[Guest Storytelling] Instinctual.

[Rorugir]

Founder Approval 4th of Winter 511 after Valterrian In the Icewatch Barracks Early morning -- Winter completely and utterly dominated Taldera. The queen of the frigid north might have been gone, but her influence was not. Inside and out of Her kingdom snow fell freely, covering everything in a rapacious damask of white powder. It decked the trees that cropped up mightily, dusted the plains that dominated the Wastes, and lapped at the glacier-fraught waves at Mizahar's northern end. With it came frost and ice, the bane of many. It was a time of hardship and cold for many in the world, but not here. The inhabitants of the Northern Wastes were protected from the chilling winds and freezing ice by their queen's favor. Magical djed of the highest order protected them from the very deity that granted them such boons, and thusly within the city there was much rejoicing. It was a celebration of how they managed to survive within one of the most unhospitable environments on Mizahar, and come out even better than before. A celebration of the one who had made it so. Indeed, in the City of Everlasting Winter, this was a time to celebrate their Goddess and all She had done for them. Morwen be praised. But deep within the icicle-graced halls, the ever-vigilant guardsmen kept on their rounds. Formed of a bond between the queen's bear Moldlings and Vantha warriors, the Icewatch was a feared and respected force within Avanthal's walls. Many saw them as the forbidding, faceless embodiment of law and order. Many seemed to forget that the guards were living, breathing creatures just like them. This was doubly so for the fierce bear kelvics that constituted the polar bear wing of the Icewatch apparatus. And yet that assumption was false. Each each and every bear was different, each and every one was his own man (or kelvic, in this case) and as different from one another as they were from other races. They were an amalgamation of the best and worst of Avanthal, the cruelty of ice and tenderness of snow. They were, to put it simply, unique. There was one among their ranks more unique still. An older bear, touched by sorrow and loss. Broken of bond and yet, still strong of heart. Peculiar, in a sense. Special... ...Morning on the 4th found this special bear asleep in his bed. He shared a room with another, younger, bear, but come dawn this bear was nowhere to be found. The older bear was alone. And for some reason he had been allowed to sleep in, though one could hardly argue with that. All was good. But then there came a knocking on the door, hesitant yet still loud enough to rouse the older bear from Nysel's realm. It sounded once, twice, and then all was still again. A voice, touched by a woman's femininity yet rough despite, finally spoke after a matter of seconds. It asked but one word; "Belgar?"

[Belgar]

For the first time in too long, Belgar slept dreamlessly.

The voice at the door seemed like it greeted him only seconds after he had closed his eyes. He was startled in one moment, and infinitely tired the next. Then he saw the light that poured in through his window and he knew he had to rise. The winter nights were long and cold; he should have woken well before daybreak, and yet the sun was hours into the sky. Instinct had failed him that morning, just like those who might have roused him for duty. They failed him like his Queen had, less than a week ago, and like his human had, nearly a year ago. He could not depend on anyone, not even himself.

The anniversary of Seisswyn’s death loomed like a shadow of dawn, so close and yet from an object so distant. They told him that her death was not his fault. Whether or not they spoke the truth, it did not change the fact that she was gone, that he was abandoned. And the last of his purpose, duty to Icewatch, was losing its grasp on him. He had forgotten what honor was, what she had taught him it was, and the humans were not grateful for his devotion. What was left? To do as he was told. To serve. To hope.

There was always hope. Unrelenting and resilient, the most distant promise of some semblance of companionship survived in him. It kept him alive, that hope.

He did not pause. He did not need to linger or collect himself. She had always said it was a waste of time, a distraction from proper vigilance. As soon as he rose, Belgar crossed the room in a few urgent strides. As he opened the door, he ran a defiant hand over the short hairs on his head, reviving his groggy nerves with the dull shock of the stirred follicles.

“Hello,” he answered, and did not think to smile.

