Erik watched the pair. The boy was truly connected to his wolf, a stronger bond than he had felt between Smoke or.. Moon's Glow.. Light he hadn't thought of Smoke's mate in Winters. She lived in the Dream now. Erik could still remember the sensation of holding her body, the uneasiness in her lightness, how she sagged in his arms, head rolling about her neck..

Erik cleared his throat, the nagging sensation of it being dry regardless of the water or tea he drank was pushed down as he examined his travel companions.

"No, that be true. Wolves cannot live off bread and cheese and bits of old meat. I do be uneasy, though it won't be until we touch Caralainian grass will I feel fine.. Aye, hunt what you like, with her, but I'll be coming along." The Wanderer's eyes flared open for a moment for the resumed their casual stare. Whether the boy do be surprised or alarmed, Erik cared little either way. He had come too far to let the boy trip over a root and impale himself chasing a doe through the trees. "Wolf-speak, stay low, should be fun." Erik knew a murderous glow had taken his eyes. It always would before sword practice, or hunting, or.. drinking..

Erik stifled another cough in his throat, the itch made his hackles ache and his desire to scratch his tonsils with a scalping blade intensified. A little fresh meat may be what I be aching for, Erik reasoned as he drew his eight inch hunting knife from his boot, setting his cloak and over shirt near their packs and saddles. Anything that would snag, or flap unnecessarily, would be left.

"But no room for discussion," Erik nodded to the two, "unfortunately. We'll have better luck with three and personally I've tired of dry meat and older cheese as well."

As they moved to the trees Erik steadied his feet before they could collapse underneath him. The two turned to watch him and Erik covered his misstep by acting like he was moving around a hole that was not there. The lightheaded spell had come and gone so sudden Erik doubted it had even happened.. He tightened his grip on the blade and edged into the woods, quietly, with the other two. They would run. They would chase. They would taste.

-Erik

OOC: Mono. Don't try it. Glad things have been able to move along Winds, this has been my first chance to sit down and throw any bit of writing more than one-lines on msn since christmas. Cheers

Erik nodded. The boy spoke truth, he could sense some details had been glazed over, but Light they all glazed over details and transgressions.

"I've heard far worse stories, if that can ever be any solace," Erik's foot caught the edge of a stone and he gave it a satisfying soar through the wiry blades of grass to his right, "I suppose I was more fortunate though. My mother didn't have the heart to tie the noose around my neck or gouge out my eyes during the night..

So many memories begin to compound on one another, a ball of twisted ache that tumbles and rolls in his mind, that grows, day by day, Winter on Winter, as he scours the land and his soul for answers and justice. Sometimes his own answers, sometimes his own justice. Now you're starting to sound like a rabid smelling white two-leg, Night's Howl chirped from the back of his mind. A rabid smelling two leg, a Whitecloak, a Child of the Light. That smell didn't wash away.. A Wanderer brought in the summer previous had reeked of the stench. It wouldn't go away, and Erik had steered clear of the boy since.

"My father had come sick with an illness. The Wisdom lived a good day's hard travel away and we'd sent for her a week prior. I had been convinced it was my own doing. That my own presence in the house, my own affliction.. was the reason why my father had come ill." Erik looked up and smiled a little bit. "I may still believe it. He got better after I left with the wolves into the woods. Straight into a blizzard but they grow the children of Ivo from rocks and ice and oak wood, so I may have survived had a Tracker.. What I am.. hadn't found me."

They crossed a ditch a pace across with ease. He was certain it had been a quick-running brook in his notes and when he had last ventured this far. Few things were returning to what they had previously been years before any more.

"Six years have passed since I was in your shoes, Wind. A long time. A lot of memories. It is a long road and even longer if you find it difficult to trust those you're with." He searched the boy's face for resistance or understanding. "I am not asking for blind faith, trust must be earned. But it is difficult for those to help you if you live in fear of them. I do not expect you to trust me right away. Or even at all. But it will be a difficult journey for you if you cannot believe ones to have good intentions towards you. I'm rambling, I know, consider that my rant for the day and we'll go back to listening to the wilderness."

