Fall into the sky

It was slumber that held Nagga captive, long into the recesses of morning, stretching into the early hours of the afternoon. His journey have been long and taxing, among surviving against the trials that winter seemed intent on throwing his way. Naga didn't not yet appear haggard, or ill, but he was thinner than he should have been. Food was a rare resource this winter thus far, and it was simple survival instinct that told him either he would find a pack to call home, or he would wither and perish in winter's icy, piercing claws. The ghost had not come this far, intent on satisfying the desire to stand and individual against the accomplishments of his parents, only to have his life claimed as a nobody and nothing. grasping ambition was not a trait well carried in his family, and he would not consider his own to be malicious in their intents. Rather, to him, ambition was on equal footing with potential. After all, ambition was nothing without the skills that were required to accomplish such a goal.

A crow let out a shrill caw nearby, causing Nagga to stir wake, pulled, rather violently from his deep slumber by the annoying feathered creatures that hopped closer, Nagga watched as his eyes the fierce beauty of a reddish orange sunset, peeked open to study the wretched avian with unhindered vexation. The creature cawed once more, the sound echoing into the silence where it faded. Disgruntled huff was given, breath slipping from leathery, black nostrils in a wispy, white furl of steam. "Get lost wretched bird." Nagga grumbled at the crow, despite that he knew it would not listen. For a few seconds, Nagga eyed the bird as potential prey, wondering if the avian would offer any sort of substantial meat. Abruptly he changed his mind, with a yawn as he stretched in the snow, stretching once more to his paws. Besides the fact that he could not get it out of his mind that birds probably grisly (not to mention all those feathers) it felt like it might be bad luck - though Nagga had never given too much thought towards superstitions - to kill and consume a crow.

Not to mention, in hindsight of things, it was probably just looking for scraps of food just as he would be doing a little later on. With that consideration at the forefront of his mind, it was hard for Nagga to fault it, despite how irritating he found the bird. A shake of his pelt was given, as he stretched one last time, rooting his muzzle through the snow he'd slept on and melted, studying the mashed greenery, and the wilted petals of the wildflowers that have once prospered in this territory, their likely once brilliant oranges and reds now resembling the muddy brown and crimson coloration of dried blood.

A shrug of broad shoulders was given as he turned away from his temporary bed, figuring that it was best if he continued on. Winter would only prove to become harsher and the more time he wasted, the hours of his life were likely ticking away like a clock wound too fast.

Avatars and Table by: Mimi <3


0/3 thread(s) available

♦♦♦♦♦

With little idea as to where she was or where she was headed, a small scrap of a wolf climbed out of the meadow and up the frosty knoll. When she had arrived here in the summer every territory was breathtakingly beautiful, but now it was difficult to even recognize the lands she had traveled just a few short months ago. The afternoon sunlight had melted the ice down in the meadow for easy travel, but the warm rays had not yet reached the shaded knoll above. It seemed that with every step she took, the little tawny wolf slid two back, her hind legs unable to make traction on the icy slope. Paws numb with cold didn’t help the situation either. Pausing her efforts, Naia bent down to lick her paws, wiggling her claws as best she could to coax some feeling back into her feet. When she was satisfied, she turned her honey eyes toward the skyline to check her progress up the hill. Closer, but still a ways to go. With a resolute sigh, she tucked her head and pushed on.

Logically, the climb was probably a waste of valuable energy considering she had no idea what she might find at the top-- probably just a lot of nothing, if the barren meadow below was any indication. She couldn’t just wander aimlessly though, that would drive her crazy. The hill was a challenge, one that she could conquer with enough effort and perseverance. It helped her put her more difficult challenges out of her mind, at least for the time being. While she was focused on climbing, she didn’t have to wonder where her next meal might come from, or how she might defend herself if she came across a hostile loner, or how on earth she would survive winter without a pack. She didn’t have to think about the sudden, swift collapse of her Pitch Pine Trail family or grieve the death of her beloved alpha. One paw in front of the other she made her way up the hill, postponing all worries and concerns for when she reached the ridgeline.

A sharp caw jerked Naia’s mind away from the climb, and she turned her honey gaze upward toward the source of the sound. Several fat, raven-feathered birds sat a few wolflengths away at the top of the knoll, watching her progress with interest. The wolf nodded politely at the birds before continuing forward. Naia’s birthpack had taught her to always let crows be, since these birds carried the spirits of fallen wolves on to the afterlife. She wondered if one of them might be carrying Shade and smiled at the thought of her alpha being so close.

At last, the tiny female reached the top of the ridge, one quick scramble away from standing on top of the knoll. The crows cackled at her as her feet slipped, but Naia chose to ignore their mocking. With her luck, if she swatted one it would be Shade’s, and what would he think of her then? As she pulled herself over the top of the ridge, a feeling of triumph rolled over her from nose to toes. The birds, hardly bothered at all by her presence, cheered her victory with caws and the female took a mock bow.

