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Post by obnoxiousturkey on Jan 9, 2012 5:59:41 GMT -5
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It was time to set pride aside. He didn't want to speak to her. He didn't want her to even know he still lived. In fact, he wished he would've staged his own death, and so been free to watch over her from a distance. To protect her from afar. Free to set this struggle in his heart aside, for if she thought he was dead - he wouldn't feel this sinking urge to seek forgiveness. Was he sorry? Yes. Months of roaming alone had left the varg with only his own thoughts and memories. He had begun to wonder; Were his actions and words a part of what drove her to become who she was now? The thought made his saliva run thick, and his heart to sink somehow further into his gut.
xxxxx
The femme had leaned over him, eyes soft and slowly blinking. She had nudged him, gently insisting he get to his feet. The stench of blood hung thick within the morning air, and it was merely a moment before memories of the night before raced back to him. Ramunas. His brother. Dead.
He heaved a sigh, muscles resisting as he slowly rose to stand. Eyes avoided the giant oak tree under which his brother broken body lay. He had never quite liked this brother. In fact, he almost hated him. Yet somehow facing the idea that he had slaughtered him last night was just too much to bare. Eyes flickered in the opposite direction, landing upon the frame of his resting sister. Aoife... Their brother, now dead, had tried to kill her. The femora made not a sound, her sleep the kind of deep recovery. She was covered in wounds as well.
With a shaky breath, the varg whipped his head away - muzzle pointing to the ground. Eyes became slits as his face wrinkled in despair and helplesness. What were they to do? His father had actually praised him last night. Praised him for the slaughter of his own son. Because Belial was heir to the throne, and so this had just been a show of power in his fathers eyes. Aoife did not belong here. His thoughts turned now to the femme who had gently awoken him. Lucina... A prisoner of war. She did not belong here either.
"Belial... Do not despair, child. That kind of rage cannot be stopped without lethal measures... You were protecting Aoife, and I'm sure your brother is up in the heavens now and understanding... Do not harass yourself with ill thoughts"
Her words were always so caring, tailored to help bring him out of whatever dark hole his mind had dug itself. His eyes moved to her, and he nodded. "Perhaps... But I wonder, if he would have had the love and care that the three of us share... Would he have been different too? Did my Father... Did he create who Ramunas became last night? Did he create the part of me that stole his life?" The words were hard to get out, as though he were choking on them the entire time.
Lucina had smiled then, and nuzzled him softly. "Perhaps, but when I arrived it was too late for he and the others. Aoife and you... You are special. Your hearts have held strong against the influence of Bearach, you can see the truth past his version of reality. You have withstood the ways of those around you..."
He threw his muzzle away to the side, closing his eyes tightly before sputtering - "But I killed him! I am just like them!"
She stood silently then for a moment. As soon as he reopened his eyes, their gaze met and she shook her head lightly. "No Belial, you did what you had to in order to protect your sister. Sometimes, we all must do and say things we do not agree with, or find pleasure in... Simply to save those we love..." He knew in that moment that she was right. For here she was in this shadowy pack, doing and saying things that must make her sick, in order to help he and his sister grow and learn and eventually escape to calmer lands. She was a prisoner, his father prisoner, and Belial knew she must have it horrible when the two were alone. It made him sick to imagine... Sick to hear her screams when she refused to obey. One day... The three of them would escape and return to Lucinas homeland.
xxxxx
This memory came at an unwelcome time. Just as his father had influenced his brother, had he himself influenced Tehya? He no longer blamed her for going to Drazen. It was his careless words and assumptions that had led to their fallout. He had pushed her away. No, he had thrown her away. And it ate at his heart every moment she occupied his mind. Did he love her? No. But he couldn't help this urge to redeem himself, and to protect her... From Jacome, and perhaps from herself. He hadn't been able to save Lucina. If she were still around, his thoughts would be so much clearer. None of this would have ever happened.
Each step was a struggle, like he bore weights in each paw. The emotion that flooded him was like a thick fog, hazed around him and holding him back. This was much more difficult than he'd imagined. Jacomes scent had now mingled with some others, and it wasn't long before Belial had reached a treeline. Not too far off, there stood a group. There stood Jacome... and there stood Tehya. Time seemed to crack, freeze and offer him a moment of silence. It had been a long time. How would she react to him? He expected to be assaulted in one way or another, yet still he did not retreat.
