Grey Skies

G

rey skies greeted him this morning, the air quiet and somber when he awoke, whispering sweet nothings and nudging him awake with the cold kiss of snow upon his pelt. He left the warmth of his companion as he ventured through the oak forest—and although he was behemoth in size, his steps were graceful and collected. He had grown hungry on his journey, and he thought he might gather something tasty for himself and Merrin before she awoke.

Rafiel lifted his head to the skies, attempting to track down a scrap of meat—a hare, a fox, a badger, whatever was available was a possibility on the menu today.

While the forest guarded its inhabitants carefully, his canine sense of smell could devastate a whole family of rodents, prey he would force fate upon. However, as he thought he might creep upon a hare, the chatter of imperial soldiers filled his senses, and the creature dashed away, out of his sight, burrowing into a fortress beneath the ground.

He sighed, eyes gleaming with amusement. Well, at least the lucky hare would live another day, it seemed. He would have to try again if he wished to partake in breakfast.

@Lazarus

art by Lunicea, code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

Though the skies overhead were void of the sun’s nurturing light, the forest today was alive, not only with the sounds of fauna but also with the familiar shouting and tumbling of knights in training. To what army they belonged, Lazarus did not yet know, but listening to the distant scuffles was the closest thing he had found to normalcy in some time. Perhaps he should have taken heed and discontinued his travels through these woods, in case he was trespassing on another kingdom’s land. A wise man would have. But so would a cowardly one. Lazarus continued onward, fearless in his stride, but still alert in his senses. He was not a coward, but he was also not a complete fool.

The knights may have reminded him of home, but the terrain was nothing of the sort. His trekking was noisy and at times a little uncoordinated, for the brush was dense, and he was still growing accustomed to traversing a variety of terrain. Though he hailed from a forest, it was nowhere near as thick; the brambles here were like barricades of war and the tree roots were like winding serpents along the forest floor. Ivy clung relentlessly to his hide, seeming to favour the marred flesh of his burns, and though he never cared for vanity, the sensation was irritating enough for him to occasionally brush himself against the coarse bark of a tree. The pain from scraping his wounds was kinder than the incessant tickle of the green hair.

A rabbit darted rapidly through the brush, and from a cluster of ferns, a flurry of blackened wings burst through the canopy of trees. Lazarus paused, regarding the murder of crows calmly, and recalling the silly tales the shamans would tell of them back in the Nashoba. It was said that they were a bad omen. But Lazarus felt almost comforted by it, for at least it was a sign of something to come. And many folk spoke ill of fire, when fire had been Lazarus’ saviour. Nature wasn’t something to be feared. It ran its course the way the gods intended, like unbiased clockwork.

As the crows cleared, Lazarus’ attention now turned to the direction the rabbit had come from. It must have been frightened by something. Fiery orange lamps narrowed at the dense thicket as he continued forth, and soon enough, another creature, canine this time, materialized among the ferns. The stranger appeared to have stolen the sun from the sky and stored it in his gleaming pelt, for it was comprised of the warmest, brightest tones Lazarus had ever seen.

Clearly, the sun thief needed more sustenance, however, since he must have been hunting the hare that frightened the crows.

“I was never much of a hunter, either,” Lazarus spoke, his deep, grating baritones so out of place among the vibrancy and serenity of the grove. If the stranger siphoned life, Lazarus poisoned it. He wasn’t even entirely sure why he was speaking. But perhaps nature today had entwined his path with the stranger’s for a reason, and that reason he may as well attempt to unearth.

@Rafiel

i used to wake up with the moon

praying for the sun to die soon

It's late for her, but her mind is too busy to let her slumber, as it often is when she's left with nothing but her thoughts. Every time she lays down, they lead to the same place. Even with months now between herself and the tragedy which took away all that was rightfully hers and left her in disgrace, her lament runs as deeply as it did the night of her exile. It's only when she doesn't think about it that she can pretend she is fine.

So she doesn't want to think about it. Each step she takes is in search of a distraction, a way to silence the noise in her head. This part of the woods is incredibly lush and dense, leaving the floor with sparse and patchy snow coverage, whatever makes it past the clustered mess of branches above — she can just see the sunless sky through them, dull and grey the way she prefers her mornings, when she is awake to see it. Sharp teeth click against the rib bone of a hare, found not long after she gave up trying to sleep.

