|
Post by Shadowed on Jan 21, 2010 3:35:46 GMT -5
I am the 'who' when you call 'who's there?'
Demon was surprised by Dhani's sudden change in heart toward him, though not an inkling showed upon his motionless visage. It was hard to imagine how or why the monk had decided to trust him suddenly; perhaps his flurry of strange chants had convinced him of something that neither the Phantom nor anyone here would understand. However, Demon was not disappointed by the turn of events - at least somebody here was willing to give him a second chance at a first impression, whether or not he deserved it. He didn't believe he deserved to be judged immediately either, though. But perhaps someday there would be reason for the distrust. The phantasmic brute was not thinking much of the future right now. The biggest concern was getting out of the storm alive, and then he could decide what he was doing with himself in this place. Even before he'd come to Torqueo, he found that it was becoming increasingly difficult to decide the fate of those he came in contact with, making it only more difficult on himself in deciding where he stood in the fate off others.
Passively, Demon stood by Dhani as they waited to see if anyone had been harmed by the fallen tree. Every wolf picked its way from the wreckage, a mere scratch being the only sustained injury. He noticed, of course, when Machiavelli made his way into view, and saw a most peculiar look shot in his direction; it was far different from the initial glare that Machi had given him, and Demon narrowed silver orbs in thought. It was not a good time to dwell on such a thing, however, and he quickly redirected himself as Tehya took the lead once more. The weather did not let up, and though it seemed it could not possibly get any worse, he knew that it was building still. Demon made quick strides after his newly appointed leader, noting as she circled back to check on those that lagged behind - he could not bring himself to even look back, realizing the severity of the storm and the need for shelter. He would let Tehya do her duty, and he would merely follow.
At last the den's were in sight, raised above the rest of the soggy woods. As the Alphaess described the dens, the fur of his spine shuddered at the thought of being trapped in a tight underground tunnel as uncontrollable water swelled up, swallowing him whole. A mere grunt was given as he shook his pelt to rid himself the thoughts and the heavy drenching, though it was of little use. Demon stood by as everyone gathered, and though he wished to just hop inside the dens and make himself comfortable, he figured he'd be best off to wait until the pack was inside, and take his place closest to the entrance. Taboo was the first to make a leap, and she seemed to struggle for several painful moments before dragging herself to safety. The silver hessian exhaled softly, trying not to make a fuss as he willed things along more hastily. His greed was not a thing he wished to portray at this moment, despite how he wanted all that was good for himself. He knew the good things would come to him if he waited... better things than warmth and shelter.
I am the wind blowing through your hair
|
|
|
Post by Starrlight on Jan 23, 2010 16:39:21 GMT -5
Licking his lips, Dante tasted the blood that mingled with the rainwater, the slash upon his face lightly dripping. He could hear the sizzle of the drops falling from the heavens as they met the heated surface of the wood, steaming and cooling the super-charged bark. At least there would be no fire here. Chaos was a fickle mistress when riled, but here she had decided not to unleash her full fury upon the pack. That much at least they could be grateful for. The thunder rolled, and Dante turned slightly towards Machiavelli, whom he had noted to be nearby. As he heard the cries of the others, protesting their well-being, he breathed a sigh of relief. His nerves were on end, every hair upon the nape of his neck rigid, not only from the precipitation. So many images had flashed through his mind as the tree fell... if someone had been trapped underneath... it was impossible to describe the feeling that had gone through him the second the thought occurred. Thank the gods Demon had been quick to note the strike. No matter how the bru reminded Dante of a past better left forgotten, he had saved many of their lives moments ago, and he felt his respect for the newcomer increase greatly.
Tehya's voice reached his auds, and he looked up to see her leap down from the trunk. Relief again hit him, for he had worried that she had fallen behind. He still did not see Taboo, but moments later noted that the fem was following Tehya. She had fallen behind, and Dante cursed himself for not noticing. He should have slowed his pace more, rather than figuring that Taboo would keep up with Machiavelli. There was no time for that now, however, the danger of the storm far from over. Even now another streak of lightning flashed across the sky, a violent reminder of what could still occur. Without another thought Dante sprinted off after Tehya, the thick undergrowth catching in his long, dark pelt, as though trying to pull him back. He was a wolf of open spaces, not these dense forests, but the cover was comforting. At least the rain was not so much blinding as uncomfortable. He inhaled deeply, trying to keep his breathing even, the clean air welcome to his weary lungs. A bru of strength and stamina, speed was not his forte, and this mad dash was beginning to wear. He would not fall back, however, isntead forcing his powerful limbs to carry him faster, making up more of hte distance between himself and their Alphaess.
Even as he did so, however, he glanced back. Taboo was keeping up formidably despite her condition, though Dante was worried about the fem. She had recieved quite a kick, and though he was no healer, such a run could hardly be good for her. Tehya was circling back, though, driving everyone on, and he focused once again on the front. The dens were upon them, so abruptly that Dante checked himself, skidding in the rain-soaked soil, claws digging for purchase. He almost went over forward, but his blocky frame remained upright. He saw Tehya slip, and he inhaled sharply, alarmed that she had injured herself. That was not the case, and he watched with a lighter heart as she lifted herself once more to her paws, announcing the position of the caves. At last they could wait this hellish night out in safety.
Four feet........ Not a huge leap, but it would definitally prove difficult for those here who were less than one-hundred percent. Dante hung back, waiting, allowing Taboo to go first, just in case his assistance was needed. He did not make his motion obvious, though... he knew that aid could many times be seen as an insult. Taboo, for a moment, appeared as though she might fall back, and he tensed, ready to spring for the boost, but with a tenacious air that he was finding to be a large part of her character, she hauled herself completely inside.
Silver orbs seeking Tehya, he saw that she intended on waiting until the others had made it inside before she too made the leap. Not wanting to hold things up, he crouched, then sprang off of the damp turf. The jump was, as he thought, not difficult for his whole limbs to achieve. Once inside, he turned, seeking out Taboo. He saw her lying upon the floor, chest heaving with exertion. "Are you alright?" His brow furrowed, worried. If she needed something, he would go back out. It was not opportune, nor a welcome task, but he was more than willing to go should the need arise.
|
|
|
Post by Sighani on Feb 10, 2010 2:13:58 GMT -5
Dhani... The mind is its own place, a sprawling xanadu of golden, elysian fields and sulfur-choked chasms deeper than the most infernal bowels of earthly fathoms, and a man may walk through that wonderland with a smile or with a white-eyed terror. It is a place that lies in realms far beyond mortal comprehension, and in their ignorance, wolves may make of it a silver-lined dream, ethereal and brighter than sunshine, or a shattered nightmare crumbling away in harsh winds like smited, burning towers of damned Sodom and Gomorrah. It is a place, wild and untamed, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, or a hell of heaven.
A blaze of fever-scorched blood in the green and festering wound of Torqueo Somnium, Dhani began to wonder if this is truly where he belonged. Many times before he had dreamt of this sylvan paradise, its trees as ancient as the mountains and the mountains older than time, but the longer he lingered, the more he felt ill at ease. Torqueo Somnium had lured him from his mountain sanctuary with an irresistable siren song, but it wasn't until he fell into the singing jaws of the beast that he recognized it for what it really was: a monster. Emerald-eyed and seething, these lands were darker than any he'd ever encountered. They did not need belching swamps and haunted battlefields to prove their true wickedness. The deception was rooted in the apparent beauty and tranquility, the pull and seduction of the heart of darkness. He could envision himself meditating in a sun-dappled grove, beneath the swaying boughs of a willow that rasped in time to the whisper of a distant river. He could envision himself wandering into the denser clumps of forest and never returning. He could envision himself dying here, and would anyone be able to break the trance long enough to even notice he was gone? He would perish alone and forgotten, blood spilling into crystalline waters and nourishing the rich soil. Indeed, Dhani had no doubt that if claws were to cut deep enough into this earth, the land would flow crimson with the blood of its victims.