They would make camp soon. Perhaps something shaded with more trees and a softer mulch under their backs, he could smell his favourite bland tasting tubers. If you cooked them right, they had the same flavour as porridge or raw potato.. If not, it would taste like yeast.

-Erik

    He nodded. The boy was aware of the protection a Stedding offered. This would help.

    "Aye, that be true. Not all be inhabited by Ogier though. Some have been unoccupied since the Breaking. The Steddings do keep all things touched by the Dark One out, and make a channeler as normal as any other two-leg.. Two-leg, you'll grow used to some of our words for other things.. We are traveling south, to a Stedding. A place, a tranquil haven away from the world." Erik could smell something under the ground.. Was it a gopher or mole nest? The hares this north may have dens much like. Erik dismissed the thought and idly fingered the snare lines in his pocket.

    "We'll have some time before we arrive though. Tell me about yourself, Wind. Tell me about the past. Sometimes it is the only way to discern the future."

    Lynx tugged at the reins, still uneasy around Forest's Shadow he supposed, but they continued forward. He would put off the hunger for red meat snarling softly in his stomach until they camped. Just another day before then.

-Erik

   "It's all right," Erik reassured, his voice low and even. The peace, the quiet meditation that swung through him, his soul but a drop in an ocean of still waters. The sense of presences, of wolves and kin all around him, were immense and dulled. Little could overwhelm him while within the Stedding's borders.

    Erik's right hand rested on the girl's shoulder, Lynx's reins in his other hand, he pushed her forward gently. He did not grip her, did not tighten and throw her forward. He guided her forward, and with a moment's hesitation, she complied and the two walked forward, a slow and contemplating procession.

    "It is called a Stedding. This is where I live, Erita," their eyes did not meet as they walked, both watched the woods and trails, senses stretched, muscles eased. But he was using that same voice again.. hushed, low, warm and even with her. It was difficult to think of yelling at her like he had before, of growling and cursing. Had she grown on him? Had he become accustomed to her presence so much? Or was it him to her, that he had grown to accommodate her?

    "I don't want you to be afraid. Okay? There is nothing to fear here. Few places in this World are as safe. There is a village up ahead. You will see others, people," she tensed-Light that voice again!-he continued, "like us. Golden eyes and immaculate manners like myself." She did not laugh, but he could sense she dared to allow herself close to it. Standing this close she did smell clean and ready. He doubted he smelled of anything more than he usually did: musk, tabbac, pine and alder dust, and dirt. There was dirt in his joints, he was certain of it.

    "They will examine you, at the Infirmary, make sure you're in good health and no be coming down with any ill spell. Aye, here."

    Erik pointed as the trail they walked turned a corner, the trail became more a road clear with cart and wagon tracks, and ahead the squat buildings stood proud from the forest.

    Welcome home.

-Erik

OOC: Posting this in The Stedding Forum, so alas, this will be our last West post. I'd like to thank the Academy, the Ogier, crazy villagers, and especially Liitha for keeping me busy with this over the last few... year? Haha wow. And to any readers that happened upon Erita and Erik's forays and blessed us with a read. Cheers to you. TO BE CONTINUED ON.. http://forums.dragonmount.com/index.php/topic,37743.0.html "She Smells Like Trouble"

    "It's all right," Erik reassured, his voice low and even. The peace, the quiet meditation that swung through him, his soul but a drop in an ocean of still waters. The sense of presences, of wolves and kin all around him, were immense and dulled. Little could overwhelm him while within the Stedding's borders.

    Erik's right hand rested on the girl's shoulder, Lynx's reins in his other hand, he pushed her forward gently. He did not grip her, did not tighten and throw her forward. He guided her forward, and with a moment's hesitation, she complied and the two walked forward, a slow and contemplating procession.

