wrath

Kierkegaard · November 04, 2014, 08:38 PM

@Njal - I'm going to say... just a ways from the borders.

The length of his strides had carried him far from where he had allowed himself to den down for the night. The smoke-colored beast had not slept a wink, however. His mind was plagued by vicious thoughts that ravaged at the few insecurities he had. Kierkegaard was wandering on nothing more than the remnants of fish and a slowly healing hock. At the very least, the ashen creature had managed to gather some of his former strength and could hunt for himself. The leg still hurt him, though, and would leave a scar in its wake. The Sairensu male would be grateful when the healing process had ended. In the meantime, he took to exploration and allowed his mind to wander to the prospect of leaving behind pieces of his life.
Kierkegaard was not entirely familiar with the stretching landscape that was the Teekon wilderness. He knew the massive landmarks in the stretches of mountains and would recognize the stretching sea, if he were to ever reach it. As instinctual as he was, the hulking creature rarely worried about where he was in the world. He was almost lackadaisical. His mind was a careless web of destruction for not only himself, but those around him.
A lazy creek sounded to the male’s left. His lengthy ears twitched for a moment before swiveling on his skull to meet the quiet noise of the water. It was a quiet area, lacking of most scents, but the remnants remained nonetheless. The absence of others came to Kierkegaard as a relief, and the ghostly male breathed a heavy sigh through his nostrils. There would come a time when his direction would be pointed back the way he had come. Until then, the silence would be enough to sustain him.

RIP Njal · November 04, 2014, 08:54 PM

Quiet was the last thing on his mind, but the creek was inviting. It reminded him of the days before Duskfire - when his family was whole, and they had only good fortune ahead. It was a recent discovery, this creek. There was always a natural run-off from the glacier, spilling out in to the various pools that dotted the territory; so this creek was of little use to the Duskfire wolves. It flowed along the border of the territory and away from it, in to the hills.

It was the perfect place to hide away from all of his troubles. But Njal's troubles followed him closely, the way a shadow follows it's owner. He stood brooding in the dark, beneath an overhang of weeping willow. Maybe one day he would bring Maera here... She would no doubt enjoy the drooping tendrils of the tree. They could fish together here - her first lessons. For now, it was his hideaway.

One which was snatched away from him as swiftly as it had been discovered, for a foreigner traipsed through the reeds nearby. Njal chose to ignore him. This was near to the claimed territory he once ruled, but not close enough for him to be on a firm guard. A brief glance was all he gave to the silver stranger - and then he was back to staring dead-eyed in to the river.

Kierkegaard · November 04, 2014, 09:14 PM

This could be the shortest thread in existence... haha.

A breath of wind carried the scent of a pack wolf to the ashen male and his limbs stopped, holding him erect and stock-still near the reeds. A heavy huff dropped from his lips and he turned his attention to where he assumed the other wolf to be. Lurking on the other side of the border marking, staring solemnly into the water that trickled from within their pack out into free territory. Kierkegaard peered at the strange wolf with a scowl imprinted on his gruff features. The wolf beside the water seemed as though he was troubled. Had Kierkegaard known how to be socially acceptable company, he would have spoken up in inquiry. As it stood, however, the Sairensu male was like many in the bloodline before him: tameless. He had not crossed pack territory, and the stranger had not opted to speak to him, so he turned his head away from the other wolf and back to the path ahead.
The creek required him to cross in order for the ghostly figure to continue his hike. Taking a shuddering step into the frigid waters, a quiet growl fell from the ashen male’s lips and struck the air. The fur along his spine and nape rose upwards in his discomfort. Goosebumps were beginning to rise along his flesh like trees scattered throughout a forest. Kierkegaard should have stopped before lowering his rear hock into the icy depths, but his stubborn determination drove him forward, and when he felt his injury as it was ravaged by the frost-bound water, the pain was overwhelming.

RIP Njal · November 04, 2014, 09:26 PM

Hahaha, whoops. I guess something has to happen then!

Njal had become accustomed to the sounds of the creek. The tinny flow of the water as it trickled over the stones, the subtle lapping of the fluid against the edge of the land. The sound changed when the stranger walked in to the creek water; it was sucked in to his fur, made sickening as the new drips caused the flow to lose its cadence.

Perturbed by this, and by the appearance of the man in the first place among this moment of reflection, Njal chose to act. He began to stride alongside the creek's edge until he was face-to-face with the interloper. The foreigner was still standing in the creek water, and he would be permitted no further. Heading somewhere? He queried - although the quiet lull of his voice firmly rejected the answer before it was given.

Beyond here was the edge of Duskfire. Beyond was Maera. Njal would not let this stranger go any further without explanation - and he had half a mind to ignore the explanation regardless. Nobody else would be taken from him. Nobody.