It was right then that what Naia had mistaken for a snowy boulder rose to its feet. Naia froze, watching the ivory giant shake out his pelt just a few leaps away. He appeared to be a young male—a very big, very hungry looking Lone male. The tawny wolf shrank toward the ground, watching with fear and slight fascination as he scratched at the melting snow. He seemed irritated and more than a little groggy, and Naia couldn’t help but let out an unexpected giggle. ”I’m sorry, I think it’s my fault they woke you” she spoke, loud enough for the giant to hear. ”They were laughing at me.” She shot an annoyed glance at the group of birds before turning back to the stranger. Though her speech was friendly and easy, her stance remained poised. She knew better than to relax in the presence of a strange wolf-- especially a giant, Lone, hungry, not to mention already annoyed male.

♦♦♦♦♦

OOC|| As someone routinely woken up by crows, I feel for poor Nagga. x) ||

Look Out!

A young pronghorn has fallen behind its herd and starved in the snow. +5 Health

OOC: They are annoying at times, I agree. Sorry this took a whole, I spent much of my free time after work trying to get Holiday shopping done, lol. Also, I'm assuming the Pronghorn is dead since they're gone from Relic Lore so it's what I went with. I will gladly edit if I assumed wrong; also Document Word tells me this post is nearly 1000 words so no need to match I got carried away. :p

There was a soft, chilling gust of wind, and while it was brief, it was enough to tell Nagga that contrary to his popular belief mere seconds before that he was not alone. Not alone besides the crows, that was. Leathery, black nostrils flared to inhale and dissect the scent that have been carried his way. The scent of a pack was easily noticed, but beneath that Nagga was able to determine that his unexpected guest was female. Beyond that, there was not much else. He could have continued on words, to give her the proposed cold shoulder... but beyond being seemingly rude, it had been so long since Nagga had spoken to another wolf, and found himself in the position of missing the ability to even, meaninglessly converse. The stranger let out a giggle, that Nagga's ears, twitching forward atop his skull, heard with a surprising ease, probably because the crows had, after giving an irritated squawk to the two predators in their midst seemed to move on a few feet away. Reddish orange eyes, the color of a blazing sunset studied the woman, taking in her appearance as she spoke, noting that her fur was many colors, a fading mixture of brown, black and cream. Nagga found the myriad of colors that faded from darker to lighter shades, meshing into one another to be rather fascinating, considering he, himself, consisted of a solid insipid ivory. Even his Amazon mother had not bared a coat of solid coloration, instead boasting of earthen browns and sandy tans. He was the first son of his litter, knowing three other squirming beings, all bearing the earthen coloration of Drogon, though out of the four pups that made the litter, it was the ghost that lived to see well passed his third month. An irrational shiver of jealousy slithered down Nagga's spine, before he let it go. There were benefits to being the color of a ghost, for reflecting the sea washed coloration of the Sea Dragon's scales – of whom he had been named for.

It was not a dishonor, and envying another creature for the intricately beautiful colorations of their fur was ridiculous. The first words that fell from the female's lips was an apology, as to which, cause Nagga's lips to twitch into a smile. The woman – girl – he could not be sure of her approximate age; was apologizing for the awful noise of the crows, grating like nails on a chalkboard into his skull until he had woken. The gesture itself was kind, and not without appreciation Nagga spoke, "Do not apologize for them." with a shake of his head. He was not ungracious, more so, he did not hold her accountable for the wretched avians racket. Nagga stayed in the place he had paused in, a few paces from the place he had roosted in the night, noting that she held herself in a poised manner. Taken aback slightly, he hesitated, trepidation causing his right paw to hover, uncertain, before he placed it just a paw's length in front of his left and then froze. He understood weariness and caution of strangers, had displayed it numerous times with the other loners upon his journey to Relic Lore. Drogon had instilled all she could in him, teaching him the ways of the brave Amazon women of the pack she had hailed from, while his father had seen fit to teach him his own skill; how to exist as a ghost and scout the landscape, prey, and how to diplomatically deliver messages the other packs.

It did not dawn in Nagga that his size might've been a reason as to why she appeared ready to dash away; mostly because it was just not something he considered. He was young, flawless in the fact that no scars littered his body as they had Drogon's. His mother was what he thought of when the word intimidation was spoken or physical evidence was shown of this concept. He, despite being her flesh and blood, at times found himself intimidated of Drogon; but the idea that he could've been considered intimidating never crossed his mind because he did not see himself as such. "I am Nagga, by the way." He introduced with a slight wag of his tail, his head lowering, his own stance relaxed in a physical attempt to assure her that she did not have to dart away. The crows began to squabble again, their screams shattering the numbingly peaceful silence of that had accompanied their departure and Nagga's head whipped in their direction, noting the heavy, threatening flaps and quick darts towards each other, ears slicking back against his skull in a futile attempt to block them out. Beneath the scent of the birds, and his companion, there was the sickeningly sweet scent of death. A grumble in his stomach was felt, and Nagga gave the female an inquiring look. Winter was harsh upon these lands, food scarce -- if the crows had unearthed a treasure, why shouldn't they share with the female and himself? "I think whatever they found is worth looking at." Nagga suggested to her, casually. The crows could have scraps as far as Nagga truly cared; they weren't even half the size of the two wolves and therefore did not need as much nourishment.