    "It is called a Stedding. This is where I live, Erita," their eyes did not meet as they walked, both watched the woods and trails, senses stretched, muscles eased. But he was using that same voice again.. hushed, low, warm and even with her. It was difficult to think of yelling at her like he had before, of growling and cursing. Had she grown on him? Had he become accustomed to her presence so much? Or was it him to her, that he had grown to accommodate her?

    "I don't want you to be afraid. Okay? There is nothing to fear here. Few places in this World are as safe. There is a village up ahead. You will see others, people," she tensed-Light that voice again!-he continued, "like us. Golden eyes and immaculate manners like myself." She did not laugh, but he could sense she dared to allow herself close to it. Standing this close she did smell clean and ready. He doubted he smelled of anything more than he usually did: musk, tabbac, pine and alder dust, and dirt. There was dirt in his joints, he was certain of it.

    "They will examine you, at the Infirmary, make sure you're in good health and no be coming down with any ill spell. Aye, here."

    Erik pointed as the trail they walked turned a corner, the trail became more a road clear with cart and wagon tracks, and ahead the squat buildings stood proud from the forest.

    Welcome home.

-Erik

OOC: from Out of One Nightmare - West Board. Let Erita post, then anyone feel free to step in. Cheers. She does need a check-up, so that will be the eventual end of this post, or at least an importantish one.

Erik could feel her eyes on his back. Judging? Measuring? Considering? He enjoyed the puzzle of women, the uncertainties and unexpected, but that was safe in the Stedding or better yet at his cabin. Out in the real world, the uncertain and unexpected had cost him more blood and skin than he cared to reflect on.

He reigned Lynx back until he came to shoulder with his, for lack of a better word, companion. "Do you see those hills to the east? That's our path."

The girl looked to where he pointed, and it was not possible to miss the grumble that eminated from her throat, as lady-like as she attempted to conceal it.

Erik smiled and trotted as nonchalantly as he could.

* * * * *

They were a scant few miles outside of the Stedding. He could sense the growing presence of wolves, a bare whisper, but soon it would come on stronger. Erik looked over at Erita, who sat her horse rather stately since he had informed her they were nearing their destination.

The last few days had been different, he supposed, than other times. They could have arrived at the Stedding a whole day earlier he had estimated, but.. Well, stopping at the hot springs had been a pleasant surprise for her. He knew of the pools from a trip into the higher hills with the Rangers, and his reaction of surprise and disinterest had kept the discovery genuine. The day had ended earlier then, but the days after had been.. smoother. A safe house along the way meant a night of sleep on a matress and a chance for the girl to mend and wash her clothes, while Erik washed his how he always did. A quick, very quick paddle into the icy mountain off-runs with a bar of soap in hand and his sense of discretion left with his short clothes at the water's edge.

"You may want to dismount, Erita," the girl turned to regard him, "the shock of entering the Stedding can be.. unnerving.. the first time."

In a few long minutes, he, and she he realized, would be home.

-Erik

"-Or are you open to that now?"

The boy seemed more at ease, his stance less combative, his voice carried little sarcasm. Erik sensed less hostility, not all gone, but enough. Erik broke the half of crusty bread and threw the boy his portion. Erik knew what the boy craved, he would prefer nothing more than to sink his teeth into a warm bleeding flank of a younng buck, but bread would do.

"We'll have plenty of time on our walk. Hand me those bags," the cold still caught him at moments, a slithering icy vein that hadn't given way to Spring yet. Lynx was soon saddled and Erik smoothed the ground, spread and buried the ashes of the fire, destroyed the evidence of their existence. Responding to the boy's question, Erik nodded to the game trails that crisscrossed the area. He explained if left to seem habited, the animals that used the trails would be put off the area by the appearance of two-leg contact, or grow curious and used to campsites and two-leg habitation. Neither were ideal.

A small group, all walking while Lynx bore the burden of supplies, his eyes rolled as he watched the unfamiliar wolf warily.

"Have you ever heard of Ogier Steddings before, Wind?" The two-leg voiced name always felt like a bastardization of the real word, but he did not feel like calling him boy, or Tender Paw, all the way back to the Infirmary.

