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Post by Fenrir on Nov 2, 2007 10:47:52 GMT -5
The Unknown Lands were not much for homely population as they were for hiding, and maybe this is what had first attracted him to such a place. He was still quite obviously hunting his friend down and why the Fallen could certainly have hidden himself away, he seemed to be preferring to settle about markets, taverns, with people who wouldn’t question his race although those undeniably darkening wings spoke it for him.
The Werewolf had been tracking his scent for some time now and had run amuck of such lovely luck right around the time he reached Himonas, a nicely populated little city drowning slowly in poverty and disuse. Hoping to be back on the trail in no time, he stayed at the residence of a hotel in the small stretch of city.
The people there didn’t seem too fond of strangers however and because of a very loose lip on his part, he had only stayed there a fortnight before insight had him leaving the place with cold feet. Hiding nearby, it had been fairly easy to spy on the group of footpads sent with orders to capture their new bounty. It definitely wasn’t the first time he had been sent after with such gold wanted for his head, but it made for an annoying irritation that had him believing he’d have fairer luck tracking down Tyr somewhere else.
The Little Long Hotel in Mikoa village had his attention for another fortnight, despite the wandering rats that crossed its floors, it was nice enough for the purposes of a dry night of sleep safe from outdoors and the people searching for him there. He remained in this village the next morning, seeking news of if his bounty was being pursued even here, until he decided it time to pause in his Fallen hunting and actually settle down until the full moon for this month was behind him.
He need not try to worry over both things at once, you see.
He’d be on his way soon after though.
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Fenrir started for a moment, widening a set of perfectly golden eyes, crouching down even lower now in his hiding place behind a set of very thorny bushes. The lithe Werewolf shook his head, sending his set of honey and chocolate locks into a brief halo about him, blinking the sleepiness away.
Why am I that tired? I can’t believe I dozed off in the middle of a hunt!
Luckily, his prey had not escaped in his small moment of weakness and he was still looking forward to a delicious meal of roasted meat.
He supposed he could blame his exhaustion on the night before. The latest full moon had not found him particularly well. Having purposely holed himself up in an abandoned mining district in the chains of silver and yet somehow awakening in a vast field streaked in someone else’s blood, had not been one of his happier memories.
Although, it wasn’t particularly new to him either, he had to agree.
He sat a hand softly on the ground before him, supporting his weight in a steadier balance, wary not to make any noise and yet ready to pounce as soon as the graceful young stag before him moved an inch or so closer. The handsome animal munched on some leaves a few meters away, the fall season having already reached up to this forest at least a month or so earlier than usual. It was nervous, he could tell. The beast’s dark grey fur rippled contentedly about a steady frame, its antlered head lifting up to smell the wind every few minutes, black ears twitching in quick fidgety movements.
It seemed to know that its powerful hooves and tiny, newly-developed antlers wouldn’t save it from a bigger, smarter predator. And it had sensed him for some time now, he was sure. The beast had led the lycan into a dance of movements that spanned half a mile of the forest already, never coming too close to where it sensed its doom approaching yet always circling back. But its luck could only last for so long.
Silently, Fen waited for the small stag to come closer, evaluating the fat flesh of its back, mentally running over the list of possible herbs and spices that would fit the salty strong meat well. The previous week’s goods he had managed to lift from that busy marketplace still ran with a supply of said goodies despite his use of the stuff not being particularly sparingly. His mouth watering in expectation, he suppressed a frustrated sigh when the critter turned away, skirting him, moving to snatch a leaf in a farther bush.
Maybe I should change strategies, the Werewolf grinned, thinking about showing himself finally and beginning a much more drawn out run when the animal panicked. He usually was always that subtle nearer to the end. True, he wouldn’t have as much fun as he had so far with lurking his prey into his trap, going by nothing more than his wolf instincts and he was sure he would tire out quicker than the stag when running, due to the effects of the moon still fazing him.
The Werewolf thought of hunting as more than a daily necessity. There was a sacred ritual to it, one that demanded patience and practice, and offered delightful proximity to the gods’ special works and the forces of nature. But I've got to eat sometime...
He smelled the new intruder a millisecond before his prey must have, eyes going wide, the beast reared in his field of vision with obvious discomfort. Soon following this came the small snapping of twigs underfoot with a resounding thump, his intruder wasn’t in the least bit trying to quiet themselves. Perhaps the being didn’t know of their presence however.
Fenrir grunted. Where did that come from? Why didn’t I hear them approach until now?
No time to bother pausing to guess answers, if he still wished to catch his dinner, he sprang into action. The Werewolf jumped over the bushes that had hid his frame, flexing vigorous muscles, arching his slender figure through the air as he made himself come into the clearing ahead of him seconds before his prey bolted. He instantly drew within the power he cursed and blessed, sticking his now elongated talons into the tender fur and flesh of the unprotected neck, drawing thick gushes of crimson liquid with one smooth slash. His change didn’t go any farther than that however, and he had ducked into a crouch toward the ground before making the killing blow, just in case he needed to avoid being pummeled with those antlers had he missed.
The end came far too quickly to the lycan’s taste – it felt somewhat anticlimactic. You made your best, little one, Fenrir complimented. But I’m hungry, he mentally whined, as if he needed an excuse to kill the lovely creature.
He straightened, standing up clearly as his catch’s body crumpled to the ground in front of him with the sound of a soft sigh, a wide grin set across his features even as a warning was still making his muscles tense. The Werewolf made no further move to grasp hold of his prize, standing icily still. His dinner had almost slipped away, scared by that sudden noisy intervention. Fen didn’t at all appreciate having his hunting ritual disturbed; a civil being wouldn’t have dared to interfere in such a precious moment. The Werewolf turned curiously to glance over where the object of noise must have come from, amber eyes scanning the forest floor.
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Post by devispooky777 on Nov 2, 2007 11:00:25 GMT -5
The search for materials had stretched on for near weeks now, and Findabhair was finally finding a few last pieces that she could add to her stock. Thus far, she had ventured all over her regular territory, obtaining the finest vines from the forests, palm leaves from the beaches, and even cacti skins from the deserts. Her cloth inventory had never been so rich in diversity before.
By now, though, Finda had begun venturing outside of her normal areas. These Unknown Lands were indeed untouched by her feet. For the last few nights, she camped in the new woods, seeking out as many materials as she could, trying to find some that she had never come in contact with before.
So far, she had had little luck, finding some species of plant that were indeed rare elsewhere, but she had still seen before, or even already had a sample for her latest supply. But, still, she refused to renounce her search. Every forest had something unique about it, and she would find it. She would pray on it until winter, if she had to.
The early autumn of this region was a bit discouraging to her, some Findabhair was left to attempt advancing her plant-aging ability, something that only helped her advance the vegetation into an even later state of preparing for the winter.
It was nearly an entire week into her wandering through these woods until she came across a small, yet deep lake, which she was led to by a tiny, running creek. Dropping her bags, Findabhair slowly placed her bare toe into the edge, an icy stab shooting up her leg as the water engulfed her toe. Jumping back, she smiled, quickly gathering up her green-teal hair, securing it back.
This water had giving her a wonderful idea. Too long had she been looking over the vegetation in the earth, but under the water, though out of her element, was something she felt fairly positive about.
Drawing a deep breath, she ran and, still baring a grin, Finda jumped, diving deep into the lake. She was surprised by how much life rested in such secluded water. Diving deeper, she observed the sea life of the bottom, nearly crawling about the wet sand, trying her best to keep herself submerged. Taking note of the simple seaweed and such, she quickly brought herself back to the surface, soundlessly taking another gasp of aim and disappearing under the water once more. Bringing herself back to the bed of the lake, she pulled herself along, grasping the rocks and seaweed. When the seaweed stood strong against her pull, she looked back, arching a brow.
The seaweed appeared short, young. No undeveloped seaweed species could support her weight, especially after the nearly yanked at it to help her move along.