As he padded towards the small group of the blackbirds, they squawked their disapproval at him, but rose in a fury of discontent and feathers, away from what appeared to be a young pronghorn that seemed to have gotten separated from its herd and died of what looked to Nagga to be starvation. Brow furrowed into a 'v' between sunset colored eyes as he studied it, wondering, if she was hungry, how they would work to split it, if she had not fled that was. The death of the young prey was unfortunate but it was survival of the fittest and Nagga was not so proud to look a gift horse (so to speak) in the mouth.

Avatars and Table by: Mimi <3


0/3 thread(s) available

OOC|| No worries! I didn't mean to match, but I get carried away writing too xD. I am also under the impression that the proghorn is dead, though the wording is a little ambiguous. ||

♦♦♦♦♦

The female’s own honey eyes widened as the giant captured her in his fiery gaze, studying her. With eyes like that along with a ghostly coloration, he appeared almost demonlike to the girl. Despite his rather menacing size, Naia got the impression that he was still fairly young though she had trouble putting a paw on exactly what made him seem that way. While she was still a member of her birthpack, she had served as a pupsitter and eventually a teacher to the pack’s youth when she was still but a teenager herself. Despite differences in personality, she had noticed that all the pups interacted with a certain confidence and liveliness that older, more jaded wolves lacked. Even in her own short but overall pleasant life, Naia had been rejected, banished, abandoned, and attacked by other wolves. She had experienced starvation, loss, and lonliness. The life of a wolf is difficult, and only the young are unscathed.

The spectral stranger smiled at her and then shook his head at her words. “Do not apologize for them,” he told her simply, and the heaviness in his tone amused her all the more. Of course the birds could not be faulted for acting within their own nature—the idea was ludicrous, and the seriousness with which her companion discussed the subject was droll enough to elicit a silly grin from the young female. Curiously, her companion faltered after he spoke, seemingly unsure of himself. Worried that he might have thought she was laughing at him, Naia stopped grinning and cocked her head questioningly. He broke their strange silence by introducing himself, and Naia wagged her tail at the sound of his name, which was very similar to hers. ”Nagga. I’m Naia,” she told him, a smile sneaking its way back onto her face. She wondered if he would find the similarity amusing as well. He seemed more relaxed now, which prompted Naia to relax her stance as well. If he was going to attack her, surely he would have done it by now.

The moment was interrupted by a tirade of excited squawking from the crows, and Naia sighed at their interruption. Both turned their attention to the flock, and Naia agreed with Nagga’s assessment. The birds had definitely found something, and it was the right of the wolves to have first claim. Though it was the natural order, Naia couldn’t help but feel sorry for the crows. As an omega in her birth pack, she knew the injustice of being the first to find a meal but the last to eat it. As the two approached the crows’ object of interest, they fluttered just out of reach, squawking their indignation. Naia nodded apologetically to them but followed Nagga all them same. Though she had compassion for the creatures, she wasn’t about to turn down a possible meal.

Peering around the male’s massive form, Naia studied the half-frozen corpse in the snow. The dead pronghorn was a scrawny thing, and with no injury on its emaciated body it didn’t appear to be anyone’s kill. It must have wandered off from the herd and just wasted away, Naia reasoned, shuddering at the thought. Naia was not a vegetarian by any means, but the sight of the withered body deeply disturbed her. If this was what became of a lost animal separated from its family, what was in store for her, a slight little thing without a pack? She needed to find a new pack to call home. Immediately.

An idea struck the girl suddenly, as one often does during her moments of alarm. Naia was well aware that she was unimpressive in appearance, especially to a leader seeking strong wolves to bolster the pack’s ranks. Most alphas that looked at her would see her as nothing but a burden, another mouth to feed. Perhaps if she approached a pack’s borderlands with a meal as an offering, it would serve as evidence that she could indeed contribute. A flank from the pronghorn would be perfect; small enough to transport but still large enough to provide sustenance. The only problem with that plan was that the giant male was standing over the carcass hungrily, and Naia wasn’t positive he was willing to share. If he wanted it all, there wasn’t much Naia could do to prevent him from taking it.

”I’m pretty small,” she said softly, “I don’t eat much. Just a flank would be enough.” Even a flank was a lot to ask of him, she knew, since the body of the starved pronghorn offered little nourishment. Naia had learned that you can’t get what you want unless you ask for it, but that was about as assertive as she was going to get. She too was a diplomat, though it was a result of her pacifistic nature, not formal training. Her first priority was to always to avoid a fight, even if it meant giving up a meal to a more territorial wolf.