Kierkegaard · November 04, 2014, 09:50 PM

It seemed as though the other wolf would opt to speak up after all. More than this, though, the wolf actually rose from his morose position on the ground to approach Kierkegaard, who remained in the creek. The ghostly wolf turned his attention to the male from the pack and scowled coldly. The tone that had bene presented by the stranger were less than welcoming. Yes, Kierkegaard was frighteningly close to the pack lands, but his frame had not passed the markings made by the squirming creatures of the glacier. The Sairensu male found himself growing progressively agitated, both by the ache in his hock and the presumptuous creature that loomed beside him.
Turning his skull towards the pack wolf, Kierkegaard cast him a placid expression and peeled his lips wayward to reveal yellowed canines for a fleeting moment. “Home,” he growled in response, flicking his tail. Having found that he had tread just enough water to wet his rear end, upon gesturing with his tailpiece, the ashen wolf noted that he had carefully aimed the shedding of the water so that a series of droplets were just close enough that they very well could have fallen against the opposing male.

RIP Njal · November 04, 2014, 10:01 PM

So uh this doesn't have to be a fight thread if you don't want. Njal is really needing a way to vent and so you get this random... piece of garbage post... x_x

If home was in this direction, then the stranger would be more than just dangerously close - he'd have to cross the invisible line, or stride along it. It didn't matter. To Njal this stranger was an encroaching beast, alike only to the lynx which had effectively stolen so much from him. No, no. Njal couldn't let him pass.

Find another path then. He commanded the rogue, using the firm tone he had once assumed along with his Alphaship; but more importantly, there was a dark component to his voice. Almost inviting the stranger to try and pass.

Njal watched him in silence at that point. He waited for the beast to make his choice - turn around, or face a man who wouldn't let any more tragedy strike at his family.

Kierkegaard · November 04, 2014, 10:20 PM

Nah, it's okay! Fighting pack wolves is how Kierke gets his jollies. <3

The answer that came from the pale-furred creature’s mouth was enough to make Kierkegaard laugh. The smoke-colored ghost dropped his muzzle towards the water where he stood – protecting his neck – and his dark lips drew upwards into a ghastly smile. He would not be afraid of this dismal, woebegone, tragedy of a wolf. He did not have to be. Kierkegaard had regained a good majority of his strength, and though his hock had not fully healed, he was just as limber as he had been before the injury. After all, it was the arrogance of pack wolves that had caused him to attain the bite marks on the ankle of his hind leg. It did not perturb him to think that he would risk another at the cost of striking fear into a presumptuous fool. He had healed from the first; the second would be no different.
“Make me,” his voice was a rumble, slipping passed his lips like thunder. The expression on his pallid face was – perhaps – impossible to read, though his dark mouth still quivered and his yellow teeth clicked. He had forgotten the frigid water at his feet. He had all but abandoned the chilling pain that it had caused his injury. He’d held himself in the depths of the creek long enough that it acted more to numb him than to pain him. All the more to Kierkegaard’s advantage.

RIP Njal · (This post was last modified: November 04, 2014, 10:30 PM by RIP Njal.)

I haven't had a fight in so long I dunno what Im doing aaahh. Also I tried to make it seem more evenly matched. Trained and desperate Njal vs trained but fit Kierke!

Make me, came the stranger's gruff response; and yet even before the syllables finished falling, Njal was moving to counter the denial he knew would come. Rogue wolves were proud creatures, he knew that. He had been that.

Njal was diving in to the creek water in the next moment, plunging with all the power his rear legs could give. Gone were the days of heavy sparring and constant physical care - he was still ragged from the road, exhausted and unkempt after his ordeal of hunting for his son. Kindred was behind him, as was Swiftcurrent and the lessons he beheld in each.

But that didn't mean he was powerless. If it meant keeping this individual away from Maera, he would fight tooth and nail. A man with nothing to lose is not an adversary anyone wants to face. The water rose up around him in a pithy wave, and before the spray could settle, he was snapping savagely at the rogue's neck.

Kierkegaard · November 04, 2014, 10:53 PM

Don't worry about it! They're a good match... Kierke's got a hock injury that's healing, so he might be at a slight disadvantage.

It was sudden – as it should have been – and in a matter of moments, the two wolves were beating around each other in a muddle of frigid glacial water. Had Kierkegaard not made the move to protect his throat before the stranger lunged, he would have been forced down and immediately immobilized by the other’s actions. Instead, Kierkegaard managed to move his weight back far enough so that when the pale stranger struck him, his teeth clashed only against the nape of Kierke’s neck. The ghostly figure turned his head to the side in hopes that he would avoid the wildly snapped jowls of the other wolf. At the same time, he did not want his – already injured – hock to become a point of attack. Adjusting his lengthy limbs, Kierkegaard moved to thrust his shoulder into the opposing beast.
A snarl erupted from his gaping jaws and he then turned his head towards the other wolf, snapping aimlessly with his fangs. The two males were a good match against each other. One was fueled by desperation and had the power behind his limbs to throw his weight around. Kierkegaard was the match, however. While Njal was pushed forward by the loss that surrounded him, Kierkegaard had nothing but wrath.