Time suddenly revived itself, and his ears twitched as he picked up Jacomes words. Lies... Please Tehya, do not trust in him... Send him away... Do not let him get close... He watched intently, hiding himself for the moment in the shadows. The wind was working in his favor. His scent would not be caught for at least a few more moments. He took this opportunity to position himself in such a way that only the Queen would spot him. He would stand here, in silence, until she chose to notice him. He yearned to race out and warn her, to chase Jacome from her lands and then retreat to the foggy desolate lands he'd met the brute in. His breathing got heavy now, saliva thick and paws perspiring. He stood tall, expression firm. Yet the corners of his eyes softened only slightly, for the first time in a long time Belial could hardly keep his composure. Please... Please listen to me, please believe me... I know you hate me... I understand why... but please forget it for one second and see the truth! His thoughts pleaded with her already, and she'd see it in his eyes.
----- wordcount: 1177 ooc: Ta-Da! Now to get DRAMA'd at. lol XD
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Emmy
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Post by Emmy on Jan 17, 2012 16:54:39 GMT -5
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Kalkina In another life, in another dream, by another name.
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[/i][/right] When she comes to a new place, Kalkina relies on a ritual the world has lost the name for ( because everyone else is dead and gone, dead and gone). She knows that she does not perform it correctly ( she’s just a simple healer, she has no business consorting with the gods). She remembers listening to the priests talk amongst themselves, spilling descriptions that skirted around the ceremony without describing the event itself – so her discovery of it was a bit like prodding a brightly colored wound and having to guess what kind of poison might be embedded within. She’d listen carefully when they spoke, piecing together conversations about the same thing ( when they weren’t waxing poetic about something as taxing as the weather). But she was so young then, before the war, and history was slowly being forgotten. Blood magic is difficult in this way. Blood. You can taste it in the trees, in the grass, in the mud. You can taste it in the rain, in the snow, in the wind. You can taste it in the water. You can taste it in the air, in the way wolves will look at you. Sometimes you must bleed yourself, but this too, she has discovered, is a part of the ritual. You can taste your own story this way, mingled with the new land. Through this ritual it is possible for Kalkina to understand how much of herself she must contribute towards her own survival, from how much or how little generosity is shown upon her arrival. It is easier to explain being a healer, taking what would otherwise be denied. By consuming the liquid, crimson and burning with all these qualities, she may swallow it down and make her new environment a part of herself. She wonders whose blood she will consume here first. There are steps ( like a dance) to this nameless ritual she remember. She will learn these wolves of Torqeuo – these exhausted, frost-bitten wolves and these unknown, peculiar pack rules – and will give of herself as much as she dares, taking as much as she can. She will drink it all in, but will not become subdued. Wolves do not merge; they become corrupted. Kalkina is leery of pack life, of becoming so lost that you parrot back everything around you, forgetting that there was anything else ( she’s lived through this before). It is having to suffuse yourself so thoroughly in another’s world that their words become your own It is letting a master ( or mistress) control your body. To become a puppet ( again) would be terrible, so she will not let them have her mind. She will learn to adapt to this new life, as many others have done, but she will not fall prey to their mistakes either. She will not forget herself. She bears the scrutiny of those surrounding her with little emotion, choosing instead to lock her gaze on the queen and let judgement be passed without interference, reconciling herself to live with any outcome. There were other lands, other masters; if she is denied one home, she can certainly find another elsewhere. But it is not the alphess who speaks first, but the large silver-eyed brute beside her. Kalkina blinks placidly against the mild interrogation, remaining silent until the other femme urges her to answer. “ I am alone, there is no one who will follow, or would want to follow me, here. My life is to do with as a please, and I would be pleased to be allowed residence here. I am a healer,” she repeats this, using her training as a shield, “ I am worth more alive than I am dead.” Kalkina blinks slowly at the mention of another healer and turns her attention to the brute she’d previously ignored. She makes no secret of her slow examination of him, as though weighing his worth by appearance alone. Outside of her homeland, she’d never met another healer ( the priests themselves had trained her, and she then trained others). He looked untried, unused – with no scars to mark the passing of time. Perhaps healers out here did not train for battlefields? Frowning minutely, she once more faced the queen. “ I will prove myself deserving of your acceptance,” she stated bluntly, choosing to again