Traversing this forest gives her a sense of nostalgia, with the smell of oak and the untamed foliage which keeps her on her toes, like much of the vale in the lower part of her homeland. While there are differences, like how her homeland's wood was broken up just a bit more by the rivers and creeks that flowed through and how this forest smells of many strangers, but it's similar enough to fill her with longing. Deft paws make their way over a gnarled root jutting up from the dirt and she weaves her way through the trees, searching but not sure what for.

With how this place reeks of wolf, Nyx is sure it is well-patrolled and well-populated. She won't be alone for long.

As if on cue, her ears catch a nearby commotion, the rustling of branches and foliage and a symphony of crying crows. Were the woods less dense, perhaps she would be able to see them take flight. She pinpoints the direction the sound originated from and follows, her curiosity always driving her to investigate every little thing that grabs her attention.

It's not long before she can make out two lupine figures among the thicket, both large men similar in height to herself but each could not contrast the other more. One man is golden blond, his coat clean and well-kept with not a hair out of place, and the strong, dignified stance of one with noble blood — she recognizes it anywhere, having been bred from aristocracy and raised a prince.

The blond one is trim and lean while his dark and brooding counterpart is hefty and robust. A brute if she's ever seen one with marred flesh all over. If the other man is the sun, this one is the abyss. He speaks in a voice like gravel, “I was never much of a hunter, either.”

Nyx steps forth from the brush, though not completely. "You are wolves, aren't you? Hunting is in our blood and there is no creature better at this than we," says Nyx. She's unsure if the two are together or not, but can guess she'd caught them just after a failed hunt. She regards the two men with her characteristic smirk. "Failure does not take this away, our destiny as predators. It exists to challenge us, to push us to our best, but only if you don't give up."

@Rafiel & @Lazarus

i used to get caught in the clouds, with blood on my face, with the strangest smile

hoping for the wind to carry me away

C

haracterized by buoyant romps and fits of laughter, scraped knees as lessons learned and bedtime stories after the sun set, Rafiel’s childhood was one that built confidence, cultivated a love for adventure and conversation. He thrived off of social interactions, the presence of others, whether it was during his travels, when he rested, when he slept, or even when he grieved. He was the pinnacle of what defined a wolf, this social canine that flourished and bloomed in the company of his kin.

As such, losing his prey was not so detrimental to him, aside from the possibility of his stomach rumbling longer than intended; he let his hunger subside, for the moment, breathing in the air of fresh pine needles, the deep and spicy aroma reminding him of home, the House of the Zyphears, knights who propelled the darkness and sought to tame the sun. It was gone now, that land, scorched to ashes, buried heavily in the redolence of sorrow, the veil of death enclosed upon the wolves who once reigned.

Still, he kept his vows close to his heart, the desire to kindle the light of his predecessors, to bring them pride, even after their souls left the earth.

He lifted his head as he heard someone approach, his ears tilting toward the sound of footsteps. Someone graced him with his presence, a titan in his own right, cloaked in night with the exception of his eyes, like embers of an evening sun. He mentioned his hunting aptitude, and Rafiel politely nodded in greeting.

Certainly, he would have spoken sooner, shared his name and continued the conversation as he was so well versed. However someone else also stepped into view, this wolf just as sizable as her company—perhaps Rafiel might have thought her a male at first, but he interpreted the pheromones as female. It was rare to see three goliaths gathered by chance in such a location. “Ah, some have called me that,” Rafiel said, a thread of jest in his tone. “I have also been called a moose, a bear, a beast—any manner of colossal creature. But a wolf will do for today.”

He adjusted his position, sweeping an elegant bow in greeting. “Saluations, my friends!” he said. “I am Rafiel Zyphear. Might I have the pleasure of your names?” There was a twinkle in his eyes, their cerulean depths bringing forth mischief and merriment. “Perhaps I may interest you in a hunt? Maybe we engage one another as such predators?” If they combined efforts, perhaps they might find a deer or boar to share.

@Lazarus @Nyx

art by Lunicea, code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

The faint trace of smoke tore him from the life of the forest and momentarily plunged him back into the flames of his memories, heat searing at the fine hairs of his face and those familiar ghosts of pain dancing along the marred flesh of his side. He blinked, for his eyes suddenly felt dry, and a tickle emerged in his throat, but he suppressed his cough and turned to face the newcomer whose scent brought his past to life. But nothing was burning – at least, not the alder trees of his homeland, not the flesh of his mortal hide. It almost seemed as if this woman had been burning spices, for he detected a trace of nutmeg amid the musty scent of leather and an unfamiliar sweetness that contrasted her dark and mangy appearance.

