There Is A Train That's Heading Straight
BIC:: It was late. The sun long gone and having given way to mother moon. Her position now high and proud in the night sky. And despite the hour, the wolf could not find any sleep for himself. No. Obito was too excited by all this new stimuli that he was surrounded by. Alacritis was beautiful. It was expansive. Stretching on for miles and miles. He needed to move. He need to keep his pulse up, to feel the energy in his veins. Body low to the ground, ears up on end. Leading with his nose, every pawstep was slow, calculated. Testing the ground under paw before placing any weight out it. He stalked his way through the trees with alert eyes, scanning his surroundings constantly. Taking note of every rock, every gnarled looking tree. Every flower. Mapping. Learning. Becoming one with the forest as he hid in the shadows. A figure unseen. Once upon a time, the boy had been trained as an out flanker. Part of why he was so fast. That speed was needed for the role.
It was an aggressive position. Your role was to understand the world around you. In hunting formations you where the killing paw. Breaking off from the main body and moving to cut off and intercept prey as it was directed to you. In times of war, you where the bullet in the dark. Out run, out maneuver, and out smart your enemy. At home in an environment foreign to them. But Obito had no experience with that. His mother, yes. But he was too young and had been afforded a very pleasant upbringing. Maybe one day he'd get a taste of battle. Maybe he'd like it too. The boy would be a liar if he said the concept of glory didn't appeal to him. To have others that knew his name and whispered stories about him. He have songs sung about his grand achievements well after he was dead and gone. Part of his somewhat tribal upbringing. The Folami was an old family. Originally demons spawned by monsters. Blood letting and carnage. They had a knack for it. The boy could still remember the primal sensations that washed over him when he'd reached into the gut of his first deer. The warmth of the blood on his muzzle and front legs as he ripped out it's heart and consumed it.
It was a life changing experience. Meat pulling away from bone, hide peeling away from flesh. Such was the legacy of a Folami. And the hunger. Obito had never had the pleasure of eating a feline. Not yet. But he wanted to. It was a programmed behavior. A deep seated hatred that had no meaning, reason, or cause. His ancestors had battled against lions and tigers. He doubted he would be so lucky. But oh how his mouth watered at the thought of tearing a cougar or panther's throat away and letting them die before him. It was a prenatal addiction. And one that he would never apologize for.
The trees would give way to a clearing, a gorgeous pond unfolding before him. Rising back to his full height, he would look around at the drooping trees, the willows all around him. Stepping up to the water's edge, he would look down at this own reflection. It had been awhile sense he'd last looked himself over. The two scars on the left side of his maw, the missing half of his left ear. Closing his eyes, he would lower his snout to the water to lap at it's cool surface. Once finished satisfying this thirst, he would lower himself to his rump. Tail waving back and forth softly behind him, he looked around, a silent, calm expression on his face. This land was old. It was bloodstained. It had a story to tell, he could feel it in his bones. He wanted to know what happened here. This place particularly. There was anger. Old anger that festered here. It scent a chill down his spin as his head turned. He would have rose his maw to the sky and sang a song, but at the moment, he dare not break the silence. Letting the ghosts whisper to one another in the shadows. Emotions so strong that their imprints still lingered in the mortal world. It was breath taking.
| Surreal Adravendi |
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She had decided to go for a run outside the Plains for a bit. Now, she wandered among the willows she and her family had taken up residence in for such a long time. A year, perhaps. Her first litter had been born here. She paused at the mouth of the very den on her mind. Falk had holed up in here after she and Regulus had been swept away on the way home from seeing Erani off into the realm of death. The scents were long stale, now. Rogues had passed through, some using this very den as a shelter. Small mammals had investigated. There were memories here, but none like those she had in the Plains she had been born on, had grown up in, and had fought to defend in the war. There were good memories, here, like Castiel’s return, the birth of her children, seeing her young cousins, and reuniting with Falk. But this had never truly been home just like Nephilim Island had never felt like home when Chrysanthe had moved Valhalla there in hopes of deterring further trouble with Glaciem.
