Places, Please

Yorkshire, they called it. Powerful name, not alike the terms of geography he had once been accustomed to. But the past, it should not be sentimental, it should be scathing. Only what lies ahead is what one should concern one’s self with. Based on the whispers darting along the way, Yorkshire was a forest, teeming with life, with promise. Of course, the circumstances of the season had brought upon it a certain dullness. No matter, floral arrays were dull after a while. A scene should invoke emotion, but nostalgia, it was poison in large doses, a distraction from the medium before the wolf. Any wolf can admire the beauty of nature, but few can find beauty in places where it should not be so. Few, indeed, can use beauty to challenge the audience to think, to emote, to feel. And this living set-piece, this landscape, perhaps it might be so, if only the right spirit so moved Kilnus, and there were certain… accessories to accompany it.

But, one might ask, what does that mean, precisely? Well, Kilnus would reply, no play worth performing comes without its star. Yes, wolves are the agents of any tale, so why should they be disregarded in a pursuit such as his? Not too long ago to his arrival, he had met quite a character, his first interaction. What was his name again, something or other. But, he was a deviant, and such souls were always so fun. A slave to his ailments, a professor of inebriating substances, a fool if could ever be one! But, more on that player in the coming moments, for the cream-colored creator of feeling guided his way towards a destination-less terminus, slowly walking as he looked for inspiration, wherever it might hide, and whomever it might hide within. It would not take so long, he seemed to tell himself, not too long at all.

MERCURY

The area is full of secrets. The twisting oaks make travel difficult for those who rely on sight to travel, though in his case, he finds the area more fun than anything else. The locals watch him with suspicion and wariness--as is their right-- and give the blind seer a wide berth. But it is not berth that comes for--not today, anyway. Today he seeks the same thing he often seeks--information. And he has his proverbial fingers in many cookie jars.

"Do you think we'll gain anything new? Or are we going to be busying ourselves with squeezing water from a stone?" He cocks his head downward to speak to the skull that dangles along his side. It does not respond, it;s hollow visage only gazing blankly into the world. "...Quite right. Never shall we know until we try!" The skull he carries is tapped, a hollow 'conk' rapping through the bone as if it echoes its affirmation, and he closes his eyes.

Someone will come. They always come. And when they do, he will have the information he seeks, whether they give it willingly or whether he has to pry it from their throat himself. But he does not have to wit long, oh no. He has barely settled and the itch of his paws has barely abated
when the wind carries to him a whisper. A tickle; Fresh Meat. Oh, what joy! What glory! He rises, rises and snakes his way through the brush in wicked glee before slithering his way atop a tree to follow the sound of step-step-stepping until he comes to rest somewhere far above the unassuming person that is Kilnus.

"Well! I do so love new company, though it is exceedingly rude not to introduce yourself! the jester calls, dripping like ink from the limbs of the tree to nearly pool on the ground--no, he simply touches down with an eerie silence and an uncanny grace that leads into the slow pulse of excitement roiling beneath his skin.
"Well? Give us a name, then." So brilliant are his sightless eyes in his mangled face, the disfigured flesh and muscle and tendon peeling away from his tattered lips in an ever-wider and ever-more-taut grin that pulls at the glistening skin of his gums until his teeth are far too on display. The skull beneath his foot--how did that get there?-- is tap-tap-tap-tapped with what could be impatience--or is it rhythm?

table by rae - image from Pixabay

Oh what gifts the wintry landscape bestowed upon Kilnus, when into his gaze stumbled a sight to behold. At first, its sickly dance seemed to paint it as anything but a wolf. But, Kilnus could see him to be something more than mere prey. But, as the body that guides the voice melted from the tree, revealing his contorted form to him, Kilnus knew it to be a wolf. How might others perceive this wolf? The silvery sheen of his eyes, the puddling flesh, the exposed tendons, the exposed teeth, the sinister mask of reality, it was not meant for all to see. Oh, how they might run at the sight, run from what they could not understand. They mocked him, feared him, didn’t they? Label him a deviant, a devil, a monstrosity, how they could tell it to this wolf over and over. And yet… what did Kilnus feel? He felt… a connection, a connection almost immediately to this deviant, like a moth to a flame, a rabbit to a snare. He did not see a creature, he saw… beauty. Every movement, every sinew, it was mesmerizing, from the very moment he lay eyes him. Could it be so? Yes, Yes! No. No! Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Of course, his manners were despicable. To chastise a wolf such as Kilnus not to introduce himself? A wolf whose work should render that unnecessary for him? Was there a single cultures wolf in the world left? Oh… but oh yes… he was far from what was once his realm, and perhaps they did not yet remember him, the way they would one day. Perhaps it was the thoughts of what should be so, that caused Kilnus to fail to respond at first. Or, was it that enamor he had with the symmetry, the emotion, carved into his living, breathing sculpture? Oh, why could he not be as beautiful as he was! Yes, he demanded to know of Kilnus’ name, but was he himself now not privy to rudeness, for not offering this conduit his own name, as he so requested? His skulls, they were impatient too, after all! He could not keep them waiting forever!