ignore what appeared to be her obsidian-eyed competition. She was saved from having to speak further with the appearance of others. First, it was the multi-hued brute she’d come to understand was named Dante, and she took his approach as the appropriate time to make her retreat. But it was not to be so. Immediately her gaze was drawn to the weakened, emaciated ebon woman who made her way towards Tehya, another male following close behind. Her first thought is: yours is the blood I will taste first. Her second: now is the time to prove my worth. But she knows little of what plants grow here in Torqeuo, and everything would be hidden beneath the snows of the harsh winter. Golden eyes alight on Dhani and, already inching her way to his side, she tilts her head in an attempt to appear genial. “ As a healer of these lands,” she begins, deciding to test this male while she can, “ you must have dried stores hidden somewhere. Some analgesics, anti-inflamitories, antibacterials, immunostimulants,” she rattles off with an intent stare. “ The basics, of course,” she pushes. Vaguely, she hears the conversation going on around them, enough to register that the other as-of-yet unnamed brute was somehow related to the queen. But her focus is on Dhani, undivided. I gave it all away for a memory and a quiet lie. [/right][/i][/size] Word Count;; 900-something, I think. I haven't counted. I'll do that later. I think actually getting this posted is a little more important. Comments;; It's bad. I want to re-write it. And she turned out a little creepier than I intended. XD Poor Dhani. [/size][/blockquote][/blockquote][/color][/td][/tr][/table][/center]
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Post by Sighani on Jan 25, 2012 8:17:42 GMT -5
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It wasn’t that Dhani had been taught to believe that emotions were bad. They were simply unnecessary. For those who set out on the path to ultimate enlightenment, it was necessary to rid the mind of earthly burdens, to exist in a perpetual state of placid serenity, judging not, merely observing, absorbing, becoming, and then releasing. A mind troubled by emotions could not release. They were bulky, cumbersome things that most mortals carried heaped upon their backs, breaking under the insufferable weight of something they could not even recognize. And for as much as Dhani admired the wolves of Torqueo Somnium for their freedom to do and say and be as they pleased, he recognized also that they were so, so burdened. The only true feelings he could recall experiencing in the monastery were twinges of sympathy for the sick and wounded the monks so often tended, and something like awe when he had first come to behold the sight of the forges of the sacred flame. But since being in Torqueo, he had experienced fear, shame, avarice, contempt... Torqueo had indeed planted her poisoned seed deep within him, but now the others were beginning to unload their burden on him as well. He realized for the first time that he felt heavy. It was exhausting, this sudden influx of emotions. And he felt violated.
The flame-cloaked monk’s eyes slitted open in much the same manner as a cat’s would, unwilling to commit fully to the blighted reality that surrounded him, but also unwilling to dwell further on the riotous turmoil within. As Tehya passed her keen gaze over him, seeking answers that were not Dhani’s to give or find, he could not suppress the slightest of sighs. Machiavelli’s half-hearted interrogation had been directed to the newcomer – the obvious threat, his mind supplied readily, against his will – and still they suspected him of... what, exactly? Slender auds flicked perceptibly as Tehya went on to speak of intruders in their midst. Breaches of the pack borders. Traitors. Possibly within their ranks? He indulged in a private smile, not caring this time if Machiavelli saw (and he would be watching, that insufferable bastard, his eyes like those of an eagle upon a rat). Of all the assembled varg, Tehya had chosen to pin her doubt on Dhani, a monk of no known ill repute, a man who had never even tasted the blood of a fellow wolf... In spite of his rankling irritation at being so readily singled out, he could not help but pity his queen. If she planned to last at all, she would need to be a better judge of character. Choose her friends more wisely, and give trust to those who deserved it. Was Dhani any less deserving of her faith than any other pack member? Obsidian eyes slid to Dante, lurking in the shadows of the tangled forest, expression so closed and cryptic that it painted a vile, glaring mask all across his features. Too secretive to be without some kind of agenda. And yet the queen and her adviser did not question him. It hardly seemed just.
No sooner had these thoughts formed when they were suddenly whisked away by the fierce gale of emergency. The rank tang of blood wafted through the air of Torqueo Somnium in a violent gush, slapping a crimson filter across his vision as though he swam in a river of dying life. He reeled, caught off guard by the sudden assault. He shook the red haze from his head as Taboo – drained and battered blessedly still alive – stumbled into the clearing and collapsed at the feet of the queen. In her shadow crept a granite-hewn stranger, and all Dhani’s defenses flared up in a burst of sunfire. Taboo’s attacker? But no. Taboo had not shrunk from this new brute so much as she’d fallen away from him. A savior then?