Her eyes turned toward the northwest, in the direction of Atlantis Island. That hadn’t been home either, It had been a refuge, and a secondary choice of resting place for her mother and Uncle. She would have to take their remains back to the Plains, if she could manage it. Bury them where they were meant to rest. She knew precisely where her mother had wanted to be laid to rest. Beside Cairo. As the time had gone by, and Nova’s absence had dragged on, her mother had spoken less and less of the black male that had sired Surreal and her siblings. The death of Cairo, and the day before it, had been the first night her mother had gone to sleep without waiting at the end of the ravine for father. Father. A snort huffed from her nose as her ears flicked back against her head. Despite what she knew from her brother, she couldn’t help the resentment for the black beast that had sired her. For being stupid enough to get in the way of a stampede. For leaving in the first place.
Turning away from the old den, she meandered through the willows, taking in the sights, and smells, and sounds. It hadn’t changed much from how it had been when she and her family had been in residence. The willow fronds were bathed in silver from the moon above in the sky, and her own pelt was dappled in moonlight, guard hairs catching silver under the light where it touched. For the most part, she blended in well with the shadows, and her passage was silent, both from her training, and from the fact that she was familiar with this path. As she came to the point where the streams pooled in a grove of the willows, she slowed, taking stock of what lay before her. The pool was as she remembered it. The stranger sitting beside it was unfamiliar to her however. She paused, still in the shadows, before she decidedly stepped out, mismatched blue and gold eyes roving the male’s frame, from the scarred face and missing eartip to his coloration and markings, and finally to his eyes. Finally, she dipped her head politely. “Good evening, stranger.” Her voice was, as ever, low, gently sensual in a non provocative manner, accented with a unique mix of accents; both Russian and Scots, with a touch of Irish inflection coalescing to make something truly her own.
She regarded him for a moment before lowering her head to lap up a quick drink. The signals were clear; she wouldn’t start trouble if he didn’t. There was a way in her bearing; a precursor to the full carriage she would possess once she created the pack she had been planning for so long. Regal, humble, relaxed, and assured.
Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think |
BIC:: The memories where there. Lingering to this land like a curse. Obito could smell them, taste them. Pain flowed thick here, he was sure. A scent would roll across his nose, and he would look to see the timber female, scars across her nose and mismatched eyes. His head would cock to the side a little as she approached and sized him up. There was something about her. Something regal. Something royal. Something right. She carried herself with a manor that asked for respect to be shown to her. Which was a notion that brought a smile to one side of the male's face. It was decided almost at once, that he liked this female. Raising up on his paws, the ruthlessly talk wolf would come up to his full forty inch height at the shoulder. Turning to better face the woman, he would take a step to close the gap between them some. Obito was born of both Zaraidd blood and Folami blood. He was of the highest possible pedigree. His broad shoulders, powerful legs, and general stature displayed this. He moved with graceful steps, his head high and chest forward.
Stopping a respectable distance between the two of them, he would place one paw forward the lower his head in a slow, deliberate bow. She carried herself like one who wished for respect, and so he would obey. Simply because her presentation was flawless and had brought a grin to his face. It was nice to see another wolf every now and again who was of as high a birth as him. Refreshing. The mutts hadn't quite taken over just yet. Royalty still existed. Bringing his head back up, he would settled once again on his rump, facing the water's edge. Ah, but what to call her that might be subtle enough, the Folami wondered. After a moment's concederation, he finally addressed her. Greetings, my Malkia. Fancy meeting a wolf so grand as yourself this late at night." His youth was betrayed by his voice.
This wasn't like the other woman. Avalon. Avalon had had a story to tell. This woman, she had a story still being written. And deep, family ties. He could taste in on her scent. It actually brought a puzzled look to his maw. She had a royal scent, as he did. But she also lacked a pack scent, as he did. He had a reason for his. He wondered what hers was. "Forgive me for asking, Malkia. But wouldn't a wolf so grand as yourself be within a pack?" It was a simple question with a very complicated answer. But the male had nothing better to do, and she'd made it clear there would be no trouble among them.
| Surreal Adravendi |
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She was aware that the male was taking her in, looking her over. Whatever he saw seemed to please him, and soon enough, he was approaching her. A hint of chill came into her eyes, until he stopped a respectful distance, lowering into a deliberate bow. His position upon her first sight of him had disguised his size. Now she saw that he was nearly as tall as Regulus; perhaps shorter by a tiny margin. As he sat she relaxed, and the warning chill of what could be impending doom for those who pissed her off enough thawed to warm, curiosity as he greeted her. She wasn’t certain what Malkia meant. Lady, perhaps? He sounded young, and now that he was close enough that she could smell him even with the wind blowing away from herself, he smelled young, as well. Fully mature, yes, but still youthful.