The flame-kissed monk felt the first stirrings of inequity deep in his belly as his eyes raked across the wreckage of the felled tree, heart pounding in his throat despite his controlled breathing, but this time for reasons other than fear. Orbs, black like the coals of a long-neglected fire, drifted to the amythesian gaze of the queen, throat clenching in sudden fit of envy he'd believed to be long dead and buried. In that instant, the monk wondered if it was better to rule as the dark queen of hell than to serve as heaven's beast of burden. Ever before, he'd regarded his duties as a holy man as divine and noble, not inspired by unseen deities like religions of old but by the simple desire to do good and to help his fellow varg. However, in donning the metaphorical robe, he had forgotten the most fundamental of all lupin instincts: the urge to kill and be powerful. How long could he live in such a corrupt kingdom before he heard the first whispers of immorality? How long could a saint linger in the garden before he felt the flick of the serpent's tongue against his ear? Swallowing his blighted thoughts, Dhani shook his head fiercely, banishing all sinful notions. He was stronger than that, he knew it. If any wolf could overcome Torqueo Somnium's evil, he had no doubts that it would be him. The others were weaker willed and unfaithful even to their own values; Dhani, if nothing else, was devoted. For three years he'd thought of nothing but the road to enlightenment, and that was not apt to change now.
But long is the way, and hard, that leads out of hell and up to light. Perhaps this was to be the true test of his faith. If he could someday emerge from this poisoned empire with his spirit intact, he would know nirvana.
The monk was slow in reaching the dens, falling away from the Phantom's shoulder to lend his assistance to those in need. His eyes found Tehya again, and although his face remained blank and impassive, those dark eyes glinted and smiled. He did not have her trust and he did not doubt that he made her uneasy, but all the same he could not abide her suspicion of his motives. He carried grave news, but bad omens smothered the world in a constant haze. His prophecy had no reason to affect her so; the world was always in mortal danger and his presence changed nothing. He began to suspect that she had deeper, more private reasons for her mistrust. Perhaps a bad experience with the clergy in her earlier years had left her scarred and hostile towards venerability. But Dhani's order, unlike many in the lower regions, did not serve gods or a higher power. The monks of Cthonia's holy mountains were not like the lowland priests, raping and slaughtering and damning men like they were gods themselves. He could understand, then, why others would be so wary in his presence, and he could accept Tehya's cold hospitality. However, he did not want to leave this place without the queen and her pack understanding that he was not the man he seemed. Wickedness did not become him. Though he dwelt within a darkened fog, he strived ever towards the light. It was ironic, really, that Tehya was surrounded by varg who had killed their own kind and reveled in the fact, and she welcomed them warmly to her bosom, but shunned the lone soul among them who had never tasted wolven blood.
Dhani waited for a moment at the bottom of the cliff after Dante had scrambled up, keen eyes catching the slight limp in Machiavelli's gait as he approached, but he knew it was nothing the queen couldn't handle. Lean muscles bunching beneath his firey pelt, the monk sprang the full four feet to the mouth of the den, nimble paws slipping only slightly in the rain-slicked muck before dancing delicately into the relative warmth and safety of the cave. Not wishing to impose, he settled down close to the entrance, just beyond the reach of the storm's unforgiving talons, concerned gaze leaving the wolves assembled on the earth below and locking on Taboo. She had done a remarkable job at concealing her suffering up to this point. No doubt the climb to the dens had caused considerable pain to an already overstressed injury. His brows knitted as he pawed gingerly at the air, voice soft and expressionless as he addressed the fatale. "Where does it hurt?" He was possessed of a keen eye for injuries, but he did not wish to observe Taboo without her consent. He was a stranger in these lands and would likely not be trusted to safeguard the health of the pack members, regardless of how much skill he had in the fine science of healing. A low, airy whine escaped the monk's lips in spite of his self-control. "With your permission, I could take a look at your injury." Obsidian eyes left the ailing femme for a moment and flicked to Dante, filled with hope and trust. "You know these lands better than I do. If I were to tell you what she needs, if anything beyond a good night's rest out of the rain, could you find it?" He knew he was asking a lot of a man to whom he'd never even spoken before, but he needed to earn the trust of the pack somehow. [/size][/center] Peace has no boundaries; serenity knows no religion When the eyes close, the mind shall see
|
|
|
Post by Sighani on Feb 15, 2010 4:19:23 GMT -5
Machiavelli Alighieri...Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world. Machiavelli had spent too many years roaming the earth to be awed by the simple, fleeting beauty of a sunrise or the incomprehensible power and depth of the seas, and he did not often fall victim to the illusion of everyday miracles. Indeed, the brujo was of the singular opinion that miracles bloomed and flourished only in the fields of infertile minds wherein logic and calculation withered and died. However, even he could not deny that it seemed strangely coincidental that fate should send into his presence this accursed Phantom, a man he had every right to cast aside based on name and carriage alone, only to have his life spared by a simple cry from the stranger's infernal lips. Whether or not the Phantom realized it, Machiavelli was in his debt. Owed him his life, in fact. And the realization of that sole, simple notion revealed a golden thread in the Phantom's dark veil. Perhaps, Machiavelli thought to himself, first impressions weren't everything. Perhaps he had been to quick to judge. But then again, perhaps he was allowing his gratitude to sleep a blindfold about his eyes, concealing from his keen gaze the true intentions of Blood Demon.
Iron-gray clouds boiled across the sky, ringing like the black bells of the rapture, and Machiavelli heaved a great sigh of relief when at last the pack came to the dens. The ache in his shoulder had cast out scarlet tendrils into his extremities, a web of pain lining the inside of his chest and snaring his overstrained muscles. The ginger root Tehya had brought him had helped to dispell the swelling in his joints, but it could not ease the agony of an ice-cold wind upon torn sinew. He gritted his fangs against the now ever-present throb, careful to avoid Tehya's prying stares as he limped stiffly past, not wishing to see the look of mingled concern and hauteur roiling through her amythesian pools. She would questionless be worried about his injury, and he had spent enough time in her presence to know that she would also leap at the chance to offer him a lopsided smile and sweetly say, didn't I tell you so? And he would not be able to deny it; she had been a better judge of Machiavelli than the brute himself. She had offered to walk with him at a slower pace so he could avoid overtaxing an already spent body. And he had refused, all at the expense of his pride. He had insisted that he would be fine. He had no one now to blame but himself, a fact of which both the queen and her advisor were both intently aware.
Steeling himself for a struggle, Machiavelli drew in a deep breath, bundled his muscles beneath his sodden frame, and sprang up toward the mouth of the cave. Daggers raked through the mire, carving long trenches into the slick earth as his paws slipped. His hind mitts scrabbled against the stone ledge and, after a moment, he found a steady foothold and regained his composure. With a weary heave, he climbed over the edge, shoulder screaming in white-hot pain, his breath ghosting out into the air while his chest heaved. In that moment he realized his mortality. Two years ago, he could have cleared that jump with ease, even burdened so by a wounded shoulder. He had eluded the crippling jaws of age for a long time, gleaning from that slavering maw only the sweet nectar of wisdom and experience, all while cleverly avoiding lethal fangs. But when he had stopped running, choosing instead to plant his roots here in Torqueo Somnium, it must have crept up on him in the night, settling inside him so deeply and so subtly that he hadn't noticed it at all until its hooks had been crudely jarred loose by one meager fleshwound. He could feel it in his bones. Fear's greasy finger touched the base of his spine and he wondered if that ache would ever go away.
The granite-pelted hessian shook his head abruptly, trying to chase those thoughts away. Those were the thoughts of an old man on his deathbed. The ambrosia of youth yet flowed through his veins. Machiavelli swiftly recovered his noble carriage when at last he was certain he could stand on all four feet, tail scythed and crown canted at a regal angle, and wasted no time padding inside the den. Upon entering, he saw Taboo heaped upon the earthen floor. Her injuries were worse than his, but he was not the first to realize such: Dhani and Dante had already given her a quick examination, and Machiavelli could hear the monk beseeching the taciturn Dante for his help. It was rare to hear venerability take such a commanding tone, and Machiavelli felt somewhat offput, but his stoic exterior did not betray the emotion within. Machiavelli's haunches folded primly beneath his frame as he settled into a more comfortable position, a shiver wracking his lean frame now that he reacquainted himself with a warmer, dryer environment.
"You waste no time in taking control of a situation, do you, Dhani?" the Prince said after a moment's observation, smooth tenor voice ringing through the cramped acoustics of the den walls. His auds tipped backward in an air of suspicion before he continued. "But it's for the best, I suppose. There is no use waiting for permission when well-beings are at stake." Machiavelli did not find it necessary to turn stern words into reprimand. He shook the rainwater from his coat, spectral orbs straying to the mouth of the den, seeking Tehya. He was unsure how she would react to his next statement, but it needed to be said.