Resurfacing once more for breath, Findabhair quickly drove back down to the same spot she had just left, wanting to examine the specimen further. As soon as she got to the bottom, she pulled herself down with the plant, amazed at how the roots didn’t even budge as she pulled herself down until her body laid completely along side it. This was amazing. Gripping onto a rock, she ran her fingers gently across its leaves, closing her eyes. Within seconds, she was able to identify it, and, to her horror and amazement, realize this apparently young plant. With a gasp, she was forced to surface once again. That plant was ancient. Blinking, she took as deep a breath as she could before going back under. Staying near the surface, she scanned the bottom with her brown eyes, astonished to find that there were fully grown examples of that same exact species. She had found her material, that was for sure.
It took many, many hours of diving, gently uprooting the tallest specimen, resurfacing, and resting it on the bank, all the while, she pondered how much she could possibly make with the strong, incredible cloth she could make with these leaves. The first thing that came to mind was armor. This stuff was perfect! She could make a strong armor, and price it just under the price of leather armor. That profit alone would outmatch any other earnings she had ever made in her short career. Another idea was dresses worthy of royalty. She could make the most stunning, lacy material for dresses that a queen could wear. Giggling as she surface once more, she found herself too tired, and too excited, to bother any more of these rare beauties.
Slowly paddling over to the water’s edge, she placed the stalk of the last plant down onto the large pile she had accumulated. Taking a deep breath, she kicked herself out of the water, splashing a bit as she pulled herself onto the solid earth. She had made more noise then she would have liked to. Once on her feet, the hairs on the back of her neck began to stand on ends. Her wings were soaked, making her unable to flee, if she were in any danger. Shivering a bit, she slowly turned, cursing under her breath as a few twigs snapped under her feet. With a wave of her shaky hand, much of the foliage that rested on the ground cleared her path, though leaving her only a few feet to walk.
Standing, soaked, Findabhair tried focusing hard on where whatever was aggravating her sense of danger was. Quickly looking to her loot, she balled her now freezing hands into fists. She wasn’t much of a fighter, but if worse came to worse, she would if she had to. She had worked to hard for this. Turning back to where the sense was strongest, she braced herself, keeping her senses sharp, ready for whatever might, or might not, come.
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Post by Fenrir on Nov 2, 2007 11:03:09 GMT -5
Normally on such an occasion, like so as to be suddenly discovered or followed, he would have called out to his intruder without thought, childishly. He might have called out a greeting or asked who was there and such, a very basic set of questions that were a lot more dangerous than they seemed to be. For names in this time of war, were easily recalled later on, easier still if they were shady in nature. Not that he’d remember or even know the name that would be tossed his way, he was fairly forgetful with things like that. And Fen didn’t consider such a thing as a problem in him.
But when being so close to places he was wanted dead in and hunted down just as mercilessly as he had stalked that young stag, he found it far safer to keep quiet than to call out like his mind would have. Not that he usually cared to keep safe either, very little beings could harm him that he couldn’t outrun.
His wolfishly bright eyes turned briefly to study the body of his catch lying on the ground behind him, making his shoulder length, left side-braid bump gently against the flesh of his neck. The stag was still in place on the ground, leaves fallen from the skeleton-like branches swept under its equally fallen form, eyes wide and unseeing in their final memory with a fair amount of blood still leaking from the fatal wound to its neck. It would be so much easier to just take his meal and leave. Far safer, in fact. But the dear Werewolf wasn’t at all that complicated in thinking, or rather, he enjoyed doing the simpler things. He was a simple one.
Fenrir turned back around, steadying his eyes to the forest around him and searching for anything out of place.
His wide grin never faltered as he delivered an animal-like growl rather loudly, warning his recent kill in his own way that he’d return for it as well as exciting the wolf in him to begin a new hunt. He wasn’t so foolish as to not move the warm and still body to cover though, so as to keep the scavengers and other such beasts from finding it so easily. But then he was off, his body molding into the forest floor and trees about him even as his wild mess of honey and chestnut hair distinguished him easily from the vines of the trees. His motions were fluid and cat-like, quick and very carefully made, soundless as his traveling boots made light work of the floor beneath him.
He couldn’t rely on remembering names or even faces sometimes, no, but scents were of an altogether different nature.
Fen found himself blinking unhappily though today, when he came up short of a stride through a particularly rough patch of branches, having been unable to detect a scent. Okay, so he had been able to smell something, just not this apparent someone. He took in another good whiff of the air again, just to make sure he wasn’t mistaken. The strong sour whine of the pines’ bark, a glistening amount of fresh moisture disposed, the always earthy scent of leaves although a bit dry in this season and almost smelling burnt in nature, and a healthy mix of the earth and soil beneath his feet, were the only things he was picking up. He even picked up the scent of his fresh kill, now a few meters away from him, the smell of which made his belly flipflop for a few moments as he silently battled his inner voice telling him to return and eat his meal before it was wasted.
But nothing came to him of his intruder.
Brushing through another set of annoying bushes that slapped at his cheeks scornfully, he came into sight of that moisture scent with a curious frown. A relatively small lake.
And he held his breath.
Mind you, it wasn’t at all the lake that had grabbed his attention and shocked him as such. The beautiful array of falling leaves and growing, slender vines that arranged themselves along side it, made the lake a more sensible spectacle to behold than one might imagine. It seemed to thrive on the forestry around it, even as most of the sun was blocked from reflecting off the top of its calm surface, from the trees’ placement.
No, it was the petite figure, flesh of a lightly tanned and creamy nature not too different from his own, eyes a wild set of burrowing brown holes, hair held in wonderful wisps of darkened green, almost ebony, curling straight down and past her bare shoulders, a tiny female body wrapped up in an odd assortment of all sorts of naturistic things, and the pouting array of emerald-colored wings that dropped enough to tell him she had been recently swimming. -This is what grabbed his attention.
It was his apparent intruder.
And yet, he found himself greatly amused and far more curious than before when he had been entertaining the idea of making this new companion his prey. No, he didn’t sense danger from this girl, for she did indeed look young. Those tightened, balled fists posed no threat to him at all, especially since she wasn’t turned in the right direction of where he actually was, since he had skirted around the area.
“And what, pray tell, were you hoping to be able to do to fend me off had I attacked you, love?” he called toward the girl, keeping himself drawn back and hidden still, while his curious mind tried to decipher who or what this woman was. “I doubt those small fists would be able to dent any such movements I’d make, especially seeing as how you’re going to freeze to death before then.”
He couldn’t help it. He was laughing, his voice positively glowed this, yet he wasn’t trying to make fun of her. He really wasn’t, it was just his nature to speak his mind and so he did so now without thought to any such consequences.
Carefully, he moved into the clearing, very aware of the weight of his skinning knife kept inside the side pocket to his baggy pair of pants, the khaki color seeming to go along with the match of his hair. He was wearing no vest or shirt whatsoever for once, not something at all new with him especially since he had been on a hunt. One eyebrow arched low in confusion, still not being able to catch her scent or even to make out what she was. Very odd.
Wings of her type usually meant Angel, Goddess, or even a Fallen Angel as his dear friend was now. But her wings weren’t stained or coloring darkly as a Fallen’s would and the air about her didn’t seem to suggest an Angel of any kind, while a Goddess would definitely have made herself scarce to anyone’s eyes.
“Tell me. Why is a child, such as yourself, wondering about the woods alone at such a time of day? Especially this forest, it is quite dangerous to those that do not even seem to be carrying a weapon.” His voice betrayed no amount of threat, just an innocent wondering of such things.
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Post by devispooky777 on Nov 2, 2007 11:05:24 GMT -5
Gasping, Findabhait's long ears nearly split because of their own sensitivity, as some beast not too far of in the woods let out a growl of a cry. Trying to fight off her fear, she began focusing on her breathing, absorbing strength from her element, taking in as much borrowed energy from the vegitation surrounding her. She couldn't help spining around in place, trying to pin point where the sound was coming from, and where the creator of the sound was going. Stopping inorder to hear more properly, her fear and nerves making it slightly harder.
Once she heard the footsteps inwhich she was following stop, Finda bit her lip, opeing her sences up to her best abilities as she closed her eyes, focusing. The cold was starting to nip at her more and more as she constantly tried shaking out her winds. Faeries were hopless fliers when their wings were wet, much like a dragon fly. Now she had to learn the hard way. Then, finally, the beast spoke.
