Headliner, Headliner

Oh to travel and to venture. While a journey in search of muse is worth its weight in any precious material one might covet, was it ever the strain on the body! Oh he had gone to every place, he had felt, that his soul had been drawn to. That cream-colored wolf, that starved visionary, no time for composing or creating! Just walking, and sighting, over and over again. Had he been inspired by so much, he might have burst long ago. Yes, for any lake or pond with an intense rainfall is sure to flood, given enough time and rain. But, once had had seen the things he had been told to see, Kilnus found everything… underwhelming. Not one wolf, for example, knew of him! And very few, with the exception of that Mercury fellow, considered the world in a similar manner as he did. Not in a political way, mind you, no, for the artist takes no sides in petty squabbles and whatnot. But rather… it was in understanding this world, and what a brave pursuit such as his could do for it.

As fate would have it, the long destination-less road had brought Kilnus to a large city, and my was it grand. There was hardly a dormant speck within this bustling realm. And at the center of it all, a grand palace, this so-called Castle Stuart. He had heard during his travels that this place, it was not just the heart of Rionnach, nor the brain, it was everything. Now, some were averse to the city, its teeming denizens, its filth and cramped quarters, the contrast of some from others, the watchful eye of those in power roosting aloft upon all its subjects. But, ever was it an ideal setting for an individual who could not survive in his craft, without securing a patron. While he loathed the short-sightedness of some aristocrats when they commissioned him for theatre, Kilnus knew that he could not survive without them, and in fact must seek them out, lest he end up a failure.

So, Kilnus would coax from himself one final effort of journeying, and amble about this crowded city, and a find a place from which he could work. Anything would do, for the time being, but how the thought of a fine place, a quiet place, well adorned and well kept, where he might pursue his merits without having to worry about the masses and their inclinations to distract his muse. But… anything would do, for a time. Slowly, but surely, the wolf walked the streets, knowing that his final destination lay at the top of a summit. My, how that castle, it could be so moving as a set-piece, could it not! As it was… no, it would not do, for why look at a created set within the backdrop of the real one? If Kilnus were to ever capture its beauty… its essence, there would be certain changes necessary to it. What if it were high above the clouds, invisible from where the commoners stood, but only needed to commit to a pilgrimage to behold it? Or what if it were adorned in gold, a regal symbol of opulence and authority? Its age-old splendors restored, no rock out of place. It would be perfect, and bound to make any aristocrat to swoon, were they to see it as their legacy. Or what if… it were set aflame, a burning castle, one to promote certain emotions from his audience that were meant to conflict them. That, might be a hard sell, for so many seem to think it to be a statement of treason! But… the only danger that it would present, would be in thought alone, for Kilnus dared not to insult a city that was only beginning to welcome his kind.

But, ever the scandal, Kilnus did not leave it up to himself alone to strike up a meeting with a curious eye, no. For he had other practices, beyond his slow movements and observations, that might draw attention to himself. He was well-preened, of course, but only recently had he decided to make a more bold statement about himself. Yes, for in passing a river, where the soils had given way and appeared loose, the sunlight of the recently begun Spring had revealed a most marvelous feat of nature to him. The soil had these flecks of sparkly material, so small that they could not be seen. It was so beautiful… he must have it at once! And so, he plunged his fur into it, rolled his face into it, coating his fur with foreign sands. And the slow-moving river’s reflection told him the only thing he needed to know, that upon his face, he looked… ravishing. Some might laugh or shy away from him, but that was inevitable, that some might mock that which they do not understand! It had been a while since he had had that spur-of-the-moment triumph, and so most of the sparkly sand that had dinged his body had fallen away. But, that is not to say one could not miss how heavy this sparkly sand persisted upon his face. One day, they’d understand, even those in the high castle, not but some distance away. Oh he could smell the walls from where he stood, and slowly, he was going ever closer towards it.

T

he work of a soldier was never-ending, but it was a thankless endeavor Ramses quite enjoyed–though, even he conceded some of the population made their job needlessly complex when things needn't be so taxing. He'd just finished breaking up a brawl that occurred over a simple mishap; one fellow had bumped into another brutes stall and caused all his wares to fall to the ground. Before the citizen could apologize for his folly, the stall keep was at his throat with fangs bared. Thankfully, Ramses had been nearby when the incident occurred, providing him with ample time to intervene to save both the men's lives. One might've died and the other would have spent the rest of his life rotting away in a jail cell beneath Castle Stuart. That surely would have been a dreadful existence.

