OOC:

okay, so maybe a little explaination is in order?

er-hem

Shep's been out of commision for awhile and two threads were slightly waiting for his epic return from the Computer Underworld- but no such luck. So I did the most logical thing

Viciously excluded him and continued on with the story.

Owen and Leila (and Envy) were up in Chachin waiting for Shep to contact them in the Dream, so I decided to take it on myself to contact Owen (as Erik) instead. Erik had been searching for the feral kin, which he doesn't know IS feral yet, for days before the beacon directing him to it stopped. So that would mean the wolves have lost contact with "him," ergo, he's captured by the people of Brohampton and thrown in the garrison.

Panicked, Erik contacts Owen who tells him to "hole himself up and wait for help"- Erik's one to listen to Owen, but that's a bit much for his new found sense of independence to handle so he rests up and prepares to enter Brohampton by nightfall to rescue the Kin.

This is the same post I put on Owen's "Exsanguination Suits You" as it is the bridge between the two. I felt that either you or Shep would be able to jump in still to RP as that was the main idea behind the Black Hills adventure. Chance to explore and get our characters going again.

So any road, the cavalry's coming in while Erik's in the town now trying not to get his throat slit and not expecting the most likely person to kill him is the Kin he's trying to save.

Cheers and what-forth,

-wolfs

Erik drew the long knife across his face, angling and rearranging the razor edge around his cheek bones carefully, with more than half a dozen years skill accumulated back when mirrors were a luxury.

And Owen acted like he was still in coddling!

Erik dipped the blade back into the cold stream, rinsing the lather of soap and a week of hair growth off in the bitterly frigid water, before resuming his grooming. His head felt better with a night’s rest and a stomach full of round turnips and small mushrooms that tasted like boot leather and the scrawniest chipmunk that had ever had the unfortunate toss of the dice to cross Erik’s path.

Hole myself up? Wait for the cavalry to rescue my miserable hide?

Questions and doubts over his aptitude as a Wolfkin brother were simply squashed, even if they were sewn by Owen himself, which had not been such an easy task before. Jokes and jests had rankled his nerves when he was still training, left him wondering if he was good enough to be among the wolves, if he was capable to do what was expected of him; to do his duty. He had done that and more, done what he had not thought he could and tenfold that.

For Correine…

For Maethius…

Owen had made decent sense and had gone on about the importance of this Chachin being known about to the Wolfkin Council, to anyone that can make a difference, and that Erik surviving was… important…

Near two years of headstrong recklessness, moving and living and fighting from moment to moment, brash… It was strange stretching his own thinking back to the greater good, the possibility that leaning his neck against the chopper’s block each time may not be worth it…

“That other lives are counting on me,†his voice was still hard and almost in a cough. The bruiseweed made the pain in his lungs die down but he could still taste the iron grit at the back of his throat; Erik could still feel the dribbles of blood gliding down his chin, as his lungs tried to spasm out of his chest. Waking from the Dream with Owen had ended all barriers from the pain he had been ignoring, something told him it was not beyond the Ranger’s ability in the Dream to break apart his mental barriers and concentration, but he ignored the feeling. Have I always been this suspicious? Of Owen even?

A life in the wilderness changed you, but you never saw the changes until someone else held up the mirror. A strange thought, Erik considered before scraping off the last gritty part under his chin, rinsed his blade, inspected its edge and slid it back into sheath. Hopefully we won’t have to use that this night.

Twilight fountains of purple and pink clouds billowed across the sky, knowing the little light left were filling his eyes until they glowed with an unearthly hue Erik shrugged on his thick traveling cloak and readjusted his wide brimmed hat. A large quiver hung at his thigh and his long bow, newly strung and ready paralleled his own emotions. Tight, coiled, ready to spring, he was ready to do what he must. Risking what Owen was ready to die for struck Erik as more than ludicrous, or at least an Erik that had once been, but he was not about to abandon this Kin— Or hole himself up in a bloody burrow until the bloody storm weathers past! —If he was to face the winds and rain and thunder bolts, so be it. So be it.

“If I fall and should never be given to you, forgive my sins and lacking Mother. I commend my bones to the ground and my heart to nurture the earth, my soul to be woven as you will. So it is, so shall it be. I am dust on the wind, I am the falling snow. Until the Weave is woven, and must be woven once more, a thread is what we are and all we may be. Far ji, far kiserai, Far al Esch din. Far Owen al Esch din.â€

Despite his changing moods towards the Ranger, the idea that the man wouldn’t be looking at him, towering over him, as Erik lay on his back panting, disarmed, and a sparring blade in Owen’s hand while the big man asked him what he had done wrong that time.

