Frostfire Ridge i'll take it all, rise and fall

This thread is welcome to anyone! He's looking for potential recruits so even if you don't want your wolf recruited (which is totally fine!) he's not going to be overly territorial. :-)

Týrr's work did not deign to cease, and the earthen colored Rekkr had just as ceaselessly put all of his energy and attention into his work. The work of preparing the Frostfire Ridge for the Empire it would hold in the coming future. Confidence and determination, partnered with persistence as it was, kept Týrr's head clear and his focus off of what he found himself missing more with each passing day. His affections for Tuwawi had not ceased simply because she had wandered off, or perhaps left to rekindle her lost love with Njal — Týrr did not know and he supposed that it did not matter. Still, he found himself holding onto the hope that she would return, though as unfortunate as it was if she did return to them she would find her kingdom in ruins. Try as he might he could not keep the already falling Glacier in tact; by the time he had realized that their forces had dwindled down to nearly nothing it was by and far too late. He could have went out to look for them, to drag them by their hides and interrogate, try to find out why they were suddenly disloyal to Tuwawi and the Glacier they had fought and shed blood to defend, but in his heart the Amazon Prince knew it was useless. He could drag them all back but he could not force them to stay. So, he turned to the nearby horizon and worked to gather those that remained, and those whose loyalties he could garner.

It was his birthright, after all. To lead. He had been born to it. Further trained by Quetzalcoatl, and later by Ragnar. Despite that Týrr's hatred for the scarred Viking was still very real, being the man's captive did have it's own clear cut advantages, and the Rekkr had learned many useful things. 

Even so, it wasn't just Tuwawi that was absent. It was her daughter, Maera, as well. There were others, the Rekkr knew, Malachi for one whom seemed to have disappeared shortly after Tuwawi had taken back her crown. The Rekkr had not seen hide nor hair of the other, and was left with the assumption that he had abandoned them. Turned traitor, perhaps. It did not matter. He would gather those that remained from the Glacier, if they would follow him, and recruit new blood.

This day, Týrr stayed within the confines of his desired home, building caches by making small hunting trips and taking from the Glacier. A more kind man might have left what remained — those that the sea wolves had not managed to tear into — for the wanderer but Týrr did not harbor such a generosity these days. It was not a shelter he intended to run, after all. The morning was tepid, a thin veil of fog spreading over the vast stretch of the Ridge as Týrr made his way through the territory, taking a mental stock of what he had gotten completed thus far and what was left. 

Language barrier, ho! :D

The lanky silver wolf had headed north from the govak and the small khalas they had found. He was interested to see how far north these Rhaesh Thash wolves lived. It was the longest he had run from his owner, Rhanno, longer even then his first night in Rhanno's khalas. That night, he escaped from the camp of the khalas, running as far as he could from the khal and eventually hiding in a mound of rocks. He was younger then, and not as smart as he was now, for he had left a clear trail for Rhanno's wolves to follow. As the silver and red wolf strode through the grass, he shivered, recalling how severely he was beaten that day. He still bore the scars from it, hidden underneath his silver coat.

Zoratto continued his northern route through the night and into the new day, only stopping for food and water, as befitted a Dotharan warrior. He was proud of his stamina and speed, which could help a wolf more than strength ever could, though he had that as well. Though the cold mist that still lingered in north Rhaesh Thash was penetrating his coat and making him shiver still. Zoratto was heading towards the mound he had seen in the far north, a white and glittering mountain, unlike any he had seen. The closer he got to it, the more he was intrigued.

But the smell of wolves, although faint, stopped him. He had not encountered a border before; the Dotharan were nomadic after all. The silver juvenile lingered at this border, sniffing curiously at the scents that crisscrossed through the invisible barrier. The wolf smells were faint, all except one. A male, probably older than him. The Dotharan Ezok-to-be snorted and headed into this old territory. He had not met a thash rakh before.

The Amazon prince moved with a certain amount of luxury, not having much of anything pressing to do otherwise. Marking the borders in their entirety would come later, when he had gathered those that he could and had enough of a following to push it fully into motion. For the most part he did not have borders to patrol, nor “real” duties to tend too beyond his own desire to get things set up for the lives that would inhabit Frostfire. Company was not something Týrr could claim as unexpected, especially company that he did not know. The scent of he and the few others was likely strong, though he garnered that his scent was the strongest as it trailed to and fro Duskfire Glacier, the free territories of the Taiga and back to Frostfire Ridge.  Týrr kept busy because if he didn't he would simply sit and allow himself to get lost in his thoughts. Keeping busy was a clear necessity. At some point the Rekkr would have to come face to face with and accept the fact that he'd done all he could do; but this wasn't a demon he was ready to face yet. Thus, he kept working. To prepare the Ridge, to check up on those who had given him their loyalty, and to bring in fresh new recruits, all the while keeping a studious eye out for Tuwawi and her also MIA daughter, Maera. If his days were long and laborious then it was good and he could rest with relative ease.

