waist deep
fighting seasonal - solo
06-02-2024, 12:00 AM
Rated mature for mild gore
since his mother’s illness and his father’s abdication, Styrmir has been walking around as though in a daze. lost. obscured in a fog so thick he can scarcely see three feet ahead of him, stumbling through life with all the grace of a newly hatched duckling. every day is the same: he wakes early and eats a meagre breakfast, then performs a perimeter check of the pack lands, eyes scanning obsessively for even a hint of danger. he knows it unnecessary, knows that plenty of his packmates are capable of protecting Hemlock from intruders, but it eases some of that perpetual tightness in his chest. his father is distant, his siblings are out of reach, and he feels stranded in a pack he was once a prince of. his patrols often feel like the only thing he has even a modicum of control over anymore. and if he doesn’t perform his usual route…well, she always has something to say. but then again, these days, she seems to have something to say no matter what he does.
where are you going, little one? her voice is a croon in his ear as he picks his way through the undergrowth, and he shakes his head reflexively – though he knows better now than to think he can simply brush her off. “m’not so little anymore,” he grumbles, voice rough with the very beginnings of puberty. still a long way off yet, but Styrmir has always been large for his age, and he seems to only grow bigger with each passing day. he’s beginning to think he might even reach his parents in height...don’t think about them, he tells himself, stalking determinedly forward. above, the moon shines unnervingly bright, bathing the ground in a strange yellow glow. it puts him at a disadvantage; Styrmir’s darker pelt was made for slinking through shadow, and it feels as though a giant spotlight has been cast upon him. i feel your fear, boy. i can keep you safe, the woman offers. Styrmir gives a derisive snort. “how can you keep me safe?” he questions, scuffing his heel against the earth. “you aren’t even real.”
no? she sounds amused now, and it lifts the hair along Styrmir’s spine. a sharp crack suddenly rents the air, and Styrmir spins on his heel, whirling with his teeth bared. look alive, boy. you’re being followed. as though summoned by her words, a low growl rumbles from the undergrowth, and a pair of yellow eyes gleam out from a patch of shadow behind a tree. Styrmir tenses, knees bending as a snarl curls his lips, framing a jaw of gleaming white teeth. the tree rustles, and out steps a lone coyote, beady eyes fixed greedily on Styrmir. scavenger muses the voice. she still sounds too damned amused for his liking. what will you do now, boy? the coyote circles closer, drool spattering at its feet. Styrmir gives an answering growl. his entire body is tense as he moves with the predator, eyeing it warily from the corner of his gaze. never letting it leave his sight. if it attacks him, he knows, he’ll have to use every weapon at his disposal to fight back.
when it finally lunges for him, it’s almost a relief; Styrmir is much more a man of action than of thinking, and this – the push and pull, the snapping of teeth and the slashing of claws – this is more comfortable than the uncertain back and forth of a moment prior. it isn’t long before the coyote has him on its back; Styrmir might be large, but he’s inexperienced. head thrashing from side to side, he rakes frantic claws down his opponent’s sides and snaps warningly, able to keep it at a distance just enough to avoid a serious bite. still, Styrmir can feel himself flagging, growing tired. every strike saps the energy from his limbs, and panic begins to set in. need some help? purrs the woman. Styrmir’s reply is barely more than a half-gargled snarl.
“yes!”
it's like magic: Styrmir’s eyes narrow onto an exposed section of skin where the coyote’s neck meets its shoulder, and, as though drawn to it, he leans in and sinks his teeth down. blood washes over his tongue and teeth, practically bathing him in it as he rolls the coyote onto its back. his opponent screams, attempting to scramble to its feet, but the voice echoes through his mind. finish it off! snarling, Styrmir sinks into its exposed underbelly and makes short work of spilling the guts from its body. for a moment, a red fury seems to descend, crowding his vision until he can taste is the blood on his tongue. when he finally withdraws, he looks impassively down at the mutilated corpse.
hmm, too messy, says the voice. next time, keep its pelt for me. “next time?” Styrmir grumbles. the cold winter air has finally set in, freezing the wet sheen of blood as it dries on his fur. don’t you want my protection? croons the voice, and the image of his teeth sinking into the coyote’s neck flashes to the forefront of his mind. you’ve seen what i can do, now. what i can give you. maybe she senses his frown, because her next words are: if not you, then for your family. so that they don’t end up like your poor mother. “don’t talk about her!” Styrmir snaps, pacing in a tight circle. thunder rumbles overhead, carrying with it the threat of rain. i can protect them, the voice persists. i can protect all of them. Styrmir shudders, suddenly feeling very small. he remembers how things were when he was a pup, how he’d sit with his mother while his littermates played. how strong she’d always looked, how regal. “you can…you can do that?”
if he didn’t know better, he’d say the voice actually laughs. of course, little one. but it’ll require sacrifice on your behalf. Styrmir nods, eyes trained on his feet. the sky rumbles again, and moments later rain begins to patter down in quickening sheets, soaking him to the bone. Styrmir stares as scarlet rivulets pool at his feet, draining from his fur and sinking into the stone of the cliff. “where…” he clears his throat, tries again. “where do we start?”
ooc: Styrmir doesn't actually gain any special insight from the voice's 'assistance,' but he believes he does.
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| 1. | waist deep | Moontouched Cliffs | 12:00 AM, 06-02-2024 | 11:29 AM, 07-16-2024 |
Current time: 11-21-2024, 06:41 AM
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