i'm fairly local, i've been around

Located on the northern reaches of Dawnlark Plains!  Anyone who is familiar with the area will do.

Aesop was lost.

He wasn't sure where he went wrong, but he had a feeling he was too far North.  He had been traveling for nearly two nights now, sleeping beneath the heavy boughs of trees during the day and traveling with the stars.  As the earth rotated above him, he trotted across unfamiliar lands with only a name in mind for his goal.  Alastor had told him that he could find the Bypass via a forest aflame, but he had yet to find the forest in question.  The mountains fell away to his left as he went, but as he was traveling by night, it was easy to get lost.  In the time between the sunset and the appearance of the stars, it was quite easy to turn too far to one direction, as he had.  And when the sky was overcast, opening up into a light shower, it was nearly impossible to navigate.

So he was lost in unfamiliar lands, an open plain that provided little shelter from the rain.  He was wet, hungry, and miserable.  And, most importantly, very, very lost.  Slipping back into the old habit of muttering to himself was all too easily, and so as he picked his way across the darkening plain, he complained about his circumstances.

It was difficult to be too bitter about it, though, with so bright a light awaiting him.  Since their parting, Aesop had missed him, already looking forward to their next meeting.  It was more than just the excitement of learning something new.  More, even, than the nostalgia of reliving his past.  It was something more, something that he preferred to keep nameless.  Sometimes the mystery of a thing makes it all the sweeter. 

Hope you don't me or Tyrr! :D

Týrr understood well enough the potential consequences that might come to rise for him venturing out of the Duskfire Glacier while his wounds were still healing. They were still fresh but there was medicinal things plastered to his neck, tangled in the fur that still remained matted with his blood ...and the blood of the man whom had faced him and thus the Rekkr could not bring himself to give much more of a consideration towards it. Perhaps it was the testosterone in him that made him unconcerned for such things but he was not in a mood to find the energy to care. He felt trapped within the confines of the Glacier as a patient, and hated being checked on every handful of hours to have the medicine reapplied and rudimentary wrappings changed. Women fussed too much, in his opinion, and considering he was one of the few (if not the only one, Victoria hasn't checked in a bit) males in the Glacier at the moment he felt it. His interest was only in one of them, of course, the Glacier's wildfire queen, but even so it wasn't as if he could avoid Manauia who would, he had no doubt, hunt him down to make sure he wasn't dying from a festering wound.

He wasn't, and endured the aspiring medic's routine checks with surly reluctance, not so unsure that he didn't want it to scar. Scarring was likely unavoidable, and while once upon a time he had been vain enough to mind such a thing, he was no longer that child. The scars that would remain of this battle was physical evidence of what he was willing to do to protect the Glacier, and the wolves that it harbored. It was a testament to his victory, and someday when he had children of his own they would become a source of an epic saga to tell them; and how proudly T[size=small]ý[/size]rr intended to tell it!

Still, he had needed to extract himself from the claimed lands of his home, even though he only intended for his absence to be little more than a handful of hours at most. If he did not get out he felt he might go stir crazy. His venture did not take him too far from the Glacier, it's peak still visible in the distance, he noted as he paused to glimpse over his shoulder, visibly cringing at the action pulled at the wounds and dried “bandages” on his neck. Not for the first time, he yearned to tear them off and allow the cool air to soothe the itch he felt every now and then. It was as he contemplated this, biting with frustration at the matted fur around it – careful to avoid the rudimentary patch up job despite his urge – that a scent wafted his way. He recognized it immediately, as Stavanger Bay though the wolf that carried it was not the little spitfire he had fooled into thinking he was Ragnar's mysterious god Odin. 

Curiosity having won over the itch, successfully distracting the Rekkr, he made his way towards the other letting out a low chuff to announce his presence when the other – male, Týrr noted absently – came into view.

Not at all!

Some time passed, during which he moved away from the mountain range and towards the more solitary peaks to the north east.  He was unsure if this was the correct direction, but at best one would prove to be his destination.  At worst, it would not, and even then he could find shelter better at the foot of a mountain.

