Slipping out from beneath Varken Artok’s wing had been a long time coming for Vasska, and had seemed to be a surprise to many at Phantom’s Path that it had not happened sooner upon the formal announcement. Varken Artok was not known for having his deceased brother’s compassion, Vasska knew from the stories his uncle had told him as a child of his father. The decision had not been made easily by the prince among thieves. Varken had raised him after his mother had taken ill and had perished at the hands of her illness when Vasska had been no more than a boy of three months. His father, Vex, had died of injuries shortly before Vasska had been born, meaning that Vasska, taking up the alias “Vexx” in his deceased father’s honor, only knew his father through the stories he had been told regarding him. A spitting likeness to Varken - of which Vasska had noticed for himself - except for his eyes, they had used to whisper about him, too ignorant to realize that he could hear them, or too important to care. There had always been a suspicion that he was truly Varken’s son - though Vasska had decided long ago that it simply did not truly matter. He would never know unless Varken had decided to either confess to the truth of the whispers, or deny them.

Family meant everything to Vasska, and making the decision to leave his in search of a new one (not that he harbored any intents of forsaking the Artok blood or name) to integrate himself into had been a heavy matter upon his mind for months preceding his ultimate decision.

A light snow had begun to fall in the dying cusp of the night, the darkened horizon broken but a burst of orange as the sun began to rise. A chill had risen along Vasska’s spine as the agouti colored male continued forward, golden eyes scouting his path ahead in an absent manner, paying enough attention so he did not slam headfirst, embarrassingly, into a tree. The winter was just beginning, he feared, and the mountain he had found was impassable, keeping him trapped on the side he had entered the lands of Relic Lore on. Though Vasska, being as foreign to the lands as they were to him, did not realize it this circumstance had narrowed his choices of packs down greatly; and there was no contest that he would need to find himself a pack, else he would be found nothing more than a corpse. With a soft inhale of the crisp, cold winter air, the chill stinging his lungs as it conflicted with his body temperature he let it out in a soft sigh, breath spilling from black leathery nostrils in a white furl of steam.

Finding a pack was unavoidable, and he hoped that he could find one that would be willing to take him in and give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, it wasn’t as if he did not have skills he could offer. He could hunt as well as any wolf, stature and formal training made him well adapt to a guardian position, and he had a soft spot in his heart for children, and a willingness to protect them with his life if needed. It was better than nothing, Vasska thought, as he slowed his pace, picking his way with more caution as the scent of a pack’s borders grew stronger, meaning that he was nearing them. A wide berth was given between the borders of the unknown pack and Vasska’s body. For a few seconds, the male stood there, deliberating on whether or not he wanted to send up an inquiry howl. Figuring that it couldn’t hurt to at least speak about the pack and gauge whether or not he might be a good fit for them, and them for him, he sent up a short, polite call, stating his potential interest in joining, before silence fell upon him as he patiently waited, distanced from their borders, his stance neutral.

The days slipped by with a certain air of unknowing and fear for the ivory beast. Inkheart was lost to them – Zia’s news had shaken the regal greatly and part of the blame weighed heavily upon his shoulders. He never should have sent the two guardians out to scout the possibilities of prey on the opposite end of the mountain – from what he could gather now, the mountain appeared far more ominous than ever, and was likely impossible to pass through. Zia too could have been lost to them.


He had not yet seen sleep from the previous day. Scouting for possibilities of food, the alabaster male had of course, come up with nothing. The prey had moved on, and the lands were barren. Famine was a word his family had only spoken of in a hush, as if the mere mention of it would bring such a curse upon them.. and yet here they were, in the dead of winter and no food. He had not just two cubs to feed, but an entire pack, and if none of them could find food.. he was not sure what the outcome of Magnolia Glen would be come spring. What had once held such open promise now seemed to be walking towards a bitter end with the demise of them all.


Snow cloaked his pelt, blending in near perfectly with his pelt, despite the creamy underhues. His fiery eyes scanned the land before him – everything was blanketed in a deep snow, and the tracks he had left behind were quick to be covered once more with bitter winds and the accumulation of weather. His gaze fell upon another – a wolf whose darker pelt stood out sorely against the white wonderland, and as he regarded the stranger cautiously, he noted as the wolf tipped his muzzle back, releasing a cry of polite beckoning to the Glen wolves.


Downwind of the other and within good camouflage, the Argyris ushered a bark of warned greeting to the male as he loped forward, closing the distance between them. His tail lifted higher, waving behind him like a regal banner as his eyes fell critically upon the wolf before him, waiting for him to explain his reasons for being so close to his home and for summoning him.

With the mountain completely impassable, Vasska found himself - and surely the other wolves that inhabited these lands would too, come to notice such - stuck. He had spent a couple days exploring in the hopes of maybe finding a way to slip past the mountain but it was futile, and so Vasska had been forced to retreat, retracing steps and days of wandering that far. There had been a claustrophobic contemplation that worried at his mind as a dog would worry a bone, that it may be that even when the snows had melted that the mountain might remain forevermore impassable. Being a stranger to Relic Lore, too new to know much of anything about it’s herd movements, Vasska couldn’t help but wonder, if this would happen to remain true, would the wolves upon this side starve? Or the side that lay beyond the mountain - would they starve? Or would they result to sadistic cannibalism? It wasn’t as if Vasska Artok had never came across a cannibal before. It was rumored, even, that his own uncle Varken was a cannibal, though Vasska found the notion ridiculous because he had never seen his uncle feast upon another wolf. Quickly, Vasska shook the dark thoughts from his mind. It was no use in contemplating something that was so wholly out of his control, besides, those were absolute worst case scenarios; there was no use in getting himself so hyped about something that was, hopefully but likely temporary.