"Dante," he began softly, and speaking the name drove a blade of ice through his heart, but he ignored it, "you can trust this monk. The queen may reserve full judgement for now, but I say to you that he is likely the least suspicious man among us, including myself. While I will not ask you bow to the whims of a stranger, I will say that it would be wise to take careful note of his practice, for in my experience, the monks' skills in healing are unparalleled." He paused, orbs dancing through the darkness in search of the nacreous figure of Blood Demon. He raised his voice before going on. "If you should need anything at all, Dhani, I have no doubt that Blood Demon is more than willing to offer his services." He smiled, sweet as poisoned honey, fully expecting Tehya's voice to cut through the gloom and override his thinly-veiled command. In reality, Machiavelli had no real desire to force the brute into submission. He knew, however, that Tehya did not suffer the weak or the unworthy in her pack. Machiavelli did not seek to cast the brute back out into the heart of the storm; he merely needed to know if simple commands from superiors would rile the Phantom. It would be pertinent to Tehya's judgement, after all, if he was quick to anger. Rebellion did not bode well in the lower ranks of a pack. It crumbled foundation and, in time, toppled empires. He could only hope that his queen would follow his line of thought and withhold yet another beratement. Is it better to be loved or feared?
|
|
|
Post by Asphyxia on Feb 15, 2010 23:48:46 GMT -5
[bg=25252f][atrb=width,518,true][atrb=border,0,true]
The storms heavy maw was about to part and crash down upon them and all that was left was to wait for it to hit and pass. Plume shifted nervously behind her frame as she silently watched her comrades jump through the entrance one by one. Spheres narrowed as she scouted the area with carefully observation. In such weather as this, it was important that they got into the safety of the dens and although Taboo and Machiavelli struggled, little choice was left. She refused to give up the secret entrance to anyone but those currently in her pack and if she had taken them there now, Dhani and Phantom would have known its whereabouts as well. Not an ideal escape route should they ever end up in war. It seemed paranoid, but Tehya wanted to be prepared for anything. This grave news Dhani had to offer had her on edge and each edge was a sharp, jagged point, ready to pierce her flesh and break apart what she’d gained through hard work. Hackles rose effortlessly against the sodding weight of her pelt, talons digging lightly into the mud beneath her dark pads.
Thunder rolled and clashed, lightning lashing out like a whip at anything that dare stand in the storms way. Rivers were flooding, which flashed a red flag in Tehya’s mind, her thoughts striking out at anything that might aid them. Where would they go if they had to go anywhere? No where. Because Torqueo was now their home and they would damn well get back anything they lost. Whatever carcasses lay around after the fact of the storm, they would be able to bury for later feedings instead of hunting. Which, naturally, would be a benefit to those injured. Still, orbs searched the surrounding area… But for what, she wasn’t sure. The storm was a beautiful thing.. But a deadly one and it was using its power against them, rather than to benefit them. The cons outweighed the pros in this situation and as Machiavelli, the last pack member of hers, jumped through the entrance, Tehya let out a soft sigh, watching him struggle for a moment and knowing he’d held his pride as priority over letting her look after his well being. And for it, he was suffering now.
Haunches shifted back under her weight, the Queen launching herself for the cavern entrance, forepads stretched out to grasp at the rocky hearth. Talons dug in, scraping at the ground as her hindlegs landed easily behind her. She had made a graceful leap and had landed easily and gently just inside the gaping entry way, fur coat drooping low in its soaked weight. Acoustics pricked forward, nostrils shifting as she took in the warm, dry scent of this place. It was the place she had decided would become their dens. But now, even now, as she gazed upon the injuries of Taboo and of Machiavelli, after seeing both struggle with the jump, she warily decided it may be wise to submit the information of the second exit into the dens. It was further off and below ground, so it may well be flooded by now, but if they were lucky, it was empty and with little more than mud filling its ground. Taboo and Machiavelli may very well be better off using such an entrance until they fully healed, for the one they had come through would only prove difficult for their healing.
Amethysian’s shifted to Dhani, where he whined toward Taboo. Pads carried her gently over to the other female, giving her a quick examination to judge the extent of the damage caused. Catching her breath, she listened to what Machiavelli said in silence. She had yet to speak at all to any of them since they got in the dens and even now, she decided to wait. But at Dhani’s request to Dante, her lips curled. It was dangerous outside and while she was sure Dante could easily protect himself, she was more than wary of Dante being sent off for herbs while she was in her dens with two strangers and two of her comrades that remained injured. Even with Machiavelli’s trust in the monk. Plume lifted, shifting behind her frame as her canines showed her dislike of the concept upon the lyrics falling, her spheres shifting to Machiavelli. Not so much to gaze at him as he spoke as to examine his wounds as well. Judging from Phantom, she wouldn’t have a good time fighting him and with Taboo and Machiavelli out for the count, they could easily be taken out by him. Even if Dhani wanted, he could poison them.
Listening in on Machiavelli’s words, Tehya chose to listen and remain silent. She trusted him as her advisor and she would try to put a little more trust into the varg that sat close by Taboo, her spheres shifting to Phantom as Machiavelli spoke of him potentially going. The idea was a good one. It left them with only one stranger, with an intact warrior prepared to help her should things go wrong and would prove whether or not the other male was actually interested in at all sticking around, or if he was simply passing through and didn’t care, in which case, he couldn’t be trusted. But Tehya would not force anyone to do anything at this point. Sheathing her canines, her haunches slowly reclined, thoughts reeling. If she left Dante here, she may very well be able to go herself as it looked to her as if Dante may well be able to take on Phantom should he try anything and she doubted he would have trouble with the monk. But she would only do so if the Phantom refused and if he did, she would probably make him go with her anyway.
As silence stood out, Tehya couldn’t help but point out a simple fact as the storm grew fiercer outside. “It’s getting worse out there and it’s dangerous for anyone to be out in such weather. Is it absolutely necessary to go out while the storm is at its worst?” Spheres shifted to Dhani. She understood the two wolves both needed help with their injuries, but she also didn’t want anymore of them injured or possibly killed by the raging storm. “It’s a great risk for any of us to head out into that storm when it’s this bad.” Narrowing orbs glanced to Taboo as she gently lifted her hindquarters and slinked toward her. Lowering herself next to Taboo, she looked her over again, then glanced back to Machiavelli, full well knowing it’d embarrass him or hurt his pride if she went over to examine his wounds as she did Taboo’s.
A sly smirk slid across her lips. He was being quite upfront and demanding as of late and she began to wonder if his rank gave him thought that he could say as he wished and order about who he wished. Although it brought more of a laugh and a smile than anything, Tehya couldn’t help but taunt the brute. Lifting herself after examining the extremity of Taboo’s wounds, she stalked over to Machiavelli and circled around him before checking with his injury, sure to move her snout really close and brush her shoulder against him. Just enough to taunt the other canine. Her smile disappeared, however, as she saw the pain he was in and no longer was it so much a taunt as concern. The worry flashed through her spheres. Both of them were hurting pretty badly and both needed to rest. “We all need a bit of shut eye, I think… Machiavelli, Taboo, you two can lay down and rest your wounds. The others and myself will discuss a plan of action before we join you.”
She knew it would irritate Machiavelli to feel left out, but it wasn’t that she wanted him left out, she simply wanted him and Taboo to heal faster. Gaze shifted to Dhani. “Tell me, monk, what is it Taboo needs? I know these lands better than any and I’m sure I can judge how far out they are.. If they’re close enough, I may very well stick with Machiavelli’s idea to send you out, Blood Demon.” Shifting her spheres from the monk to Phantom, her wary spheres debated it all. Gazing to Dante, her frown deepened. She’d rather have the warrior stay close to Machiavelli and Taboo. He was strong and intelligent and no doubt, would have little trouble protecting them. If she had to, she would go with Phantom and leave Dante here. “I could go with Blood Demon and help him find these herbs. I’d rather Dante stood guard here. That alright with you, Dante?”
wordcount;; one thousand, four hundred, fifty-nine. lyrics;; please forgive me - bryan adams
|
[/blockquote] [/color][/td][/tr][/table][/center]
|
|
Taboo
New Member
Posts: 46
|
Post by Taboo on Feb 16, 2010 1:22:29 GMT -5
No…just no! As her situation spilled over to everyone else like curious bees to unknown colors, her pride expanded and shriveled. Not that her ego remained top priority, but damaged pride often caused her to act and speak jealously. And with everyone knowing so little about her true nature, the last thing she desired was for them to believe her immature and arrogant. She had cleared that ledge, and now she placed herself in a most needed position: lying down. At least now Taboo grasped the ability to clarify what exactly her injury was and the state she was in. Before she managed to open her jaws and speak, though, several voices assaulted her at once. Her crown withdrew from them as her ears tilted backward in confusion and embarrassment. Sensation burning as hot as her wound rippled through her cheekbones as warm color inhibited it. Perhaps Taboo wouldn’t feel so damn vulnerable if they at least understood how strong-willed and rational she was. But they only had a few exchanges before she threw out the depiction of making stupid choices and easily wounded. It might take months before they knew she could hold her own. She just didn’t want to be mistaken as a soft foot.
