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+---- Thread: My outlaw eyes (/showthread.php?tid=5936)
My outlaw eyes - Nagga - Nov 26, 2013
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There was nothing but familiarity in the drifting catacombs of Nagga's dreams; a familiarity that struck the distinct feeling of homesickness that radiated somewhere in the curve of his chest, potent enough to pull him from his shallow slumber. The pale ghost stirred awake, ears twitching as his eyes peeled open, slowly at first, to adjust to the light. Nagga was exposed here, nestled between a fallen, rotted log rich with the sickeningly sweet scent of earthen decay, and a towering fir, frosted with a dusting of fresh, powdery snow. Despite that the sea ghost had curled into a tight ball in attempts to conserve body heat, and avoid detection as much as possible. The life of a recluse had sounded like a breath taking adventure at first, admittedly. Living as a wreck loose, an outlaw that made his own code and bowed to none had been romancing. It was a few weeks after his departure from Dragon's Roost that the romance had withered leaving a stinging dose of reality in its wake. There was a certain degree of loneliness, different from the days he would spend on his lonesome back home. This loneliness that lingered like a festering wound in his chest felt more absolute. In a very rare occurrence he would stumble upon another, like himself, and Nagga would make it a point to hunt with them, though he did not trust them enough to consider extending an offer as his companion. Drogon had warned him to pay heed to caution. It was better, she had spoken to him before his departure, to travel alone than having to constantly watch your back.[/dohtml]
Nagga could feel that he had lost weight. Not enough to make him haggard or ill, but it was clear he was not eating as richly as he had before he'd left home. Drogon would have called it "weathering". He was learning the hardships that existed outside the safe bubble of friends and family, of food from both the sea and land, of companionships. Being half Arctic, the cold did not bother him as bad as it might have, but he still understood the raw chill of winter. He understood hunger; the uncomfortable pain in his stomach when all he could dine upon was a nest of weak, baby rabbits. Barely more than a snack depending on how many babies survived beforehand. These days, that was looking more and more like a jackpot. Most days, it was the few, tiny woodland creatures he could get his paws upon at as regular intervals as he could make. Mostly, he carried on, having no true intentions of stopping - except to sleep - until he found a pack he could call his own.
That was his goal, and he intended on seeing it met. With that thought at the forefront of his mind, the ghost rose, shaking his coat free of the snowflakes that had not yet melted upon the tendrils of his fur and continued onwards.
RE: My outlaw eyes - Eek - Dec 07, 2013
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RE: My outlaw eyes - Nagga - Dec 07, 2013
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Survival. At the end of each day as dusk stole across the sky, painting a myriad of colors - typically oranges, reds, purples, and pinks across the sky in it’s last moments of glory before the night sucked those as well, leaving nothing but a vast blackness, mapped with billions of stars - survival hung like a daunting dagger above his head. Survive, or die. Those seemed to be his only two options that winter was willing to give him. It had only been when the allure of ‘grand adventure’ had ceased and the romance had been exposed for what it truly was, had Nagga come to fear for his life. Not a paranoia fear, but it was always there, nagging him in the back of his mind as Massak had once nagged him about “not playing with his food” or “keep your fur clean from blood, boy, you look like a macabre shaman” when Nagga had been a child. Vanity had been one of Massak’s driving forces, and despite Drogon’s best efforts she could not break Nagga of the same, perhaps narcissistic, streak of her mate. Insipid ivory fur was well kept, due to grooming and regular bathes in whatever body of water Nagga could get his paws on. Staining his fur with the blood of his prey was not macabre in Nagga’s mind set. He saw it as war paint - when he would play with the other children and they played ‘Guardians and Trespassers’ it was how Nagga distinguished himself above them. He would play (for a lack of a better word) in the blood of a rabbit they had caught previously and it was effective. Mostly, it ended up frightening the children that did not think it was a cool tactic. It served as a rather potent warning that Death was waiting for them if they dared to step a toe over the den they had pretended was the borders. They did not play for life and death - but Nagga, though he had not doused himself in blood in quite some time, did not forget the usefulness of his “war paint”.