The moon, the sun did not seem constant when compared to the invincible white man that could move mountains with a frown and juggle hurricanes while playing his bloody awful flute music.

A grin slid across his face before grim determination overlapped it. Brohampton was not a hundred paces away from him, squat thatch-roofed houses that huddled together, pressing in tight around the core of the town. A garrison stood out among the two storey buildings, a big enough of a surprise with a smithy and an inn backing onto it, it had seemed a normal Black Hill village from what he knew of them. Scarce enough to hear good stories growing up along the River Ivo, mostly stories of how thieving and conniving they were to the East, closer to the Tar Valon the worse the people the stories went— though he never understood where the idea that the Black Hill folk all had to have thick bushy eyebrows that met in the middle of their forehead and never stopped sneering.

Repeating his little prayer as he began his slow climb up the alder tree, he left the last part on again, as if he really did have to pray for the great White man. Far ji, far kiserai, Far al Esch din. Far Owen al Esch din. For honour, for glory, for Wolfbrother. For Wolfbrother Owen.

“That bloody man can juggle hurricanes. I’m the bloody one who needs some bloody praying and a little bleedin’ luck too... Weave willing.â€

The first arrow whispered into the night with a hush, bit deep but silent, as Erik drew again, and the other sentry on watch folded in on himself just as quietly. He eased himself from his branch perch and slid down the rest of the way, eyeing the two bodies in front of the town’s gates. The next rotation would be in two hours’ time and there was work to be done.

Even if it was bloody, work had to be done, in the mud or in the brambles.

A tune buzzed in his head and he caught himself whistling it, something telling him he knew the words to it too. Almost.

“…We’ll dance all night… while the moon runs free…†he whispered to the darkness as the town’s darkness slid across his shoulders and he passed through the gaping West Gates, knowing there was no going back until what had to be done was.

“Or I’ll be Jak o’ the Shadows.â€

Erik drew the long knife across his face, angling and rearranging the razor edge around his cheek bones carefully, with more than half a dozen years skill accumulated back when mirrors were a luxury.

And Owen acted like he was still in coddling!

Erik dipped the blade back into the cold stream, rinsing the lather of soap and a week of hair growth off in the bitterly frigid water, before resuming his grooming. His head felt better with a night’s rest and a stomach full of round turnips and small mushrooms that tasted like boot leather and the scrawniest chipmunk that had ever had the unfortunate toss of the dice to cross Erik’s path.

Hole myself up? Wait for the cavalry to rescue my miserable hide?

Questions and doubts over his aptitude as a Wolfkin brother were simply squashed, even if they were sewn by Owen himself, which had not been such an easy task before. Jokes and jests had rankled his nerves when he was still training, left him wondering if he was good enough to be among the wolves, if he was capable to do what was expected of him; to do his duty. He had done that and more, done what he had not thought he could and tenfold that.

For Correine…

For Maethius…

Owen had made decent sense and had gone on about the importance of this Chachin being known about to the Wolfkin Council, to anyone that can make a difference, and that Erik surviving was… important…

Near two years of headstrong recklessness, moving and living and fighting from moment to moment, brash… It was strange stretching his own thinking back to the greater good, the possibility that leaning his neck against the chopper’s block each time may not be worth it…

“That other lives are counting on me,†his voice was still hard and almost in a cough. The bruiseweed made the pain in his lungs die down but he could still taste the iron grit at the back of his throat; Erik could still feel the dribbles of blood gliding down his chin, as his lungs tried to spasm out of his chest. Waking from the Dream with Owen had ended all barriers from the pain he had been ignoring, something told him it was not beyond the Ranger’s ability in the Dream to break apart his mental barriers and concentration, but he ignored the feeling. Have I always been this suspicious? Of Owen even ?

A life in the wilderness changed you, but you never saw the changes until someone else held up the mirror. A strange thought, Erik considered before scraping off the last gritty part under his chin, rinsed his blade, inspected its edge and slid it back into sheath. Hopefully we won’t have to use that this night.