She refused to deny the pain and the condition, though. If the vixen opened her mouth and declared, ‘I’m fine,’ everyone then would definitely mistake her as a fool. So instead she waded out the questions and concerned tones. When Dante mentioned venturing out in the storm for herbs, her spine straightened and auds shot straight back up. The idea of someone risking their life for a wound that wasn’t fatale, not even completely dangerous if treated right spiked stubbornness and refusal through her system. Unspoken, illogical words bittered her tongue until she heaved a sigh in its place. “I’m going to speak now, okay?” The wounded [in more ways than one] huntress tried desperately to keep all frustration from entering her tones. She didn’t wholly succeed. “My ribs are not broken. Which makes the situation much better. It’s still an injury, but at least we don’t have to worry that I’m going to keel over or be disabled for an extended period of time. I got kicked on my right side, but luckily nothing is fractured either.” The pain died down enough to where she propped herself upon her left side as her breathing regulated. Cold drafts of wind brushed through the entrance. Her tassle curled up around her frosted feet and added a spark of temporary warmth. All the constant stares towards her, even if it was brotherly concern, made her feel guilty. As if she was flaunting herself for attention. The redness in her cheeks darkened.
“Since the bones aren’t broken or fractured, there isn’t any need to expose yourself to the brutal lethality being unleashed out there, especially for this kind of injury. It’d be nice for it to heal as quickly as possible, but it can heal all on its own without medication. So no one needs to duck out into the storm.” To cement her message, she gazed intently into each one, especially Dante since he volunteered at the beginning. When she spotted something other than just pure brotherly concern in his gaze, the color in her cheeks resulted from a quick blush rather than her irritation. “Maybe once all the danger is gone, you guys can go crazy on gathering herbs, but for now I’m fine.” A small crack fissured from her rims as an attempt to break apart the tension. “It’s just a lot of swollen and protesting skin and bone.” Her last sentence reared her attention back to the horrible aching. She winced somewhat and retreated back to lying spread out on the cold stone. Ears swiveled along towards Tehya’s final selection of her and Blood Demon seeking out medical help. A relieved sigh whooshed through her. Even when the storm evacuated and left no hint of returning, Dante did not know the anatomy of the land as well as Tehya did. As ridiculous as it sounded, danger lurked from his ignorance. Predatory and defensive animals claimed this land too, and she didn’t need anyone to risk themselves for her. Suddenly, her manners flocked back to her, and Taboo once again spoke to those gathering around her. “Thank you, though. For your help and concern.” It sounded formal and dispassionate, but better than her indulging on her pride and staying silent altogether. A curious gaze returned to Dhani, to that strange and mysterious entity that flogged her with the past. Her reaction to his entrance had indeed nursed error and a judgmental path. An apology stuck in her throat, so she decided to treat him with kindness in the future instead. When the Alphess trotted closer, she blocked out the stinging cold and infused a tired comfort in her. She mentioned a meeting without her and Mach, so that they might rest and tend their wounds. Although it was for the best, the fact that both of their injuries already began to unintentionally ostracize them from the others, a sadness blanketed her. “Of course, Tehya. Do what you must.” The Queen continued to speak about Blood Demon….and other things that blurred within her mind from weariness, and the name naturally created her lips to curl even as she descended into sleep. Finally her head drifted between her paws as her mind blacked out.
That face filled her head. Those sneering lips bordering into a snarl, the slitted eyes frozen into place with constant mirthless glee, and of course the blue-black pelt. For some reason her mind always associated black with something terribly portentous. Not because of all those cliché fables and stories that created enemies from black, but because she dreamt many times of falling endlessly in a black pit. A voice gurgled from those slavering jowls…a pitch so sickly sweet it churned the stomach. You may have run from your parents, your religion, your place in society, but you have not run from me. You could travel until your paws cracked and bled, but you would not have escaped me. You don’t need to be dead to experience hell, dearie. Many people tried to use words and tones to insult or scare Taboo before. Yet many times those insults barely even scraped the surface. But her- her voice froze her heart. Because she knew everything about Taboo, and her bite was worse than her bark. [/i]
|
|
|
Post by Starrlight on Feb 18, 2010 19:29:57 GMT -5
It seemed that Dhani's mindset was following the exact same line as Dante's, for his suggestion mirrored the bru's own idea. Just as he was about to aquiesce, however, Taboo spoke. Instantly he backed up, realizing her feelings the instant she voiced them. Of course, he should have realized this. She was a fighter, he had pegged her as such earlier, yet here he was, hovering. It would have pissed him off too, had he been in her situation.
Mach and Tehya had joined them finally. Dante looked at Mach as he spoke to him. He did trust Dhani, for some strange, unknown reason. "I do, and I would gladly go, should Taboo need anything." He smiled. Perhaps not completely gladly, but willingly. His eyes had a tint of amusement, however, as Machiavelli turned the offer to Blood Demon. Of course he would be one to single out the new element, and to find a wise way to test his loyalty. The wolf had a gift, seriously. He was playing with fire, however, in speaking before Tehya. The fem did not seem fond of others giving voice for her. She seemed doubtful of his leaving, which hurt his pride, but only momentarily. The instant the feeling occured to him, he realized that he was being petty, and smothered it. She was not doubting him, but being realistic, and to indispose himself, not to mention leave the rest alone here with relative strangers, was not in his job description. Egotistical displays had no place on a night like tonight, and he was adult enough to realize this.
She was sending Mach and Taboo away to rest, a good move, even if Mach may sting a bit from the dismissal. Dante watched them go. He then turned back to Tehya. The instant she mentioned going out with Blood Demon, the fur on his back rose automatically, but again, he smothered it. He hated, absolutely hated, the idea of anyone going out there right now, and hoped that it wasn't necessary. If, however, it was, she should not be the one to go. She was Alphaess, and her position here was important. If anything were to happen to her, the pack would recieve a huge blow. He had been trained from birth that the head was the most important sector in the pack, to be protected no matter the cost.
"Tehya, not to question you, but I would rather it be me." He said it quietly, so that only she would hear. Then he raised it slightly. "If Blood Demon goes, I would rather stick near him. No offense meant, but I don't want to take chances." Dhani wasn't as big a threat in Dante's eyes, and to send Tehya out, alone, with Blood Demon... the bru was unnerving. He wasn't to be trusted yet.
|
|
|
Post by Asphyxia on Feb 19, 2010 19:16:12 GMT -5
OOC// So Fantasy had returned, WOO HOO. Rofl. Anyway, she's bringing around her character Kalice and since the female can't possibly track them to the dens in such weather, whichever wolf we decide goes to find herbs will come across her. They'll see how severely injured she is and will bring her back to the dens. She won't be able to be of any threat in her condition. However, since she can't make the four foot leap to the den entrance, they'll have to have Tehya take her through the other way into the dens so that she can get inside out of the storm. Dhani may have more on his paws! Just wanted to give everyone a heads up![/size]
|
|
|
Post by fantasy on Feb 19, 2010 20:40:38 GMT -5
She was still here standing, after feeling the pain of a thousand broken hearts and journeying to Hell and back again. She was tired of backing down, and had made a solemn oath to herself that she would never do such a thing ever again. The wind was howling like the ghosts of ten thousand fallen warriors, the sound captured at the exact moment when their fatal blow was dealt; more like screaming than a bellowing battlecry. There was no sunlight to break through the massive, expansive canopy above Kalice’s head today, for the sky was painted a foreboding, imposing metallic gray. It could have belonged to the apocalypse, the end of all things; such was the terror within the skies. Kalice began to wonder if she was doomed to die. Her wounds were horrific, her strength leaving her step by agonizing step, but she would give in. She refused this time. The nature would not tame her. She kept running through her mind the strong words of her proud and gallant father: “You cannot break the broken.” Kalice had long forgotten what he was speaking of when he announced these wise words, but they had stuck with her none the less. Never in her short life so far had she ever been able to put them into context, but now was such a grand time. This world thought it had her, but it really had no idea just how much spirit she had left. Physically, she was dog tired, fighting a losing battle, but inside her heart burned with a furious fire, one that pushed her to carry on.