The rain turned to a hazy drizzle, which persisted into a light misting that invited damp and chill.  Aesop sighed and cursed his luck, along with the soft earth that coated his legs in mud.  It was slow and miserable going until the ground hardened as he drew nearer to rocky terrain.

Boredom began to set in as the conditions improved.  No longer could he maintain an internal monologue about the weather and his poor luck, so he began to run out of things to think about.  The clouds thinned enough that he could get a better sense of where the sun was, but soon thickened again.  Still, he was able to correct his course slightly, now turning away from the ocean.

A sound like someone trying to catch his attention did just that, and he turned to find the source.  It was a male, a darker brown than Aesop and heavily wounded.  Some sort of medicinal plant clung to blood-matted fur, and beneath the male's eyes were heavy lines of silver.  The markings were odd and distinct, and if the encounter was to be of any note, he would remember them easily as the male's most defining characteristic.  Seeing this as his chance to ask directions, Aesop approached, posture relaxed and neutral.  "Hey," he greeted as he came to a stop a respectable, safe distance away.  "You got time to aid a weary traveler?"

Revenge fueled Týrr's desire to make indirect attacks at Ragnar in any situation he was presented with, intending to turn the Northman's own practice of deception against him. There were other things for him to focus his attentions upon these days, firstly in recovering his wounds for if he did not take the time to recoup then he wasn't going to challenge anyone to a death match. His wounds might not have been life threatening by themselves but the Rekkr was no ignorant child and knew that if he did not have them taken care of — no matter how much he hated to be fussed over — they would fester with infection. Which could bring about his untimely death if he did not exercise care and caution. Still, it seemed whatever deity that reigned above favored him in some measure or another as another Bay would came into his path; and there was plenty havoc he could wreak upon Ragnar indirectly. He would rue the day he'd ever taken the Amazon Prince as a captive, and he would suffer for every lie he had told and every memory lost. If Týrr was going to burn, then Ragnar and his were going to burn with him.

Perhaps it would be easy to let it go, he thought as he approached the other male, cloaked in agouti brown, lighter than the Rekkr's own; but it was not fair that he was left to suffer whilst Ragnar lived consequence free for his actions. Life did not work that way, and Týrr had a debt to repay sevenfold. The lost Amazon Prince, however, had no intentions of letting on to his plan, assuming that the easiest way to get under Ragnar's skin was to mess with his mind in subtle ways that only a true follower of Odin would understand. Having lived in their culture for how many months or years he had gave Týrr the perfect advantage to use it to his own devices.

Despite the plan brewing in his mind, his approach was nothing if not amiable, neutral and naturally cautious. After all, he was weakened and this presented a great physical disadvantage should the other man be hostile. The other male offered a verbal greeting in return to Týrr's chuff, leaving a respectful distance between them. “I always have time for a fellow wanderer,” Týrr responded with a soft grin, crystalline gaze sweeping over the male. His eyes asked what he did not speak verbally, inquiring as to what it was the other man sought. Once upon a time he was truly as kind as he put out, every bit of the gentleman and diplomat as his mother had required him to be as the Prince of Coatl's Rise; but the feral Amazon in him as he in fleeting wisps regained slivers of his memory had melded together with the ruthless Viking to make a cross that should have never been made. Two dominate cultures slowly merging into one new thing. The Rekkr King was not the same ignorant boy he had been before the incident and before he had learned the truth. That ignorant child was long gone and in it's place was a man who, while still held something of a diplomatic approach was unafraid to do what it took to get what he wanted.

Watch as I say a whole lot of nothing.  Pfft.

Aesop relaxed incrementally.  It helped that the other male presented no harm, posture nonthreatening.  He greeted him as an equal, a fellow traveler on neutral lands.  He had no reason to be suspicious but for his own needling caution, something in him still afraid after his fight.  Though his wounds had all but healed, some seed of doubt and fear had been sown.  In the days since, they had taken root and festered.  His outing was clearing his mind, but the trip was still young.  He was hardly even there, and still had to get back again.  Anything could happen.

But he had nothing to fear from this wolf.  To regard him with anything other than neutrality would be cowardly, paranoid, and downright silly.  He was a strange wolf in a strange land, but he was wounded.  If it came to a fight (and why would it?) Aesop would have no trouble overpowering him.

