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Zyanya
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Trespassers. The word began by stinging her ears, though no one had spoken it aloud. It continued down into the depth of her throat, burning all the way down into the pit of her stomach. Zyanya knew the feeling was dangerous — if it continued for too long, it was liable to take over the senses, and then it could not be stopped. Hatred, revenge, bitterness. The Salvaje wolves were fools. In her last encounter with the spirit world, shrouded by the mists of the forest as the sun had risen the last morn, the Spirit-Whisperer had presented their case to the ancestors.
Indeed, the young she-wolf had agreed, their initial ignorance is forgivable. We would share the blame, after all, it paid to be humble with those wandering the afterlife. But now, look! They know we are here and they continue to trespass as if they are in the right! They are purposefully threatening our sovereignty. We cannot forgive those who know their actions are wrong yet do them anyway. To Zyanya’s surprise and relief, the spirits had agreed: forgive mistakes, but avenge offense.
It was precisely the message the normally pacific female would be passing on to her Tribe mates — and any stranger that crossed her path.
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Seot'a
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Holy smokes, it's been too long since we last had a thread. :)
The trespassers had indeed become quite a problem in the last few weeks. Seot'a had noticed it, Kuruk had noticed it...everyone had noticed it. The entire Tribe was in a collective state of stress and restraint, everyone doing their best to be tolerant but running out of patience. Seot'a herself had not slept well recently, the scholarly female remaining up late at night after the others had retired to bed, and rising early in the morning while the world slumbered on. She did not know what else to do, and the spirits, on the sporadic occasions she communicated with them, were not too helpful. Sometimes they would disagree with her points of view, sometimes they would agree, sometimes they would not even respond...but never did they offer her any clear advice. Not that they were supposed to, but it would have made things...astronomically easier for her and for all of those involved.
So once more the Vove'stomo found herself wandering alone, contemplating these things and trying to battle the savage wolf nature inside of her that attempted to sway her from her obligatory role of patience and non-violence. For the sake of keeping out of trouble and bodily injury, she hoped she would not cross paths with a Salvaje wolf today. Her patience level with them was all but exhausted and she was in no mood to deal with their arrogant, self-righteous hogwash today. Coming around a small patch of overgrowth, the dark-coated lorekeeper spied a familiar figure ahead – just about the only wolf she was actually pleased to see these days. Zyanya. If there was anyone who could understand the situation in which Seot'a found herself, it was the Spirit-Whisperer female. She had more respect for this particular wolf than any other creature on the planet, and as she approached the priestess, the Vove'stomo lowered her head in a bow of greeting and cordiality. "Hello, Zyanya," she spoke, her husky voice soft as if she feared breaking the silence and disturbing the spirits. There always seemed to be an air of supernatural tranquility around the Ma'heoneve, as if the spirits themselves walked beside the tawny-coated female. "How are the spirits today?"
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Zyanya
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The sounds of fallen twigs snapping and dead autumn leaves crunching underfoot interruped a deceivingly quiet moment of reflection on inner turmoil. Eyes were the first to break the almost unreal lack of motion that had befallen her body; they darted towards the noise, an ear quickly swivelling to follow. Entire head soon joined the shift to one side, craning around over her shoulder to see who was approaching. Fearing yet another stranger, a low growl was already threatening to let loose in warning: this was a dangerous time to approach, for the Spirit-Whisperer felt there was no will strong enough to control the impulse to wreak havoc on a trespasser.
It happens sometimes, Zyanya’s father had explained to her once—sometimes the power of the spirits was so strong that it could override a ghost-talker’s own emotions. Thankfully this was only as lasting as the fleeting passion of the emotion itself, and experienced Priests knew how to prevent or reverse it… but she was not yet so adept at her craft. It was thus lucky that her anxiously searching gaze came to pause upon a familiar face.
Breath returned to her lungs in a flood of relief and the growl that had been ready to spring forth was replaced with a smile and a slow but noticeable sway of tail. As Seot’a drew closer, the Spirit-Whisperer stood and turned her entire body around to face the other. Hello, she responded quietly; stopping next to consider the question posed. The spirits, today, were very, very, Angry. They are disappointed in our neighbors. But then, who isn’t?
This post has been edited by Zyanya on Oct. 14, 2006 - 7:45am
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Bronx
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Unknown was a doubtful concept to Bronx; he wasn’t entirely sure that it should exist. After all, it was such a pessimistic word; it suggested that if one didn’t know something they were lacking in knowledge. To Bronx, things were not either “known” or “unknown”, but rather “known” or anything else. The world, to him, did not consist of knowledge that had to be picked up. It had potential knowledge in it, of course, but Bronx was taking the logical and rather cynical route and deciding that just because something was “unknown” it didn’t mean it had to be turned into knowledge and thus known…
Then again, curiosity killed the logic.
So Bronx entered the tunnel once more with a somewhat hesitant paw but a strong and able paw nevertheless – one that’d be able to look after itself. And the rest of his body, naturally. He had come here a few times before now, discussing the nature of the place and, of course, the shadows that he and Mount Shadow’s Alpha had determined to be utterly uncatchable. He was under the impression that the more times he came here the slightly less… acceptable it was becoming. He wasn’t aware of any pack here; it was something unknown that he was yet to find out.
After exiting the tunnel from Whisper Forest out into the shadow of Nova Mountain, he found himself lingering, as if hesitant to continue further into the territory. The tall Guardian found his fiery gaze floating in the distance, set upon a pair of shadows and wondering if they’d be less difficult to catch this time. |
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Seot'a
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So sorry about the ridiculously long wait. >_<;
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Seot'a had expected Zyanya's response. Offering a nod, her voice was somewhat distant as she replied simply, "Aren't we all." The Vove'stomo's ability to interact with the spirits was infinitesimal in comparison with that of the enigmatic Ma'heoneve that stood before her, but even with Seot'a's limits she had been able to tell that the spirits were incensed over the disrespect shown to the Tribe and its lands. They were not the only ones angered, either – everyone was. It was obvious that some of the pack's warriors were running out of patience and were exercising more and more self-control to refrain from attacking the Salvaje dwellers outright. Seot'a wondered how long it would be before that self-control was exhausted.
Just then, the Vove'stomo sensed something. Somewhere nearby, someone was watching them. Ears swiveling around attentively, her steel-grey eyes scanned the trees and the hills around them, searching for a figure amongst the scenery. She could not see who it was yet, but she knew someone was there. "It would appear that we have company," she spoke, her gaze finally coming to rest on a black figure a small distance away from them. Gesturing toward him with a nod, Seot'a took a deep breath and sighed softly. Here we go again.
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Zyanya
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A gentle dip of her head was offered in response to Seot’a’s sentiment: indeed, the Salvaje wolves were a monstrous disappointment to all of the Tribe members, doubly so if it turned out their Me’ko was one of them. How could a creature associated with ones so poorly behaved ever lead the Hó’nehe based on their deeply-rooted traditions of yesteryear…? When clearly these uncultured cretins had no such structure, no such respect, no such healthy fear of what awaited them when their misfortunate, likely premature deaths looked them straight in the eye and whispered good-night?
It was a tragedy and a half if it was true. Even though the Spirit-Whisperer herself was largely responsible for their searching here, she now hoped against hope that her instincts and otherworldly intelligence were sorely mistaken. Pride could be rebuilt, ego could be salvaged… crowning a knuckleheaded Me’ko who would drive them into the ground couldn’t be undone. Suddenly, the hairs along her back stood on end as the Lorekeeper noted they were in another’s company; Zyanya’s own eyes followed in a sweeping search of the surrounding territory, finding nothing. If they have half an idea what the spirits of the dead would like to do to them, the seer mused morbidly, returning her gaze towards Seot’a with a smirk, They will remain hidden in their cowardice.
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Bronx
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One heavy paw rose and lingered as the pair up ahead appeared to notice him. It was true that his coat was as dark as the night, but the moonlight played off his form and his eyes seemed to glow in a feline fashion, the paler blades of his fur distinguishing him from the shadows. To the trained eye, anyway. Watching the two rather intently, he noticed that one glanced towards him and murmured something as if exasperated and the other spoke words that he managed to hear as he drew slightly closer, though her eyes didn’t find him.
Cowardice? Was that supposed to be insulting? Bronx was not some kind of sensitive, wanna-be macho youth that would feel like he had his dignity flattened at the very mention of the word “coward”. He remained a fair distance away from the females so that he was not trampling all over their territory, but if one of them couldn’t see him, it was not his problem. He couldn’t find the light switch. “That’s very terrifying,” he replied in a low drawl, “but I’m just wandering the doorstep of my own pack to see who my new neighbours are supposed to be; I don’t see why any spirits should condemn me for that.”
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Seot'a
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So sorry about the ridiculously long wait. >_<;
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Seot'a nodded in agreement with Zyanya's words. They were wise words, spoken in the light of true knowledge, not just mere opinion or speculation. If ever there was a wolf with whom Seot'a would never argue, it was the Spirit-Whisperer. "Their vision is clouded by pride and arrogance," Seot'a mused in return, shaking her head as she spoke. "I believe the spirits are the only ones that can stop their trespassing." Her words were hushed, more a voiced thought than something meant for reply. It spoke extremely poorly for the leaders of the Valley that their subjects believed it their right to knowingly violate the Tribe's borders without remorse or rebuke. It was sad to consider the kind of intelligence they were dealing with and to think that their future Me'ko was one of this bunch.
Just then, she heard words from the stranger. Still a distance away, his words had been spoken with just enough volume to carry to the Vove'stomo's ears. Her sharp eyes found his dark form in the moonlight again, the subtle silver light playing upon his silky ebony form. "...I’m just wandering the doorstep of my own pack to see who my new neighbours are supposed to be; I don’t see why any spirits should condemn me for that." "Yet your people condemn others for the same," Seot'a spoke, her voice loud enough to return to the stranger's ears. She wanted to demand that she come to them, show himself, but she would leave that decision to Zyanya. When the spirits were in the vicinity, as they so often were with the Ma'heoneve, it was up to her to decide if it was safe for others (particularly those who inspired the spirits' wrath) to be around.