He shrugged his concerns aside in a maddening rush, controlled panic seizing his heart all of a sudden and sending him surging toward the fallen fatale. “Taboo!” he breathed out in a shuddering breath, discerning gaze flashing over her injuries. Oh, it had been so long since last he’d treated a critical patient in aught but theory, too long, in fact. The smell of blood, both fresh and old, mingling with the stench of untreated wounds left him momentarily dizzy, gasping for clean air. He spared Kalkina the most fleeting of thoughts. If this was how it felt to be confronted with one harrowing case, what must the battlefield have been like?
“Taboo, I would ask you to lie down, please,” the young monk gasped, and it was the closest to begging he had ever come. She was not a large wolf, but oh, Dhani was so small, and he could do nothing for her so long as she stood. “You’re safe. You’re home. Let me help.” A gentle mitt pressed carefully into Taboo’s foreleg, hoping to coax her into compliance, hoping to offer this broken maiden whatever comfort a warm touch could give.
The surrounding conversation faded into a tense buzz and his mind attempted to slip away into clinical detachment, but Kalkina’s sudden words drove into his psyche like a blade of ice. He lost his breath as he rounded on her, damning the fierce golden eyes he found upon him, damning the dark, sly mouth that twisted around a voice that ate at him like a stinging wind at the mountains. He had never felt dislike for another creature before in his life, but oh, this must surely be it.
She used words the like of which he’d never heard before. Anti-inflammatories. Analgesics. Immunostimulants. Showing off for the queen, no doubt. His hackles daggered in response to this subtle threat, but he remained focused on her stoic visage, keen ears perked forward, eyes narrowed in concentration. Fortunately he was learned in these ancient tongues and he had little trouble deciphering the meaning behind these cryptic terms. Against swelling. Without pain. Urging defense. As she said, the basics. Unruffled by her unnecessary show of narcissism, the monk found his feet and nodded once in assent. “Of course,” he said. “But perhaps it’s best if you wait here, just in case she takes a turn for the worst in my absence. No doubt you’ll know what to do.” It was a carefully disguised deception, but it was for the best. Torqueo Somnium hardly needed a stranger wandering through its labyrinthine forests, taking the lay of the land, alerting any further potential threats at the borders to the pack’s activities, tampering with his medical stores... And he did not trust this woman at his back.
He spared Tehya and Taboo the tersest of nods before swift paws spirited him away into the verdigris mazes of Torqueo Somnium. While he had many stashes scattered throughout the wilds of Torqueo, he had always tried to keep the bulk of his stores fairly close to the main rendezvous, hidden away from the damp and rot in the monolithic caverns of a felled sequoia. Blunt claws shoveling aside a mound of ice and snow at the mouth of the monstrous log, Dhani burrowed into the smothering woody darkness and found himself cocooned in the familiar comfort of a medicinal haze. He did not have to bow his head as he found his way by touch and smell to the end of the hollow, searching muzzle brushing at last against a pile of leafy bundles. Lesser healers might have kept these remedies neatly stacked and coded, but Dhani had no need for such organization. He had learned his fine craft from a blind apothecary and readily identified each by scent alone. He quickly located all that Kalkina had requested – the basics – but, as he was making his way back towards the entrance, he paused, wondering...
Returning to the heap, he nosed his way to the bottom and gingerly drew forth a tangled, sickly-sweet mass: root of devil’s claw laced with the sap of poppies harvested from the foothills. Its pungent morphine scent was unmistakably his, moreso than the perfume of saffron that tinted his fur or the very musk of his own wolfishness. Opium. He lost himself for a moment in its enveloping fog, thoughts cotton-shrouded and dull as he meandered back towards the gathering with his burden, recalling its velveteen caress like the embrace of an old lover. His delivering angel, his blessed salvation. He drifted past the assembled wolves, paying little heed even to the new faces among them, fog-rimmed vision allowing for no other but Taboo. He dropped down gently beside her and, depositing his sundry remedies upon the frozen earth, whispered into her ear. “Any second-rate healer can tell you that devil’s claw is a known pain and fever reducer, but should you accept my help, you’ll find this particular compound more akin to angel feathers. I will not proceed without your consent, but know that this deliverance is not untested, and that within its heaven-sent haze, I promise you, you will know no pain.”
He straightened up as soon as it was said, wondering how Taboo would respond as he prepared a cleansing salve for the foulest of her wounds. Was she the type to suffer through her treatment, accepting her pain as penance, or would she agree to his offer? He hardly knew her. He could not possibly say.
count xx 1590 words. tunes xx "About Her" - Malcolm McLaren. comments xx Bleh.
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