Moss was being hurled from the trees like confetti, the tress bent and bowed under the terrible pressure and force of the gale, whipping them like a million whimpering slaves. Lightning bolted through the sky and the thunder rumbled ominously. Rain hurtled down with such malice that the wolf felt as though she were being stoned with pebbles. She snarled up at the sky defiantly, flashing her fangs for all they were worth, and trekked on, dragging her iron weight paws and battling against the volcanic weather. Kalice’s ears were ringing and her fur was being thrown about her exhausted frame, tail sailing out behind her like a banner of the knights of old. Her progress was painfully slow, but she was at least getting somewhere. She turned her head to the side to gulp down some much needed air, like a drowning man finally thrusting his head above the surface of the water. Mustering all of her remaining strength, the femme threw herself forward down a mossy slope, rolling and crashing down the bank, colliding with a few logs and very tiny trees on her way. She hit the bottom hard and gasped for air, eyes bulging in pain. The rotten sapling she had hit had opened up a particularly large and vicious wound across her ribs and haunches, and sudden it pained the wolf even to breathe. She lay in what could only be described as a grey heap, her forelegs tucked up beside her chest, and her hind legs sprawled out behind her. The fatale shuddered in the turbulent air, closing her bright golden optics as she did so. There was hardly any fight left in her now, and this place she had thrust herself to blindly and foolishly offered no shelter or comfort from the blistering winds.
She tried to focus her thoughts, block out the claustrophobic, oppressive sky the loomed down, focusing its rage upon her undeserving form. She laid her head down flat on the sodden earth, eyes still clamped shut. She thought back to her puppyhood, lazing around in the sun with her mother and father, curling up against their warm, dry bodies. She forgot all about her own drenched coat and drifted into the memory, snuggled between her parents in their nice warm den as a storm had blown up a riot above their heads. Kalice managed a small smile as she rested, the howling winds seeming much more distant, as though she were in a dream world where everything was softer and more quiet than it should be. She convulsed in pain as a particularly large raindrop crashed into her open wound. She grimaced and winced, curling into a ball now, like a defenseless pup. She recalled then the birth of her younger brother and sister, and how much she had adored them. They were beautiful. Her little brother a lovely light grey with dark orange optics, he was expressive and kind, and seemed all knowing when he said nothing and merely smiled at crude remarks and ignorance alike. She purposefully skipped the heartbreaking memory of his death. He had been too perfect for this world, too much an angel or a fraction of the Gods themselves to last. Her sister, on the other hand, had been rowdy and boisterous, loud and cocky. She was exceptionally charming, even from a very young age, and remarkable persuasive. But all of these things did not stop Kalice loving her as it did some others. Some wolves in their pack were terrified of the malicious mischief that the young pup had in her unusually bright eyes. In return for this sisterly affection, the little outcast had given Kalice her undying loyalty and friendship, the closest thing to love she had ever been able to feel. Kalice loved her family, and it was at times like this that she wished she had never left them. All such a foolish action had bought her was a broken heart, resentment, bitterness, and solidarity.
She opened her eyes, the good memory being swamped by numerous bad ones; her brother’s death, her mate, her fight, her miscarriage. For once the determination slid from her face and her expression crumpled. That was the one thing she had regretted the most. She should be a mother by now, mate or now mate. She should have her own pups, and most likely be back home where she belonged. She growled uncomfortably as the pain seared through her once more. She knew she had to get up and move, and despite the cold wind, she had managed a little bit of rest. Her fatigued body craved so very much more rest, but there was no time to give it any, for the small lake she had been resting beside was beginning to burst its banks on a violent level. Kalice pulled herself to her feet, barking in agony, and spun around, fleet of foot. She was not going to give up. Not now, not ever. She leaped up the bank she had descended before hand and chased around the top of it, watching as the waters soaked the earth where she had just been lying. She snarled as she powered on through the driving rain, partly because she was so determined to find shelter, and partially in desperation. She knew this spurt of energy would be her last. Wherever she fell next, would be where she stayed either until she regained enough energy to move, or perished.
Her time was short, and the wound slowed her progress as the pain mounted inside her broken body. Watered down blood streaming from her flank, and the wound above her eye was also trickling. Things were just getting more and more problematic, weren’t they? It was then that she saw it, a chance, a saving grace. Two trees had fallen in exactly the same direction and landed on a rocky mound, positioning themselves rather conveniently into a makeshift shelter. Seeing her chance, Kalice bounded towards it, slowing eventually and pulling herself under the massive uprooted trees. The dry warmth was such a greeting to the exhausted, heavily injured wolf that she could have cried, but she was too tired even for that. She slumped to the ground and her eyes began to close before she could even think about it. She lapped at a puddle at the entrance to her little hideaway, parching her burning, dry throat. She was easily visible, even when her eyes closed and she was submerged in the warm, dark shelter, for her blood was still dripping, and winding its way out of the entrance, into the stormy throng outside.
OOC// Thanks so much for inviting me here, Reika! :3 It's so nice to see everybody again =)
|
|
|
Post by Lunaria on Feb 20, 2010 18:06:40 GMT -5
[atrb=width,200,true][bg=black]
Lunaria padded along the edge of a river and stopped to drink. Her paws ached and her heart was still trying to mend, as well as a scar that one of the wolves had left on her side. She turned her head to lick the wound and winced at the stinging sensation that she felt as she did so. "Stupid vargs." she cursed. She shook her head. It wasn't entirely their fault. In fact she blamed Zayne more than anyone. If he had kept his muzzle shut to his new pack, none of it would have happened.
She closed her eyes and remembered when she thought she had actually loved him. Her eyes opened and seemed to glaze over before she regained her control. "It was all my fault for believing that fox-hearted traitor." she said. She sat down and scratched behind her ear, feeling a bit lonely. 'Who needs them, i'll be fine on my own.' she thought, though deep down, she knew she felt otherwise. She cursed as the hard rain pelted her, making her fur lie flat. The winds bellowed and whispered in the air, as though speaking to her. 'Lunaria.......join us' the wind seemed to cackle. "Shut up!" she growled to no one in particular. Ever since the death of her parents and Shinza, strange voices seemed to visit her frequently, preying upon her mind.
After a few more wolf lengths Luna came upon many wolf scents, though they were hard to make out in the empending storm. She trekked along wearliy and came to see many wolves all around. She shrunk back slightly, feeling small and foolish to come here, for they looked as though they could rip her to shreds. She kept closer to the shadows, trying to remain invisible to them, though she figured one would scent her out eventually. Her mothers voice seemed to enter her mind and spoke softly a song she'd told her when she was very young.
" When the moon is full, and theres no one there Let your howl fill the cold night air Know that no matter how far you stray Your voice will be heard from so far away
Let your voice ring true in all that you do Let you life be wonderous and full of bloom May the stars shine upon you always my child And know that your a varg, your heart beats wild
A single tear fell from Luna's eye. If only things could be so simple yet again. She shook her head. She had no idea why her mothers voice had chosen to visit her at this time, but her heart lifted with the thought that maybe, just maybe, she could belong here. She steeped out from the shadows to be returned by several eyes and she lay down, showing that she would not be a threat.
She looked around, trying to distinguish what wolf was the alpha, though she could not make the wolf out. Eyes of all colors continued to burn through her, feeling like her pelt would burn away in flames. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, wondering what to do next.
OOC//my apologies, but i do not know how to make the text smaller//
|
[/font][/size] [/blockquote] [/td][/tr][/table][/center]
|
|
|
Post by Shadowed on Feb 20, 2010 21:56:48 GMT -5
I am the 'who' when you call 'who's there?'
Ghostly silver optics watched as, one by one, the wolves of Torqeuo Somnium made the leap into the den. He was surprised as Dhani jumped right in like he was one of the pack, not waiting for the others to go first. He had thought that of all wolves, Dhani would have waited for the rightful wolves to enter first before making himself comfortable. His brow curved upward as he dismissed the thoughts all from his mind; it didn‘t matter, the monk was none of his concern. His only concern was of making the right impression of himself upon these wolves, and thus he stayed behind until everyone had made their way in. The very tip of his tail twitched as he watched with amusement while Machiavelli, the macho, oh so tough and righteous brute, struggled to make the climb up to the den‘s entrance, his claws scrabbling against stone until he righted himself. He wanted to snort, to show his displeasure with the attitude that many of these wolves seemed to hold, but he kept himself in check and silent while the others settled in.