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This post has been edited by Seot'a on Nov. 09, 2006 - 10:49am
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WLC! START: 18 |
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Zyanya
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There was little the spirits disliked more than mockery — thus it sent a chill down the Ma’heoneve’s spine when their hidden visitor acknowledged how “terrifying” her words had been, as if he foolishly thought them an empty threat. What cold filled her veins as the — Seot’a had worded it perfectly, “arrogant and ignorant” — stranger dismissed the impending wrath was a direct reaction from those watching from beyond. They were not impressed. They were not happy. They were outraged and the Spirit-Whisperer could feel the burning, icy emotion seeping into her soul but took a breath to fend it off, living wisdom telling her it was a wiser reaction to not react.
Besides, the storyteller had spoken a momentarily adequate first response, allowing a moment for the seer to regain her inner composure, eyes slowly scanning to locate the exact position of the near-trespasser in the darkness. I hope you are as certain of that as you sound, Zyanya said quietly, her tone empty and oddly non-threatening. It is far more difficult to find repreive in the afterlife on mere technicality, the Ma’heoneve finished just as softly, eying what she could see of the stranger with sympathy. Technically not trespassing, technically doing nothing wrong, but the spirits would be far more concerned in poor form for being a secret antagonist and “wandering” around an all too often violated border in the dark.
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Bronx
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Bronx remained outside the most marked areas of the territory – he would not be tricked into moving forwards just because these two strangers may have been unable to see him. If they had poor eyesight, it was not his problem. And if they were too proud to do the logical thing and step forwards themselves so that all could see all, seeing as Bronx could not do so himself, then… well, not his problem again. Bronx held little sensitivity for the lack of abilities in a stranger. He was a notch more interested in the less “mystic” stranger. After all, little Miss Spirits stood for everything illogical, which was a major downfall in Bronx’s books. What she was just a bit ridiculous, and it was something of a shame that she took herself and her spirits so seriously.
“Hey,” he continued to drawl, “there’s no need to lump me in with… whoever you’re lumping me in with.” Time to go for that deadpan self-amusement again – not that these two would be able to spot it: “I come in peace.” No doubt they would have some comeback to that, involving something to do with every other member of the wolf race excluding their own bizarrely confident pack, “though perhaps you could tell an ignorant stranger,” he queried tonelessly, calm gaze over the older of the two females, “who are ‘my people’? And what have they done?”
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Seot'a
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Sorry it took me so long to get to this, Orli. Let's wrap this up. :)
As the stranger responded, his deep voice flowing through the night air like velvet, Seot'a (strangely enough) believed him. He declared that he came in peace, and also claimed to be "ignorant". If such was the case, then Seot'a was interested in speaking with the stranger personally and learning more about him...if he was willing to cooperate, of course. "All right," she answered in return, "If you come in peace, then we shall talk." She would give him the benefit of the doubt (and pray that the spirits would not rain wrath on her for doing so), hoping that his intentions really were, as he claimed, peaceful.
Turning to Zyanya, she regarded her friend with an expression of concern. She did not want the priestess to accompany her to see this stranger, should he turn out to be hostile. "Please, wait here. I will speak with him alone. If he tries to harm me, I will howl for you and others." She smiled, gave her spiritual counterpart a friendly bump on the chin with her muzzle, and then trotted off in the direction from which the stranger's voice had come. Her dark coat blended in with the shadows almost seamlessly.
It did not take her long to find him, a massive, magnificent black creature of shadow with striking, oddly beautiful, lava-coloured eyes. The moonlight glistened and danced on his black fur like the ribbons of colour she had seen in the night sky. He was slightly intimidating, being so much larger than she, and she slowed her approach a short distance from him. Comfortable conversation would be possible, but should he choose to act with hostility, she would have a chance to flee. Steel grey eyes observed him with both caution and interest as she greeted him, "I am Seot'a Paveve'keso, Vove'stomo – or Lorekeeper, as you might call it – for our tribe. I would like to talk with you, learn about your lands and your people, if you will share."
avatar by scott ♥
WLC! START: 18 |
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Bronx
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ooc
No worries. :)
ic
Bronx waited with easy patience as one owner of a female voice addressed the other, and soft paws moved forward into his more accurate line of sight. His attention was now on one stranger and not the other – he ignored the one that was arrogant in all that rubbish about spirits, and instead kept his fiercely-coloured eyes on the more trusting of the two.
He turned to meet her and dipped his head very slightly as a dignified, quiet promise that he did not intend to hurt her at any point. "Bronx," he returned his name smoothly after the dark female had introduced herself, and then the two proceeded to share information --- or rather, two sides of a conversation.
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