Company, mostly because Nagga was used to going for weeks at a time without seeing so much as a hair of another wolf, was unexpected. He could scent her over the crisp scent of the snow that clung like a parasite to the frozen earth, sucking the life of the summer flowers and trees until spring came upon them once again. The other wolf smelled heavily of a pack, though the scent was as unfamiliar to him as everything else in Relic Lore, and beneath the pack Nagga could scent that she was female. Steps paused, as he squinted against the morning sun, brighter than it had been for the past couple days due to the sky being veiled with thick clouds. She stood out like a sore thumb against the starkness of the winter landscape around her, her coat a rich ebony. Like Yin And Yang, Nagga contemplated before he put the stark differences of their coat colors - which was as opposite as their genders - out of his mind. Such trivial things did not matter, in truth. Nagga paused, obediently, as if he had been commanded to stop as the stranger approached. There were a few minutes when Nagga thought that she would walk past him and they would remain no more than ghosts to one another, but her lips parted, her stance as neutral as his, and she spoke a simple greeting. With that she offered nothing more to him.
The ghost inhaled once more and let the scent of barren winter, raw and stinging, and the heady scent of her pack push from leathery, black nostrils in a furl of white steam that dissipated as quickly as it had left the warmth of his body. <b style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#cb410c;">Hello, Nagga returned her simplistic greeting, mildly taken aback by the sound of his own voice, deep as it was, for he had not had the need to speak aloud for quite some time. A silence seemed to itch on as Nagga contemplated that perhaps he should take the second step, since she had seen fit to take the first, and give her an introduction, or ask her a question or something. <b style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#cb410c;">I did not expect to find anyone else here. He settled for after a few more seconds of deliberation, not quite sure what to make of her yet. |
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Re: - Spirit of Wildwood - Dec 07, 2013
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Look Out!
There is a rabbit's nest nearby. +1 Health
[/dohtml]RE: My outlaw eyes - Eek - Dec 14, 2013
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RE: My outlaw eyes - Nagga - Jan 10, 2014
Alright, though I think Nagga made up his mind regarding the baby bunnies, lol. :-)
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It did not go unnoticed by the wraith that while they had exchanged simple pleasantries borne of proper “greeting of another” etiquette neither of them had offered their names to one another. It was a break from the expectations of convention, and Nagga saw, in truth, no reason to offer her his name until she gave him hers; for was there anything wrong with remaining strangers? Was it necessary, Nagga pondered with a slight absence, for him to know every name of every wolf that he stumbled across in his life; when in truth he would more than likely forget the name and their associated face unless it truly stuck out to him in a few days time? At the woman’s response to his words, Nagga felt his head tilt in silent contemplation as she stated the rather obvious (that he had more or less stated himself). Nagga had come into contact with only a few wolves since his arrival in the lands he had came to learn were called Relic Lore, though of course the lands were vast and it was not as if they were horrendously overpopulated where you couldn’t walk two steps without coming into contact with another. The prospect sounded entirely too claustrophobic for Nagga’s personal tastes - not to mention he could not fathom how that would not spark endless territory feuds and utter civil war.
No, these lands seemed populated just enough - though if the barrenness that lingered here was of any indication it would become natural selection/survival of the fittest soon enough. The winter was only bound to get worse, prey was already a scarcity that was not to be taken for granted when the seemingly rare opportunities arose, and populations would realistically drop. As morbid as the consideration was. The youthful wraith watched with unhindered curiosity tainted with subtle amusement as the woman’s demeanor made an unexpectedly abrupt change, that did not go unnoticed by Nagga. It was a bizarre thing to witness, and almost instantly, Nagga took an instinctual suspicion towards it. Her question was met with blighted skepticism from the ivory yearling, pupils narrowing in their pools of fierce, sunset orange. He puffed up with indignation like a bird would puff up it’s feathers (which was probably amusing), not very accepting that her words insinuated that he was up to no good. Admittedly, it didn’t look good. A yearling out on his own, with no one around - he could see where it did, indeed, beg her question, still. Nagga liked to think he had more integrity than to be snooping for trouble when he could not, realistically afford to be hunting for mischief.
<b style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#cb410c;">I am actively seeking a pack to join. I simply spent the night here, is all. Nagga replied simply, though sincerely, hoping that in his indignation he did not sound too defensive - the last thing he wanted was for her to misconceive that he was lying when he wasn’t. A scent tickled his nose, and leathery black nostrils twitched. It smelled suspiciously like a nest of baby rabbits but more concerned with his current conversation with the inky stranger Nagga let the opportunity go. Not to mention, he wasn’t too terribly hungry at the current moment, anyway. |
| table by mimi |