-Erik

Erik half-awoke, his eyes slid fully open as the first rays of sunlight began to bathe the landscape. Eyes sore with dust and sleep crust, Erik set the flat, palm sized rock he held down to wipe clean his vision. The rock dropped to skitter across the pile of similiar rocks, much smaller than he had started with the night before.

Had the shadows really pulsed like that? Had they really dared as close as he remembered? Shadows didn't make noises, he knew that. A quick toss of a stone into the darkness caused the fire's potency to increase, not even he could fully see the shapes that lurked. He was certain he had made contact at least once, there had been a deeper thud than a rock hitting bare earth and a scurry of feet. Were they feet?

The sun was a molten gold and Erik was grateful for its company. Lynx sat near his log, snoring, head raised in mock alertness. A true warhorse can sleep standing, Erik sent. He knew the horse wouldn't understand him such as the wolves could, could not interpret the emotions, let alone hear him, but the horse seemed to ruffle his ears in response.

His two companions lay curled in the bed of cloaks and bags, content. Erik stirred the coals of the fire, barely aglow, but enough to warm themselves over.

"Time to rise youngling. Full day ahead of us."

The bread and crumbled cheese lay beneath the Wanderer's head; Erik would not trust the game this far north if it was served to him in a Lord's Hall.

-Erik

      Erik scratched his chin. Long shadows flickered behind them, twisted trees presented little cover, and from the fire's light they seemed even more daemonic. An uneasiness had settled in his shoulders since his arrival this far north, and he was eager to be gone from it with every dragging second.

      The sentiment of displacement was strong among the camp. The two looked at him, Forest and the Wanderer, for knowledge he had learned to put off for a later time. Some grew too eager, some grew too uneasy, so he had decided several Winters ago to omit it from the first encounter.

      "We'll get some sleep, young one. Don't forget I found you face down on the ground, and that brew will elevate your spirits for only so long. Tomorrow, we'll journey south-west. Thicker forests, more game and prey to hunt, larger packs." Erik's eyes moved from the one to the other as he spoke, his words making gentle mist in the air.

      The saddlebags would make up the Wanderer's bed, a cloak thrown under and a cloak over and it'd be moderately comfortable. Erik imagined the wolf would sleep beside him. There was a closeness between them... It felt.. It made him uneasy. But Erik shook off the sentiment and finished his drink.

      "Get some sleep and we'll talk in the morn."

      Erik wouldn't sleep. He would spend the rest of the night watching the shadows move. This far north felt unnatural. He had already planned out a comfortable stump to lounge in, away from the camp so the two may sleep without glowing golden orbs staring over them.

      Erik nodded to the pot if the boy wanted more tea. The fire crackled playfully. A log displaced and a roar of light spread around them, the shadows and shapes disappeared.

      Light I hate this far up north.

-Erik

"So why are we going south?"

      Erik smiled, the week old scruff grew denser around his features with each passing day.|

      “Expertly deflected, Sister.” Erik let the word hang in the air. Her eyes were golden marbles, watching the road, the woods, the sky. He couldn’t remember if he had ever called her sister before. She was a Wanderer, she deserved the recognition. “You want to make sure you’ve found a rabbit’s run… Usually in an obvious pathway, in a grassy plain or meadow. Once you do, make as little damage as you can to it, put two sticks on either side and tie a string across that will fasten tight when something runs through it. And you take all the snares down once you’ve caught something or intend to leave. Nothing is more cruel than leaving an animal to die stuck in a snare.”

      Erik knew the feeling.

      “And, we are going south so we might head east sooner, and avoid any more towns and villagers.”

      The girl shrugged her shoulders uncomfortably, either from the idea of catching rabbits for dinner or more villagers. He was uncertain with her scent.

      “Is there anything you wish to know about me, Sister? When I was in your shoes, or in my case lack of shoes, my mind was oozing with questions and demands and the need to know. You ask about art, and plays, and songs, and directions and complicated foods. I may strike you as uncultured, but in truth… I am usually prepared for… other… questions when I retrieve Wanderers from the woods.”

-Erik Night’s Howl

OOC: Yeah, just expected you to follow the Winter PoV with a Forest PoV, so I let this percolate a little longer.

IC:

    "So, you were going to explain what is going on with me?"

Erik puffed out little breaths as he cradled his mug, brought the surface of the tea close to his lips so he could feel the tendrils of warmth lap at his face. The thistle and pine needle tea was pleasant, but he was grateful he still had some bits of willow bark left in his satchel. Not only for him. He looked up at the Wanderer, the crackle of the fire filled the distance, and the red glow of the flames animated the shadows and surrounding growths.

“When I was growing up, in a small town called Brohampton, just along the River Ivo, I worked the land with my father.” Erik never fancied himself a story teller, but some stories told themselves. “Often, trees around our plot caught plagues of black webbing… Caterpillars, of course… But back then we often called it the Dark One’s touch. Others would cut down the tree and burn it… Well my father didn’t see the reason in that, so he’d send me up with a rake and a torch, sometimes twenty feet up to burn off the plague. When I got up there, I’d see them, the little grubs wriggling around in the webbing, eating the leaves, all inside their own little world. The fire would spread quickly, burning them all up in a matter of seconds, then my father would pass up a bucket of water to quench the flames. One time, I found one of those little caterpillars outside of the webbing, away from the death, and resisting instinct, I put the little guy on a leaf and into my pocket.” Erik sipped at his tea, still hot, but the fragrant flavor slid across his tongue comfortably.

“In time, he would change. Wrap himself up tight in a shell, and for weeks just hang from the stem of a flower. Then one day he was gone. Just the traces of his shell remained. My mother said she had watched it, as a child she too had concealed on of them and fed him by her windowsill until he too changed into a butterfly.”

Erik coughed. He knew such things were by the Creator’s hand, now, but it seemed to obvious, too dramatic. The change. The metamorphosis of the insect.

“I am not saying you are going to change into something unrecognizable by the morning, nor ever. What I am saying is that like a caterpillar you are changing, you are experiencing something more different and more profound than any other change you have felt in your life. I know the path you walk; I know the pitfalls and trips, the stumbling points…hence my presence. I am here, because you too are a fragment of a more ancient time, an older presence, that the world and time all but forgotten of.

“You can speak to and hear wolves. You can hear and smell and taste and feel with senses that feel foreign and a thousand times upon itself stronger and more adept. You are becoming kin to wolves. Brother.”

-Erik Night’s Howl

Zenzen watashi wa gu-ra-su-ho-ppa o tabemasen.

Ew gross bugs. Only Owen eats bugs, and that's just a display of hearty manliness.

Now if we had ketchup

Soo desu ne.

We'll see how this goes then, grasshopper.

...And with dust in throat I crave

only knowledge will I save

to the game you stay a slave

rover wanderer

nomad vagabond

call me what you will

but I'll take my time anywhere

free to speak my mind anywhere

and I'll redefine anywhere

anywhere I may roam

where I lay my head is home

"Good. Now what have we learned?"

Erik stood before the group of young wolfkin. Many were breathing hard, several held their weight up by leaning on the wooden training lathes. Dirt and sweat stuck out on their bare chests, arms, and faces. A layer of dust held fast to his shoulders and across his neck, like it had worked into his joints, into his flesh.

Several breathless voices echoed various aspects of the practice session. The important points at least.

"Satisfactory," Erik scratched his forehead, a small red mark was the only evidence that a wild swing had almost caught him full in the crown before he could parry it.. If he had been fighting the Tender Paw he would have complimented him on his prowess, but since he'd been walking by inspecting, any merit in the assault was lost. The boy didn't make eye contact with him, clustered in the group of other new faces who silently appreciated their comrade's embarassment. Erik cleared his voice and the new wolfkin snapped to attention. "For basic combat, satisfactory. If none of you have lessons scheduled in two days time at sunrise, you may join for a second instruction of basic combat. Practice your sword forms, get comfortable with them, and maintain your stamina with running and swimming. Dismissed."

Erik exited the training yard, wet rag in hand, as he removed the last traces of dirt from his body. His shirt hung in his right arm while he made his way through the village. He had taken to leaving his scabbard and baldric in his cabin, the weight an ease off of his shoulders but press on his mind. He could appreciate the safety the Stedding offered, the tranquility, but an unease was always with him when he was.. near.. defenceless.

Dropping the rag into a pile of clothes and sheets waiting to be washed near the Infirmary, Erik pulled in the scent and memories around him, the sounds and vibrations of many lives happily nestled in their niche.

"Where's a Trolloc when you need one?"

The shirt slid on with ease, something green and light and far too gentle against his skin. Erik made his way towards the Inn, hungry for something fresh and raw.

-Night's Howl

Night's Howl sat in the shadows, a glowing bowl of Two River's Leaf casting warm orange across his face. His teeth bit into the long stem, dragged across the smoothness, while his tongue slid back and forth along the bottom.

He disliked being bored. Time had become precious over the last few Winters, every moment worthy of reflection, invention, and inspection. His mug made a dull thud as it dropped to the table.

He disliked doing nothing.

The inn jostled with bodies, something that had not normally irked him, but it did not act to improve his mood. He sucked the last bit of ale residue left in his mouth, his tongue thirsty for more than mead and brandy, while he watched.

The need to move had already set in, the discomfort in remaining in one place too long, a burr between his shoulders. Erik shrugged and nodded for another splash of merriment. His smoke hung in fat round circles over him like dark halos.

All that can be done is to wait. And smoke. Erik brooded over his stein, a faint grin just visible through the scruff of a two week abstinence from the razor.

I miss war.

-Erik

Erik drew his tongue along the front of his teeth.

The boy reeked exhaustion despite the fact he stood defiant before him, brows furrowed, staring. The wolf stood between them, concern her primary emotion, but she wafted off wisps of uncertainty. Uncertainty of him or of the boy? Erik watched the boy, hands flexed, felt every joint slide together, his muscles were ready to move. His posture was relaxed. Erik masked his emotions, his scent of tranquil contemplation. He envisioned the lake of the Stedding, its cool somber ripples and water drift across its surface.

"that sounds alot like insanity."

"And what do you know of insanity?" Erik's voice could have frozen molten lead. "I know insanity, I have seen children younger than you with their minds destroyed, growling, mewing, pawing at doors and killing and feeding on farm animals with only their teeth and hands."

Erik's hand tightened into a fist.

"I can explain to you what's going on, what's happening inside of you, around you.. I have a camp half a mile south of here. You may not trust me, when I was first found, I would not have trusted my own family.. But I have food, a fire, and warm tea."

Erik flexed his fingers and turned to the wolf, her golden eyes watched him carefully. More carefully than the Wanderer's own golden orbs. Light, let me just get out of the Borderlands then we can deal with this mess.

-Erik

Jeez. Can't a guy disappear off the face of the planet for a week for no reason whatsoever? Man. Times have changed.

Posted, have at thee.

-wolfs

"Smoke, leave her be."

The massive black wolf skulked out of the shadows and came to Erik's side, his mane thickening with silver bristles, his movements were less fluid and with less ease than Erik could recall. The old wolf merely puffed out its lips and came to a rest near Lynx's hooves. The two had come to an uneasy truce, one Winter where Smoke needed a shelter from the howling wind and Lynx appreciated the added body heat. Lynx rolled its eyes at the wolf, then the dun was still.

Erik looked back at his companion, tight to her horse's side, eyes glued to Smoke's shape.

"This way, Tender Paw..." Erik swung up into the saddle and began to walk Lynx forward, through the trees, towards the Baker Mine trail. "A short detour south, before we can continue east."

Smoke seemed content to remain where he sat, between Erik and Erita, or perhaps he was just content lying still for a minute or so.

He turned as he heard the girl get into saddle, kept his eyes forward as the familiar trot echoed behind him until she reached his side. He called all Wanderers Tender Paws.. Even those he trained at the Stedding. Something from his training days, he recalled, but with this one.. The name felt too much like a fit. He hoped the wolves had a better name for her, Smoke didn't know it, and since he had arrived he hadn't felt a wolf within a mile. Erik shrugged, his back and neck was still tense from his talk with the girl, but a burr still sat between his shoulder blades. Celerita wasn't sold.. He can feel it.. Something about the scents of emotion wisping off of her spelled out an agenda fueled by fear and desperation rather than trust and belief.

"So.. continuing from yesterday... How do we catch rabbits in a snare, and what do we do once we've caught a meal or decided to move on?"

-Erik

OOC: Trying to teach her a little bit so she's a little self sufficient, basic trapping and meal skills for survival. And Tender Paw can be her name if you like, but it is just what Erik calls newbies. Since Erita had no wolf to help her transition, or wolves nearby to give the low-down, Erik doesn't know what to call her beyond her name. Cheers,

OOC: I'll try and let it slide  :P

IC:

The tune was something he remembered the rhythm to, not the words, the words stayed no longer in his dead than the wind did along the Caralain Grass fields, but he would remember the beat til the day he returned to the Mother's Embrace. Lips pushed together, his whistle was a quiet tune.

The Borderlands had always been... Erik tried to delicately put it in his mind, but nothing more eloquent came beyond.. a place to be avoided. His father had been in numerous armies to the north, numerous campaigns near the Blight.. Just the birthing place of Trollocs and Heartsbane being that much closer made his skin vibrate with displeasure.

His vision cut through the darkness, the shapes ahead as clear as at noon. The Wanderer. And a wolf. His companion? Erik had had little contact with the wolves in the area since the Sending, he had been surprised any life existed in the barren landscape.

Erik neared and sent to the wolf.

~I am Night's Howl, Wolf Brother to this young one.~

The wolf turned with, what Erik could only guess was surprise, a quick hop in the back legs and a hard stare. Erik received her scent, her name, Forest Shadow, then he caught the boy's. He had smelled that scent before.

Before he could suppress his reaction, he snarled, nostrils puffed out, a growl rumbling in his throat.

~I know that smell Forest Shadow. I have smelled it before. Is this young one feral? How close is he?~

-Erik

Another minion ripe for the picking..

Yeah, nutters Wanderers, seems like the flavour of the week round these parts. Don't worry, I'll knock your head if you're 'godding' or writing bad  :P Haha.

Oh the fond memories of Owen trying to teach me how to RP.. the tears.. the agony he must have felt.. still feels..

Think I'll have to send him a new computer though. Last time I was over at his place I think the thing still ran in DOS.  :-X

-wolfs

OOC: Those that messaged me, much appreciated. Accuracy is one thing I strive for and am glad I have you guys there to make sure this follows as closely as possible and grants an authentic feel to everyone involved.

PS- if there is anyone that has RP'd as Sammael before (Emp's posts as him I've read) I would appreciate any forwards to past posts. I enjoy the character deeply and would like to hold true to the already RP'd side of The Destroyer of Hope. This Dark Side stuff is awfully.. contagious...

Cheers,

-wolfs

They're just a little shy.

Not a good trait for a Tracker to have though...

Annnyyyyywaaaaaaaay.. Just give a shout if you don't get any other bites.

Wolfsbane AWAAAAYYY

*wooosh*

-wolfs

Well, if no other Tracker is around.. I don't mind.

Again, still waiting on Erita to keep our thread going.

Any other Trackers hungry for a pick-up?

I'm well accomplished at being grumpy.

And looking for something to do in the Stedding.

Twice her age and a guy may make it difficult for her to connect, wants some pointers on pranks or even a quick run through of herbs (cause she does want to become a Healer) or practice swords that's fine.

