He was still exploring, learning all that southern Boreas had to offer. Now that winter had fallen it was at least a bit less troublesome. The weather and all of that, it was too much. Far too much. The heat would only serve to make the shadow feel far older than he actually was. No, really, it aged Viðarr what felt like hundreds of years. Within the winter he found solace, reprieve from it all. The day was young yet, and the shadow was bound and determined to get the most out of it. Squaring his shoulders, straightening his back, and plodding on through the snow he went.

A nice, fat hare for breakfast. That sounded good, and it would yield enough food for not just the shadow but his companions as well. They hunted easily, in good time with each other. All three of them were keen eyed and bright this morning, and it didn't take long to enjoy their meal. Towards the tail end, that's when they heard it. They weren't alone out here. The sound of paws on the snow, and not just one set. How many were there? The trio ended up back to back, staring down several coyotes at once. This wasn't the time to count, no. This was time to prepare, time to gather themselves. A laugh rattled through Viðarr's chest, his head tossing. "What a bunch of stupid cunts," the words came before he could stop them. In what world did they make an easy meal?

Before Viðarr could truly take stock of the situation, he dove in head first. There was nothing stopping him, nothing holding him back. Just as the berserkers who came before him had, he plowed forward. In the heat of the moment there was nothing he'd love more than taking them out one by one. This was the moment. This was his time to shine. The dogs, too, seemed to be enjoying themselves. Good exercise on a brisque morning, even if he did feel teeth sinking into his shoulder and his ankles. How obnoxious, coyotes were.

"Viðarr"

WC: 349

Winter has appeared and wrapped the lands of Boreas in its icy grip and, with the plummeting temperatures has come a strange, new, wonderful thing! Snow. The patchwork-hued pup has never seen the wintery marvel before and Calico Jack is eager to explore this amazing curiosity. Paws crunch the powder stuff as Jack races through the snow, kicking up a small cloud of frozen particles as he passes. Excitement zips along the pup’s nerves, awaking them until they become live wires, and send joy pounding through his very being.

The joy of a youth seeing their first snowfall is evident in every aspect of him as Jack takes long, loping strides across the snow-covered prairie. Jack is thoroughly enjoying the winter day, running as far and as fast as his gangly legs will carry him. His enjoyment has the boy straying into lands far from home but he doesn’t care as he is far more focused on the moment, then any possible consequences. Heart thunders in his ears and tongue hangs from his mouth as he pants from the exertion but the pup does not slow.

Well, not until he hears the snarls and sounds of fighting from close by. Legs stutter and steps falter as pale blue eyes swiftly scan the area, searching for the source of all the sounds. A huge black, shadow of a wolf and two large dogs are being harassed by a large pack of hungry coyotes. Eyebrows lift in wonder as he watches blood fly, the huge male obviously at home outnumbered and in the midst of the fray. Not one to miss out on a good time, Jack angles his body toward the fight and barrels onward, legs easily returning to a long swift lope.

Teeth flash in the wintery sunlight as Calico’s patchwork form smoothly joins the fight, coyotes, dogs, and wolves all seeking to do as much damage as possible. Without slowing, the boy slams into the closest coyote and sends it sprawling into the soft, powdery snow. Being close to his full height, the pup easily towers over the smaller coyotes and he is eager to use that to his advantage. A laugh fills the air as Jack strikes out, teeth seeking the downed creature’s throat and finding it. The struggle bleeds out of the beast along with its bright red blood and the pristine white of the snow is marred with the life of the dying coyote.

Yet Jack pays it no mind, already turning to another of the beasts as the copper tang of blood fills the boy’s nostrils and thrills him to no end. A lucky coyote seeks to bite the pup’s unprotected flank, reaching in to strike, only to stalled by a bright flash of blue and gold. Jolly Roger, the boy’s bird companion, flares his wings, having drove down and into the fight to harass the attacking coyote to protect his friend. The macaw screams, talons scratching at the creature’s face and opening several cuts.

As the coyote shifts attempts to slap its paws at the flying menace, Jolly Roger pumps his wings, buffeting the beast with air and gaining altitude. A hiss fills the air as a cat leaps onto the back of the coyote that is attacking Jolly Roger, and sinks his claws in. The creature howls with rage and attempts to unseat his new rider but Flying Dutchman just sinks his claws in deeper and hisses. A menagerie of animals now fight and a great, joyful laugh echoes through the frigid air as Jack releases his joy.



WC: 595
Total WC: 944 / 1500



"Calico Jack"

Art & Code © Skelle 2023

A laugh rips from his chest. It's brilliant, brassy, and deep. Rumbling like the thunder in his gut, like the warrior call in his chest. It's brilliant. Everything about him in moments like this is brilliant. Viðarr only needs to let that take him over. Let it take hold. It's beautiful. Everything about the shadow in these moments is absolutely beautiful. There is no control. There's no controlling all of the things he thinks, all of the things he feels, all of the things he is. Viðarr feels the rush of blood to his head. Adrenaline flooding his system. The laughter that takes him over is something that can't be stopped or helped or chained. Everything is beautiful. Viðarr, too, is beautiful. It's in ways that he can't even begin to describe.

There's pain, there's blood. There is blood in the air. His? Maybe. Probably. Coyotes? Most certainly. Most absolutely, most certainly. He is unhinged, ripping and tearing at the predators where they coalesce before him. He is so incredibly and immensely pleased with himself. His chest puffs out, and the shadow becomes even more hulking. Massive. A unstoppable force, and an immovable object, all in once. Viðarr is thriving. Surrounded by snarling, slobbering, bloody coyotes. He is at his best. He is everything in these moments.

He doesn't fight alone for long. A flash in his periphery-- that's not a coyote. No, not a coyote at all. Viðarr registers him somewhere in the back of his head... a boy? A young man. Somewhere in between, but he could be in danger here. Danger. He was choosing danger? Excellent. Viðarr too, was choosing danger. He always would. He always could. Choose the danger. Choose the violence. It flowed through him in the best way possible. Picking up a coyote and slamming it down, one after the next. The shadow was happy to use his hulking size, his strength, his muscle for all that it was worth. Brilliant. All things brilliant and lovely.

Absolutely fucking wonderful. All he could do was laugh. Viðarr, in these moments, is a child in a candy store.
"Viðarr"

A symphony rings out around the wolves, the sounds of pain are accompanied by laughter and offset by the noises of different creatures. The hiss of a cat, the bark of a dog, the caw of parrot, the snarls of wolves, and cries of the coyotes all mix and mingle in the cold winter air. Violence is the music, their heartbeats the tempo, and the two wolves dance with the steps of tempests given form. Where the huge shadow misses a coyote, the patchwork pup is there, ripping and tearing until its life is spread in a gory message across the pristine white of the snow.

They do not know each other but, in the heat of battle, Calico Jack feels that he understands this wolf. He is the shadow in the corner of the boy’s mind that whispers for blood; the violent fantasies that he dares not allow to see the light of day for fear of being shunned. But this is living; dancing on the edge of a knife where one step too far off center will end in disaster. A coyote lunges toward the pup and he easily smacks it down, sending the unfortunate creature careening into the waiting jaws of the shadow.

Hot blood steams on the cold face of the snow and still, they do not stop. They kill all the hungry coyotes that dared to stalk a wolf, only stopping when the area is no longer white and the coyotes, no longer breathing. Jack pants, drawing the frigid air deep into his lungs and expelling great clouds of vapor. Never, in his short life, has the boy felt anything so exhilarating. He had been brought into this world in the midst of a battle, his birth was a baptism of blood… it is only fitting he fills most alive here.



WC: 306
Total WC: 1602 / 1500


"Calico Jack"

Art & Code © Skelle 2023

The pair had been absolutely wild in combat. Such is Viðarr, an such is the way he lives. Every moment was wild. Every moment was a chance to be unhinged, untamed, and lived in, as best as possible. This was no different. He tossed his head, stepping back to survey the carnage around them. Softly, he swore as the true nature of the boy by his side came into focus. That was... a yearling? No, younger than that, and particularly scrawny. Around them, the carnage of the coyotes heaped from side to side.

"I am proud of you," though his grasp of the common tongue was still tenuous and stilted, this is something he knows how to articulate and does so with ease. A smile played on the shadow's face, and a glimmer in his eye. "You are okay?" Accent coloring the words heavily, he peered at the lanky pup. Couldn't have whoever his parents were getting all pissed that Viðarr had let him get into a fight, after all. It would probably be better to return him in one piece, if Viðarr needed to return him at all.

"Viðarr"