Twilight fountains of purple and pink clouds billowed across the sky, knowing the little light left were filling his eyes until they glowed with an unearthly hue Erik shrugged on his thick traveling cloak and readjusted his wide brimmed hat. A large quiver hung at his thigh and his long bow, newly strung and ready paralleled his own emotions. Tight, coiled, ready to spring, he was ready to do what he must. Risking what Owen was ready to die for struck Erik as more than ludicrous, or at least an Erik that had once been, but he was not about to abandon this Kin— Or hole himself up in a bloody burrow until the bloody storm weathers past! —If he was to face the winds and rain and thunder bolts, so be it. So be it.

“If I fall and should never be given to you, forgive my sins and lacking Mother. I commend my bones to the ground and my heart to nurture the earth, my soul to be woven as you will. So it is, so shall it be. I am dust on the wind, I am the falling snow. Until the Weave is woven, and must be woven once more, a thread is what we are and all we may be. Far ji, far kiserai, Far al Esch din. Far Owen al Esch din.â€

Despite his changing moods towards the Ranger, the idea that the man wouldn’t be looking at him, towering over him, as Erik lay on his back panting, disarmed, and a sparring blade in Owen’s hand while the big man asked him what he had done wrong that time.

The moon, the sun did not seem constant when compared to the invincible white man that could move mountains with a frown and juggle hurricanes while playing his bloody awful flute music.

A grin slid across his face before grim determination overlapped it. Brohampton was not a hundred paces away from him, squat thatch-roofed houses that huddled together, pressing in tight around the core of the town. A garrison stood out among the two storey buildings, a big enough of a surprise with a smithy and an inn backing onto it, it had seemed a normal Black Hill village from what he knew of them. Scarce enough to hear good stories growing up along the River Ivo, mostly stories of how thieving and conniving they were to the East, closer to the Tar Valon the worse the people the stories went— though he never understood where the idea that the Black Hill folk all had to have thick bushy eyebrows that met in the middle of their forehead and never stopped sneering.

Repeating his little prayer as he began his slow climb up the alder tree, he left the last part on again, as if he really did have to pray for the great White man. Far ji, far kiserai, Far al Esch din. Far Owen al Esch din. For honour, for glory, for Wolfbrother. For Wolfbrother Owen.

“That bloody man can juggle hurricanes. I’m the bloody one who needs some bloody praying and a little bleedin’ luck too... Weave willing.â€

The first arrow whispered into the night with a hush, bit deep but silent, as Erik drew again, and the other sentry on watch folded in on himself just as quietly. He eased himself from his branch perch and slid down the rest of the way, eyeing the two bodies in front of the town’s gates. The next rotation would be in two hours’ time and there was work to be done.

Even if it was bloody, work had to be done, in the mud or in the brambles.

A tune buzzed in his head and he caught himself whistling it, something telling him he knew the words to it too. Almost.

“…We’ll dance all night… while the moon runs free…†he whispered to the darkness as the town’s darkness slid across his shoulders and he passed through the gaping West Gates, knowing there was no going back until what had to be done was.

“Or I’ll be Jak o’ the Shadows.â€

YEAH MO!

good work man.

good work man

best to you

*twiddles his thumbs*

Uhmmm... so.. uhhh...

*patiently waits*

Huh... Well maybe they posted while I was.. Nope.. No..

*back to waiting*

So... who's move is it.. anyway?

“Hello Erik, it has been a long time since we spoke, I take it by your insistent shouting that you are in trouble again, and need our help?â€

If there had been one voice he knew he could feel safe hearing, a gentle rolling accent that felt familiar but.. not quite... But that was Owen to Erik. The man would stand out anywhere in the World, the white hair and skin, the rolling muscle and hard angled features, those glimmering burnished gold eyes... The man who had saved him from the Winter's chill, taken him in as a Wanderer and instructed him.. The first Wolfkin Erik had encountered.

The man wasn't quite a father to Erik, they had grown distant, responsibilites, mates, different paths that the Wheel spun. But with everything he had lost, it felt easing to see the familiar face over so long a time without it.

The Dream steadied and his control no longer waned. He wasn't certain if it was Owen bestowing his control on the Dream, or if it was his own balancing, but the colours no longer blurred and he felt his own self feel... more whole?.. He had to act quickly before he truely lost himself in the Dream.

There was hardly time for pleasantries, the words just began to pour from Erik as he filled the Ranger in. Moving from his excertion in the Caralain Grass, he saw no reason to speak of bloody hands or dead parents, to feeling the beacon, to the sudden loss of the pin-point of the Wanderer and the two days spent searching..

Before he knew he was done, he was standing there panting, staring at Owen, waiting for something from the man.

This was most deffinitely not what the stories had made being a hero out to be.

erik

The beacon’s gone.

