aback. the smile that came to life on the saint's face tempered the gargoyle against him.
but it was the continued, audible rudeness of the pale woman to wylla that flagged the graf's tail high. hackles rippled upon his muscled shoulders, and when he spoke it was through the naked and shining teeth of a snarl. 
"leave."
it no longer mattered who they were or why they had come. their incredible disrespect upon the borders of a strange pack, coupled with who mahler knew them to be, and topped by kynareth's condescension and seeming threat to rivenwood, had ended this meeting. and it was the fact that wylla especially had been targeted that surged the shadowpriest to the fore he should have had formerly.
mahler found himself suspicious as well, a blaze along his spine, that praimfaya should be the only one to have intended direct contact with the saints. but now she was gone, and they were here in the bypass.
the graf advanced, a growl thundering in his chest. if they did not move then he would attack, and the seconds ticked away beneath his hard lilac stare.

The pair attempted to assure Rivenwood that they had no ill intentions, but their flagrant disrespect conveyed otherwise. Not wolves at all, but dogs, thought Wylla. Any wolf worth their salt would know better than to behave in such a fashion on another's stoop. Even she knew better, and she could be willfully disrespectful of authority at the best of times. Considering the queerly twisted tail and striped coat of the one, she wasn't so far off the mark to think of them as the lesser beasts.

Wylla was thankful Mahler picked up on it, too. When he snarled his command, she stepped forward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, a united bulwark against this pair of no-gooders. He was leader here, and she sought to support him. She hoped Astraeus might take up the other side. Kynareth and Nyra were imposing, but two against three were still poor odds.

Baring her teeth, the one-eyed she-wolf joined her snarl to Mahler's.

stygian lips were drawn taut in a scorn across his countenance as his eyes met with the dog. maybe they did not want answers at all, only the rush of having their fat pride stick out like the unbecoming deformities of their character. astraeus stalked to wylla's side, the assistance of her teeth quietly welcomed.

PPing kynareth with permission!

 


The triad before them didn't seem too pleased to hear the truth. 
So as Mahler and the rest snarled and staned up, Nyra grinned wickedly, but otherwise aside from an amused and brief chuckle, she and Kynareth calmly turned without fear and departed.

On to the next.

the woman laughed again, but she and the brindled man did not give fight. the gargoyle crowded behind them as they departed, snapping at the empty air once, twice, once they had left the boundaries of the bypass. "dumme, unhöfliche narren," mahler griped to no one in particular.
"if they return, they vill be treated to another thing." he set his eyes toward astraeus and softened, encouraging the young man in having joined them at the borders. and then to wylla, her single, beautiful eye, hardened in ferocity for their borders.
"i am going to finish this patrol." the invitation to join him was clear. by and by mahler stalked away, still put out and thrumming with the ebb of war's promise.

Wylla didn't much care for what Kynareth or Nyra wanted. If they truly were looking to cause no trouble, they would have observed appropriate etiquette on another pack's borders, but the grotesquely sized hounds seemed to think they were above such things. Thankfully, they left with little more than sneers.

She shook the tension out of her muscles when the pair were far enough away to be of no further consequence. It was a rare approving eye that she turned upon Astraeus. Maybe she thought too harshly of him. It was brief, however, punctuated neatly by Mahler's unspoken invitation, which Wylla took with a grim silence, falling into step just behind him to strengthen the patrol.