With both men separated and moving on with their eyes, Ramses set back to his patrol with a weary sigh. Patrolling the packed streets was not as easy as one might have thought, especially when any number of unsavory events could take place. Thankfully, nothing else happened, and the captain found himself stepping through the grand gate that opened the castle up to the rest of the world. Here the crowds thinned out, offering the captain reprieve from the hustle and bustle of the crowded streets. There were some wolves who came and went, but nothing out of the ordinary caught his eye...

Except for that.

A wolf–male, judging by his scent–steadily climbed the path toward Castle Stuart, and while he was an ordinary man by all accounts, the sunlight beating down on their backs revealed a rather peculiar feature. The man was decorated in what appeared to be sparkles, but Ramses hadn't ever seen such a decoration upon the fur of any one before. The baffled Captain could do naught but stare at man as he came closer despite his best attempts to look away. There were far better things he could be doing right now, like completing his patrol, but his bewilderment convinced him to look back on several occasions. He was embarrassed, but still Ramses hoped the male didn't take notice of his ogling eyes.

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

@Kilnus

My my. Kilnus had had his fair share of onlookers that day, wolves that didn’t seem to quite understand what it was that they were seeing, but none of them gawked at him quite in the same way as the one fellow that was standing before him, in one of his many paths. He couldn’t look away, could he now? How curious, he was, based on his build and looks alone. Most of the commoners gazing upon Kilnus, they were… forgettable. One in the same, oh how every boring story blends to form one beautiful narrative after a time. But this onlooker, there was something special about him. How Kilnus seemed to surmise that… well a magician can’t always reveal his secrets, can he? A powerful scent of a most unusual kind. An appearance of a brutish form who had seen and done many things. And a gaze that couldn’t seem to shy away from the artist standing before him. Wasn’t he ever taught how rude it was to stare? Or maybe, he couldn’t help but hide his fascination.

So, noticing this gawker, Kilnus’ ambling came to a brief pause, and now it was his turn to examine a peculiar specimen before him. Yes, Kilnus wasn’t shy himself either of staring at strangers, and made no attempt to conceal his thorough visual examination of the onlooker. It was if he were evaluating a scene, watching the choreography of the actors, watching the way they spoke both words and actions. What was it that this one was trying to say for himself? Start with the eyes, it was said. Because the eyes… oh they always hid so much, but they never lied. If one could read the eyes, one could look upon the soul of any wolf. Those intense yellowed hues… did they see him as a freak, or were they perhaps drawn with a certain curiosity to the extraordinary? Like a rotten corpse in an inexplicable spot, one cannot help but wonder. And that stance, that posture. My, was he ever popular among the young lovers in this city. Surely, he must be so, for by looks alone at him, Kilnus seemed to recognize the archetype by sight alone. It is perhaps, after all, what drew them to each other. The spirit of the theatre had a wondrous appetite for such fate.

A smile formed on the male’s face as he once more continued to make his way closer to the castle, his pace slow, until once more he stopped and turned back at the wolf. “Well…” Kilnus seemed to hum impatiently, yet softly, “you don’t strike me as a shy type. And yet, you look and you look, and don’t bother to even ask? And if I were to be a prostitute, I might feel cheated!” A jest, to be sure. Kilnus was one to always be toyful with his choice of words. To be predictable, after all, was to be worthless in his line of work. But… would this little Braveheart be the same? Was he too a conduit of the arts, at the very least an appreciator of it? Or was he merely… one of the many lost souls that seemed to prattle about, uninitiated, neglected, starved from it?

T

he male seemingly passed by Ramses, presumably to enter the walls and be on his merry way, which would have been fine with the captain. Maybe then he'd be able to hide his shame over how he'd been gawking at the sparkle covered man. As the male passed out of his peripherals, Ramses turned his head to stare down the winding path in the opposite direction. All he needed to do was wait until he was gone, and he could put this whole incident behind him - right?

"Well, you don't strike me as a shy type."

Ramses' eyes nearly bugged out of his skull, but he managed to keep his shock from showing in the stiffening of his muscles and body. A cool ear twisted atop his skull to regard the man without turning his head. He didn't trust that his expression wouldn't betray him.