His auds perked as he heard the wolves above making a fuss; he reared up, and the muscles of his legs coiled tight, ready to spring. Demon sailed through the air as his hinds propelled him upward, and he landed with ease on all fours, coming merely to the entrance of the den before turning and plopping himself down,. He could feel a mild splatter of rain against his face from here, but it was nothing compared to the storm outside, and he felt no need to complain; instead, he was grateful for the shelter. His ears pointed backward as he heard his name, and he couldn‘t help but to tilt his head in the wolves‘ direction. What were they talking about? As he looked back, he heard Machiavelli speak, and listened further into the conversation to understand what was going on. Ah, so they were to send him out to retrive the needed supplies to help in the healing of Taboo‘s wounds? They seemed to have high hopes of his willingness to go; the Phantom would not object, but he was dismayed by the fact that he would so soon need to leave the comfort of shelter he had just been granted. Sighing, he rose to all fours, only to hear the objections of others.
He reclined upon his haunches, ready to wait until the debate was over. He already knew he did not have a say, and that this was a test of his wilful obedience and loyalty. So be it, he would get the job done, but he would need all of the correct information, for he had no knowledge of healing nor plants. Cold eyes glanced from wolf to wolf as they said their part, his expression remaining ever stoic, revealing nothing, no thoughts, no emotions. He would let them figure this one out. Tehya wanted to accompany him, but it seemed that Dante, who had remained vigilantly silent for much of the time Demon had been here, could not allow that to happen, speaking openly of his mistrust for Demon. He almost wanted to smirk. The brute‘s distrust was certainly not misplaced, and he couldn‘t help but to admire the hessian‘s unwillingness to trust a stranger. He was grateful, of course, for Tehya’s kind, open heart, for without it he would be sitting in the rain currently, but he disliked the ability of others to trust and give so freely, and it impressed him more when others showed their spine.
Though Tehya had not said anything, the answer to this seemed quite obvious. Demon made up his mind. Rising to all fours he closed the small distance between himself and the other wolves, nodding to them. ”He is right, Tehya should not escort me,” he said, glancing at her, then looking to Dante, ”I would be useless sent out in this storm to find something I know nothing about, in a land I am completely unfamiliar with. I will assume the duty so long as I‘m accompanied.” He then fell silent, almost tired with the exertion of speaking so many words all at once. He was not used to speaking much, if at all, preferring to remain entirely quiet, allowing himself to observe rather than get involved. But he needed to say something, or nothing would get done when this involved him directly.
I am the wind blowing through your hair
|
|
|
Post by Sighani on Mar 14, 2010 18:04:47 GMT -5
Dhani... When did the future switch from being a promise to a threat? The earthen floor of the den seemed to roil and crawl beneath the paws of the monk, alive with a fiercely-breathing malevolence, darkness oozing up from the cracks in the stone like pus from a blackened wound. A filmy haze crept across his vision as he glanced around at the wolves of Torqueo Somnium, finally sheltered from the nightmarish deluge outside, only to bring the looming thunderclouds of a much more sinister storm inside, where none would be safe. He swallowed audibly, trying in vain to shake the cobwebs from his mind, desperately wishing for the spectral fog to slither back into the forbidden crevices of his psyche. Was he willing to risk his life for his mission? These wolves, he knew, could easily destroy him if they felt his news was not a warning, but a prophecy of war. Worse still, they knew whence he came. If murderous inclination sparked their souls, they could lead a seige against the monastery. In such an event, they would be grossly outnumbered and outmaneauvered, for the monks of his order were well conditioned against the savageries of scarlet-fanged predators and possessed of elite combative skills. But it would be a blow from which the monks might never recover. It would shatter their last remaining hope for the future of the varg. Requiem would sink into bloody chaos. None would be saved.
He could hear voices through the thick cream in his head and he realized that Taboo was speaking. Glazed, obsidian eyes struggled to focus on the wounded fatale. She insisted she would be fine. The words jerked sharply at the strings of his heart. Too often, wounded soldiers had saught sanctuary within the monastery, that same crimson pride spilling from their snarling jaws. They refused to admit weakness, even in the face of inevitable death. Too often had Dhani endured this flippancy, blood souring the air and spilling out across his helpless paws. Was it really so weak to rely on the kindness of others? Was it really so impossible to believe that genuine altruism could exist? Flickering auds pressed back against his skull as a soft breath escaped his lips, not quite a sigh. He did not agree with Taboo's refusal of an examination and help, but he accepted it and said nothing. He had no other choice.
The fog lingered even as the bedraggled huntress lost herself in the comforting darkness of Morpheus' embrace. A nearly imperceptible tremor skittered up and down the length of his spine and his muscles tensed in response, his eyes narrowing against the ever-increasing disorientation, surrounding voices dropping down to muffled echoes, falling on all but deaf ears. His mind wandered as if through an opium dream, lost, but without that familiar tinge of blissful relaxation, devoid of the sickly-sweet perfume of poppies. He shivered again, harder this time, fighting the gorge that was rising in the back of his throat. He hoped that this was a false alarm, nothing more than a bout of vertigo. He tried to find his way into a more peaceful state of mind, but the fog was heavy and oppressive and smothered all thoughts of tranquility. He prayed against the inevitable collapse.
Strength swiftly draining from his muscles, he swung his head towards Tehya as she addressed him, the twist and pull of her thin lips against bared fangs confusing, mangling his thoughts, slurring the meaning of her words. He picked out key phrases: find . . . herbs . . . into the storm . . . monk. He could still recognize his own title. He found solace in the fact. He opened his mouth to speak, but his jaws snapped shut when a violent shudder wracked his lithe frame. It passed in an instant, but the fog rolled in thicker than ever and the den warped into something terrible and malicious, the walls breathing like a beast, closing in on him like a great, gluttonous maw. Invading rainwater sleuced down the stone, pooling around his feet like drool. Squeezing his eyes shut did not banish the vertigo or the blazing paranoia, but at least now he couldn't see Tehya's charred lips writhing like snakes. "Devil's claw," he murmured, trying to control his breathing, wishing to retreat into the comforting numbness of meditation, but incapable. He reflected on what he'd said for a moment, then shook his head. Devil's claw would not grow wild in such a temperate clime. Neither would somniferum poppy or cannabis, for that matter. "Or boswellia heartwood. For the swelling." Could they even find such a plant? Could any among them recognize the scent of frankinscence? Machiavelli would have been exposed to it if he had, in fact, stayed in the monastery. But he was injured and could not risk venturing forth into the storm. Not again. He searched his brain for more commonly known treatments. They would be less potent, but they were unmistakable. "Lavender will uplift the spirit and settle the nerves. Birch bark should help take the edge off the pain."
The flame-kissed monk settled down on the clammy floor before he lost the ability to keep himself upright. Ginger lashes drew hesitantly back across listless ebony orbs and he cast his gaze from Tehya to Dante, admiring their selflessness, their courage, in some distant corner of his psyche. "Forgive me," he muttered as the debate came to a brief lull, lips hitching up in a half-hearted smile. His voice was hardly more than a rasping breath, a breeze grating through dead trees, and he would not have been surprised to know that it was lost beneath the rage of the elements. "I've come a long way. The journey must have taken more out of me than I'd assumed. I hope you don't mind if I lay down for a moment." It was a bald-faced lie, of course, and he said it without flinching. His mask was his sole pride, his black eyes as unreadable and unfeeling as those of a corpse.
