Wasteland
Pythia
WeaponsmasterLudovic attempted to move with grace, trying to avoid sinking into the muck beneath his paws. The air was heavy with moisture, clinging to his fur in a sodden, blanketing sort of way. Mist and fog crawled low over the murky pools of stagnant water, weaving around the gnarled roots of mossy trees that jutted from the ground. It felt like a part of the world left to rot, hidden away and forgotten.
His mismatched eyes—emerald and crimson—scanned his surroundings with a watchful sharpness. There was no telling if anything dangerous lurked within the swamp while he was trudging through it. Hell, it was alive in its stillness of croaking toads and buzzing insects, so he was careful to listen close to any footfalls.
Ludovic breathed in slowly, decay and mold entering his nares. Would he smell like the swamp once he left it? The thought was accompanied by the faintest quirk of his mouth, half amusement, half curiosity. He could gross out Araxina if the mire clung to him that long.
He moved onward, weaving between trees, hopping over soaked dead logs; his paws made faint sloshes where water turned shallow, mud sucking at his weight in protest. Despite the gloom, Ludovic moved unbothered, perhaps even comfortable, his gait confident but unhurried—the swagger of a young wolf who belonged to himself, no matter the land.
The deeper he went, the air seemed to thicken. The shadows pressed closer, and the swamp’s damp chill seeped into his bones, though he didn’t falter. Here, alone, there were no eyes to watch, no demands to meet. He could simply exist, his mind wandering as freely as his body. Pausing at the edge of a stagnant pool, he studied the water’s cloudy surface. His reflection peeking through faintly, broken apart by lazy ripples and darting insects. “Charming,” he muttered dryly, voice smooth with an edge of mockery. Though whether his comment was toward himself or the landscape? Who could tell.
Then a sound broke the swamp’s stillness. Well not really a sound. It hadn’t been silent, no of course not, but all of a sudden to his right the frogs stopped croaking. Ludovic’s head tilted slightly, ears twitching forward as his skull swiveled to watch in that direction. To wait and see.
"speech"
Pythia was on a mission. Her brothers had told her about a fungus that they’d found. It supposedly made them feel silly upon ingesting it. No matter how dangerous it sounded or could have been, Pythia wanted some for herself. Going out so far alone wasn’t the best idea, but she would manage. Really, she needed to get herself a seeing eye companion, but none of the animals had really called to her yet.
Plucking her way through the mucky swamp, the musty and oddly sweet scent of fungi caught her attention. All around her, the swamp seemed to sing a symphony that was both harrowing and melodic. Soothing and tortuous. Enjoying the sounds as she sniffed at the bunch of fungi, deciding whether it was good enough for her to pick, she was startled when the swamp around her suddenly stopping creating a cacophony of noise.
With a mushroom between her teeth, she lifted her head, nose tasting the air and ears listening when she hears someone else walking nearby. Her fur instinctually bristles, puffing herself up to appear larger than she is. Tall as she may be, she’s lithe and sleek, extremely feminine and lacking the muscle definition to appear intimidating. No, Pythia was frightening in her own ways.
“Who goes there?” She calls out in her haunting tones, a commanding rasp that was both ethereal and spine tingling.
"speech"
Pythia is completely blind.
It was strange the way the fog parted just enough to reveal her. A pale figure, almost pinkish—or maybe yeah, pink in some places. Dotted in others. And her eyes—something was off about them. Something he couldn’t put his claw on.
For a moment, his gaze softened, interest flaring behind his dual toned orbs. The tension in his muscles eased somewhat, now that he wasn’t worried about a tiger folding him up like a picnic blanket. Then again though. Danger comes in many forms.
But this was another kid, roughly his age—who wasn’t one of his dozen siblings or cousins. Thrilling. She was tall but delicate, sleek where others might have had more of a hulking shape. Her voice commanded his attention, but now that he was looking at her fully, Ludovic couldn’t quite decide what interested him more—the strange mushroom clamped between her teeth or the ghostliness of her pale features. Probably both.