Heart and mind racing, Findabhair quickly turned to the sound of a the deep voice, and her insticts took over as her arm shot up, open palm facing him. She was weak and freezing, leaving her with very little power to defend herself, but as her veins pulsed, the leaves just below her arm beginning to lift with a mysterious wind, she glared at the tall figure that finally showed itself.
He wasn't at all what she had expected, possibly not even the one who had made the beast-like howl mere seconds ago, though she doubted it far too much. Rolling her eyes over his figure, she tried sizing him up. Thinking back to her leason, tried to figure what he could possibly be. He was not a Fae, nor of the Elven race, his features far too off, espesially his facial features, he was deffinitly not a human, for he was too fast. Not at all an angel of any type, with no wings. That left a few options, all of which caused her heart to race harder still.
Slicking her now dry, blue lips as she fought off her shivers, Findabhair turned her entire body in his direction, keeping her open palm directed towards him. Able to fight him off or no, she couldn't stand to be instulted, though it actually took a few moments for his words to actaully absorb into her mind before she could actually find them offensive, "I assure you, sir..." she replied, fighting to keep her voice steady, shivers and fear threatening to waver it, "You would not like to find out what I could fight you off with."
Findabhair rasied her chin defensivly, finding her breath harder and harder to draw. Running her eyes over him once more, she held her chin higher, "Weapons are a creation of simpler people..." she then snapped, narrowing her eyes, "I would fear deining myself to that level." She chose to merely snarl at his 'child' comment.
The more she spoke, the more Finda began easing into a less fearful mode. He seemed to be nonthreatening, and she could, if she had to, fight back, even if it ment completely draining herself. The only thing she needed was to dry off. Lowering her raised palm a few inches, the leaves below it began raising even more as the trees surrounding the lake creaked, all leaning in towards the lake at once as Findabhair's eyes flashed a slight greenish color.
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Post by Fenrir on Nov 2, 2007 11:07:25 GMT -5
Even as he had spoken the first time and she had shot her hand out toward him in preparation, he had found himself growing an all too familiar headache. Werewolves don’t experience headaches. Magic. The word circled about his thoughts as he dared not keep her from his sight at all now, the headache growing with her every movement. She was a magical creature of some sort and while usually a mage didn’t have a scent at all to him, instead wreaking of the magic they created, he realized she did have a scent. One he understood as to why he hadn’t recognized it before.
Her scent was that of the nature around her. Identical, he dare say, yet subtly different, like a rare flower blooming around thousands of brighter ones.
This should have given him a better idea as to what type of creature she was, a clue, but it didn’t. Her Earthen-type in liking, the leaves enfolded into her mysterious cloth, made him think of an elf and yet she didn’t smell like one as well as her beauty, a fragile-likeness instead of fierce, did not entirely look like one. She kept fidgeting those wings of hers, trying to dry them he realized as another look at them told him that they were thoroughly drenched, something that pegged off the Angel on his list even more.
And yet her stance toward him, obviously defensive, spoke of magic, something he quickly shied away from. He would have taken back what he meant about defenselessness without a weapon at this point had she not chosen such a time to return his words.
She was a mystery to him.
And he feared he had upset her, insulted her by his thoughtless words from before, for her returned answer was something tinging on threatening and malice. There was something close to fear that his wolf instincts felt in the air, something he was all too familiar with. He despised it. And he detested being called sir, not that it could be helped seeing as how she didn’t know his name and he wasn’t likely to give it. Fen shook his head with a light smile though, knowing exactly what she could fight him back with. And she would win such a fight, I’m afraid.
For you see, Fenrir had a rare disability when it came to magic. Much like his equally terrible weakness with silver, except this one had nothing to do with his father’s race and everything to do with the mixed blood from his mother’s. It could kill him. It was with such a problem that he became acutely aware to its workings and goings, easily able to decipher mage from elf despite scents. And he could feel it on her. Strange though that she doesn’t use a staff, wand, or other such instrument. I’d venture to guess she still uses the words of power though.
Fenrir tried not to glare at her upraised hand and paid more attention to her words, quickly bringing his generously wide grin back up with genuine amusement.
“Ouch.” He responded, referring to her cold words which were either meant as sarcasm or to prove to herself that she wasn’t at all afraid of him. “I fancy the man who challenges you like so with a bit of pity. But as you can see, I too don’t dilly with such weapons unless I’m forced to. That or bored really.” He returned, waving his hands up in the obvious look of surrender so as to show he wasn’t wearing any weapon and he meant her no harm.
Still, he kept at a bit of a distance, more so because of the warning of magic racing through his body than that of thinking her dangerous to him.
“Still, you did not answer my question, love. Is there a reason you’re all by yourself out here, did you happen to get lost or something?” His hands ruffled his hair playfully, trying not to appear as fidgety and nervous as his tense body and biting lip were proving him to be.
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Post by devispooky777 on Nov 2, 2007 11:16:45 GMT -5
Slightly put off by him keeping his distance, Findabhair narrowed her eyes slightly more on him, watching him study her just as much as she was studying him. He was a bit of a perplexing creature. His call from before had put her completely on guard, but now, with his more non-threatening stance, she eased her defenses a bit, lowering her hand completely, releasing the surrounding plant life from her power, though her power still pulsed through her, ready for anything.
It was she to take a few steps forwards, her head tilting as she continued trying to analyze the possible species he might be. It was impossible for him to be a vampire, though he did have the pale skin, and well built body, but his appearance in the sunlight ended that thought. Nagas and centaurs were definitely out of the question, she even rolled her eyes at herself for even thinking of it. The only ideas left for her were possibly a ghost, a metallic, or… She paused. Now the boisterous call made sense. If she were to guess, he must be a werewolf. The notion gave her goose bumps, and made her shiver far more then the cold did.
Right away, her magic began pumping harder, causing the foliage around her feet to begin hovering once more as Finda stared wide eyed at the being. Was he on the hunt? It was now that she completely regretted taking so long in harvesting the sea weed.
Finally, she snapped herself out of her thoughts once more, allowing his words to absorb. He must have assumed her magic aright, though she wasn’t attempting to hide it much. Finda couldn’t help snickering a bit, though, at his weapon remark. Need her weapons with those powerful claws?
“As I pity anyone who may come into contact with you at all…” she uttered back, more jokingly than sarcastically, though her fear gave her words more of a bite then she had intended, “But I promise you, all those who I fight usually deserve what they get.” It was hard for her to steady her voice as she nodded her head twice as she spoke.
The sun finally began coming over the trees, bringing more light and heat upon her freezing back. Findabhair sigh with relief as that help her relax herself far more. Her wings we finally dry enough to hold her for a short distance, and non-too-high, but that too calmed her more, still fearing his intentions made her mind buzz with thoughts of a confrontation, despite his contradiction attitude, which spoke mostly of curiosity.
Arching a brow, she found herself able to give a small grin as she admitted, his manner was far more kindly then before, “Need I truly be escorted, when I’ve traveled so well on my own thus far?” she asked, giving a small, playful laugh, “I’ve come to these woods of my own will, and it would be impossible to become lost when I have no true destination.” And with that, she nodded once more, her eyes quickly looking back to her find, still piled up nicely, though the sun was beginning to dry them out, causing the sea weed to give off a fish-like smell.
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Post by Fenrir on Nov 2, 2007 11:18:48 GMT -5
He felt a subtle change in the air, a lightness as the girl settled down, relieving him a bit of the pounding going on in his head. Fen could still sense the magic there though, she was cloaked in it, rather from birth or just from safety now, but he could still feel it. He wondered why he hadn’t felt such a thing before, when he had been hunting, he should have felt her magical presence at once. But as he retraced his eyes over her form again and equally noted her wet appearance for a second time, the answer came to him easily. She must have been swimming, the water kept me from noticing. That or I was just really -really- focused on that dumb hunt.