The slick slope fell beneath his pounding boots as he mounted another crest, eyes weary and cheeks hollowing from near a week of poor game, breath heavy with exhaustion. It filled him, consumed him, exhaustion, but a deep primal feeling urged his feet on. Thin trees slowed his run down the other side of the hill, callused hands rubbing against the soft bark of new dogwoods, palms already scabbed and broken open again, while he breathed in the scent of tall long grass sharpened by the cool of the twilight air.

The beacon’s gone.

The night before he had foraged for small tubers that tasted like woodchips and had a leathery grate across his tongue followed by a hive of leaf ants he had uncovered beneath where he had been sitting. A quick suck on the end of one of the bugs, handled properly avoiding fierce mandibles that could easily slice through a clumsy finger, and a thimble full of sweet juice was his reward. Memories flowed back, an ebbing tide of backyard instruction from his father crouched over a fallen tree spotted by black-stool and yellow climber and… survival training with the other Kin. Owen’s and Moonfire’s and Wolflover’s and Sosumo’s and even his father’s voices all melding into one speech.

Duty is heavier than a mountain… Eyes on the blade!... Mix tea leaves with it and yew bark, hazel’s hair when it’s brewing… Keep your back straight and your hands forward when you attack, eyes on me!... Don’t ever go into the Dream so completely, so strongly, the body can live without the mind for only so long…

The long grass swirled into view. Air escaped his lungs. He could taste blood and ground.

“Got to keep…â€

Darkness tugged around his vision, body slumped on the hillside of most south-western reaches of Brohampton.

Lost the beacon two days ago…

Erik opened his eyes.

Low green grass stirred in a breeze he neither felt nor heard, butterflies flung into flight and fade in the noonday glow. The whole area was lit, evenly, on for as far as he could see, and not from the ball of light high above him. Erik could sense deer running in the brush up ahead and half-wanted to follow and join in hunting them.

I need to find help.

The colours began to fade and swirl as the thought of urgency pressed into his mind, his eyes clamping out the light as he envisioned the need. The need to find someone that could help him, who would know if help was on the way, who would be on the way to help him. As he felt the land change, fade and return back and forth, he felt his very being begin to ebb as well.

Concentrate… On myself, on whom I am and what I look like… A wolf or man or something… I need to find help and I need to do it before it kills me.

Ground leapt up to meet his feet and as his eyes opened, he saw a landscape not greatly different from where he had fallen. The grass was sparser and darkness lurked here, this much closer to the Blight— He was north somewhere.

“Help!†Muscles tightened and ached, his hands suddenly numb and cold; he was too strongly in the Dream.

“HELP!†His voice echoed in the quiet expanse. Light help me, I know not what to do.

The beacon’s gone.

The slick slope fell beneath his pounding boots as he mounted another crest, eyes weary and cheeks hollowing from near a week of poor game, breath heavy with exhaustion. It filled him, consumed him, exhaustion, but a deep primal feeling urged his feet on. Thin trees slowed his run down the other side of the hill, callused hands rubbing against the soft bark of new dogwoods, palms already scabbed and broken open again, while he breathed in the scent of tall long grass sharpened by the cool of the twilight air.

The beacon’s gone.

The night before he had foraged for small tubers that tasted like woodchips and had a leathery grate across his tongue followed by a hive of leaf ants he had uncovered beneath where he had been sitting. A quick suck on the end of one of the bugs, handled properly avoiding fierce mandibles that could easily slice through a clumsy finger, and a thimble full of sweet juice was his reward. Memories flowed back, an ebbing tide of backyard instruction from his father crouched over a fallen tree spotted by black-stool and yellow climber and… survival training with the other Kin. Owen’s and Moonfire’s and Wolflover’s and Sosumo’s and even his father’s voices all melding into one speech.

Duty is heavier than a mountain… Eyes on the blade!... Mix tea leaves with it and yew bark, hazel’s hair when it’s brewing… Keep your back straight and your hands forward when you attack, eyes on me!... Don’t ever go into the Dream so completely, so strongly, the body can live without the mind for only so long…

The long grass swirled into view. Air escaped his lungs. He could taste blood and ground.

“Got to keep…â€

Darkness tugged around his vision, body slumped on the hillside of most south-western reaches of Brohampton.

Lost the beacon two days ago…

Erik opened his eyes.