"Thank fuck for that," said Aesop, visibly relieved.  "I'm a bit lost.  I'm looking for Nostradictor Bypass?  'dunno if you're familiar with the place, but it's a pack.  Supposed to be around here.  Don't need too much of your time, just a point in the right direction." And he really didn't want to take too much time.  Though he was pleased to leave and take the chance to explore, instinctual duty tethered him to his pack.  This tether stretched but did not break, a call to return, to satisfy his sense of loyalty and protect the land that is theirs.  His.  Because it was his home, and he had now defended it with his blood.  He had laid aside his values and preferences and taken up arms against an intruder, and if that didn't give him as good a claim to the pack as any other, then he didn't know what would.  

It wasn't a whole bunch of nothing! <3

Týrr watched with internal and well hid satisfaction as the Bay male appeared to relax. Perhaps not entirely, but not even the Rekkr could bring himself to visibly relax in a stranger's presence — even when he was playing a part. Fellow males had a tendency to have his distrust first, as it was, despite that he knew full well how deceiving the opposite sex could be in equal footing. Nevertheless, it was the Amazon within the Rekkr that reveled under the rule of a woman, finding nothing short of irritation towards males who would lord their rank over him. Not only were fellow males an instinctual competition for breeding (so to speak), they simply made him uncomfortable especially in positions with any kind of power. The irony of this was not lost upon Týrr who understood that he, too, was also a man but for his own self it was different ...somehow.


Týrr let out a soft snort of amusement when the Bay male spoke with obvious relief. Týrr's approach to attack at Ragnar was subtle, and nothing short of cunning that Ragnar might have appreciated it would it not be a turn of his own weapon against himself. Regardless, the Rekkr had no intentions of physically harming those whom had not done him wrong. He only wanted Ragnar; but he was in no state to engage the platinum silver Viking in a battle to the death. At least, not yet. For now, he settled contentedly with dropping his subtle hints and letting on the impression that he was the one and only Odin.

It was easier because these so called 'Vikings' of the Bay did not know the stories, did not know the sagas by heart and thus did not truly know Odin, and if they did then the single advantage he held was that they did not know him. Týrr's head canted ever so slightly to the side when the male spoke the name of a pack, which did not seem to ring any sort of bell within the Rekkr's mind. In truth, he had not strayed far from Duskfire Glacier — having no true reason to. His attentions were upon defending it, and upon it's wildfire queen Tuwawi. “It doesn't sound familiar,” However that did not mean that it did not exist. “But if it's a pack you might want to double back South bound. Duskfire Glacier is about the only pack this way.” Because, he didn't get out much and did not know anything about Swiftcurrent's relocation — or much of anything that didn't directly involve the Glacier, really. Still, he spoke with a confidence figuring that he was right and having no reason to believe otherwise. "Why are you searching for this... Bypass? If I may ask?" It was out of curiousity that he inquired, though he did not truly care. The Bay man's business was his own.

At the words 'It doesn't sound familiar', Aesop's shoulders fell with his spiraling mood.  It would be just like him to promise he had a handle on a situation and then get irrevocably lost in the middle of the wilderness.  He knew how to get home, but he couldn't be sure that Alastor would forgive him for missing their meeting.  And what if he forgot about him?

It was a depressing train of thought, one he was quickly broken out of by the stranger's continuation.  Perhaps he'd only taken a wrong turn after all!  "Double back, got it.  Thanks, man.  You're a lifesaver," Aesop said, gratitude and relief evident.  He was quick to relax but not quick to trust, but above all he was sure to remain outwardly genial.  It was his nature, less a conscious decision and more a natural reaction to first meeting someone.  First impressions, after all, were important.

He saw no reason not to tell the stranger his business, though.  He had innocent intentions, after all.  "I have a friend that lives there.  We agreed to meet up around now," Aesop explained.  Then, because it's rude and disadvantageous to not know a bit about your conversational partner, he added, "what about you?  With wounds like those, I'd suspect you live 'round here?  And I don't think I got your name."