He flinched a little, startled from his pondering’s by the quick notice of the fair creature moving cautiously toward him. The Werewolf’s breath hitched a bit but he tried to remain where he had been, biting down on his lip a bit more harshly than before in nervousness. He didn’t believe in harming others when they hadn’t done anything intentional to him, but it’s not as to say he wouldn’t protect himself if need be. And in this case, he was far more likely to flee like the devil was on his heels than to do anything else. A jumbled thought went out to his meal, left lying in wait for him not far away.
Her head was tilted slightly to the side and although she looked so nonthreatening, so safe, even fragile, the magic in the air still left a dull ache in his thoughts. She was shivering still, whether it was from her cold and wet figure he wasn’t certain but suddenly her magic sprang around her again and he couldn’t stop the hard flinch that came with the pain. With a low growl he back stepped away from her to the edge of the forest, eyes narrowed as a hand steadied the aching that sprouted across his forehead. He forced himself to remember that she had no idea what effect she was having on him as his eyes moved curiously to the plants all about the clearing that seemed to have been effected too.
Her light snickering brought his troubled ambers back to her figure and the amusement there was obvious enough for him to grin back at when he received her half-joke. So she had guessed his race already and had somehow found the time to lace her carefully chosen words into something very much resembling a threat.
“Well now, a good ol’ fashion hero, is that what I’ve come across? I must admit I’d probably deserve anything you throw my way but I have to warn you that I’m not a very good loser.” The lycan grinned at his returned challenge, realizing that his joke could equally be thought of as a threat. They seemed to both be dancing around the issue. And he was a fantastic dancer.
The sun crept into their little alcove and he gasped at the effect such a light had to the ethereal beauty of the maiden, bringing out the hues of her choice of dress all the more, her brilliant hair seeming to glow bright enough it had him blinking and those wings seemed all the more fidgety again. A warning crept through him at this revelation, he didn’t know how fast she could fly since he wasn’t sure of her race. As far as he knew, he hadn’t heard of anything besides rare demons, Demi’s and Angel’s to carry the burden of wings.
By the choice of her next words he knew her intelligence far surpassed his own, much like his other winged friend. But he had been able to trick Tyr and he could still play his way through this encounter. Or so he hoped. Her smile did nothing to reassure him as long as his head was still making him dizzy and he realized lightly if she used any spell he wouldn’t have the strength to flee. She didn’t have to hit him to hurt him and he knew he wasn’t going to get within a few feet of her without her casting something. Besides, he didn’t want to hurt her.
“Well, love, I don’t believe I mentioned anything about escorting. For you see, I think I’m a great deal less intelligent when it comes to the matters of directions. I’d just end up getting you lost.” His playful grin was returning and along with it, his cocky sense of reassurance. “No destination? I’m guessing that isn’t entirely true. Surely you came to these woods for some purpose, searching or seeking something? Everyone has some purpose of their own to fulfill. If not anything more than those bundles of leaves over there by your feet.” He pointed with the hand that had held his head, making to refer to the mess of weeds and leaves partially wet he had spotted not long ago. He sniffed the air steadily, sea weed of some type, something he wasn’t familiar with just like this maiden. And it was wet, probably coming from the lake beside them, just like the maiden was.
“I’m thinking you have some greater sport in mind than diving for weeds?”
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Post by devispooky777 on Nov 2, 2007 11:24:58 GMT -5
Slowly, as the sun's rays graciously descended over her shoulders, Findabhair founder herself either becoming more and more warm, and dry, or the coldness was beginning to just numb her. Her pale skin had lost a bit more color, but was finally beginning to regain its healthy glow.
His movements puzzled Finda to no end. At first, he seemed so intimidating, and yet soon become uneasy, and now was giving her very mixed images. As soon as he backed away from her as she approached, she couldn't help but arch a brow, smirking. What was there to be afraid of? Surely not her, and with that thought, she gave another laugh. If was when he nearly stumbled back, tossing his hand to his forehead, that she finally stopped. The only possible reason for him to be reacting so before would be her magic, which made her question his race once more, no matter how sure she thought she was. Despite her doubts, she still attempted to lessen the intensity of the magic that was pulsing through her veins, hoping it wouldn't take too long, incase of an emergency, to getting it driving once more.
Again, he backed away, wanting Findabhair to follow him all the more. For each step her took back, she took two dainty steps forwards, trying her best to keep them non-threatening.
As soon as he spoke, Finda was unable to hide a small laugh, seeing his reaction to her comment on pitying those who came into contact with him. It had obviously come out too harsh, and her smile faded to a grin of guilt. Her peoples' thoughts of other races were still embedded in her mind, forcing her to be too judgmental. "I am absolutely joking with you, of course!" she quickly attempted to regain herself, biting her lip sheepishly, just as he bit his.
"Aha! A hero?" Finda laughed, tilting her head playfully as she chewed on his words. "I wouldn't call myself a hero. I'm no fighter, so if it's loosing you don't care for, then you have no worries of loosing to me." she nodded, "Unless, of course, you wish to prove me wrong..." and with a that, she gave him a wink, helping to prove she was joking.
Quickly after her joke, Findabhair's chin rose slightly as she watched his eyes travel over her once more. She fought to keep a blush from her face as she felt herself become the focus under a microscope. For the life of her, she couldn't at all think of what was so appealing about her soaked appearance. Quickly, she ran her fingers through her hair in attempts of improving herself as best as she could.
Trying to recover herself once more, Finda looked around a bit. What a strange werewolf, if that was he was. Surely a normal one would have either attacked or moved on by now, making her question his purpose for approaching her, though she tried pushing the question deep into the recesses over her mind.
Looking back to him as she spoke, a playful smile returned to Findabhair's lips, "I had my reason for entering these woods, and this..." she stopped to quote him, her smile broadening all the more, "'bundle of leaves' has easily supplied me with what I had come looking for. It doesn't look like much, but those plants are truly something quite different. I've never seen anything like them..." as she spoke, she brought her gaze down to her find, her eyes glowing with satisfaction with them. Arching her brow again, she looked back up to him, as if she had expected at least a bit more of his judgment, "These are not just weeds, that I can promise you."
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Post by Fenrir on Nov 2, 2007 11:55:47 GMT -5
The maiden laughed at him. Usually this is where your big bad wolf gets angry and loses his common sense, but not Fen. He found the beauty of her smile far more pleasant to dwell on than her teasing. That’s just how he was.
She seemed to find it funny that he should feel threatened by her presence and really, it was quite funny when you looked at it off to the side.
Here he was, his gawky and feminine features making him appear far more wise and older than he acted to be. But his limbs proved his strength and the slim build he kept by choice gave ideas upon his great speed and agility. He was only slightly taller than her, but the difference still stood.
And there he was stumbling away uneasily from the presence of a beautiful maiden. One looking as fragile and small as the leaves around her, easily able to succumb to his will if he pursued. Though they both wore little clothing, he was showing off more muscle than flesh and this gave him a look of strength once again, while it only appeared to make her look more ethereal and rare. Her face showed of an unnatural intelligence and yet the innocent smile and soft hands he noted, made her appear far younger than he.
But it was the magic he really feared, not her specifically. He was allergic to magic.
He could never explain it as simple as anything but that. His body rejected the flow of any such magic much the same way it contracted against silver. Magic could seriously hurt him. Perhaps it was his mother’s blood that mixed in such a danger when combined with his father’s, he didn’t know. Their pairing had definitely not been common enough not to frown upon. But the fact stood that he ran from magic just as he did from silver, it was suicide for him to face them, much like a knife in a gun fight.
A simple teleportation spell had him throwing up his insides. A head-on strike with an earth spell had made him bedridden for half a year battling sicknesses. A hit with a fire type spell, not even a direct hit, had made him unable to transform for months after.
But then she lessened her pull on the magic, dispelling it soundlessly for him without a word pertaining to the action, and so he arched his eyebrows in confusion. Did she notice what the effect had been having on him? She had to, because he wouldn’t expect her to have lowered her guard from any form of trust. He hadn’t earned that.