Low green grass stirred in a breeze he neither felt nor heard, butterflies flung into flight and fade in the noonday glow. The whole area was lit, evenly, on for as far as he could see, and not from the ball of light high above him. Erik could sense deer running in the brush up ahead and half-wanted to follow and join in hunting them.

I need to find help.

The colours began to fade and swirl as the thought of urgency pressed into his mind, his eyes clamping out the light as he envisioned the need. The need to find someone that could help him, who would know if help was on the way, who would be on the way to help him. As he felt the land change, fade and return back and forth, he felt his very being begin to ebb as well.

Concentrate… On myself, on whom I am and what I look like… A wolf or man or something… I need to find help and I need to do it before it kills me.

Ground leapt up to meet his feet and as his eyes opened, he saw a landscape not greatly different from where he had fallen. The grass was sparser and darkness lurked here, this much closer to the Blight— He was north somewhere.

“Help!†Muscles tightened and ached, his hands suddenly numb and cold; he was too strongly in the Dream.

“HELP!†His voice echoed in the quiet expanse. Light help me, I know not what to do.

“We weren’t exactly….ourselves.â€

The thought drummed in Erik’s head as he moved up the mountainside with the four others, Janna, Wall and Eyota. Light he had had a cousin named Eyota! Other things were sliding across the inside of is mind, a torrent of thoughts and ideas and concerns and questions. He managed to maintain a reign on his scent and outer appearance as he walked, barely, as he began sense the pull of the area up ahead like iron filings to a lodestone. His whole body began to hum with eagerness— Light! I feel like it’s that Bel Tine Festival when I danced with Amaria, and when Deylene had kissed me in front of— Fool thoughts for a fool on Foolday. Erik could still here his father’s sayings rattling in his skull sometimes, which was better than the other voice rattling in his head any day of the week.

The clearing emerged suddenly, a small glen set atop the mountains. His golden eyes watched the moon as it crept closer to its peak as the group crouched in the middle of the clearing and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

No one said a word, every breath hushed in waiting, in anticipation for something. Something building, growing; Erik was certain it was not just his anxiousness brewing inside of him feeding on itself.

Erik could feel goose pimples spread out in a rushing wave down his hackles and back, across his arms and legs like a trickling stream, every hair and fibre was standing on end, golden eyes glowing with a fiery heat behind them, hungry eyes— the moon was high above them at its utmost pinnacle.

“Are you ready Erik?â€

The question hung in the air like tabbac smoke, hovering, almost missed. Erik turned to Janna- she had been the one that spoke, but he had only an instant to look into her golden eyes before a celestial body of wolf eyes gleamed back at him. Light, how he had stared at the heavens and now more than a hundred— a thousand?!— pairs of eyes watched him from the woods. His tongue clung to the dry roof of his mouth as he gaped, head twisting around to view the massive circle of burnished golden orbs glittering in the moonlight.

The three other Trackers backed away slowly, crouched, eyes intent on him; all eyes on him.

Darkness and mist began to slide together as the night melded with the wind, taking form. Something near eminence struck Erik as he watched a large wolf, larger than Scar or Smoke, built with a shaggy coat but hazy even to his eyes in the pale moonlight. The wolf moved towards him as howls began to pour out from the night, from the other Kin, echoing around him, enveloping him, vibrating within him. His eyes were only for the large wolf that smelled of a grandfatherly musk, the wolf made him feel like running along lush green grass on a spring night chasing the very moon beside millions of stars filling the sky around the two of them. Moonhunter.

What felt like an eternity of howling, of ringing in the small glen from thousands of voices, and an instant, ceased abruptly.

Erik could only match stares with the large wolf. Only five Winters back and if Erik had encountered a wolf that size in the woods.. It would have been doubtful his breeches would ever smell the same again, but now he stood before this great wolf, and what must be all the wolves Erik could ever imagine. And before three friends.

Erik waited, eager and ready for whatever lay before him.

thanks babe, much obliged.

North Board mate, "Of What May Be.." or some name like that. Shep's comp died quite dramatically and we have been awaiting his triumphant return, but if you don't mind touring by the Caralain Grass and the Black Hills (or you're in the neighbourhood,) t'would be cool.

PM me with any questions and I'll figure something out with Owen & Lei's rp.

cheers

No sweat bro, RL gets nuts. I should know. Just get it rollin' when you can- I don't mind annoying ppl on the discussion threads and jayson in the mean time.

cheers

wolfs

Just cuz EVERYONE is posting on this after me and seems so enthusiastic about it..