RIP Njal · November 04, 2014, 11:03 PM

He did not grasp the creature's flesh, but came close. It seemed as if his opponent was adequately trained in combat, or at least in the defense of it. So when Njal's teeth clacked shut across empty air and his jaw met the blunt force of a shoulder blade, Njal was taken by surprise. He was stunned for a moment, but chose to weave around the rogue despite the effect. As it had been a while since Njal had been forced to truly fight, he fought now with the fervor of a man without an end; sweeping around the silver wolf and vaulting forward through the water in order to plant a firm jab with his snout. It was a practice he had utilized within Kindred - and when his lips grazed through Kierkegaard's fur, Njal was reminded of his first spar with Tuwawi.

This brought a new kind of rage in to the pack wolf. He snapped, snarled, and wove around Kierke's defense, refusing to relent. This was more than a warden defending his home. This was Njal, in his base form, protecting all that he had left. While any other wolf may have warned and chased and followed until the interloper was gone from the outskirts, Njal flew at Kierkegaard with no intention of letting the stranger go anywhere.

Kierkegaard · November 04, 2014, 11:30 PM

In your last sentence... I wasn't sure if Njal was actually 'flying' towards Kierkegaard or if it was just a general sentence. At any rate, I took it as an actual attack and stuck it in my reply, but if you want me to change it, just PM me and let me know.

The pack wolf seemed to move quite swiftly around Kierkegaard while the ashen brute managed to hold his ground well. He was the stone in the fight, while the pale stranger was something like water – fluid and swift – as he darted about. Nips and snaps managed to pinch the flesh of the Sairensu male a few times, but never enough to startle him from his defensive state. It seemed as though the stranger did not want to act on a definitive move. Kierkegaard was, however, growing tired of watching the creature scurry around without purpose. His fiery gaze followed the movements as best as he could, growing irritated as the seconds passed. When the pale stranger managed to flit forward, he landed a successful jab of his snout against Kierkegaard, causing the ghastly male to snarl in surprise. The ghost spun abruptly and arched his figure into a half-circle in an attempt to clasp his jaws around something.
It seemed that Njal did not want Kierkegaard to leave the area. He moved to dive towards Kierkegaard and struck against him, shoving the ashen male backwards a few steps. Golden eyes lit up with fire as the Sairensu male reared up on his hind legs and thrust his head in the direction of the opposing male, hoping either to slam his forepaws against the creature or strike something with his gaping jaws.

RIP Njal · November 04, 2014, 11:39 PM

Ah, I should be clearer. But you got it right! Setting this up in case you want Kierke to flee the scene, but the fight can continue if he wants to goad Njal for more.

He was successful only in bringing about further rage from his opponent, which was a cause for concern. Rather, it would've been if Njal was in his proper state of mind. He ignored - or was blinded to - the maneuvers of the foreigner. While Njal managed a few fleeting snaps at the other's flesh, the rogue was immovable. And then Kierke dove towards Njal's body with the ferocity held by any lone wanderer: intent on living or fleeing, he had to make a stand.

Kierkegaard's teeth sank easily in to Njal's side. The teeth slid against the curve of his ribs and gashed him cleanly, spreading blood in to the creek's water. Second to this came the beast's slamming paws, causing Njal to stumble briefly. He was so overwhelmed by thoughts of his wife, of his child who lay in wait for this devil's advances, that he let his guard slip.

Njal stumbled and adjusted, but not before a chasm spread between the rogue and himself. He was left to stand in the frigid water - his mouth hanging open, flecked with blood that could've been his, could've been the stranger's - and his body sagging in exhaustion.

Kierkegaard · November 04, 2014, 11:56 PM

Nah, you were great! You could probably reply once more? If you want to spree still, you're welcome to any of my other characters. :)

Kierkegaard was mildly surprised at the feeling of flesh beneath his fangs and the blood that spattered against his muzzle and chin, turning his pale ashen coat to a gristly maroon. Even the tossing of his paws had managed to strike the pale stranger enough to stagger him for a clear shot at escape. The ghost had caused enough damage to the sad glacier wolf. He doubted that his hock would survive much more struggle. Having received a few gashes of his own, Kierke jumped from the frigid creek water and landed with a stagger on the bank. Shaking his ragged pelt, the smoky monster turned his head over his shoulder with one last ghastly expression in regards to the pack wolf and huffed heavily in the autumn air.
The Sairensu wolf could feel a sharp pain against his shoulder and the persistent sting of a gash that had been landed on his flank. Nonetheless, he had managed to dart away without further injury to his hock, and had created an opening for himself to make the long drive home. The ashen monster’s eyes faded away from the glacier wolf and Kierkegaard turned his back to the scene he had been a part of only moments prior. Shaking his pelt free of the clinging droplets, Kierke quickly fled the scene to return home. The pale stranger would be nothing but an afterthought in the days that followed.

RIP Njal · November 05, 2014, 12:07 AM

Hmm! Nice and quick thread, that was fun.

He didn't want to see this chance escape him. That the stranger could double back at a moments notice and pass him by, heading straight for Maera - it was enough to make Njal give chase, even in his weakened state. He felt the sting of pain in his side, the ache in his limbs where bruises would no doubt surface, but he plunged in to the creek regardless - hot on the heels of the enemy. But the man was gone too quickly for him. Once more Njal was left in the cold, alone with his aches and his failures.