His smirk contorted, his voice becoming more appraising as he spoke. “Well, that’s unexpected.” he said, voice losing a fraction of its usual drawl. He was too invested in this interaction to mask his excitement. Ludo’s gaze flicked to the mushroom again, then back to her face, a brow arching. “I mean. Most wouldn’t take a stroll this deep into a swamp for a fungus. Girls even less so.” The words could have been condescending, but the nonchalant boyish charm in his tone made it clear he meant otherwise. He’d meant it more like an observation, one laced with the faintest touch of admiration. Xina wouldn’t be caught dead in this place.
Ludovic tilted his head as he settled into an easy approach, his gaze trained on her. Toes lightly bringing him closer, watching to see if she would fight or flight, even if he meant no harm. “What's your name, miss…?” The chimeric boy asked, a playful edge attached to his words like wisps of smoke. He treaded carefully. After all, the swamp had given him a surprise—one that wasn’t as unpleasant as the rest of its muck and mire.
The mushroom was rather funky tasting and not in a pleasant way. Her mind screamed at her to spit it out, but her intellectual curiosity told her to get more. So while the other crept closer, a feline grace to the paws that treaded carefully in her direction, Pythia lowered her muzzle back down to the cluster. Giving it another brief sniff, she plucks another mushroom, hating how her tongue feels itchy and quickly places it in her borrowed sack from Wake. He too had been unusually interested in fungi from the swamp.
When the boy speaks, Pythia turns clouded gaze in his direction, though she doesn’t look quite at him, not until he speaks more and her ears can pick up his location. His statement has her head canting, brows furrowing slightly. “Are you intending to insult me?” Pythia inquires, ears slicking back against her pale crown as her tail gives a few swishes.
“Miss Pythia Abraxas,” her ethereal tone turns sharp, lips wrinkling slightly, apprehensive toward this stranger. She couldn’t read his face so she had to go on his words alone. There was charm indeed to his inquires, but she’s still unsure. “Do you come from a place where females are scared to get a little dirty, mister..?” Pythia supposed she could continue the conversation. Learning about other packs (he sure did smell off, didn’t he?) was a good thing to do. Learn where she should and shouldn’t go was rule number one.
"speech"
Pythia is completely blind.
Ludovic stopped short, his paws sinking into the mire as she questioned his intentions with that statement. A slow grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, sharp but lacking teeth, the kind of smile that hovered between mischievous and genuine. She wasn’t bolting or spitting fire at him, so he considered this a win. She’d even continued to stockpile those mushrooms she was so interested in. Another win.
“Insult you? Not at all, Miss Pythia Abraxas.” He tried to clear the misunderstanding up, testing her name while he could, enjoying the peculiar weight of it on his tongue. Unique. At least she hadn’t swiped at him for that comment though.
He did notice something upon further, closer inspection though. Her eyes. The way they only shifted to him once he began to speak again… and how unusually cloudy they were. “And for the record,” Ludovic continued, planting one paw forward–while also testing her sense of hearing–as though daring the swamp to try and pull him under, “I’ve met plenty of girls who’d sooner bite my ear off than set a paw in muck like this.” His grin widened just a hair as he finally figured it out. She was blind.
Ludo let the moment linger before introducing himself, watching her with careful interest—how her pale fur caught the light, the muted expression as she tried to fix unto his location without sight. She’d figured out a way to navigate, seeing as he could neither smell nor see anyone around to assist her. He wouldn’t underestimate her. “I’m Ludovic Praetor-Inferos.” he offered in turn, shaking some of the condensation from his pelt as he readjusted his sliding footing. “So. You’ve got yourself a sack full of the swamp’s finest rot, Miss Pythia.” Ludovic stepped forward again, peeking at a cluster of mushrooms that hadn’t gotten picked yet, tone that of intrigue.
“Those fungi have a bigger purpose or something?” he teased lightly, voice laced with that same charm as he poked at one with a black metal talon. “Are you planning on turning blue and sprouting spots next?” Weren’t mushrooms supposed to be poisonous? He stuck his tongue out at the thought of tasting one of those moldy smelling things.
"speech"