“Oh as I live and breathe,” Kilnus replied, his exasperation and relief showing almost at once, “at last… a dream comes to my vision oh… how wonderful!” Kilnus offered a bow of his head to the other wolf, a truly deep, proper dip of his body in unambiguous, admirable salute. How might he greet this dream in the proper ways? Oh, was his form of admiration? Did his fur appear too out of line, too cold to the touch? No matter, it would have to do, it would all have to do. “I would so gladly offer my name to you,” he said, coming closer to behold this specimen, “it is not often, alas, that in a line of work such as mine… that the lowly Kilnus can see a Deity in the flesh. May I…?” He smiled, closing his eyes, before opening them again once more. He had to but… capture this wolf, as he was, now, and forever. “Tell me, does this Aphrodite have a name I may drink in?”

MERCURY

Ohohoho, well well! Someone knows quality when they see it! He laughs, a sound that bubbles up from his chest and spills from his lips in a wave, and he lifts a paw to gently buff his nails against his scarred breast. "I cannot say how many lives it has been since someone regarded me with such reverence," he admits, a brilliant grin tugging at the remnants of his lips. "Hmm, besides that scholar." Yes, that scholar had picked up on the smallest of details,"I have many names and have had many more, but you may call me Mercury." He bows, bending at the waist in a manner that seems entirely unnatural, though there are many things about him that are just a bit 'off' if one were to dig in a bit deeper. "You're quite the flatterer! I am, alas, no god." he sighs dramatically, a paw sweeping back over his forehead as he leans back to collapse theatrically against a tree, as if it has become a very convenient fainting couch,"I am but a an abyss-walker, a seer, a storyteller. A traveler, one might say." But of worlds, rather than places. Though places, as well. He has learned much and more and perhaps he teeters upon the brink of insanity-- whosoever deems that they travel worlds?

So quickly does he rise from his reclined poise that it almost seems instant, though he follows it up by moving ever-closer to the pale man, too intimately close. His words are a heated breath against the strands of his coat, though he draws in a deep breath to commit his scent to memory. Ashes, ashes of a bygone era.
"Kilnus.... على غرار اسم إله الحرب الأقل. (ealaa ghirar aism 'iilah alharb al'aqala)" he makes a soft sound, perhaps one of amusement,"....Similar to the name of a lesser war go, Quilinus. Know of him,مراقب?(muraquib/Observer)" Oh! He slips away from him leaving behind only the heat of his body before propping up the skull he carries--that of a young female, who has barely yet lost her milk-teeth. "How rude of me, to demand introductions without providing my own. This is my dearest sister, Alecto. Alas, she is not much one for conversation so expect her not to chime in much." he 'tsks', pursing his lips with a soft sigh.

table by rae - image from Pixabay

A laugh, and at last, the Aphrodite smiled at him. He had accepted his paltry compliments, but now the easiest of words were now spoken. The wolf spoke of how long it had been since one had behold him in such a way, regarded him for truly what he was. But, vanity, vanity, the scholar he mentioned would surely be privy to that. Scholars, they were curious predators, seeking to know all that lived and breathed, but why? They were selfish, they cared only for themselves. They learned and learned, but never shared to the world what they did learn, their triumphs and pains, bare for all to see. And when they tried, oh to even say try is an insult to the word, it was always so… boring. Where is the passion, the scorn? No scholar will ever again… oh, perhaps Kilnus had become carried away. He was selfish in his own way, as he never did take kindly to sharing his subjects or muses with others. Tsk, tsk, tsk…

Yes, the Deity was mortal, despite his perfections. Still, Kilnus could see something deep within him that the world deserved to behold, regardless of if it were ready for it or not. No, he was no Aphrodite eternal, but alas he would settle for a Mercury. But his movement, his sways and sighs, his feigning of being overwhelmed, it was beautiful, it could be everything, and yet, Kilnus required so much more to his trade than but one shining glory. Careful, now, calm, Kilnus, enough of your obsession. Listen to what this wolf says, his walking of abysses, his seer of sights, a life worth speaking about! He drank in every word of what this Mercury spoke, listened to him well, and he know those very words to be his own. A smile was already upon Kilnus, as he felt the honey that it was stick to his fur. He knew a fellow deviant, a fellow visionary, when he heard and saw one in the flesh.