I was reading tDR over again and if any of you's remember the fight at the beginning where the SG's attack the camp and Perrin goes out to fight among the wolves.. It was in groups of four that they split themselves off into. Fighting units perfect for taking down Trollocs, and really, we should have adapted a more wolf-like attack strategy long ago,

(Like to hear some feed-back, s'il te plait et merci).

Erik

Welcome to the 'Deserting-Returnee Club'

The drinks are cheap, but we're liable to run and leave you with the bar tab. :P

Hey kare'el. It's going good, we're into week 3 of the return of night's howl.. The wolfs have been busy, heck, they almost raised Manetheren! Good thing I came back.

Good to see you man,

Erik

Idono, I didn't have any difficulty posting.. Have you registered on the boards yet? Up in 'Forum Options' then to 'Usergroups' and reg'ing with Dragonmount psw.

-Erik

SHEPPPPPPPHERRRRDDDDDDD!!! NOooooOOOooOOOooOOOooooOOo!.. *sigh*

Anyone ever see the Seinfeld episode where everything is in balance? So, if Elaine loses something of Jerry's, George gets it, and Jerry remains forever in equilibrium. The point? Oh yes, well Shep loses his comp.. Erik gains +1 comp :).

Now if only you can blow up your car Shep... Maybe a '68-69 Charger or a 56 Mercury.. F-Series Jag maybe?

Deffinitely would appreciate it. :D

Very well, just hope Scar and Erik don't get themselves killed waiting on you. We'll be very upset.

gl,

Erik

The plain was like any he had grown up by on Caralain Grass, tall green blades of grass whistling in the cool breeze, sun glinting off of the dough clouds and ever-pines, thousands of wildflowers— pink jump up and white maiden’s hope and small purple flowers with pressed petals— littered his path. The air smelled fresh and purifying, cleansing; he dreamed often of this place.

Dark woods climbed the side of his path, tall alders and dogwoods separated by thick cedars with brown bubbling bark and knotted limbs, giving off a smell of… wolves.

It’s the Dream… Erik thought slowly, golden eyes staring around him as he gathered in his surroundings. The smells of the wolves overwhelmed all else. I’ve never been too good at the Dream…

Howling erupted far off in the distance from him, just within hearing, but beyond where Erik could sense the wolf. Another howl broke the quiet, and then another, and then another. Crashing waves of howling, of celebration, for something… He just could not put his finger on it… Wolflover had warned him he had never kept many of the wits the Creator had bestowed upon him when he entered the Dream…

A deep howl left his lips, starting from deep down near his gut and growing in strength. It was his turn to answer the call. It was his turn.

Come, Night’s howl. Come.

Heavy eyelids slid open as Erik sat up from his bed, skin prickling in the cool night air gusting from the open window beside him, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Sweaty hands brushed back his shaggy hair as he bit back a yawn that nearly cracked his jaw, finger nails dragging across his scalp while he settled his feet onto the wooden planks of his cabin’s floor. Golden eyes looked around his small room— it had not felt so small before, but that felt like an Age ago— from the small bookcase that held his mangy leather bound books of Gaidal Cain, The Great Hunt, The Legend of the Avendesora, his lone desk and wobbling chair, and a wardrobe that was too big for the few clothes he had. Hands cupping his forehead Erik rolled his shoulders, stretching aching muscles.

“If I have to face Lorelai in the yard again…†A small grin broke his scowl. She had thrown him around the yard with that lathe… Not going to be living that one down for a while.

Come, Night’s howl. Come. We wait.

He stood shakily at first, his head thumping with the quick image of wolves, all in a… He peeled off his sweaty underclothes and dressed quickly, deft hands pulling and rearranging in the dark of his cabin as he stomped his feet into a decent pair of leather boots he had picked up in Baerlon.

His side felt bare without his sabre, it would have to go on feeling bare, before he pulled a white shirt over his head. The Andoran cloth felt light and almost like silk on his bare skin— the bloody thing had cost him a carving and a flaming bowl!— but Light it felt good compared to the itch of his blankets or the prickle of hay down his shirt.

Am I going soft? Scar will never ever let me live this one down… The pale moonlight shone through the side window, casting everything in a ghostly bath of white, enough that Erik could run a quick hand through his shaggy blonde and brown hair while looking into his washstand mirror.

The sounds of movement from outside, just barely audible even to his ears, drew closer. Drew closer to his door.