"And yet, you look and you look, and don't bother to even ask? And if I were to be a prostitute, I might feel cheated!"

Now Ramses was ever thankful for the fur upon his cheeks, for if they were naked, he'd surely be wearing a blush upon them. A stammered word or two climbed his esophagus, but no distinguishable words were offered in the mere moments that passed after the other male spoke. Ramses twisted his upper body to regard the sparkled covered male with wide eyes of sunshine, his ears smoothing back against his skull until they were nearly flat. "I beg your pardon, sir, I didn't mean to offend you if any offense has been taken," the words spilled quickly from his jowls before he could stop them. While Ramses was a decorated officer of the Imperial Army, it wasn't often he was called out like this.

"I was not looking at your body for my own pleasure," the heat only got hotter beneath his coat, "but I'd never seen anyone douse themselves in such copious amounts of... I'm not even sure what that is actually. I do hope you can forgive my impropriety." This was without a doubt the most awkward altercation he'd had since he accepted his rank as captain. He could disappear into the earth right now and thank the deity that saw it fit to end his misery.

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

@Kilnus

Now, when most wolves saw Kilnus, beheld him not as an oddity but rather as a deep-seated enigma, too ephemeral for them to truly grasp, they reacted in such a way befitting their simple nature. They chose to shy away, look asunder so as to not strain their minds. Yes, for why fret when something is so powerful, one’s mind is incapable of understanding it? Or, perhaps they chose to laugh, to mock the subject. Was it not the nature of wolves to mock that what was so challenging, so different? Oh, what sympathy the artist might have for them all in their foolishness, if he could but relate. From the moment of his youth, Kilnus was breathed full of the spirit of theatre, and from his birth he saw things that others blatantly missed, and he knew all too well what a fool looked like. And this one, this yellow-eyed gent, how did he fare? He did not laugh, he did not turn his head all they way around in confusion. No… he stared, and a wolf such as that, the ardent learner he may very well be. And were they ever so delicious!

But, it appeared that the brutish boy’s form was ever so deceptive of the way he spoke and accordingly acted. Rather than brush off Kilnus’ words as a tease, or even respond with a show of strength on what has almost certainly become a unique interaction, a look of embarrassment, and a sincere apology, escaped from the mountain wolf. Offense? From an innocent examination of something that was not only foreign, but exciting to the senses? The more he went on, the more the artist could barely restrain the smile that was slowly taking over his face into a laugh of joy. It was as if he were in a dark cave, and as his eyes were adjusting to the darkness, he could see a dim light, leading to the outside. Yes, nothing quite gave Kilnus hope of fortunes and successes to come, if he could encounter but one wolf who knew the rhythm, even if he did not know the verses. Such it must feel for the first time an uninitiated soul learns of the arts themselves.

“My my…” Kilnus unexpectedly cooed with his silky voice, “properly-spoken and curious… oh how precious you are! I assure you, you have nothing to apologize for.” Taking advantage of the nervousness, Kilnus took the initiative upon itself to draw closer to his newest subject, and closer, and closer still. Already, thoughts of this wolf’s story seemed to bubble unto the surface. He thought now, what this wolf could be to him, what forms he might take. A job gone wrong. A young lover lost in a thick forest. Devotion, deception, misjudgment, betrayal. And he and only he alone knew the answer to the riddle. My, so many ways this wolf’s story could be twisted, Kilnus shuddered to think of the perfect way to remember him by. But… that was enough thinking for now, for there were other thoughts more important.

“Essence of Muse, my friend,” Kilnus replied, “it is essence of Muse that adorns me. While it takes so many different forms, it guides me in my quest, and it attracts me towards wolves whose spirits are… like my own.” He knew that this wolf did not knowingly look at him as he would a lover for hire, no, for it was not by intent alone. It was, rather, a magnetic attraction, between a wolf doused in the arts themselves, and those who wished to sample a most forbidden fruit. Yes… for so few in Rionnach had seemed to have ever heard of theatre, prior to these very recent moments. And, oh heavens above, they were not even exposed to the mockeries and sham-artists that had no business being what they claimed to be! With Kilnus, theatre would be done only correctly, and never some half-baked, derivative falsehood! “You see, my dear, polite friend,” Kilnus began once more, “I know what you are seeking in your life… a certain enrichment that deep down, you know I can show you. The theatre!”