Yet she kept steering closer to him, the move so casual and nonthreatening that he eventually stopped retreating and allowed for her to get within two steps of him. And again she was laughing, whether this time it was from his words or not he didn’t know. Every move she chose was made as safely as possible, she was trying her best to prove she meant him no harm and he eased this knowledge into effect so that he could stop tensing for flight.
The creature regarded his earlier comment of heroism, explaining her views on fighting very briefly and then throwing him a cute little challenge he had to think twice about taking. The wink and her light mood nowhere near concerned, had lessened his fears tremendously, combined with the lovely fact that the sick tug to his head had lessened to a dull throb.
He didn’t take pain too well which was severely uncommon for his kind, but it wasn’t as if the transformation he performed so frequently hurt any less than that tiny ache. So he could easily deal with it for now.
He still kept silent though until noticing her nervous gestures to her hair, in which he was the one to laugh at her, obviously having noted how the Werewolf hadn’t been able to look away from her since he had stepped into the clearing. That was due more to his caution than to her profile, mind you, but she definitely wasn’t a common thing to look at.
She was teasing him again with those looks, he was sure, but instead of dwelling on this thought, he listened intently to her words regarding the weeds he had noted, her amusement not lost to him.
“Well that sounds like a destination to me, albeit a very broad destination if you ask me, considering how big a forest Moagshi is.” He stretched his limbs for a moment, trying to lessen the tension that had been there before. His long arms stretched out to the air and his neck went erect as he closed his eyes for a moment, 'ever the cat of a wolf' had been his father’s words. Once done cracking his back unhealthily and scratching his chin in thought, he returned amused amber orbs to the girl beside him. “So, if you had no direct destination, I’m guessing you haven’t chosen a place of lodging tonight. Have you, love?”
Fen cocked his head to the side, a goofy grin plastered about his features that never quite reached his eyes anymore. “You’re probably hungry too, not to mention cold. I wouldn’t have taken twelve gold sestors to jump into that pool at this time of day. You’d have to be mad.” He shivered instinctively at the thought as he eyed the calm, reflecting surface of the lake. Then he blinked and returned to staring at her, waving his arms about comically. “Uh, I didn’t mean any offense, mind you.”
Slapping himself inwardly for being an extremely foolish child of past a hundred years, he turned fully to regard the maiden, bowing low and a bit clumsily given he wasn’t used to such a gesture.
“I’m offering you my services for the night. It can’t rest well with my conscious to know a young woman such as yourself is wondering about the wood without much protection.
And I had just finished supplying myself with a meal for the night. Too much for me to eat even, so it’ll be a relief to have it not go to waste.” His voice was innocent as was his intentions and he maintained a friendly air about him as he awaited an answer.
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Post by devispooky777 on Nov 2, 2007 11:57:21 GMT -5
As she found herself close enough to him, Findabhair allowed her own eyes to study him just as his did her. Despite how positive she was on her assumption on his race, his body build and manor gave her many mixed messages. He seemed far softer then a usual werewolf, obviously not physically, but personality wise. Physically, her strength failed horribly in comparison. It was his gracious attitude, though that threw her off the most.
His reaction to her easing her magic at least confirmed one thing. Finda knew something about him was not good with magic, or against. Either way, she preferred his more calm bearing, meaning that it would be best for her to stay off of the defensive.
Again, as she thought about it father, she found herself thinking just as her people. It was far too much like them to quickly judge a being just because of their race or origin, far before they ever bothered to get to know them, and as she attempted to figure him out, she caught herself stereotyping as well, and, wanting to be better then that, she quickly push aside all thoughts of figuring his race out. She was more interested in him, personally.
Watching as his body slowly relaxed, his exposed muscles becoming less tense right before hers eyes, she wondered if it were her magic that was causing him to tense to body, making it look as though he would have fled at any moment. Perhaps the effect was far worse then she had thought, which caused her to regret jumping to conclusions to quickly. As a pang of guilt suddenly kicked her in the stomach, she offered him an apologetic smile.
Findabhair was at least glad to see that he had understood her joke and playfulness when she offered him the challenge. She was hoping that he could see how easily he could overpower her, not including his weakness against her magic.
"If you see objectives as destinations, then yes, I did have a destination." she finally replied, after she chewed on her words for a few moments, "But my 'destination' was fairly vague. I..." with that, she stopped, on the verge of possibly revealing too much of herself to him. Though she didn't want to be magically defensive, she could at least stay on the mental defense. It wasn't in her best interest to suddenly begin blabbing on and on about herself to one she knew so little of.
It was then that another thought struck her. Why was it that she was still perusing contact with this possibly dangerous individual? Finda never tended to be shy, but it was very unlike her to dabble with strangers, especially when those strangers were not customers. By now, she would have been gone, yet she insisted on, for lack of a better term, investigating this man.
Finally, she brought herself out of her thoughts and back to him, "Oh, lodging?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, still baring a grin, "I've become so adjusted to living off of the land, I haven't focused on finding myself a shelter in some time. Since the last rain, quite honestly." Her smile broadened at his possible insult. It was true, she had jumped on impulse. "That... was a bit foolish of myself, I'll admit." With a soft chuckle, she slowly brought her hands to her upper arms, pressing her warm, sweating palms against her shivering skin, "Some people, I'm assuming, would do anything for their... art, so to speak."
Once he made his offer, Findabhair couldn't help giving another warm laugh. In all of her months of traveling, never before was she offered protection, a meal, and 'services' from anyone along the way, let alone from a werewolf. With a soft giggle, she tilted her head in the opposite direction, "How... could I possibly pass up such a kind offer?" she replied, making the split second decision. Something within her was pressing for her to say yes, "I gladly accept. I wouldn't at all be able to sleep at night knowing a kind man's offer was left cold..."
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Post by Fenrir on Nov 2, 2007 12:01:20 GMT -5
She was studying him, very intently at that. And the fact that she didn’t seem to want to hide this fact from him, made her seem to be even more the weaker of the two.
For in this war that waged the lives of every soul in Konjavi, race was everything.
Race. It was strength and it was weakness, it was insight and it was mystery, it was a curse and a mirrored blessing. Stereotyping and measured temperament applied as well. Knowing someone’s race was everything to them, their identity, their urges, right down to their easily exploited weaknesses. You could make or break someone given the race or heritage they served. True, half breeds seemed to come far and long these days than most thoroughbreds and this too came into the grand design. People sought the company of other races so that their children could be protected. In many aspects of the word.
For if they were human and demon, they couldn’t be forced to choose a side in this war and were equally not cut down by either side in the crossfire due to both of their mixed breeds. It also made them more at ease with the potent weaknesses of their other race. For example, take a dhampire into question. A cross between a Werewolf and a vampire, a very hard mix to stick with results but the benefits served their young well. The child could walk in the sunlight, inherit psychic abilities, not have to feed on blood, and yet be able to transform into the wolf as their second skin accompanied by the overpowering sense of smell in either form (which meant normally they were more toward the Were side than the Vamp). They were usually still weakened with silver, but not as easily poisoned that way then most would be and a stake through the heart could be lived through if not properly beheaded afterwards.
And while Fen’s particular mixed heritage seemed to give him an incredible weakness to any type of magic more so than help, he was sure benefits would eventually claim him in time. So far, besides the obvious side effects, his looks seemed to be one difference that set him apart from his race.
His body was built like most of his kind, muscled and tense, strong as steel and added to swift, fluid movements. But so unlike a natural Werewolf, his skin was smooth and soft, unblemished to anything, lean and slim. Perfect. His face held a deathly feminine grace, high cheek bones combined with a thin mouth and the brightest mix of hair. He looked nothing of the harsh, ruddy, dark features a usual Werewolf did claim right down to the mix of his eyes that somehow changed to the color of his surroundings. Of course, there were the different fur colors of packs: black, brown, golden, gray, and the rare red and white or silver . Yet his coat was that of some type of mix: between golden, brown and red.
Yes, he owed his angelic looks to the grace of his mother, who was in fact an Angel. His father belonging to a fairly medium-sized pack of golden wolves going by Vyras.
He had retained the race of his father’s completely upon birth, only his features proving him to be of any such mix even though the Angel blood in him would never stir until his life was claimed and his spirit moved on.