He searched the dusky gloom for the wraithlike gaze of Machiavelli, wondering briefly if the advisor also required a closer examination, but the thought was quickly abandoned. There was little he could do in his current state. He could hardly see. He would be useless. Merely recalling basic facts, healing properties he had drilled into his brain before he was even a year old, had sapped the energy from his body. All he could do now was wait. Peace has no boundaries; serenity knows no religion When the eyes close, the mind shall see
|
|
|
Post by Sighani on Mar 19, 2010 22:18:35 GMT -5
Machiavelli Alighieri...Machiavelli hadn't slept in perhaps twenty four hours and he was beginning to feel it in his bones. It was a slow, creeping sensation, seeping to drip like a cold sludge from the inside of his skull, oozing down the bent ridge of his spine, coating his bedraggled frame in a thick film. It muffled reality, dulled sensation, and he had no doubts that this sudden onslaught of exhaustion was brought on by a combination of his exhertions and the constant throb in his bruises. The ache in his shoulder had dulled considerably since he had come to rest in the dens, but each time he shifted positions the kindling pain flared back to life with a blazing ferocity. He could distinctly recall the last time he'd endured a similar neglect. He had been a full three years younger, in his prime season, his muscles hard and corded with long hours of free-spirited travel, his appetite for new lands and new knowledge ravenous and all-consuming. The nostalgia was sweet, but it left a bitter aftertaste as he swallowed the memories. His youth was fading all too quickly, driven away by grief and responsibility. But would his lust for adventure also spirit away on so swift a wing? How many more months of domesticity would pass before he was no longer moved by a passing breeze, no longer stirred by the tantalizing shadows of distant mountains, no longer beckoned by the unknown? He knew as well as any wolf that wounds aged a man more surely than years. But it was with fresh consideration that he realized that age, in turn, can wound.
The granite-forged hessian had secluded himself in a sheltering corner of the den, protected by the mothering embrace of earth from the invasive rains and the biting draft that spilled in through the gaping maw of the cave. Wraithlike eyes traced silver paths through the gloom, ghosts in the darkness, taking in the new surroundings. Emerald tendrils and creepers laced the walls like tangled spiderwebs, spilling fresh, summer-nurtured runners across the dirt-packed floors. Torqueo Somnium even had its malicious hooks in this temporary bastion. Crystalline rivulets of water slicked down the walls and dripped from the ceiling, but it was a decided improvement over the deluge that still raged aimlessly outside, lightning-fanged jaws still slavering for the blood of heedless victims. Years ago, he had endured a similar storm, and the situation had found him huddled beneath the roots of a felled tree with a blind priest who spoke of a time, long ago, when the gods had cursed the varg by sending a purging rain that had lasted for forty days and forty nights. The flood had covered all the world and only the gods' chosen varg had survived. Machiavelli hadn't doubted the cleric's story then; although he had lost his faith when he had been stripped of his crown, he had trekked through exotic lands wherein the rain came not in days, but in entire seasons, vicious monsoons that sought to drown all life. The Prince couldn't help but wonder who among the wolves of Torqueo Somnium would survive if this rain never stopped. He wondered who would be the first to crack.
As if in answer to his private thoughts, Taboo's sudden outburst, frustrated and desperate, assaulted his ears and reverberated in the intimate acoustics of the den. Machiavelli smiled humorlessly at her words, his eyes narrowing to cruel slits, his nerves bristling. Her temper would be her downfall someday. It was the reason Machiavelli had tucked himself away into a corner, lurking in the shadows, a fair distance from the injured fatale and the wolves that buzzed clumsily around the unstable woman like carion flies to a carcass. But as Taboo's irritation bubbled into a kind of shame-faced acceptance, so to did Machiavelli's disdain turn to analytical indifference. A part of her, the hessian realized, was genuinely worried for the wellbeings of her packmates. Her refusal of hospice was not born merely of her pride, but also of her concern. It was a sobering thought. His ears flicked for a moment, the den still echoing with the resigned sound of her gratitude, and perhaps, as the Prince perceived it, her thinly-veiled apology.
"Don't be so quick to dismiss the possibility of a bleed," Machiavelli warned, voice low and measured, though not without the slightest hint of care. "More damage may have been done than you might initially realize. I hope you won't hesitate to speak up should your pain change or intensify." Of course, there was little to be done if she suffered from internal bleeding or ruptured tissues. He considered himself fortunate that the blow had landed squarely on his shoulder, connecting with solid, unyielding bone. It left him limping and sore, but it was nothing that wouldn't heal itself in several days' time. The most loathsome injuries were dealt to the soft vulnerability of bellies and sides. He decided to keep a wary eye on Taboo in coming days, no matter how fiercely she might protest. As the old idiom goes, better safe than sorry. And he did not trust the judgement of any warrior.
The harmless debate that followed did nothing to stave off his fatigue and he could not restrain a wide yawn as Tehya spoke to the monk of herbs, and then to the males of accompanying her out into the storm. He did not wholly trust sending Blood Demon outside with a member of the pack, especially one so crucial and marked as the dark queen, but he silently agreed that Dante would be more than capable of completing the task. Machiavelli knew the conditions under which the ebony brujo had been raised. The hot, black blood of the Caligae fired his warrior's heart, for as much as he tried to deny it. And Machiavelli knew from personal experience that the Caligae did not hesitate in eliminating threats. Dante was no exception.
As the chatter dragged on, the Prince found himself slipping further into a groggy haze, eyes half-lidded and distant, but as the monk spoke at last, he snapped back to attention. Something was wrong. "I'm not your whelp, Tehya, and I will not be put to bed like one," he snapped as he resumed his feet, eyes locked firmly on the figure of the shivering monk. He would deal with the repercussions of his attitude later. For now, he had more pressing concerns. "You know as well as I do that you need my consultation. Or perhaps you'd rather I cuddle up with Taboo while this boy dies at your feet? I can't imagine dear cousin Virgil would be pleased to hear that Cthonia's monks are dying in your packlands. That would cast a rather suspicious light on all our goings-on, wouldn't you agree?" He said it as he padded closer to Dhani, inwardly cursing his unabashed snark and knowing Tehya would have nothing but harsh reprimand to deliver in turn, but it needed to be said. It was a slap of reality, a spur in the side of their indecision. His knowledge of healing was by no means extensive, but he could recognize disease when he saw it. He had to admit, however, that the monk had hidden his condition remarkably well up until his collapse. He should have known there was something off about the youth--the sickly sweet smell of opium should have been a major indication, but he had simply dismissed it as monastic custom. His eyes flashed from the shaking monk, hardly more than a boy, to Tehya's hard-set countenance, softening remarkably as silver crashed against roiling amythest, his apology painfully obvious even without words. It was not his intention to disregard her rule, and he would accept the consequences of his actions. But later.
"I don't know what's wrong with him, Tehya," he said softly after his gaze passed over the crimson-splashed figure once again, desperately searching but blind and unskilled. He was far better at inflicting damage than treating it. "I would not suggest this unless it was absolutely necessary, but if you value my opinion as an advisor, Blood Demon and Dante must go into the storm. And if you refuse, I will go out myself. Just make sure the monk doesn't drown in his own vomit when he seizes." He felt a strange connection between himself and Dhani, something intense, and yet something he could not quite place. He couldn't say why he trusted the man so implicitly when all instinct screamed to turn him away--it was completely illogical, irrational even, and he knew that Tehya did not approve of this favoritism. But he'd be damned if he let any wolf die tonight as a result of inaction. Never again . . . Is it better to be loved or feared?
|
|
|
Post by Asphyxia on Mar 29, 2010 19:11:46 GMT -5
[bg=25252f][atrb=width,518,true][atrb=border,0,true]
Pride glowed in the wolfess’s amethyst spheres, the orbs narrowing slightly as everyone began to immediately disagree with her decision to perhaps go out with Phantom herself. Although Taboo’s reaction had some pride and a bit of attitude in it, the concern for the other wolven immediately soothed Tehya’s irritable mind. Her mood has swelled in tension greatly and her muscles rippled, tense beneath her thick pelt. Hackles were slightly risen, irritation etched across her features. Even as Taboo agreed to Tehya’s wishes for her to rest and slowly dozed off, Tehya’s mind still wasn’t put at ease. Her pads itched to move, her sore, yet restless chassis quivering. She quickly put an end to the quiver and unless any paid attention to the water dripping from her soaked pelt, would not have noticed anything anyway.
The storm was rising and falling, roaring and silencing with every passing breath. She was in a great rage, ripping up plants from the roots and tossing trees against one another. The thunder was deep and growly, working itself from a light rumble in the chest of the beast, until it spread forth from its jaws like a hungry snarl. Even in the dens, she could feel the cool air seeping in through the foliage as the plants were ripped at. Spheres glanced toward the den opening, and while she was tempted to urge Dhani and Taboo to go rest in some of the dens that winded off from the main cave, she wasn’t sure the dens lower toward the earth wouldn’t flood and so, refused to risk the chance yet. These dens would be tested by the storm.