♦♦♦♦♦

It appeared to Nagga that his statement in regards to the woman not apologizing for the crows had amused her -- if her silly grin, spreading across the seam of her lips, parting her muzzle was of any indication. He could not be sure, of course, that is was his words that had drawn the grin from her, but he was willing to stake a bet on the assumption that it had been, simply because she had not had held that expression until after he had spoken. The situation turned only slightly more awkward when the woman ceased her goofy grinning and her head tilted, Nagga watched, in a manner that he would have considered questioningly as she, no doubt, had watched the physical progression of his trepidation. Luckily, for the moment, he had been spared needing to explain himself to her - that he had the sneaking suspicion if he moved too much she might bolt, and it had been so long since he had been in the company of another wolf that he craved interacting with her - even if it only resulted in being meaningless pleasantries. It was enough to chase away the loneliness that festered like a stubborn wound refusing to heal, for a few hours time, at best. The introduction of his name, and in accordance the speaking of her own - which was indeed, similar to his own - seemed to chase away any shadows of doubts that Nagga might have previously been harboring, luring him in when the woman, Naia smiled again. This time, the ghost could feel the muscles of his muzzle returning the gesture of friendliness, made more confident by their equally relaxed stances. <b style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#cb410c;">It is nice to meet you, Naia, Nagga spoke in an easy manner, dipping his head in acknowledgement of her. The woman’s apologetic nod to the avians baffled Nagga, though he chose not to call her out upon it, acting, instead, as if he had no seen such an absurd - to him, at any rate - gesture. It was hard for Nagga to grasp that creatures other than wolves had feelings, knew the pain of hunger, and the touch of a lover’s body against their own - just as he did. Of course he understood that they needed to eat to survive as well, but he held no sympathy for those lesser than him. This was, more than likely, a product of Drogon’s influence upon him, for the Amazon “tribe” she had been born into had thought not just of prey but of males in an extremely similar manner. They were lesser, and therefore their wants and needs hardly concerned the Amazon women. Reflecting upon this possibility, Nagga couldn’t help but think what an ironic disappointment it must have been to Drogon to have her first born be not only a male but the only one of her litter to survive. That he was not a female. It could not be claimed that Massak, as her mate, had truly been in charge of Dragon’s Keep, for the simple fact that he had not been. He had been given the title of ‘Alpha Male’ though this was mostly a show of rank, a masquerade with no real power beneath it. He always consulted Drogon before making a decision, and in the end she made the ultimate decision. Attention focused back upon the young one’s corpse, left ear twitching towards Naia as she spoke, claiming that she was small and that a flank would suffice. Nagga peeked at her for a few seconds, sizing her up, before his eyes diverted back to the pronghorn, sizing it up in turn. Nagga had his fair share of flaws, vanity, envy, at times he was even known to be callous, ambitiousness…and while it was true that he needed more of the pronghorn than she (considering his size and status as lone wolf), he found that he could not be so cold and selfish towards Naia, despite that aside from her name he knew nothing of her. <b style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#cb410c;">No, Nagga spoke in an expel of breath, the furl of steam twining warmly around his black, leathery nose, before the cold rushed in to nip at it once it had disappeared. <b style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#cb410c;">It is young and scrawny, Nagga spoke firmly, <b style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#cb410c;">And you will take at least half of it. Whichever half you want. It was not a command - for he could not command her to do anything - but his tone made it clear that he would not take anything less for an answer. Winter was harsh enough, she was a woman, and he was nothing if not a gentleman. Or so he liked to believe, anyway.

table by mimi

Avatars and Table by: Mimi <3


0/3 thread(s) available

♦♦♦♦♦

So he can smile, Naia noted with delight as her ghostly companion relaxed enough to return the gesture. He certainly looked less demonlike without the serious expression—the gaze which at first had seemed chilling to the girl had taken on a warm, glowing appearance that reminded Naia of the brilliant summer sunsets she used to watch when she made her home in the Mountain of Dire. ”It’s nice to meet you, Naia,” he told her, and she wagged her tail in an expression of the same sentiment. It had been quite a while since she had run into another wolf who simply wanted to chat, as Nagga seemed to. A warning bark or a territorial growl was the most she normally received from other loners. More than once she had wondered if perhaps a wolf lost the desire or even the ability to communicate through speech if he or she had been alone for long enough… after what she had seen in her travels, she wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. This lone male’s friendliness intrigued her, and she reminded herself to find out more about him once they had eaten, if he was still in the mood to talk.

After she made her request, Naia shifted her weight awkwardly as Nagga looked back and forth between her and the pronghorn. He seemed to be debating with himself, but he gave no clues as to what he was deciding. If he was any other loner, the tiny female would worry that he was mulling over whether he was going to attack her or just tell her to get lost. As it was though, Naia thought they had shared a moment of understanding during their introductions—neither of them seemed to want to end their interaction. It was for this reason that Naia hung onto hope that the ghostly giant might grant her request. He knew that if he gave her a haunch to chew on, perhaps she would stick around.

“No,” he sighed, the vapors of his breath collecting around his face before dissipating in the surrounding air. The friendly smile had left his features, and he once more adopted the serious expression that made Naia nervous. No. He said no. He had denied her request, and she tried to keep the disappointment from showing on her face. Of course he said no, she chided herself. Maybe they had connected a little bit over the crow discussion, but a meal opportunity among loners changes everything. She knew that, and yet she had let herself hope anyway. Strange.. she used to be so perceptive of others’ intentions. When had that ability lapsed?

Thankfully before she could despair too much he continued to speak, ”It is young and scrawny, and you will take at least half of it.” The girl’s honey eyes widened in disbelief. Far from denying her request, he amended it—he wanted to split the pronghorn evenly, pathetic though it was. ”Whichever half you want,” he added, and Naia thought her ears might just be deceiving her. Not only did he want to half the meal, he also wanted her to eat first. The slight wolf couldn’t recall a single time in her life when she had eaten first. The custom in both of her previous packs was to eat in order of rank, which unfortunately left Naia chewing on bones most of the time. Once again the tawny female found herself wondering about Nagga. Even if he was desperate for company, allowing her half of the pronghorn was much more than was necessary in order to keep her around. Perhaps the customs were different in his pack of origin, and this was his way of being polite? Whatever the case, Naia was grateful for his generosity. Her first instinct was to thank him out loud, but she stopped herself before she spoke. The male’s tone of voice had been firm and insistent—as if he thought that half the pronghorn was her right and not an extraordinary gesture of goodwill on his part. Remembering his reaction earlier, when he was taken aback that she apologized for the vicious noise of the crows, she thought perhaps he would not appreciate her thanking him for a meal that he seemed to think she already was entitled to.

”A flank for each of us then,” she told him, a brilliant grin spreading out over her features. As she approached the carcass, she brushed past Nagga with a nudge to his shoulder. Even though she had decided against verbal thanks, she hoped to communicate her gratitude with the gesture. ”Please eat with me Nagga,” she requested before she started in on the meal. The flanks could be saved and transported for later, but the majority of the pronghorn would have to be consumed here and now. She began chewing her way through the flesh and sinew that connected the exposed rear haunch to the body of the animal. Every now and then she swallowed a bite for herself, but she was most concerned with detaching the leg. Once her work was done she would enjoy the rest of the meal. ”So Nagga,” she asked between bites, ”What brings you to these lands?” After residing in Relic Lore for half a year, Naia recognized a new wolf when she smelled one. ”Are you looking for a new family, or are you escaping the old one?” Those were really the only two reasons any wolf came here, right? Naia supposed it was possible that he simply enjoyed living alone, but then again anyone that longed to be alone would have been much less receptive to her company. Ochlophobia was unusual for wolves, but not unheard of. She asked the question in an offhanded manor, leaving him the option to answer with a joke instead of the truth if he preferred. Though she was curious, she understood the personal nature of the question and if he chose not to answer her she would more than understand.