Steps slowed to an eventual cease, a scent of another wafting in his direction. Black, leathery nostrils flared as he sniffed at the air, determining that it was not a scent that was familiar, nor even remotely recognizable to him. Týrr was able to gather that the Ridge's visitor was male, but beyond that the specifics were lost, as unknown as the face and name that surely belonged to the stranger's scent. Chocolate ears cupped forth, erect atop his regal crown, before they swiveled to the side and then slicked back to rest at half mast atop his skull. While there was a small area of Frostfire that he was able to say he was territorial about for it was the area he spent most of his time in, what would become the pack's heartland, but even this he had to let the urge to protect it go. It made him uneasy to know that strangers would traipse through the buffer zone, as no doubt the stranger was doing now Týrr assumed, but he did not hold any sort of solid claim upon Frostfire yet and thus had no real reason to be up in arms. The edge he felt was tempered, and the use of soon to be his lands was, for the moment, allowed. As he was still recruiting it might even work to his advantage to let them come in and explore the Ridge at their own pace. Whether this would actually work or not,  Týrr didn't know.


Normally, he'd have let the other male go, allow him to poke around (so long as he didn't try to steal what caches were already built), all the while keeping a watchful eye with distance, but it seemed better to intercept if only because the Rekkr was already heading that way, anyway. “Hello,” The Amazon Prince offered the earthen agouti colored male, voice and posture neutral.

His limbs strode across the borders, defiant, with the naïveté of a nomad. Even if this pack was active, here, he would have strode across it regardless. The Dotharan were a raiding people; they saw unarmed borders, a weak group of wolves, and they took from them. Forcibly. But Zoratto was no true Dotharan warrior, yet. He had no reason to prove himself by raiding, especially not a place like this. He was merely curious as to what kind of wolves the khalas was up against.

And there he was. Dark, dark brown, darker than any of the Dotharan wolves he had met. His frozen lake eyes of his were accented by silver painted along his eyes. At first, Zoratto was jealous: how did he get his dyes there? But as the man walked closer, he realized it was natural, like his own, blood red mask.

And he walked like a khal. Regal, his head raised despite his neutral posture. He could become a khal of his own right, if he ever tried. But the young man doubted any Dotharan would follow an outsider, unless he truly proved himself. Especially one who spoke another language. Already, a frown alighted his face. This would be a problem. Though the greeting, regardless of language, was universal, the rest of their conversation would prove...troublesome. "Ava'yorn."

Týrr moved to greet the stranger, dampening his instincts to chase out. It wasn't claimed yet and thus his claim upon it was weak. Challangeble. Not that the Nýeldur had any intentions of letting Frostfire Ridge go without a fight. They would have to pry it from his cold, dead jaws (so to speak). It was a promise, a tribute to the ruin of Duskfire, and it meant more to him than he could willingly explain to anyone. It was hope. It was cinders on the precipice of being stirred into a flame. A small flame that he intended to nurture into a inferno. At the Amazon Prince's greeting, a frown tugged at the edges of the other male's lips. Eyes cut of crystalline studied the other male more studiously, fiercely. It was a simple greeting, in a language that Týrr had always assumed to be universal. It was not the language of the Norsemen, nor Nahuatl — the language of the Amazons, the language that his “true” name was derived from. Serpent King it meant; but he could not bring himself to go by it. Not without barely any memories to sustain it.

Týrr was multilingual, having remembered the language of the Amazons rather quickly after Manauia had showed him the truth to him, and having been taught Norse by Ragnar and the Viking wolves of Odinn's Cove; and of course he spoke the common tongue. It was always crucial, via the Viking's standards to be able to communicate with your prisoners, captives, and slaves. The word, however, that came from the other male's lips was not one that Týrr readily recognized. It was foreign sounding, and this sparked strong curiosity within him. What language was it? Where did it originate from? What culture did it's people derive from? “I don't...understand,” But he had an inkling of desire to, perhaps, learn. It was this that kept the Amazon Prince from dismissing the foreigner within his land Frostfire Ridge.

The translator I am using does not translate bison or buffalo, but we could say that it is a similar word pronounced differently.

The thash rakh looked confused, and so was the younger wolf. While the Dotharan were reclusive raiders and slavers, the need to speak with their rivals and future slaves was paramount. After all, you had to make negotiations and tell your slaves what to do after all. He hoped one of the new coyote slaves they took from here would be smart enough to learn Dotharan so that they might have some kind of translator. But until then, they were stuck, foreigners in a bison-less land.

That got the future Ezok thinking: was there buffalo here at all? Rhanno had dragged him here searching for the sacred beasts. While they did have a strong barrier inbetween them, the young man was certain he could convey his desires to find a herd. Ui mobi buffalo tenpiswo? He asked him. Uncertain if he would understand, the boy started drawing out a picture of the sacred beast with his paw in the dirt. "Bison. Buffalo."

White wolf, walked since long time without any food. He was arrived in this new territory but he didn't know if he could find somebody. His white fu was dirt and he has lost many weight. He slowly crossed a plain. His eyes scan all around him to find potential threat or prey to eat.
He never felt himself so weak, his stomach grumbled painfully and he wondered how many time he could hold before starving.
Why did he challenge his old alpha? Without this stupid idea, he would not be there.
Whereas he walked, he began to dream about what would have been his life in another context.
He stil walked for one hour, crossing forest, hill and rough terrains when he got a smell.
It was the smell of others wolf. If there were other wolves, maybe White Wolf was finally going to be able to rest and put an end has this endless journey.
He gathered the little of strength that it stayed in him and put has the search for his congeners hoping not to be chased away as all other times.
Finally he perceived two wolf speaking to a certain distance of him. Carefully he approached by keeping his ears well flat and his tail between his legs.