Still bringing a princess back to the Stedding and waiting for her to respond so a kid may even be a step up.

-Erik

   The sky churned.

   The weaving to ease it, to sooth the storm was a simple one, but he let it continue to boil and mass shadows above his city. Battles on bright warm days never felt right—this was a more acceptable setting. Like a massive crucible of roiling clouds and slashing light, the sky broke rain that fell in striking sheets, and it fit his mood. Like a glove.

   An absent finger drew along the length of his facial scar, curling in his beard, as he ignored the movement around him. The Dreadlords fumbled into line as they organized, his conscious becoming aware of them as they joined the circle. There were other circles, smaller than his, about the city, and he wanted it that way. Massing together would make themselves large targets and with the power that roared in his veins, he doubted he would need more added to his pool.

   Except for Semirhage, of course, her joining would be… necessary… as soon as she received his message and Traveled here. She had her uses—since he donned the guise of Dakhaim and asserted his control over Shienar—he had come to depend on Nemene more and more.

   “Do I play with the flame, dancing across a corin’dar’s edge, with my Lady of Pain?” his gloved hand scratched at his beard as he drew in a breath. Saidin moved rampantly throughout his city.

   He toyed with the Power, savoring the pull and draw, as he reexamined his wards around Fal Morran. Little alarms, the quiet clangs as saidin pulsed in his city and he could point to each spot in his mind. Their tactic was simplistic, the little black coated fools, a separation of their forces into 3 groups, then each fans out towards the main hold.

   They wouldn’t get within eyeshot.

   He released some of the more nasty wards, already content more than a handful of the boys had found the cost of attempting to Travel out of his city, as the smell of burning flesh snaked its way through the Void. Much like the rain that dropped inches away from him but never touching him, the scent was familiar and strong, but easily ignored and dismissed. The barrier sparked and flared little wisps of smoke as it pushed the water away from the stones at his feet.

   “Fal Morran is mine. I won’t destroy it, nor will I have it destroyed by a group of boys thinking they know what saidin is.”

   The Dreadlords were silent, masks of servitude and fear plain on their faces, as he wove. Sammael would destroy the Light’s hope today. The Destroyer of Hope had hungered for a skirmish for the last month or so, and he would make sure this one would do.

   Satisfied he wove. The Trollocs and Mydraal were already in place about the city, his dark servants eager to taste more black-coated flesh. They would have their revenge. He would purge his throne of these madmen. Sammael motioned for the Dreadlords to advance, their emotions and thoughts and reactions a muted buzz in the back of his mind, as the threads spun around him. Saidin and saidar reached up into the sky, slid between the clouds, ran along its doughy flesh like veins. With a beautiful crack of light, six pillars of bright blue fire descended down into streets across his city. They met their targets, he had absolute confidence, as the wards tugged, and he wove more sky fire and lightning bolts.

The Asha’men’s advantage had been their clear view, able to deflect and counter anything the Dreadlords threw, but in urban combat… They had sacrificed their sight lines for more cover, and if the boys had only channellers to worry of then that might be fine. But Mydraal and Trollocs lurked in the shadows and buildings of Fal Morran, in waiting, circling them back into the line of fire.

His temple pulsed as they moved. If only he had managed to preserve shock-lances in a stasis box, or some remnant of weaponry from before the hundred fools sealed him in the Bore.. He had never had a deep interest in the mechanics or machinery behind his war weapons, that they killed and granted him an advantage was all he could concern himself with.. But with shock-lances.. those might be Shienar soldiers marching and slaughtering Asha’men, not Aginor’s creations…

But one made do with what they had. Defending on his heels had always been his strength, and he’d make do with monsters to root out this infection.  By the Dark Lord he’d tame Jumara if it would make his growing army unstoppable, as he was certain it nearly was. 

        Another clash echoed among the city streets as his group advanced and Sammael relished the quick work of the slaughter.

-Sammael

The Destroyer of Hope