♦♦♦♦♦

I got carried away again, lol, no need to match the length. <3

It was true that what Nagga lacked in fur coloration he made up for in the brilliance of the blazing sunset, reddish orange coloration of his irises. Drogon had been blessed with the beauty of a multicolored, earthen coat, blue tinted blacks fading into rich, cocoa colored browns that had faded into a tan the color of dry sand. Despite the beauty of his coat Drogon was not as well kempt as her mate, Massak and son, often having leaves, bits of seaweed, and sometimes bits of bark knotted in the tresses of her fur. The only time that Nagga had ever allowed his fur to be unkempt and unruly was when he was staining it with “war paint” which was the blood of his fresh kill to play “Guardians and Trespassers” with the other pups of Dragon’s Keep. Even when his irises had bore the milky blue of his childhood before the blazing orange had conquered the color of innocence from his eyes, with blood staining his fur in a macabre show, and the further thwarting of the other children by imploring his dominance upon them in wrestling and play fighting, there had always been some of them who would surrender upon first glimpse of his mastermind display. Nagga could not take full credit for the blood as “war paint” idea, however, for Drogon had told him glorious stories of battle and how before her “tribe” would go to war, the women warriors would stain their fur with the blood of their slain enemies to amplify their ‘feral, scare’ tactic. Because it showed so vividly against the insipid ivory of his own fur, Nagga found it rather effective, himself. Thoughts of his childhood and Dragon’s Keep were hastily tucked away when he noticed the trepidation that lingered in Naia’s body language - though, of course, he remained ignorant to the inner devices of the woman’s thoughts, he did not realize that she had mistaken his “no” to mean that he was refusing her any part of the young pronghorn’s corpse - and when they consideration had finally made it’s appearance in his mind, he had already spoken the last half in a his deep voice, spoken firmly, speaking that she should go halves with him on the meal, and Naia was already speaking to him, a grin that he could only describe as brilliant lighting up her entire face. Lips twitched into a soft smile of his own, an almost embarrassedly sheepish thing, the fact that she was pretty when she smiled so brilliantly not failing to be noticed in his mind. She invited him to dine with her, and though she chose not to voice her appreciation on his ’offer’ (though it really hadn’t been an offer more as a ’take your share or leave it for the crows’ sort of thing for he was not going to take her half even if she had refused him), instead he felt the warmth of her body, the cusp of his ears slicking back in a demure manner, as she nudged his shoulder, brushing past him. He moved closer, claiming the side of the pronghorn across from Naia (lol, obviously Sixx), and took the leaf from her book, choosing work on the flank - which would likely be his meal some other day, or a back up store in case he did not come across anything to eat (which he was hoping was a worst case scenario - even a little woodland critter was better than nothing), sharpened canines ripping and tearing into the flesh and sinew, toughened by death and frozen by winter, as paw placed against the fragile looking creature’s body to keep it stable - though he wondered if the bones would be as easy to break as they looked, made brittle by it’s time in the freezing wasteland Nagga currently saw Relic Lore as, or if his eyes were being deceived. It was silent for a while, beneath the sound of splicing flesh and muscle, until Naia broke the silence, inquiring about his purpose to coming to Relic Lore, specifying further by asking if he was ‘looking for a new family or leaving the old one’. As he gnawed on the bone, attempting to shatter the joint from the hip, he finally ripped it free and placed his flank slightly to the side - close enough to ward the crows from swooping in on upon it, whilst keeping it far enough away that it would not interfere with his shared meal - he thought about her question for a few second. His salmon pink tongue, stained with blood swiped across his nose, the cold kissing the wetness his saliva had left upon the fur on his lips from the gesture. <b style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#cb410c;">A bit of both, I suppose. I left my birth pack on good terms, having had no quarrel with either of my parents. In truth I was romanced by the allure of adventure that I thought awaited me upon beginning my journey. As it turns out, Nagga paused with a mirthless little half laugh. <b style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#cb410c;">The romance faded rather quickly and I found that adventure was a cruel mistress especially in winter. My parents knew this, I had come to realize, yet they had let me go regardless. Letting me make my own mistakes and what not. I suppose they’ll be making more heirs to replace me, though, because beyond the allure of a child’s fantasy, I had left to get out from beneath their burdensome shadows. Nagga wanted to make a name for himself outside, where he was not struggling to fill up the proverbial boots of legacy both parents had left. Let an unborn sibling harbor the burden upon their shoulders; let them screw up, step out of line, be the disappointment of the Thrakon’s and bear the ill wishes of the pack that would, bold and cruel, usurp him or her. If his siblings to come were smart, they too, would take to a new life elsewhere. <b style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#cb410c;">I was honed into what they wanted me to be, but for my mother I was born with the wrong genitalia so could not be the Amazon she wished for, and for my father my unwillingness to devote myself to the shamanism of his faith, admittedly having too much of the Amazon blood in me meant that I was not ideal to inherit his rank. When my parents founded the pack they made it so that it must be ruled by a Shaman Priest- devoted to my father’s faith, and an Amazon warrior. Otherwise the pack, split surprisingly evenly to the faith and the Amazon’s would rise in discord and usurp in revolt, ending the Thrakon line as it‘s monarchy. Dragon’s Keep were clever, blunt wolves, knowing what they wanted and taking no less. Nagga offered her a sheepish, almost apologetic half smile. <b style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#cb410c;">That was probably more information than you cared for, He inhaled and let it out in a soft expel of breath. <b style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#cb410c;">What about you…have you been in er, Relic Lore, long? He stumbled for a moment, hoping that he had called the lands by their proper name, before he finished his question, eager to take the spotlight off of himself.

table by mimi

(This post was last modified: Dec 11, 2013, 01:56 PM by Nagga.)

Avatars and Table by: Mimi <3


0/3 thread(s) available

OOC|| Ahhh this one is so long! I think we can just agree to write to our heart's content here, no matter how excessive. Nagga seems to inspire my muse to no end..||

♦♦♦♦♦

Chewing through the frozen flesh of the pronghorn proved to be no easy task, and every now and then Naia flicked her gaze away from her own work to check Nagga’s progress. He had taken up a position on the opposite side of the carcass and was also busy detaching a haunch for himself. Though she was distracted by her own project in the moment he met with success, she was alerted to his triumph by the shudder of the carcass between her jaws accompanied by the sound of flesh ripping and tendons snapping. The tawny girl postponed her own work to watch Nagga place the detatched limb carefully to the side, wagging her tail in a congratulatory way. Encouraged by the ghostly wolf’s success, she gave her own flank a tug, applying powerful traction to the limb while gripping delicately so as not to break the bone. A broken flank would be obnoxious to transport, flopping everywhere and likely to fall apart. Spurred on by the promising popping noises coming from the joint, Naia braced the carcass between her own front paws and tugged harder. The joint finally released, and the remaining attached flesh tore audibly as the slight female stumbled backward. One last punishing shake from the girl and the limb was free.