He’d never seen anyone like him before, plenty of mixed Were’s with humans, mind you, but none with an Angel. That was a taboo mix, with which his pack had apparently agreed with.
All of this told and taught him that he should always seek out the race of his companions, experience alone reminded him of this as well. So, while she may have given up on figuring his race out anywhere beyond a Werewolf, he was indeed not done. His nose still regularly checked the air for new hints, trying his damndest to figure this maiden out. For he was sure all questions would be ceased, lying beneath her race.
And while she gave him an apologetic smile he wasn’t sure he deserved, he returned a wickedly, trickster-like one of his own.
The winged creature regarded him still somewhat passively, speaking of her very broad destination, or rather, her very vague idea of a destination. She also paused in her words halfway-through explaining, no doubt debating on whether to hand over so much information about herself so easily and without thought to a dangerously mysterious stranger. He waved a hand in the air to dismiss her worry, he understood the wariness and definitely respected it.
“-sought some weeds in the middle of a lake, deep in an unknown forest far south, for some reason involving yourself that I’d rather not be known to yet. Very vague indeed, love.” He chuckled, finishing her dropped sentence with mild humor.
The maiden seemed to hesitate on her thoughts and so he drifted his gaze up to those mysteriously shaped wings as he awaited an answering to his question from before. Undoubtedly, she could fly on the drying things very well by now. His amber eyes widened suddenly at a very soft memory he had of childhood, long since forgotten he’d kept so clearly. It was of a song his mother had hummed to him. The words and her painting added to his own childish script seemed to reach out to him and bring greater, detailed attention to those emerald wings.
He barely realized she had accepted his offer, along with making a complete fool of herself, well more so she had described herself as nothing more than a scatter brain that didn’t think too far ahead of herself. Not that he was much different had he not had the presence of mind to hide thoroughly when being hunted, himself.
At the cute mention of art he was grinning again though, having not realized his smile had dropped before to be replaced by something of a cool longing at the remembrance.
“You have no idea how right you are, I’m afraid,” he responded to the art part, making a sweeping motion to his left with the opposite hand to show her the way in which they were headed. “My lady.” Although not completely trusting her to his back, he moved ahead to dismiss himself, trusting his thoughts that told him she would follow and starting at a small pace just in case. Of course, he paused long enough to unravel and throw his prized kill over one bare shoulder before continuing on, humming the song from before to himself.
“It’s not much of a lodging, as far as it goes. But it’ll keep us dry and you warm, while providing cover from any mad fellows you might have on your trail,” he mumbled, using his words to try and entice an answer from her. Meaning to interpret if she was alone or not, hunted, or even if she had a bed partner soon to catch up. He ran a finger lightly over the tattoo-like markings around his left eye, burned into his soft skin as a child with silver, signifying his status as a hunter. It was a habit movement if ever when having just finished a particularly successful hunt.
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Post by devispooky777 on Nov 2, 2007 12:02:58 GMT -5
By now, Findabhair found herself growing more and more comfortable in his presence, though, instinctively, she kept her guard up. Faes, because of their natural physical weakness, were always vigilant, no matter how calm the situation. It was almost contradicting for their race to then be cursed with an unnatural beauty, that their people would use, more, back in the days when myths were created, when faes would use their beauty to lure humans, or even other, less intelligent creatures, into their lands for their own entertainment. In present times, their abnormal exquisiteness merely hinders the faes' attempts at separating themselves from the rest world, attracting unwanted attention to their people. So their natural nature is to protect themselves, while still drawing possible danger to themselves.
Cocking a brow, she couldn't help narrowing her eyes as a few silent moments flew between them. It wouldn't unlike his kind to be drawn to her type, most possibly because of her idiotic beauty. Was this dog merely interested in her for that, or was he looking for another addition to his hunt, since his type didn't seem the kind to be satisfied with merely one catch.
Gasping, Finda again had to roll her eyes at herself, cursing herself under her breath. The selfish, biased thoughts of her people were racing through her mind as she farther looked him over. It was far beyond her why their horrid lessons of nationalistic thoughts and race preservation were still embedded in her mind, though she had been fighting so hard to ban them from her mind completely. Just catching herself thinking so cruelly made her feel dirty and wrong. Biting her lip, she gave him an apologetic face as she finally brought her eyes back to his, "Please... excuse me for eyeing you so crucially..." she sighed, knowing he wouldn't completely understand what she meant, but she felt better at least getting the words off, and the filthy feeling off of her chest, "I promise to make fair company from here on out, in return for such a kind offer." she then smiled, inwardly promising to regard him as she would herself, with kindness, trust, and care.
Giving him a laugh, her smile broadened as he completed her sentence, "Alright, alright, fair enough. I am a mere cloth weaver, but a gift of my people is to have the ability to weave any material into cloth, so in order to make fair money, I try to gather more rare materials. My powers lie within the earth, so I work best with plant materials, and I came here in hopes of finding rare vegetation." By the time she finished her explanation, she had forgotten to breath. Finally taking in a breath, she sighed, "I'm hoping that narrows my destination in your eyes a bit..."
Once he gestured for them to leave, she turned to her belongings, her large, brown leather bag, and tall stack of giant sea-weed leaves. Biting her lip once more, she fluttered over to gather them up, tossing her bog's strap over her head, then attempting to balance the leaves in her extended arms. By the time she turned back to him, he was already a bit ways away, yet slowing down. With a sigh, though a grin still on her face, she hurried after him, her bare, dainty feet crunching more in the leaves then they usually did. With a few flaps of her wings, she was able to just barely catch up with him as he threw the catch he had been explaining over his shoulder
"If someone were following me, then I would be worried more then you, quite honestly." Findabhair laughed as she brought her pace to match his, keeping herself by his side as best she could. As he spoke of warmth, she then remember how dry she was already, though her clothes were still soaked completely, "Oh, please, don't worry about me. I've put myself though worse situations. Please don't go out of your way on my behalf."
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Post by Fenrir on Nov 2, 2007 12:05:25 GMT -5
eautiful? Oh yes, she was indeed. Was he one to stare and gape at this beauty and to be put off or on by it? Hell no. Yes, he’d agree that when having a civilized conversation, it was much more fun to be doing it with someone appealing to look at then someone you had to try your hardest not to gag at every time they stretched out a syllable.
This beauty of her’s he had only stopped to note could be another clue to her race. But then again, she could have just been naturally beautiful, no matter how unnatural that kind of beauty looked to be.
She was still regarding him oddly, keeping a guard up even as she relaxed and cocked her head to look him over. Fen didn’t seem to understand why she apologized though, not completely at least. For viewing him cruelly? Then he could only guess she had realized his race by now. Something all people he had met viewed cruelly and punctuated this point by nearly killing him. And at this, he smiled to himself, shaking his head a little and sending ends of his golden tresses flying at such a movement.
“No doubt I am used to the biased opinions of others. But you are forgiven.” It seemed she needed to hear something along that nature cause she was becoming nervous, if her biting of the lip didn’t tell him that already. She made a comment of being fair company to him now for his offer, something that mildly surprised him considering how many bad implications that could lead up to, but considering her innocent eyes, he could narrow those implications down to none. “No need for mannerism around me. Just be yourself and we’ll get along fine.”
Her laugh sent a chill through his tanned skin, something about it was just too pure. And it was followed by words that intrigued him further, as she continued to explain why she had been out in the forest. Her ‘destination,’ if you were, was to get supplies from her job at cloth making. I.e. the weeds.
But to tell him this was to allow him a bit of trust. A bit being, way too much. To allow a stranger, a dangerous Werewolf she didn’t even know, this trust. Even if it was such a meager amount, for now. It just seemed odd for her to already be giving him any sort of trust, for all she knew he was coercing her back to his lair so that he could chew on her bones without disturbance. Her innocence was really starting to bring out his protective instincts, for it seemed it would be so very easy for this girl to trust the wrong person and he didn’t want anything to happen to such a sweet child. And she had even told him her specialty with magic now, although he had indeed narrowed it down already to such. But this knowledge was not something to be taken lightly and it was easily exploited.