She shifted a few steps to the side, politely allowing her scent, with its aroma that might cloud a male’s mind, to pass him by, rather than blasting him directly in the face. “I used to inhabit these willows.” Grand? She wasn’t so sure of that. Her mother had surpassed many when it came to a grand presence. Her head cocked slightly at his following question. “My pack hasn’t been reborn, yet. There are still a few more details that need addressed before I can raise my standard..” Reborn. Valhalla had a knack for coming back from the dead. And, as she recalled from her mother’s history lesson, Valhalla had not always been called Valhalla. Once, it had been Starlite. It was only after whatever disastrous events had occurred in Ciroc that Starlite had moved away from, that they had arrived in Old Alacritis, under a new name.
There would be no exodus to reform from. The new name was merely a new breath of air, a chance to avoid old problems returning. She hadn’t expected to become the leader in this manner. She had been the Heir. Had things been different, Surreal would have taken the mantel when her mother had stepped down. But it hadn’t gone that way. All because of a crazy red wolf. This new life would need strong wolves who were willing to pull their weight and make the pack successful. Her eyes trailed over the fellow before her, taking more of an interest in the strength she saw in his build. The question she had in mind didn’t have a place yet, however, not after only just a few moments of this fellow’s presence. He could be a madwolf, for all she knew. However, she wasn’t getting any bad feelings about him. Still. So instead, she asked. “You are new to this area. Have you been on the land long?”
Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think |
BIC:: His grin would grow even more as she explained herself. So, she really was a Malkia. Soon to be anyways. That would explain it. A ruler who had yet to take a throne. It only served to provoke his curiosity. So she had a story to tell after all. And the large brute loved a good story. Came from being raised up in greatness. No one could doubt or deny what the Folami had endured on account of their Nafsi. And it had led to one hell of a story to tell. So he would let a curious wag of his tail settle into his body language. And as for her body positioning, Obito had to admit that she smelled amazing. But despite his youth, the boy knew how to control himself. He was mature. So with a smile, he spoke up. "You need not worry yourself, ma'am. I assure you, I am a mature individual."
Letting his eyes wander to top right of their sockets, a thoughtful expression settled on his face as he considered her expression. It had only been a few days now. It had taken some time to cover the distance from the South to here, the southern part of Alacritis. But Obito being Obito, he could find his way back, retrace his steps, perfectly if he needed to. He'd liked what he'd seen of the place so far, of course that's because he didn't know about the ocean of blood that it ran on. Only time would tell how he adapted to that part. "This is true, Malkia. I am a new to this corner of the world, and my excitement wouldn't allow me much sleep this particular night." Looking back out over the pool, he pondered the notion for a moment more before the thoughts in his head returned to the woman's words. She'd said her pack was to be rebuild. That would imply that it had been torn down for some reason.
With a casual flick of his right ear, he would look back at her with a grin. "Such notion as 'I'm rebuilding a pack' warrants a story, you are aware, Malkia. My interest has been achieved." he would muse his words in a very gentlemanly tone of voice as he conversed with the female. It was a chance to learn some of the history of this land he found himself now apart of. And he held every intention of one day being a part of a pack, so he needed to know the history. Bad blood was a slippery slop, and he believed too much in what was fair to let himself be found on the instigating side.
| Surreal Adravendi |
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Surreal gave a short nod of acknowledgement to the male as he assured her that he would be well behaved; she could only guess that he had indeed noticed her scent blasting in his face. Good to know that she wouldn’t have to fend off unwanted affections. To his next words, she said nothing, merely nodding again. She could relate. Only for her, it wasn’t excitement. Finally, his voice followed her statement of rebuilding a pack, and with his voice came the question. She smiled lightly, sitting straight out of habit. “I suppose I could tell you the tale. It’s a long one, mind.” In other words, he would hear a great deal more than the short version.