But, now it was his turn to be interrogated. His name, what of his name? Was it the one he had been given? Yes, yet no. Kilnus had been with him, strange as it were, but it was not the one that some might refer to him as. But… he was no Deity like this Mercury was, his rolling waterfall of a foreign tongue speaking words that he did not recognize. A god of war, he equivocated his name to. Oh, that was so unsightly, so inaccurate, so imperfect. Yes, scenes of war and death were of interest to the conduit, but, he bored so easily the way some spoke of it. They spoke of commitment, to this side or that, to this wolf or that wolf. But, they were not devoted in the same way he was to his Muse! “I know not of gods of war,” Kilnus simply replied, “for my spirit is devoted entirely… to the arts. To worship destruction done is so repetitive a manner… I would rather devote myself to the spirit it mocks. Tell me Mercury… have you not heard of my work, my own devotions to being a conductor for winds and the fires alike? When you gaze upon me, do you recognize the blood that has come from my paws and eyes to bring life to passion itself?”

But, this meeting flowed to a rhythm the masses did not yet understand. For one moment they spoke of names, of ill-fated Deities and walkings of the abyss, And the next… Mercury showed to him a most prized possession, his sister. Oh she was but a skull, nothing left of herself, struck down in her prime of youth. How devoted he too was, this Mercury, to venerate his sister’s head upon himself, to joke of her silence, knowing she would never speak again. They speak of devotion today in so strange ways, and they ignore this! This deity, as he did, was this not more devoted than a sentry at his post, a king under his crown, a Goddess in her temple? “Alecto, charmed,” he politely retorted, “how could I have been so foolish not to notice it myself. The resemblance in your features to each other… it is an uncanny resemblance!” In a display of gentlemanship, after the subtlest of “might I’s?”, the male attempted to take up Alecto’s skull into his hand, and kiss it, to greet the third member of this trio as a true gentleman ought to.

Oh it was overwhelming, the swaying of Kilnus’ head gave him the look as if he were about to faint. But, he would never faint, not when there was so much toil left undone. Having greeted his guests, a topic of interest seem to come to Kilnus at once. The wide-eyed expression he now bore as he realized what they now must discuss was upon them at once. “This realm,” he asked, “I suppose my foreign soul has so much to learn of it. I have heard that those that impose rule on it are no longer opposed to our trade… and yet, so few… ‘walkers of the abyss’ such as us are out there. Tell me Mercury, how lost are these wolves that inhabit the realm in the ways of the arts? Shall they ever be saved, or are they truly damned?”

MERCURY

What a question! He thinks for a moment--he has come across some who find the world a chore, others who find it a mystery yet to be unraveled, and still others who find it a playground. All have their merits, of course--but he wonders, then, what Kilnus would see in Jupiter. His darling changeling child, born into a world unprepared. Instead, he returns his attention to the playwright, though to say he sets his gaze upon him would be innaccurate, though the milk-white of his eyes seems to gaze past the flesh and bone of the man before him and instead bores into his soul.

"....To box them all into one would be a folly," he decides,"There are some who find the beauty of the dark corners and pinprick lights of this world and who see the sea of stars as it is, but still others who fail to let all of their hot air lift them off the ground." He shrugs, and the action rolls under his skin like oil rippling beneath his flesh and he sighs, though the expression seems to be one of resigned amusement more than actual exasperation, "And still some who teeter on the edge, sitting on the precipice of being swayed in either direction. I suppose then, is it not your duty to guide these little lost lambs to their proper pasture?" Ah yes, there would always be those who would shatter under the weight of the world provided to them, unable to parse the knowledge given to them--but others would weave it anew, and this was the sort of thing he lived for. "So then, shall you hop to it? What pasture will you be founding and who will be locked into it?"

table by rae - image from Pixabay

So the supposition that he had only just recently begin to form inside his head were true. Among all those wolves of Rionnach, only some seemed averse to the change that would be upon them. But others… others were perhaps more ready to have their souls enriched! Oh how tantalizing an opportunity it was already proving to be, the greatest challenge, the mightiest struggle, a wolf of his charge could ever face. Oh to hear the sweet words from a wolf of such… unique beauty, it was a sweet, crisp melody, a moving monologue that only the literati could ever understand and appreciate for what it was. My, how Kilnus admired this spirit, the more and more time he spent in his presence. Even the white eyes he bore, different as they were, they were hypnotic in their own way. Any more gawking, and Kilnus’ fur might turn green from his own envy!

As their discussions continued, this Deity posted a question unto Kilnus that was as moving as anything that could ever be asked of him. Would he be the shepherd to these kindred souls? Would he take upon himself a mantle of responsibility, of duty? For him to be asked such a question, it was… humbling, to say the least. This wolf… he spoke the very things he wished to ask of himself, day after day after day. And now… it would seem that this was a formal invitation, a general’s orders, a divine direction, for which to take. He would be a shepherd, he must be so, for this humble deity had asked him to be such. “Yes…” Kilnus lowly uttered, “yes. Yes! YES! I will do as you ask. I will found my pasture of theatre, and I will bring light to this depraved realm, oh Mercury. But… how do you say I should begin my work? What must I do in this foreign land?”