He heard her fluttering about behind him for a bit, no doubt trying to gather her things and then to keep up with him. A gentleman would have made to carry it for her, but the dead weight of his killed stag across his left shoulder was enough as it was. He found himself glad he wasn’t wearing anything top-wise, for at once he felt the small seeping of warm liquid running down his shoulder and the stink of blood had his nose wrinkling.
Fen’s ears picked up the sound of her wings, such an odd sound in this quiet a forest and it was soon followed by her answering voice, telling him in a manner that she wasn’t being pursued by anyone. She tried to reassure him not to worry about her when he told her of warmth and he instantly knew this one was going to be a stubborn one.
“Nonsense, love. I am playing the host. And once you play a role, you play the -whole- role.” It was something of a saying of his brought on by thieving. He often enjoyed dressing up and playing on the mannerisms of others and defining their role just long enough to cut the right amount from a purse. Most would say that was a spy use, but he wasn’t a spy. No, if he was he’d have to kill people. And he wouldn’t do that, it just wasn’t in his fragile heart.
The humming of that wondrous old song his mother had taught him, didn’t seem enough. And so he opened his mouth wide and began to sing. Odd and completely random, that was Fenrir.
But as soon as he got the first line out, he stopped and turned to his companion, recognition making him smile. He knew what she was.
Princess, Princess,
why do you cry?
In a forest painted by the setting sun,
I made a promise to a demon boy.
That when the full moon ascends the sky in *ten, (*ten lunar years)
I’ll become his bride.
Princess, Princess,
Why do you laugh?
Behind a veil of bamboo blinds,
The minister explains that
He’ll hide and protect me,
Just as clouds do the moon in a hazy sky.
Princess, Princess,
Why are you scared?
In the far-off reaches of the highest mountains,
I hear the cries of a demon boy
That if women are truly as fickle as the phases of the moon,
Then surely I shall capture and devour her.
[/center] His voice was rich and deep, as sensual as his father’s had been but he’d still gather he inherited his voice from his mother’s side. The only thing he’d gained from his father’s side was the ‘gift’ of the wolf. The words and the song itself were extremely old, so much so that his pack hadn’t known all of it when he’d asked and what he had just sang was their uncompleted and mixed version. His Angel mother had known the truth of the song though. She had helped him learn the last verse, as well as the ending to the old story. The true ending. The Werewolf turned back around, continuing his pace, slower still so that she could walk beside him though. “Do you know that song? It’s been an old warning sang by the humans that had lived on the reaches of territory surrounding my old pack. It was sung in fear by our kind, yet as a warning for the mortals.” As the story went, that was whispered by the humans: When the oldest daughter of the Minister of the Left was still a little girl, she once met a young demon child (An Urgazhi, or Wolf demon) who found his way to her house. The two became fast friends during his brief stay, and the daughter promised to marry the demon one day. But as the months and years passed after making her promise, the princess’ memories began to fade and she soon dismissed her childhood promise as something she’d merely dreamed of. So, when the princess reached a marriageable age, she was chosen and agreed to become the Fae Emperor’s bride and make her entry into the Imperial Court. However, the night before her entry into the court, her demon raided the house of the Minister of the Left, supported by a legion of other demons and ghouls. This enraged the princess, breaking her promise from their youth. During the course of the raid, the princess was taken away and ‘claimed’ by her demon. Her father forced action immediately after and gathered an army of his city’s young noblemen and mightiest warriors, and together, marched onward to the demon’s lair, deep in the mountains. The Minister’s force was able to smite the demon; and returned the princess to her home. While the princess would no longer be accepted into the Imperial family (because she was ‘damaged goods’ now), she married the commander of the troops sent to rescue her instead. And they lived happily ever after. It is because of this precedent that all children were told never to make promises with a demon, even if they believed their promise to be just a dream. It is said that even though it seems like a dream, don’t sell your soul to the devil. And yet the true story of this legend, was that the Fae princess was in love with that demon. That she had been engaged from the start to the Emperor and had staged that demon attack so that she could be taken away by her love. They had even tried to make it look like the Princess had died in the raid, so that the Emperor wouldn’t send any aid after them. But her father had not been tricked, he had known of her love for the demon and just wanted the Werewolf dead. The true ending to the story was not a happily ever after. Devastated that her love had been killed, she told her father of what they had engaged in, knowing the consequences. And he had her hanged for it. Because you were never to make love to anyone outside of your kind, especially one that had no claim to you, and especially if she was supposed to be for the Emperor. It was a shame so deadly to her family if it ever had been found out, so the father dressed his eldest daughter to look like the princess and he had her marry the Emperor instead. For the Emperor had never once met her before, he couldn’t tell the difference between the two to know he was being fooled. Yes, it doesn’t really sound like a lovely bed time story for him. But his mother had loved the history of it. She had loved it because she considered her own union with his father to be much the same. An Angel with a Werewolf. She could lose her wings for such a thing. He remembered her telling him once that their happily ever after had already happened. That even if everyone looked down on them or if they were killed, she would still live on happy. Because she had already conceived him for his father. She believed her great deed to be done now. The response he recalled giving her as that tiny pup of a child still had him smiling. “Then who would tell me my stories before bed?” The lycan kept his back to the girl now as he lowered his eyebrows, thinking about what had become of them now. Such a stupid promise and such a naive child he was. ((The song and legend is a true story, a story I've done much research on because it's so cute. Although I did warp it a little to fit my needs here. >.< )) [/size] |
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Post by devispooky777 on Nov 2, 2007 12:08:08 GMT -5
It was hard to believe, but after Findabhair had made such a sturdy decision within her own mind, she found herself easing more and more. She still felt her muscle tense a bit, but she was substantially calmer. It was in her own, personal nature to be more relaxed and passive, but even now she was able to note the change, especially in the situation she had landed herself into. Thinking about it, it actually took her awhile to come to at least the slightest of conclusions. In all of her travels for nearly a year, she had never found herself in the company on one person for as long as she was now.
Finda was born and raised into a large family, and a small village. For all of her life she would see the same faces everyday, and had grown a sense of real comfort and security. It was probably because of the way that she had been raised that made her so tense when it came to the lack of familiarities. For the first few weeks, she had found it refreshing to not recognize every face that she passed by as she traveled farther and farther from home, but soon after she began to feel the longing for it. It hurt for a long time to be able to find repose within the company of a familiar presence. It truly to her a very long time to numb her longing for a familiar touch, or even a friendly smile, but after vigilant trying, she was able to forget the pain of being so far from faces she knew, and even actually knowing someone by name, and look forward possibly seeing those she knew again.
Once Findabhair was actually pick up a steady pace along side of him, she looked up at him with an almost sly smile. Brushing all thoughts of race and trust aside, she was able to examine his own beauty. His skin was nearly as flawless as her own, if not even more so, and it was tanned just perfectly to enhance nearly every feature just the right way. The oddly colored hair that he threw aside so casually seemed to brighten up his face, and matched his eyes near flawlessly. Finda found herself taken aback slightly as her grin broadened. She had been so worried about her own curse, when his blessing had been right before her eyes all along. His company was more welcomed now then before, she thought with the softest of giggles. She was were joking with herself, but she couldn't deny that his good-looks but her a bit more at ease. And his personality matched his looks very well, as far as she could tell, and she liked to pride herself in being able read people.
"I can't even begin to explain to you how horrid my people are when it comes to being biased to other races." she replied softly as she brought her gaze back ahead of herself. The more she spoke of herself, the more she left herself open, yet brought her more comfort, "I'm trying to train myself to forget their teachings... at least their hateful teachings. They may not know better, but they tend to be rather harsh..." she then admitted, smirking awkwardly. Finda couldn't help but bring her eyes back up to him, "I apologize if I'm speaking too much... I haven't been able to truly talk in some time, I assume my mind is taking advantage of the situation." With a forced laugh, she looked back ahead.
If appeared to Findabhair that she needn't worry about acting as herself, as her true nature was slowly seeping out in small doses. Though he was charming, it surprised her that she was able to open up so quickly to this stranger, no matter how familiar they had apparently become, and so quickly. her inward, somewhat hidden personality had taken a liking to his outward personality, which is what seemed to driven it out.
