Now THAT'S a Knife

Making his way through the surf and swell to the island just off the southern coast of Boreas, the tawny and silvered brute emerged from the ocean waves and trudged up onto the beach, water sluicing from his chiseled form and dripping down drenched fur. Pale steel blue eyes leered around at the vacant coast, soft golden sands as quiet as the rest of the island seemed to be. Only the call of macaws kept the island from being entirely and unsettlingly silent. He'd heard tales of this island from some of the wolves he had met while traveling around Boreas. Words had it that this was a place with rare ruins located on it, and those ruins housed great treasures and artifacts from an ancient and long lost civilization. While Sitka did not give a fuck about artifacts, he did care about treasure, especially if it could be used to further seduce his beloved Lorikeet.

And so he had made his way off the southern shore to the distant island, the swim itself not bad, especially given the sweltering summer heat Boreas was trapped in. Large paws carried the dire brute up the sands from the shoals and onto the island proper, his nose twitching while he sniffed about for any traces of other wolves on the island. His nares turned up nothing, but Sitka kept his guard up anyway. The last thing he wanted was to be caught off guard in an ambush in some godforsaken ruins. Padding his way up a vine-covered cobblestone path, he found the ruins sitting silent and abandoned at the heart of the island, their massive skeleton sprawling across the island. How peculiar, he thought to himself while he walked around an empty pool and into the main building of the old resort through a section of shattered glass windows. Calloused paw pads crunched the old glass fragments beneath his weight, and into the dark and musty interior he entered.

Sitka sniffed about the interior some more, finding no fresh scents around. His steely gaze moved about the cavernous lobby area of the resort, finding all sorts of things in a state of disarray. Dust covered most of the furniture and nature had begun to reclaim the structure, with trees and vines growing in through the broken windows and splitting the old concrete and tile floors. Sunlight filtered in rays through the glass ceiling and through the tree canopies, illuminating the interior enough for him to see. Strewn all about the open lobby were a number of old suitcases left behind by gods knew who or what. Sitka had never seen anything like it before, and that unknown factor kept him on edge.

Approaching one of the suitcases, the dire wolf sniffed about the old luggage, but found nothing interesting. He pawed at the case, trying to figure out how to open it. It looked like perhaps it opened in half like a clamshell, but how did it open? While pawing at some shiny brass latches, Sitka hooked a claw beneath the latch and popped the suitcase open. It sprung open and Sitka jumped back with a start, fangs bared in a silent snarl at the invisible and nonexistent threat. When he determined it was safe and thanked the gods that he had not had anyone with him to witness his moment of startled panic, Sitka began to investigate the contents of the suitcase. It was a lot of weirdly shaped fabrics, many in garish colors and terrible prints that mimicked the tropical trees he had seen outside. There were a few bottles of things he did not recognize but that smelled like chemicals and fake coconut scents, as well as hard plastic devices with screens on them. He discarded those without a care.

But what did catch his eye was tucked away at the bottom of the suitcase. Raising a curious brow, Sitka reached in and slowly withdrew the dagger securely holstered in a black leather sheath. He sat back on his haunches and turned the knife about in his paws, inspecting it from all angles. The leather was still fresh and supple with no signs of wear or age on it. This knife was fresh and had never been used before. Taking the hilt in his mouth, he carefully withdrew the blade from its sheath. The dagger slid free with ease, as smooth as butter, and Sitka marveled at the sight before him. The dagger was a traditional Bowie style survival knife, the blade a beautiful pristine black and double edged so either side could be used for cutting or for stabbing. There were some serrations on the blade towards the hilt on one side of the knife for utility. Sitka grinned a wicked, delighted grin at his find. Now this was a knife! He slid the knife back into its sheath and attached it to his chest piece. This had been worth the trek here after all.

WC: 827

"Sitka Thánatos"