With the flank still in her jaws, the female celebrated her and Nagga’s success by cocking an eyebrow playfully. She nestled the hard-won limb beside her, pushing several pawfuls of snow over her prize in reaction to some obscure instinct. She was satisfied when only the cusp of the hoof remained peeking out of the snow. Her ears flicked forward as Nagga began to tell his story, much to Naia’s delight. There were few things that she enjoyed more than a good meal, but a good story was one of them. She listened with rapt attention as he spoke, the meal all but forgotten as he transported her to a world of Amazonian tradition and shamanism. The Amazon Warriors were legendary in her birthpack—the subject of exotic bedtime stories told to pups snuggled up in their dens. Nagga’s background in such an alien lifestyle fascinated Naia, who experienced what she thought to be a very unremarkable upbringing herself.

Naia found herself nodding along with the pale giant’s story, even as he revealed his royal birthright. Though she herself was of decidedly plebian ancestry, his desire to escape the tiny compartment carved out for him by his parents was a relatable one. It seemed to Naia that many wolves abandoned their packs of origin under similar circumstances—her included. There had not been a place for her in the rigid hierarchy that she deemed acceptable, so she left to discover her fortune elsewhere.

Naia tilted her head as Nagga described his birthpack’s formation, her curiosity toward his history only growing. Pacifist as she was, the politics behind his parent’s decision interested her to no end. With such an obvious division in their pack—a warrior class and a religious class—how could they possibly expect to promote peace with any amount of success? Doubtless there were rules and customs that Naia was not aware of, but even so it was Naia’s opinion that they were doomed from the start. Even if Nagga’s parents were successful in “making more heirs” –as the male put it himself—who was to say that they would be able or willing to run the pack according to the inarguably strange vision of their parents?

Even as she contemplated this Nagga spoke of possible revolt himself, confirming her suspicions of the precarious positioning of the Thrakon monarchy. He did well to get out while he could! Naia thought, grateful for Nagga’s sake that he escaped before his pack could be torn apart by dissenters. Perhaps the laws had seemed ironclad to Nagga and his parents, but Naia doubted that the arrangement between the Amazon and the Priest would have survived another generation.

Nagga cut off his story just as it was getting interesting, but Naia chose not to pry further. He had shared much more than the original question had called for, and Naia supposed she could be satisfied with that. For now. ”Not at all!” she responded to his insinuation that he may have bored her, ”I love a well-told story.” She hoped the compliment might encourage him to share more, or at least assure him he needn’t look so apologetic. She smiled as he guessed at the name of her homeland, nodding her head to confirm that he was correct. ”Yes, you’ve found Relic Lore,” she chuckled, ”Refuge for misfits like us.” Now that she knew more about him, she fell easily into her playfully casual manner of speaking. ”Only since summer,” she replied to his question, ”When I came of age, I also had trouble falling into the rigid pack hierarchy set in place by my ancestors—although I chose to embark after the snow melted..” The phrase possessed the barest hint of teasing. Though a harsh winter as a loner was hardly something to laugh about, he seemed to be getting by well enough to tolerate some good-natured humor about the situation. ”I was chasing a dream... The Wolves of the Hidden Tree were a legend in my birthpack, thriving in peaceful prosperity for countless generations. Though I never found the Hidden Tree pack, I fell in love with these lands. This is an enchanting place in the warm season, I assure you.” She shared a wry smile with Nagga, knowing full well that his first impression of Relic was a bleak one. ”I made my home with Pitch Pine Trail by invitation of Shade Slayer, our late alpha…” she skipped a beat in her sentence when she spoke his name, ”And after his death the pack collapsed. I only just made it back across the canyon before the snows swallowed the route.” Remembering the meal in front of her, Naia bent down to bite into the underbelly of the pronghorn as she awaited Nagga’s reply.

♦♦♦♦♦

Aw, yay. <3 And, lol, sounds good to me. :D

It had been easy for Nagga to be swept away in the memories of Dragon’s Keep as he spoke of it to Naia, whisked away as a gust of wind would sweep away the leaves. Nagga’s memories were not wretched, suffering, even as he did without his mother’s spoken words, from being the disappointment of, inherently, both Massak and Drogon. Neither had never let such words spill from their lips, but having a high level of intelligence even as a young child, Nagga had quickly grasped that he was not what they had expected him to be. Too equal a mix of their personalities and tendencies, favoring neither parent over the other; despite that he did not fit in either niche the monarchs had assembled for their heirs. Or, rather, their first born and ironically mocking only living heir. Being named after the Father Of Destruction - the mighty pearl colored sea dragon, of whom the bedtime stories of his childhood had enraptured him until he was hanging on every word that split from Massak’s lips - was an honor, and Nagga recognized this. Though he did not put his faith so blindly in mythical creatures that he could not see, Nagga had no will to spit - so to speak - on the Father Of Destruction’s (or the Mother of Salvation’s name for that matter) names. For Every And All Religion, the motto Massak’s acolytes used to recite; it spoke of a tolerance and respect for the faith of every creature and not just that of the “Tiamat” faith. Despite never having enough interest, as Nagga aged and grew, to become an Acolyte, he had adopted their motto, nevertheless. It was important to never forget his origins, even when his paws were destined to carry him on a different path from that of his heritage. When Nagga would peek at Naia in attempts to gauge her interest level as he spoke, pulled from his memories long enough to be able to study her for brief moments of time, he had found himself mildly, but pleasantly surprised to see that she seemed as swept up in his words as he was. He ghost found this to be complimentary, even when he had fallen silent, fearing that he had spoken too much about something that held the possibility of boring her sleep. As he tore - with some difficulty - a strip of flesh and meat off of his side of the pronghorn’s rib cage, chewing it, his ears had thrust forth atop his head to catch Naia’s words, feeling sheepish nevertheless, when she assured him that she had not found his story to be boring at all - in less words than that. <b style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#cb410c;">Well, thanks, The ghost spoke, his deep tones taking a meek, perhaps even demure softness to them. He had never considered himself to be a teller of tales. He had merely told the truth of it, never having the patience to weave a grandiose tale of glittering cobweb covered, well spun glamour. The true tales could be as fascinating as the exaggerated, surely, but the true tales were often more callous, with less ‘happy endings’. He chuckled softly when she confirmed that he had found Relic Lore, and added that it was a place for misfits such as themselves. Misfit. What a good way to describe him, even though Nagga understood she had meant in a teasing, perhaps even playful manner. <b style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#cb410c;">The wild ones, hmm? He added, playfully. In turn, Naia was willing enough to answer his question when Nagga had turned the spotlight upon her, taking the subject change with an elegant grace. She informed him that she had only been in Relic Lore since summer, and then added about waiting until after the snow had melted. Nagga took her jape in stride, offering her a devilish little cheeky grin. <b style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#cb410c;">What can I say, Naia? I always the pariah of the bunch. A soft, amused snort accompanied his words, though he spoke them rather truthfully, having no problem with being the general outcast. Rebellion in the personal sense was not something that bothered Nagga Thrakon, instead it had helped him carve his own path thus far and Nagga had little doubt that it would continue to do so. Nagga took his eyes off of his half of the meal to glimpse around them at the frozen, cold barrenness that lingered in the wake of autumn. It was indeed, bleak. Harshly stark, and lacking the warmth that Nagga was accustomed too, almost unwelcoming. Winter had always whispered of death, though. <b style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#cb410c;">It can‘t snow forever, Nagga spoke simply, with an enigmatic little, impish grin, before he stripped another rib near clean of it’s meat, and chewed thoughtfully. However, Naia’s speech of chasing dreams turned darker, mournful when she spoke of an invitation into a pack - Nagga wondered, with a brief absence that might be like, being invited into a pack, meaning that the leader valued one’s skills enough to want them, as opposed to the piteous begging he felt might need to take place to land himself a place in a pack and found that he could not fathom it; - by it’s late Alpha. He swallowed the meat he had been chewing, cocking his head slightly as he studied her once more, his eyes gentle. It wasn’t that Nagga could sympathize with the woman - he had never mourned another (counting himself either lucky or cursed) having never felt the need to mourn even his deceased siblings, simply because he did not truly know them beyond their time shared in the womb, and briefly outside of it before they had perished. <b style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#cb410c;">That must have been hard, Nagga finally spoke, wishing he could have told her I’m sorry and meant it (but he refrained because he knew he could not mean it and hollow sympathies were worse than not having any at all). <b style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#cb410c;">If you don‘t mind…how did he…pass away? Die had been what he had meant to say but that sounded unfeeling and so Nagga had switched gears at the last second. Of course, Naia had every right not to tell him anything -- it hardly concerned Nagga, and the ghost would not have been offended if she refused. <b style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#cb410c;">So, you are homeless, too? Nagga took a breath, tuning out the nagging of caution, rooted so deeply by Drogon’s own design in his mind. <b style="font-family:georgia; font-size:11px; color:#cb410c;">Do you have any packs in mind? He inquired, though again, that remained absolutely none of his business, in truth. Nagga was rather clueless when it came to the packs of Relic Lore, despite that his lack of knowledge was only to be expected, and he saw this as a chance to, perhaps, learn a little something about the packs they had access to.

table by mimi

Avatars and Table by: Mimi <3


0/3 thread(s) available