Fluttering her wings a bit more before she folded them up, Finda noticed how he flinched ever-so-slightly, forcing her to bite her lip once more in order to hold back a smile. His hearing seemed just as sensitive as her own, which didn't come as much of a surprise to her. But as he insisted on getting her warm, her smile dropped off slightly, "I'm sure drying naturally won't threaten your hosting skills in anyway!" she replied, giving him a soft laugh, "If I needed such constant watch over me, then I wouldn't have made it as long as I have in my traveling career." With that, she laughed a bit harder, tilting her head slightly as she acknowledged his kindness, "If it helps at all, I believe you are the perfect image of a gentleman, and you need not do a single thing to prove this point farther.
And then he began to sing. It was a song that she, along with hundreds of others, had heard and memorized as a young child. Nearly stopping in her tracks, her head snapped in his direction. The first line drove that numbness of wanting familiarity right out of her, and nearly filled the gaping hole that was then brought into her chest. As she forcefully absorbed the hit quickly, she smiled once more, and as he made his way to the third verse, she took in a deep breath and hummed along with him. She enjoyed his voice, she had to admit, and wouldn't want to spoil it with her own. With a sigh, she closed her eyes, "I do, indeed, know that song. It's one that they actually touch us in our schooling, now that I think of it... When I was much younger." Turning to him, she tilted her head once more, "How were you able to come across it, as well as sing it so beautifully?" she asked, unable to stop her smile from growing more and more. It was strange, but oddly nice to see someone outside of the world that was her childhood know something, even as trivial as a song.
((I had to change my font size! I was driving me crazy how I would stretch out the pages so badly! ^^; ))
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Post by Fenrir on Nov 2, 2007 12:10:06 GMT -5
She kept trying to keep up at pace with him, something that kept his amusement on a high to watch, he admitted. He wasn’t meaning to walk so fast, mind you, his legs were just a bit too long and he was just so full with a bustling of energy. So, well....okay, he hadn’t at first been trying to walk so fast. But then, after her first cute attempt to jump up along side him, he had quickened his pace a little to see how she’d take it.
He hadn’t taken into thought her wings were so dry now.
And she kept eying him strangely, smiling to herself and obviously not intending on the Werewolf’s hearing and sense of smell to be so strong that Fen could see her if he closed his eyes even. A beautiful image of a maiden burned across in the darkness.
Ah, yet now she talked of her people and of their biased views on life, something he thought an understatement on her part, considering all races consisted of this today. So many people, all fighting mindless foes in their own eyes betwixt a dangerous battlefield with even more dangerous weapons, too stubborn to look through the masks of reality and see that their enemies were just as desperate as them. Just as human as them. Only fighting for their family, maybe a wife and infant son at home, wanting to ensure peace for the next generation. Yet no peace would come if such a child were raised to see such conflict.
The only evil in the world today consisted of these petty hearts. People so mixed up in their own darkness that they’d lash out on anyone and not be wary enough to call it just.
And his kind had seen their fair share of this hospitality, of the too human views of everyone. They were monsters, they were demons, they were animals, they were evil. Werewolves were always considered mindless killing machines, as much out for blood as their moon-befriended partners, the vampires. People quickly began finding weaknesses as they fought them. Any excuse to bring up a weapon, from a howl in the night to a sighting of a full wolf on their fields stalking livestock.
Of course, half of a Werewolf consists of their wolf nature and every wolf is a predator, a hunter to their own right. Every wolf excites at the thought of battle. They wouldn’t stay their hands if forced to defend themselves. And so many of his kind found these attacks of the mortals to be reason to become the animal they were so named. To allow the wolf in them to take control forever.
All of the blame to go around, or so he guessed.
He had to blink a few times with those long eyelashes of his to remind himself of where he was, of the girl beside him, now speaking in apology for talking too much. He smiled gently at her, remaining quiet as he shifted a bit of the weight on his shoulder. Fenrir need not explain to her his thoughts on biased opinions right now.
She seemed to be warming up to him, a good thing considering he didn’t want to have to leave her alone in this forest which was something he’d have to do if she kept tapping into that magic of hers. And no matter how strong the pull of that magic had felt, he still didn’t think her strong enough to take care of herself. Maybe this was due to her fragile looking nature, or the talkative way she was eyeing him, but she reminded him a lot of the pups back home he would sit and protect.
The lycan found it fairly more amusing however to watch her go all defensive on him about the prospect of him not letting her dry off naturally. She went on to say that she had gotten so well in her career so far without help and then tried to soften her words later to compliment him on actually being a gentleman in her eyes. Her laugh was bringing him pure images of honey now and he tried to keep a straight face and not join such laughter. Some people’s laughs just made you want to do that, they were infectious.
“Which would be how long, love?” He mumbled, inquiring as to how old she was without actually voicing such a question. He tried to look over at her without knocking the weight of his stag from his shoulder. It wasn’t that it was so heavy, but it was just hard to walk, carry, talk and listen at the same time. He had trouble multitasking like that.
It didn’t go without notice to him that the lovely Fae woman had hummed along with his voice in the final part of the song and her smile had him quietly confused. Maybe she was missing home? Well, it was very rare indeed for one of the Fae to wander out of territory unwatched. Especially in one so young. He wondered for a moment if she had left under bad pretenses to get away from it all, but then he decided that her personality drifted more toward just wanting a bit of freedom.
Though, still, everyone missed where they had come from, from time to time. It was natural thus.
She asked him kindly how he’d learned the song and how he had also learned to sing it so beautifully. He shifted his gaze away a bit uncomfortably, a habitual movement but his gaze came to rest on their surroundings and he turned sharply to the left. He needed to pay more attention to where they were going. Even still, he gave her an answer.
“As I said before, I fist came across it sung by the mortal children who lived along the boundaries of our pack. I learned the song instantly and knew it for a warning from our kind as I was taught. Those who sang it feared us.
But as I grew, the little ones whispered of the Faerie folk and confused messages had me wondering more. My mother caught me singing the song at some time later and was angered that I didn’t know the correct version of the song. She taught it to me, repeatedly told me of the story until I knew it by heart. It was the song I went to sleep by.
I doubt very few people do know the true version, but Angels. Even the Fae folk, it must have died with the Princess considering I could hardly guess that those uptight people would tell their young ones tales of how a maiden fell in love with a demon. An Urgazhi. No, they probably taught it the same way as the humans. A way to tell them to never trust a foul demon. Don’t promise them anything.” He paused as he realized his words had turned into a low growl and he made himself laugh at the thought. There was nothing he should get angry for though, the past was the past.
“Ah, but I believe we finally made it,” he told her as a way to end the conversation at hand before it led him into an argument.
They weren’t exactly in a clearing, but the trees had thinned out considerably, taller ones having bent to place a canopy over the area without trunks permitting walking space. A small cabin lay hidden among bushes and tree limbs, his try at being camouflage-happy and failing terribly for the sharp color of wood still lay visible to the eye and the cabin was actually really easy to make out still. An open window had him grumbling low as he marched head on into the area, wondering what annoying little creature had made themselves a home this time. A bit of a dug out circle not far from the hut, surrounded in the safety of tall, polished rocks sat where a campfire surely had been, seeming to show through it’s burnt compression of ashes that the Werewolf had been tending here for some days now. He quickly tossed off his load near there, jumping inside the cabin with little effort and an ease born from quickness to grab what looked like stacks of dry wood to start a fire, where he presumably bent and plopped himself down on the forest floor.
In no time, he had. The burning blaze sending whirls of smoke high overhead to be caught below the trees and to encase the whole camping area in a submerged heat, an oven. He made sure to keep the blaze low enough to be safely away from the trees themselves, his guards over the cabin while he had left. A job he appreciated well.
From somewhere he found a rag of bright red and he began smudging at the blood that stained his perfect shoulder, motioning for the Faerie maiden to join him.
((Halfway through I lost my muse, I apologize. But meh, it's so hard to think with a pup biting my pants from my lap.))
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