As she finished her story, she looked at the fellow dead on. “I intend to reign long, and have my son reign after myself. Gods willing, Celestial will be well remembered.” A light smile creased her jaws as her head cocked slightly. “And what of you, lad? What is your tale?” Throughout her storytelling, her eyes had held a light in them; a determined glow. She wouldn’t be held back from her goals. Even if things got in the way, she would either go around them, or bowl her way right through and keep on going. This Adravendi wasn’t going to be a pushover.
Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think |
BIC::The boy would listen to her tale with a calm and interested expression. It was indeed a long story, one saturated with all the petty tyrants and kings nonsense that he had despised from a young age. Disputes like this made little sense to him because even at the height of their perfection, the Folami had never claimed land. And they had always been strong. The first generation had been larger still than him and lived for roughly three decades. But that was a long. Long time ago. But if her account was to be trusted, and he did feel a compulsion to trust her, then this land was hers by birth right. After she finished her account, he sat there in silence for a moment as he considered her words. His face would become very serious for a moment as his tail came around to rest at his side, going perfectly still as he simply looked her over. It was a shame, he thought. That someone so dedicated to being good in this world should have to wade through so much sludge for no reason at all. All the same, should she prove herself really capable of pulling her little rebellion off, she would be well worth her weight in Folami standards. Finally, after much thought, he would speak again. "The mganga that spawned you. She was quite noble." It wasn't much that he offered, but she was still a stranger to him. It took blood to forge bonds among his people. And until he saw her maw painted red, she would remain a stranger. Because just as she had a right to the West by birth, he had a right to the old traditions.
A single wage of his tail betrayed him as he thought for a moment as to where to begin. She had offered him a long story and so perhaps it was fair that he offer her very much the same. So, expression not changing, as it was his nature to offer very little, he began. "I am a Folami, Malkia. We are an old race. Older still by far than your Alacritis. In the early days, the first of my kind where demons created by monsters to serve without question. You see, these monsters fancied themselves gods. Then Mungo, the real god, would come along in anger and displeasure with them and put something in our chests we didn't have before. Nafsi. What you call a Soul. The old stories say that this event was followed by very much pain. We would be divided in two, half embracing the gift, and half trying to reject it. Those old Folami could live thrice as long as you or I, you see. So it too them a long time to learn to use this gift and break free of the monsters' control. We retained several aspects of ourselves though, even into this age." He would pause for a moment and consider how to continue.
What followed was a recount of his Nomadic people. They moved from one place to another, not needed a claimed land to still be strong and be a pack. He would recount the Mlezi who had slaughtered the monster's pawns to protect her people. And he would explain their very tribal nature. The hunger that they had retained for a very long time and would carry even after this age was long forgotten as well. Explaining how blood was a very important thing of who they where. Even the flesh of their enemies. His scared lip and half ear only serving as proof of their borderline savage nature. He took painful steps to make sure she understood that they where not an evil people. If anything, their nature was the side effect for how they came into existence. Underneath it all, though, he was still very intelligent and very capable. But when you are born to hunt and kill, you are born to hunt and kill.
All the while he would not change his tone or his expression. "And so, to those who earn our respect, we are unquestionably loyal to. I myself have little experience in such matters because of my youth, I am still very much a blank page. I have never fed on our original prey, nor have I ever killed in battle. I know much, but have much still left to learn. All these things can be summed up with our very name sake, Malkia." He would pause for a moment and meet her gaze head on, observing every reaction of hers from his next words. He had been evaluating her the entire time, desiring to know how she would take to all of this information, it did require some stomach. In closing he would give her the age old words that where his history, future, and legacy all compacted into one. "Folami. In your language, it means, 'I Command Respect.'" And with one more wag of his tail, he would conclude, ready now to see what her take on the tale of his was.