A flicker of surprise lit up the Artok’s expression as a greeting was given by an ivory man, a warning of a bark, before facial expression composed into one that did not betray his surprise of how quickly his call had been answered. Vasska could feel the other man’s eyes upon him as the clearly defined leader of the pack he had came to inquire about - if the dominate stance the ivory man had taken was of any indication to his rank - and so he slipped into a stance that was submissive in accordance. It was instinct, to lower himself to the frozen and snow covered earth, ears slicked back to his skull in a docile manner, avoiding looking at anything but the snow that clumped around the camouflaged man’s paws. Varken had been forceful when Vasska had used to disobey him as a child, meaning to dominate. Vasska had enjoyed playing the game that because he was the Prince among the thieves (and other broken things) of Phantom’s Pass he did not have to listen to Varken though his uncle had stepped up as Alpha Male when Vex had been slain, promoted by Anja herself. Vasska could still remember the feel of his uncle’s teeth raking threateningly through the thick fur of his scruff when the boy had been taken with giggles and spoiled defiance, until the game had abruptly ended and Vasska was left cowering beneath his uncle’s hulking form. Terrified, but submissive.

“Hello,” Vasska began in greeting, figuring that it was best to start with an introduction and then get straight to the point. He saw little point in meaningless conversation and ‘beating around the bush’. He was a direct being, having picked up the habit from Varken, who had never harbored the patience for distractions. “I am Vasska Artok, but I prefer to be called Vexx,” A tribute to his slain father, though it was ironic for the simple fact that besides inheriting his golden eyes, Vasska looked nothing like Vex Artok. “I am looking for a pack to call my home.” He spoke with a languid honesty, letting silence steal his voice as he waited, in turn, for the ivory man before him to speak.

Look Out!

A bear has left behind the remains of a deer. +5 Health

“Vexx,” he murmured in return, his bright eyes gleaming as he regarded the tawny male before him. One more looking to join their home, and one more mouth to feed when food remained extremely scarce. Yet just then the cold winter wind whipped past him, and while burning his eyes from the sting of the frigid air, it also brought with it the scent of opportunity. He disregarded the wolf before him momentarily, his eyes drifting about to seek out the remains of the meal. He could see nothing, but he knew it existed.. and his lip curled in warning to the stranger, lest he gather any thoughts of finding the carcass and running. No, that food would be for his pack.


His pelt bristled as he stiffened, making it apparent he would indeed throw his weight around if need be. Yet without sight of the meal, it could wait.. momentarily. “These are desperate times, Vexx,” he began, his voice not cold, but nor did it hold welcome. “My pack, Magnolia Glen, has lost some of our loyalists already. What is it you could offer this pack?” He cringed slightly at the thought of Inkheart.. gone. Eek had gone missing as well, her whereabouts unknown, and while the ivory regal had desired to drift out and find her, the storms had made it clear his travels would not allow him far..and had hid any indication of her whereabouts swiftly. With that, Magnolia Glen was down one more healer.


“I am Phineas Argyris. Leader of this pack, alongside a she-wolf by the name of Lucero. As you can imagine, food is quite scarce during these months..” They were within a famine, and the alabaster male knew it would only get worse before it would get any better. It also meant that any worthless or weak wolves would either be driven out… or worse.

Had Phineas known the other’s assumption that the pack’s departures had been by choice, the correction to the statement would have been hard for him to swallow – and perhaps would have swayed the other’s decisions to even join Magnolia Glen’s ranks. Inkheart’s death had been the largest blow, and while Caleb had risen to fill in the male’s previous role nicely, the pack itself was left far emptier without his presence amongst them.


Though his train of thought was pushed to the future of the pack, and not its past. His own interest was piqued at the mention of medicine and herbs – had the rogue carried on about his amazing hunting and fighting abilities, he would have stood out even less. This knowledge however, was greatly needed among the ranks, especially with @Eek’s disappearance. “We need someone with such knowledge,” he admitted then, his tone a low rumble as his eyes flickered back to the heart of the terrain. “We had a pack mate who was knowledgeable in this area, but she disappeared in the storm – I don’t even know if she has survived. Another of our members, @Lucero, mentioned hoping to learn more of this skill. Perhaps you could aid one another,” he mused then, giving a small nod as if this was settled.


Without further words, the ivory wolf closed the distance between them, his shoulder coming to brush the tawny fur of his companion. It was a sign of his acceptance to the pack as he brushed his scent upon the others, and it was then that he prowled toward the direction of the bloodied scent. Nosing it gently, the scent alone was enough to stab his stomach painfully. “We will take this back to the pack cubs,” he spoke, his gaze lifting to challenge the other and see if he had an issue with this.