Even as concern was in everyone’s eyes and voice, Tehya couldn’t help but have her pride feel stung. Somehow, even in their protective ways of her status, she felt like they saw her as weak. Acoustics lifted forward on her skull, brow furrowing as she turned her narrowed gaze upon a concerned Dante. Not to question you… Lips quivered slightly as she came close to lifting them and exposing her canines to him. But I would rather it be me.. What the hell was this? Haunches stubbornly lowered to the floor, as if to stand firm to her decision to go out herself. She said nothing still. Plume coiled about her hind legs, talons digging into the hard surface of the cave flooring. The drip drop of water was barely audible against the distraction of tension and discussion.
But now, it was Demon who spoke. The man who all wished not to go out with Tehya into a storm alone. But what had the man done to condemn himself? What use was it truly to send out a man who knew nothing of these lands or of herbs? Even for the very little knowledge Tehya possessed, it would still prove better if she went herself, accompanied or not. Yet, everyone was against this idea. And there was still the matter of Dhani. A man who held vital information for her packs future. Even so, with her thoughts reeling and writhing, Dhani began to speak on what herbs were needed. She listened intently, then looked to Dante. Would he find such herbs? Such plants? Would Demon? “Lay down if you must.” It was all she had said this far into the discussion, as she had grown silent. Responding to nobody.
The storm was at its worst and a potentially lethal anger that spat venom like a cobra, ready to strike with its fangs bared to the world. Machiavelli’s words snapped into her acoustics and her lips pulled back on automatic reaction to his sudden attitude. “As you said, Machiavelli. Don’t be so quick to dismiss. More damage may have been done than you might initially realize.” Spheres flashed with purple fire, plume whipping behind her chassis as she brought her body to a stand, hackles rising. But as he spoke of death, her spheres quickly fixated upon the monk. There was more wrong with this boy than exhaustion. And as she actually observed him and looked for it now, she could see signs of something more dangerous wrong with him. She had never continued her lessons on healing. It had never been an interest of hers to nurse the sick back to health, but now as she stood before her pack, she could only wish that as a whelp, she’d been wiser and had stuck with it.
Something so important could aid her now. But now, now she had nothing. Not on this. Now the alpha felt nothing but helpless. Lips curled at her idea of helplessness, her mood deepening in the darker ends of the cave. She stood in the shadows, water now dropping upon her shoulder and brow from the ceilings above. The dens were drier than this. Warmer, even. The foliage that covered most of the entrance did nothing to fight the winds that blew in through the gaping hole, wind whistling and howling. Her pelt was slowly drying, although she made no effort to groom the water from her coat and help it on its way. Turning her crown toward Dante and Demon, her lips parted as she quickly snapped at the males, wondering what in the world they were waiting for. “I trust you heard Dhani, so get moving. Try to be as quick as possible. We don’t need any out in that storm any longer than is absolutely required. Are either of you familiar with what he’s sending you out to get?” If neither were familiar, she would go out on her own and leave the others here.
A low growl burrowed deep in her chest as she attempted to hold her temper and keep from lashing out on the others. It was a stressful situation. A storm outside, strangers in their dens, three of them injured and one potentially dying. Closing her eyes, she sheathed her canines and attempted to just breathe. Attempted to remind herself to breathe and let the stress seep from her form. What do I do from here, father? She had spied Machiavelli’s silent apology, but now she was at a loss. Gazing upon Machiavelli, she saw his eyes flash with concern, his own gaze upon Dhani. Did he know these monks more than he let on? Was he more familiar with Dhani than she had realized before? Without knowledge on what was wrong with the monk, nothing could be done.
“If Cthonia’s monks come strolling into Torqueo Somnium with diseases beyond our knowledge or repair, then Virgil will simply have to accept it. If these are things beyond my power, I trust that he being a King should be able to see that.” She slowly opened her spheres, deciding to go over to the monk. Her paw swiped out at the monk, although her touch was much gentler once it reached him. Nudging him with her right forepad, she lifted her crown, lips pulling apart. “What is wrong with you, monk? What is killing you?” Taboo was sleeping and the other two would have been leaving by now. Still, her frustration remained the same. Pulling her pad away from the monk, she reclined upon her haunches, examining him, trusting in Machiavelli’s ability as her Advisor and trusting in Dante and Demon to return quickly with the plants. How much more about the monks and Cthonia did Machiavelli know?
wordcount;; one thousand, two hundred, thirty-four lyrics;; no giving up - crossfade
|
[/blockquote] [/color][/td][/tr][/table][/center]
|
|
|
Post by Starrlight on May 11, 2010 1:04:13 GMT -5
[bg=black][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=border,0,true]
Dante waited anxiously for her reply, noting the howling fury that almost seemed to be rising in volume outside of the cave. It was a night fit for hell's demons and devilry... how fitting then that he and Blood Demon be the ones to traverse. It was poetic, really. You have no right to judge, he chided himself, casting a glance at the bru. He had no idea of the other's past... but there was a quality. He saw himself, and his like, in the bru's cold, silver orbs. And if there was one thing Dante did not trust more than anything else upon this earth, it was himself. There was only so much control that could be learned, and only so many walls of quality built within the mind, even in the months that he had been away from his cursed origins. Who knew what it would take to destroy that, to send him back.
"Mors they now call you. My son, there is no better tool than fear, and death itself is said to bow to you amongst the lower lands. You have made yourself anew, and today my pride in you knows no bounds." Those words, uttered in a tone of rare sincerity, were possibly the kindest words Atrix had ever shared with another of his blood. How he had filled with pride that day, the blood of countless 'inferior' wolven marring his pelt, victory apparent with every drop that spattered his muzzle! Any Caligae was a hound of Hell when the rage took over, but he... he was a monster apart. Untouched by pain or fear, he destroyed packs, slaughtering families with a single thought pervading all reason... cleanse. Rid the earth of the weak, let the strong survive, kill those who would be killed rather than kill themselves. From birth Atrix had taught him the family motto, carried since his twice great grandsire's reign.. "Vitat qui vincitur"... "He lives who conquers". With it his pack destroyed the old saying "words will never harm", for it sparked the very crusade that, to this day, Dante's father hoped to one day see through.
Once, he had been a part of that. Sure, since then he had seen the light, but the blood was still there. 'Mors' still lurked within him, snapping at its tether, begging to break free. Even now, as Tehya's hackles rose, Dante felt his begin to respond in kind. With a force of will that he had practiced what seemed a million times these past months, he forced his entire frame to relax, disconnecting emotion from response, mind numbing, neutral. Anger was not an option.. not for him. To become incensed was to lose touch and to once again walk a path that held no place for him any longer.
To do so was to return to Atrix. To rejoin his dealings with the devil himself.
Forcing any ill will down, and showing no trace of struggle, Dante dipped his head to his Alphaess. "I know what to look for, Tehya." The Caligae had no healers... there was no need. All pups were taught basic herblore... anything more was seen as unnecessary. If a packmate was injured so seriously as to need further attention, they were much too stupid to deserve life any longer. Lavendar and Birchbark were fairly commonplace, though. Devil's Claw... this was unknown to him, but boswellia he could find.
Not about to wait around for any more delays, Dante leapt out into the storm, not bothering to see if Demon had followed. He would... it was necessary that he prove his loyalty. Instantly, the large bru was blinded, rain lashing into his eyes. Truly this was the work of angry gods, for there was no trace of gentle beauty in this squall. Lowering his head, eyes squinted, fur on edge, Dante looked about him. Now where to search? The river was the likely place to start... it's banks would hold the likeliest store of herbs.
"This way," he shouted over the rumble of the thunder overhead. A flash lit up an instant later... the storm was right about directly overhead. Everything seemed disjointed in the quick flashes of light allowed, and the transition back to darkness was eerily abrupt each time. Loping through the trees, moving as quickly as possible with his large paws sliding in rainwater and mud, he approached the riverbank. Casting around, he searched the bank for any sign of the birch or Lavendar. The latter would be in bloom now, for summer was in full force. Quickly he located a birch tree off to the left a ways. Springing towards it, he reached up, clawing at the bark. Perhaps Demon would be able to locate the lavendar while he gathered this. He guessed that a lot of it would be needed... Mach, Taboo, and now Dhani, not to mention possibly Tehya, would need it, he assumed. Filling his jaws with the sweet-smelling bark, he stepped back from the tree, wrinkling his muzzle as static ran through his coat, a response to a very nearby strike of lightning. They needed to hurry.
|
[/blockquote] [/color][/td][/tr][/table][/center]
|
|