A quick breath and prayer to the Mother and Creator, and Erik grasped the cool handle of the doorknob, fingers sliding across the cold metal, and pulled it open smoothly. Three shapes stood out in the darkness before his cabin— Wall, and a Wolfbrother with dark hair to his chin and stood only a finger’s length shorter than Erik… Was it Eyolis? Eyona? He was always terrible with names— but Erik’s eyes were drawn to the woman standing before him. Brown hair stuck out haphazardly from the bottom of a hat that tilted to the left, golden eyes blazing as they caught the moon’s light staring back at him from a young face that couldn’t have been a few winters older than- He cut the line of thought right there; trying to guess a woman’s age, even in your mind, was a quick way to learn how to bleed.

“Erik… They are calling,†her voice held strength and decisiveness, weighted and confident; she knew how to lead a pack. All three smelled of acceptance and… eagerness?

Erik supposed he reeked of eagerness too. Something felt immensely right with this moment, this prelude to something he could not put his finger on…

“Then I am anxious to meet them, Janna,†Anxious? He could have howled with delight. His muscles tightened with the desire to run, hands flexing out the stiffness of a day’s blade work. There will be no sleep tonight.

That I really like.

Now can we interact? Or is this just going to be an Objective view of the events of the final stand?

Facing down the hordes of Trollocs beside the banners and men of Manetheran would be an amazing Rp for sure- but we don't want to be rewriting history here either..

ugh.. history final tomorrow, then 5 months of summer.. can't wait.

Erik

Sure

*shrugs*

It's two threads meeting to weave their way into a greater pattern... Erik coming home, meets Scar finding a Wanderer, meets Shep to the rescue, meets Lei and Owen back from rescuing, meet Alissa for a good old Wolfie party!

Heck of a lot more interesting now Erik's back, eh, Old White Wolf?

Erik

Speaking as one who fought the SG with the Aiel and WK, I think this tactic is perfect for the Rangers to use in combat (in a defensive form, though). When you're covering N,S,E,W, or in the sense of Gimli & Aragorn (or Legolas? none matter much), I can't really see this as an advancing formation. More of, when the odds are highly in favour of the baddies, but this may just be my mental imaging software I'm stuck with and I should upgrade :(.

It would require being able to move smoothly from form to form and knowing what your brethren to either side of you will do, almost like a higher communication and understanding from years of training together and the thought-speak used by us.

Knowing when best to attack your mate's man, when to defend, only teeth and no flesh to show, but again my understanding of the matter. Being able to "dance" with a sword in hand, tightly, with four bodies moving all to the same rhytmn.

*grins* You guys are gonna have to be real close.

Thinking the same thing, all acting as parts of the same being. Designed to be perfect with its four parts.. It will still be strong if a member has fallen, but no where near as effective. The rhytmn would change, the tempo slacken as the other member's have to compensate.

My advice is to train in two's first, getting in touch with the same beat, being able to know where your companion is, where they're moving to, where they are going to guard, where they are going to strike, when to defend them, when to defend yourself. Then, add another member, then the last.

Difficulty: Again, the only way to truly test the capabilities of the "Four as One" technique is to have 5 + attackers (maybe just 5 for old Owen) to press them, know where they will spread the pressure, help and work together as an elite fighting unit.

Also, finding willing volunteers to go up against you guys in full fighting form.

:idea: Why Erik's a Tracker.

Like to hear about how the training goes old O, always interested in you Rangers and tactics and all that messy blood stuff cheers,

Erik

Kjarl smiled at his luck.

Was it Kjarl?

The name felt foreign and unpleasant, a rough curdling of sounds upon a tongue that slithered and slathered around.. No, not his name.

We are 'Red Maw that Shines like Black Stone in the pale Moonlight'

Even then, it was sensations of smells, and sights and the sound as the cool dripping of the blood resounded, and a deep howl rippled through the air.

Red Maw moved closer to the thin sheep, golden eyes blazing with the heat of the predator, watching, weighing, hungry. His muscles tensed as they prepared to run down the nearest ewe, her once white wool dingy and thin frame barely worth the effort, but it was more than meat he hungered for. Red Maw wanted nothing more than the dark crimson life to spill out on the downy wool as the final bleetings of the poor creature ended with a satisfying crunch as his teeth collapsed the throat and-

~danger...flee~

The emotions, the message... where? The wolves! Kjarl remembered the wolves that had met him in the woods, their thin golden frames shining in the light of the Harvest moon as their amber eyes stared into his soul.

Red Maw hastily suppressed the memory as well as the last traces of Kjarl Moesiv, and looked up to the top of the hill. A single wolf stood at the top of the valley's bowl, over the small pasture and away from the thick forest.