War was in Lazarus’ blood. He’d been told this from a young age. Back in the Nashoba, they had specialized hunters to provide food for their warriors. Often, these were outsiders or prisoners of war. The knights were to spend the majority of their time training for their next conquest, because war was what they lived and breathed. It was what pumped through their veins and it was what they were destined to bring to the wilds. So Lazarus had little experience with hunting, though he could still agree with the woman to some extent; there was a primal urge in him that did occasionally long to give chase to prey. But even now, living nomadically and by his lonesome, the majority of his meals were stolen from other predators. It kept his belly full and his hide adorned with fresh scars.

The woman also spoke of failure. Failure was a word that Lazarus had heard countless times in his youth, and he didn’t fancy hearing it again even if it was spoken of in a positive light. Failure was not an option, at least not in his experience. But he said nothing on the subject for now, because the sun thief was the next to speak, offering up a hunt and asking for their names in exchange. Lazarus, did, however, make a mental note of what she said about failure and destiny. Anyone who spoke of such topics intrigued him and were worth conversing with. Perhaps she had a keen mind. But another part of him could not help but envy her, because he imagined that her acceptance of failure came from a childhood much kinder than his own.

“My name is Lazarus Rokan,” he introduced himself to his company. “If destiny calls for a hunt, then I suppose there are worse ways I could be spending my afternoon.”

@Rafiel @Nyx

i used to wake up with the moon

praying for the sun to die soon

The blonde one welcomes her cutting in with a jovial smile and a jest about how he'd been identified as all manner of massive creatures. With an arched brow, Nyx lets out a mildly amused huff. "Please. You are too thin to be a bear and too clean to be a beast," she replies. Curiosity itches faintly in the back of her mind... moose... she is not familiar with this animal, or she might be but simply not know it by this name. However, she's not curious enough to ask.

The man bows with his greeting — definitely a noble of some sort — and introduces himself. The ebon brute follows. "Call me Nyx Orpheides," she says. It's rare she ever uses the name of her house, as her personal name is usually enough. She feels a swell of pride at saying it, Orpheides. Perhaps it matters not out here that she is a descendant of the gifted Orpheus, but even in her profound disgrace, she is still proud of her legacy. It is still everything to her.

“Perhaps I may interest you in a hunt? Maybe we engage one another as such predators?” says Rafiel, a proposal which puts a smirk on Nyx's face. Just what she has been hoping for. Her attempt to bait the men into a little sport has proven successful.

"I can never say no to a good workout," she says. A hunt is the perfect way to clear her head and work off that excess energy, so that she may rest well for the next night. She glances over as Lazarus speaks, seeming to go along with the suggestion if it is destined — what curious phrasing, though it is a shame he seems not very enthusiastic. Doesn't his blood boil for a chase? To sink his teeth into flesh?

"Everything is Fate's will," Nyx comments before taking a steady drag of the breeze and stepping further forth from the copse. She smirks daringly at Lazarus, directly meeting his ember eyes. "Try to keep up."

And with that, she simply picks a direction and starts walking.

// exeunt Nyx

@Rafiel & @Lazarus

i used to get caught in the clouds, with blood on my face, with the strangest smile

hoping for the wind to carry me away

H

e grinned at her response, one to find good will in any comment as was appropriate for one with such a chipper viewpoint as himself. “Ah, thin and lean? What a compliment, my lady! Perhaps I should utilize my thinness and leanness to capture a creature worthy of our existences.” He would have to do better, it seemed, to create an impression, but he was humble—he would let his actions speak for him as much as his words.

Rafiel, blessed with a coat like liquid sun, stretched, paws pushed out in front of him, his individually toes pressing against the ground, rump in the air. The prospect of a hunt was an exciting one, and he welcomed it, for a group of three as large as he present company would surely be able to fell a beast of extraordinary size, in which case, they could share the kill and revel in the abundance.

Oh, how he would love to bring home something for his dear Merrin.

He rolled his shoulders back, giving Lazarus a glance of mirth. “Ah, you’d be right there, good sir! I daresay there are many worse ways to enjoy the afternoon. Why, if we find a noble creature, such as a deer or a boar, we may yet have enough meat to keep use fed for a week.” He started after Nyx, wondering where she would take them—perhaps she was a woman of great tracking skills, and she would bring them to an adversary worth hunting.

[Exit Rafiel]

@Lazarus @Nyx

art by Lunicea, code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck