Kettle Pot Pond Under this endless sky

OOC: et voila! Set 11th Sept

The life of a lone wolf was not an easy one. The days of solitude, the constant moving, hunting alone ... it all added up to a very sad tale indeed. And yet, it was what he had chosen for himself for Arcturus Nox, battle scarred warrior of the old Stormwell Pack, had fled.

Wildfire had ravaged his old pack lands, taking not only his home but members of his pack and even his own brother. In the weeks following he had dealt with grief and anger. With nowhere to go his few remaining pack mates had turned to a neighbouring pack for shelter. The pack against whom Arty had been battling almost his entire life. A pack of disrespectful, mindless cretins at best, the devil incarnate at worst. He wasn't able to put that past behind him, not when the past was written all over his body in ugly scarring only too ready to bring back those memories.

So, here he was. He had wandered far, and mostly aimlessly over the last few weeks, sleeping when tired and only eating when hunger forced him to seek nourishment. The result of which was a rather thin and diminished frame, at least it was by Arty's standards. He looked like a brute normally and he knew it, and he was still probably considered a brute by those who didn't know him. That hunger was pricking at him again now. The dull ache that was easy to ignore was becoming an annoying niggle, so Arty decided to actually pay proper attention to his surroundings, in case he could catch a quick bite.

All around him was just vast open space. It was really quite stunning. A large watering hole was just ahead, tall grasses swayed in the afternoon breeze, and while the air was a typical brisk Autumn day, the clouds overhead were fine and wispy. The air smelt crisp and cold, and carried on the breeze were the scents of a few different wolves criss-crossing back and forth. None were particularly strong, but they indicated there were a couple of packs relatively nearby. Maybe it would be best not to loiter for too long, lest he get into trouble.

Arty eased himself into a carefully relaxed walk; head lowered slightly, tongue lolling, tail waving ever so slightly behind him as he went. Hopefully if someone saw his hulking dark frame they wouldn't associate his body language with someone trying to cause trouble. Although, Arty thought he probably looked like a bloody moron.

Golden eyes scanned the area around him. Bigger game would be easy to spot, sure, but having dark fur himself meant he'd be fairly easy to spot coming. No, smaller game would have to be the course of the day. The watering hole would be a good place to start at and scout out from. It was only a few hundred metres away, and it would give him an idea of the fresher scents to track. All creatures great and small need water, right?

His shoulder, much to his relief, was starting to feel better. For a while he'd feared he'd gone and ruined it for good, that for the rest of his life he would have to limp along like he was some sort of cripple. What use would he have been to the pack then? He doubted that the Old Man or Jessie would have thrown him out on his arse, but shit, the thought of spending the rest of his days as a feeble mooch really did put him in a pissy mood.

He had dodged that proverbial bullet, he had nothing to worry about, he'd be better in no time. But the what ifs loomed over him like storm clouds. Nor did it really help that it had been so overcast and grey as of late. Not that he was yearning for sunshine and butterflies,but these days it was clear winter really was on the horizon. And if things were tough now, then all he and his fellow Rye wolves could do was brace for the cold, dark days ahead.

So with that in mind-aside from seeking out space to scowl and brood- Askan had set out off into the tundra just to make sure all was as it should be.

Trotting along with his head held high-as per usual- Askan frowned as spotted the stranger from a far. At first he thought little of it, the pond seemed to attract all sorts, pack wolves and otherwise. But the more he watched them, the harder it was to ignore the niggling thought in the back of his head. And then it dawned on him, just who this might be, and he immediately bristled as his lips pulled back into a snarl. He had not forgotten the story of the scared, dark wolf, the one who had wounded not one but two northern pups. The fiend was still at large and for all the Guardian knew, this was him, skulking about, waiting to strike again if he got the chance.

If he thought he could continue his reign of terror, he had another thing coming. No other pups would be harmed if Askan had any say in the matter.

"Oi, you." Askan snapped as he drew closer, his tail lashing behind him like a whip."You been here before? Hurt a couple of kids just for the sake of it? Cause no one was around to stop you?"

(This post was last modified: Sep 14, 2017, 05:27 PM by Askan.)

As Arty plodded along, his mind didn’t wander so much as fuzz out to white noise, letting his senses take over. This was easier that actively scouting for a meal. There were plenty of scents lingering about, but some were older than Arty would have liked to waste energy tracking down, and some were of smaller animals like rodents that would be but an appetizer and not really worth his time. He half closed his eyes as he plodded along, enjoying the simple please of the cool air playing with his fur. It would only get colder over the coming months, food scarcer, days shorter. He knew, eventually, he would have to find a more permanent home. Winter was a tough season, he didn’t need to make it harder on himself for no reason.

A trail became slightly more prominent as he walked. Rabbit. That was more like it. Where there was one there was many. As he directed his course to walk more parallel with the water hole and along with the scent trail, the breeze brought something much sharper to his attention. A wolf, and more specifically a pack wolf. Holy smokes he was getting lax with spotting stuff like this. The other was about as inconspicuous as he was, and Arty should have spotted it. Never mind, perhaps the other chap could give Arty some helpful tips as to where he was, some good hunting spots (away from the pack lands presumably), have a pleasant chat and both be on their merry way.

Ha.

Fortunately, Arty wasn’t that out of tune to not notice that the fellow approaching was not happy. Underline it, shout it loud, do whatever you gotta do to emphasise it and you’d still probably be understating it. Arty’s lopsided grin vanished promptly, his yellow eyes going wide with shock. Maybe this place was more like his old home than he thought, and this guy was coming to kick his ass and send him packing. Surprisingly, his heart sank a bit at the thought. He didn’t realise how much he’d been hoping at the thought of a fresh start.  

‘Down, kiddo! Make nice’ It was his father’s voice, or at least the voice that told him the smart option was usually his father’s voice. Quick as a flash his ears went back, his tail tucked smartly underneath him and his belly went to the ground before the stranger had fully reached him, a quiet whine escaping his muzzle. It was about as small as Arty could make himself, though he still resembled a small boulder. He kept his feet firmly planted to the floor though. Always leave yourself an exit route.

“Oi, you. You been here before? Hurt a couple of kids just for the sake of it? Cause no one was around to stop you?” Arty’s confusion only increased. Hurting pups? What the hell? “Please, brother, you’ve got the wrong guy. I ain’t never been here before, I don’t even know where here is.” He kept his eyes locked firmly to the other guy’s front paw. Looking up at the other male would only make things worse, but his peripheral vision would help to pick up the immediate geography around to help mark swift running routes if he needed them. “I might be all beat up, but I ain’t some monster who goes around hurting pups. I look like this by stopping shit like that from happ’nin’.” He kept his voice low, though he cringed inwardly at how croaky it had become through lack of use. “I’m just tryin’ to find some food is all.” With that he shut up. No need for verbal diarrhoea.

With his tail held high like a flagpole, Askan looked down at the stranger with an odd mix of revulsion and pity in his gaze. As soon as he'd noticed Askan- and his fiery demeanour- the loner had rather appropriately dropped down in submission. It was clear he was trying his damn hardest to appear as small as possible, but if anything his cowering merely showed off how thick and muscular he really was. A wolf like this would have no issue taking on two pups at once, he wouldn't even break into a pant.

And yet he claimed that he was mistaken, that he'd never even been here before, let alone be the sort who would hurt kids for the fun of it. In fact, he went onto say that his scars were not mere battle wounds, but proof he wasn't what Askan said he was.

He had no problem in believing the last part, loners were always trailing after their next meal, it was all they seemed to live for, really. But in all, was he really telling the truth? Or was he simply pulling at Askan's hearts strings in an attempt to pull the wool over his eyes?

Askan knew that he was no fool, that his mind was just as sharp as his gaze.That he, like many of his predecessors ,were cut from a different cloth than the rest. After all, the Selwyn clan couldn't have claimed a whole mountain range as their own through sheer luck alone. And yet, in this moment it was difficult for him to decipher this wolf before him. Was he friend-or at least harmless- or foe?

Askan circled him, drawing closer and closer till his path brought them mere feet apart. He could have easily stepped on him if he wasn't careful.

"You're no brother of mine." Askan rumbled, as he came to a stop in front of him so he could look him in the eye.

Those didn't seem to be the eyes of a killer, a monster. And yet Askan wondered if he would know it if he saw them. When he looked at his uncle all he'd seen was that familiar bright yellow, the same eyes he and all his kin shared.

Rather than come to a conclusion right there and then, Askan decided he would continue to keep his proverbial cards close to his chest. Only when he was content, as close to one hundred percent sure as he could be, then would he let him off the hook. Till then, the loner had to suck up and deal with this strife.

"Would you even tell me if you were?" Askan scoffed, knowing full well the guilty rarely passed up a chance to plead their innocence."So you'll have to forgive me for not taking your words as gospel. Let's start of simple. What's your name?"

Arty kept himself still and 'small' as the other male approached and began to circle him. This wasn't terrible, the other had not lashed out with tooth or claw. At least not yet. Arty respected the guy. It was clear he took strangers being around seriously. Although, it just happened to be bad for Arty that he was being perceived as a threat.

He flinched slightly at the rebuke from the other. A small flinch but it was there none the less. Of course this guy was not his brother. A simple slip of the tongue. It was an old pack endearment, a pack he no longer had and a sharp reminder of a brother he had lost. If only his family were here, he thought. They were much more diplomatic than he.

Eventually the other came to a stop before him. Arty felt the weight of that gaze on him like a lead weight. Still the male did not strike at him, though the air was fraught with tension. Arty's heart beat like a jackhammer. It wasn't that he was afraid of a fight, though he obviously didn't want that to happen, but he found himself desperately wanting to be believed.

"Would you even tell me if you were? ... So you'll have to forgive me for not taking your words as gospel. Let's start of simple. What's your name?" Arty took a quick breath. "No, I guess I wouldn't. But I have found that monsters who delight in hurtin' the innocent delight in seeing pain in the others it affects too." It was a special type of something that did such mindless atrocities. With any normal person, it just made you sick to your stomach. "My name is Arcturus Nox, also known as Arty." He didn't know why he gave his nickname. It's not like anyone could do a reference check now was it. "My pack is- no, was, the Stormwell Pack. A couple weeks north east of here." He stopped himself abruptly. He had not been asked his life history, and frankly, Arty still struggled to vocalise what had happened. He left it there, though he wanted desperately to ask many questions. Who are you? Where am I? And more importantly, what the hell happened here?

From the sounds of it, this loner knew the exact sort of man-or monster- he was talking about. But rather than linger on that fact any longer, he went onto respond to Askan's questions. Good, the Guardian was in no mood to pry them out of him. Believe it or not, he was playing nice, so he expected him to do the same.

As it turned out, his name was Arcturus Nox. A pretentious mouthful, all style and no substance. But rather than slander his name like a complete dick, Askan merely arched a brow as if to say, 'really?' Whatever, his name was so ridiculous it had to the truth. No one would pick such a silly sounding alias.

His next words soon caught Askan's attention. Arty-that was a lot easier to say and think- had just barely managed to catch himself there. Was he merely referring to his pack in past tense because he no longer belonged in their ranks? Or had something awful happened? Askan's heart ached at the thought. If that was the case then it was a little too close to home, he wasn't sure if he wanted to pry and yet is nosy nature wouldn't let him ignore the chance to ask a question pass him by.

Gritting his teeth, Askan cast him a questioning look. The location didn't matter to him, he'd never even been to the east, let alone heart of this pack. And yet, he was gonna ask anyway.

"Was? Something happen to them, or they cast you out?"

The dark wolf before him still did not strike. It seemed that the immediate threat had passed, though Arty still did not move from his huddled stance. The guard was a wolf of rank, Arty was a nobody, it was all about respect. Lack of it could get you killed. Fortunately, it seemed that as long as Arty acted as could be expected, the other would be fairly calm. For now, at least.

But then came that million-dollar question. What happened? It was one he didn’t want to answer but one he knew he should, if he didn’t want to be chased out of here with his tail between his legs. Though when asked whether he had been thrown out Arty actually chuckled, though it was full of bitterness. “Y’know what, I actually wish that were the case.” He paused to lick his lips, his mouth suddenly very dry. “It was a summer bushfire, ‘bout a month back. Never seen one like it before. Prob’ly won’t see one like it again in my lifetime. Took out most the pack, and a nearby one too.” Another pause. His words were clipped, his throat felt like it was tightening. “Me, m’sister and another got out. They joined up with what was left of the other pack. But I couldn’t stay, too many ghosts haunting the place.”

Another pause. Though the cool breeze toyed lightly with his fur, Arty felt like he had run hundreds of miles at breakneck pack his heart was thumping that hard. He shifted anxiously. Talking about it made him want to keep on running. Because that’s all he was doing really wasn’t it, trying to run from the memories?

“So, please, I ain’t here to cause any harm to no-one. I got my demons, sure, but they’re mine alone to deal with.” Still he yearned to ask questions of the other. But all he could think of was getting through these preliminary stages. Play nice, follow the rules, don’t piss him off. Then he’d see what kind of nasties might be lurking around.

Askan tilted his head in confusion at the chuckle that slipped from Arty's lips. Was that really something to laugh about? The Selwyn didn't like to think about his uncle- or his mannerisms and dark deeds- but this was the sort of thing that would have gotten a rise out of him.Even to this day Askan had no idea why, but he revelled in the failings of packs. Maybe it was because he had gotten burnt, that he resented his status as a bastard. But the way Askan saw it, no one was made him stay, he could have left whenever he wanted. Only he didn't, no, instead he decided to kill everyone then come here to Relic Lore to finish the job.

Askan on the other paw, wasn't so heartless.

To hear that Arty had lost his home to a great fire, made Askan feel just a little less suspicious of him. From the looks and sounds of it, Arty was just a guy down on his luck. He'd come to Relic Lore looking for refuge, for a new beginning, just as he'd done all those months ago. If some random guy cornered him demanding to know who he was and why he was here, well it wouldn't have been a good first impression to say the least.

"I get it." Askan rumbled, signalling that he didn't have to continue. That the Guardian would pry no more. "Was just checking, I figured you weren't him anyway. He's probably long gone."

He said as such, but his words weren't very convincing, seeing how he flung accusation after accusation at him once he'd gotten close enough. But this was as close to an apology as the loner was going to get, so Askan hoped he would let bygones be bygones.

"For what it's worth...Sorry for your loss, I guess."He shrugged, as he pushed a twig into the pond with his front paw.

Taking a step back, Askan gestured for the loner to stand with a flick of his snout. There would be no more cowering, Askan didn't have an issue with him being here. They were not quite equals but...at the very least Askan wasn't going to rip his face off anytime soon.

"I'm Askan Selwyn, Second and Guardian of Wild Rye Fields. If you have any questions, I suppose I can answer them."He told him, doing a great show of seeming rather unenthusiastic about the whole affair. Really though, he didn't mind too much. It was the least he could do.