~MY KILL!!~ Red Maw sent back, lips pulled back into a silent snarl as he edged closer to his prey, burning eyes staring at the mysterious wolf.

LET WOLF GET UPWIND OF RED MAW.. MY PREY... ONLY WANTS MAW'S PREY...

With a quick pound of his hands against the ground to get himself moving and to startle the young ewe into making a reaction, Red Maw sprinted forward. The green grass blades felt cool and soft under his thumping feet, his long strides taking him one more step closer to his prey as the young sheep looked right at him, dull eyes staring into fiery golden orbs of bloodlust, and banked hard right.

A quick howl left his lips as he twisted his body round to pursue the ewe as hooves competed against fleshy man feet. NO. They were paws! Tearing up the earth Red Maw dared nearer and nearer to the frightened lifestock, saliva dripping from his gaping mouth across his chin like a rabid dog.

The other wolf sent something, Red Maw pushed it away as his feet left the ground, body fully outstetched and the air whipping through his hair as the prey bleated futiley- it knew as well as he did- and two hands, paws caught the wool coat. Both rolled, but it was the prey's leg that gave a loud CRACK and it was Red Maw that ended on top. The creature still wrestled, fighting him as Red Maw's clumsy paws tried to claw at the creature through its coat. A screaming bleat erupted from the ewe, it pierced the twilight air like a tooth opened the vein, and sounds from the woods answered it.

IGNORE THEM.. SO CLOSE.. No one answered back, for there was nothing to answer.

The clumsy paws gripped around the thrashing head of the sheep, hands tightening around the sides of the head, and twisted the neck backwards towards him. The bleating cut off instantly with a sickening crunch from the vertebrae collapsing.

Warm drool foamed from his mouth as Red Maw buried his lips into the neck of the creature, teeth chewing and tearing, rending and ripping thin folds of flesh hunting for the hot red liquid buried within. The warm iron taste lathering Red Maw's tongue in ecstacy.

The bubbling howl was barely from his lips before the first arrow buried itself into him. The left shoulder burned, piercing through to the other side until only arrow's fletchings stuck out. The force of the impact drove the wind from his lungs and his knees buckled before the second arrow buried itself deep into the flesh of his thigh. A low moan erupted from from his crimson lips before the hunters from the woods emerged, torches lit, and arrows nocked prepared to make a pin-cushion of..

Warm haze closed in around his vision as blood that tasted very much like his own dribbled across his tongue, long before a club came swinging down to send him into hurtling darkness.

~NOooooooooooooooooooooo~ was Red Maw's last sending, before he lapsed into unconsciousness, and the hunters hoisted his body along with the dead sheep.

-Red Maw-

OOC: Kjarl/Red Maw ain't dead, but pretty damn close to it. If you want to follow them Scar, and give some details to it while we wait for Shep & Erik to catch up.. certainly feel free.

Shep, are you RPing in the Wolfkin Stedding board then rping here? It'd just be easier and more continous doing it here from the start off.. MoM, close enough to the north..

PS- I LIKE ITALICS :D mwhaahaha Anyone gonna see Silent Hill? I figure it's a good flick to take a girl to, but I'm debating whether it's too scary cuz it just aint cool if they piss themselves.. or if I do.. :( *would be ashamed* Cheers,

Erik

*laughs nervously*

Cause the last time we had a Bane moment was just so much fun...

Bane is why Erik doesn't do the whole Dream thing, just to let ya know haha.

can't wait.

Erik

More the merrier I say.

Given Erik's poor record with the Dream, it would be best for Shepherd to talk to y'all and let you know what's going on.

The Rp we've got in the south Black Hills is between where the river Haevin forks and does not touch the river Luan. It's south to a small farming community known as Brohampton (I've heard the name before somewhere) and far east from where Erik was at Brookside or Ashan Doon, the Black Sword. After things get messy, we'll probably be pursued north up to the Ivo River where we'll cross to escape into the Dark Wood below Maradon. Meeting you there would be best, as we could access the Arinelle River from many points and be able to reach the MoM with few villages and townships to cross.

I'm just letting this roll out, hit me back with what you think.

(The thread is: What May Be- http://www.dragonmount.com/forums/viewtopic.php?p=49754#49754 on the NORTH board)

Erik

hmmm.. 'road show' eh?..

we'll have to think on it

now i just have to wait on you guys

*howls*

`Erik`