[Rorugir]

The lithe young woman who stood at his door eyed him coolly, eyes as dark as obsidian running over Belgar's crumpled form. A movement that was at once graceful and dangerous crossed her arms across her chest, pointing to the displeasure in her frame. She was smaller than him, but there was no fear in her stance. And while the tender softness of her skin might have led one to think she was human, these signs combined with the angry gleam in her eye and the coarseness of her voice told Belgar she had more in common with him than the Vantha outside. He might also perhaps remember seeing her in the Barracks, or perhaps a time when she and her bondmate had gone on patrol with him. In any case, there was no denying the fact she was a bear, like him. Except...female. "Greetings, Belgar." she had said stiffly. One might have thought it strange to see a Kelvic without her bondmate, especially for the Icewatch guards - but perhaps the homely comfort of the Barracks provided them with more freedom. In any case, here she stood, speaking to him and him alone. "You are off for today." she continued, cutting straight to the point. Her voice was caught somewhere between disappointment and envy. "The commander seems to think that you need a bit of rest, so you got the rest of the day off." she sighed delicately. "Just be sure to be up and ready tomorrow morning. You know, unlike today," she added under her breath. She said a little bit more than that, giving a bit more of the reasoning behind his day off with a few envious barbs tossed in here and there, but the majority of her message to him had been conveyed to him in those first four sentences. And if purpose and duty were all that guided Belgar nowadays, it might have very well been a death sentence. Cut loose for an entire day? That was unthinkable. "So, it's your choice." and so it was, no matter how much Belgar didn't want it. But what would he do with it?

[Belgar]

Belgar stared; his jaw tightened, and so did his grip on the door. He did not catch any envy or hostility in her tone, because he could not quite focus on the words that followed her first. It was not excitement or relief or even dread that consumed him, but confusion. Off, she said, and rest. What did he need rest for? When he had nothing to do he was forced to think, and Belgar knew from experience that leaving himself alone with his mind lead to nothing good. He did not need to be off; he needed to be distracted, to get away from his thoughts.

He could smell the pity in the gesture, and he hated it.

His jaw loosed a little as he tried consciously not to seem tense, but he was embarrassed to know that she could probably sense his disquiet. Eyes gaping silently at the ground, he nodded and closed the door between them.

He stood there for many long moments, staring, waiting, trying to not to think. When the idea came to him, it was as if he had known all along, what the day was for. He stripped, folded his clothes and put them away, then stepped into the hall.

For the sake of its inhabitants, the corridor was tall and wide; before the door had even closed behind him, there was a familiar flurry of auroral color and Belgar grew to his true form. It felt right, to be ursine, to see from that vantage and feel the weight of himself on infinitely more powerful arms. As he walked toward the main hall, humanity became distant where it had once been so painfully close, like an old memory waiting to be forgotten. If they did not want him, then so be it. For all he cared, he was dead to them... at least for today.

His throat stirred as he crossed the threshold between the shelter of the Barracks and the chill of a young Winter. The cold air whispered of hardship, promised pain to the foolish and death to the reckless. Lucky for him, Belgar was not either of those things; neither was he a Soldier of Icewatch, or a Bear without a Bond, or a Human-faced impostor.

Today, he was a Hunter.

[Rorugir]

The she-bear smirked, her cheeks rouged red by something approaching respect. Two words - "Have fun..." - taunted Belgar's back, and then she too had shifted, loped the other way down the hall, and thusly departed from Belgar's life once again. The Barracks were unusually still that morning. On most days, the rooms and hallways had been filled with dark skin and pale fur, the air choked by the cries of young and the growls of old. But not today. And without the natural ambience of a guardhouse-hospital-nursery to fill the air, the Barracks seemed empty, vacuous, and perhaps even a little dead. In a way, it was a symbol for the disparity that separated Belgar from humanity. No pomp or circumstance preceded nor followed Belgar's departure into the cold wind. But he didn't need any; a hunter dealt in silence and secrecy, not felicitous ceremony. The hunter didn't care if his hunt began in anonymity; Only that it ended otherwise. Winter's chilled breath kept Belgar company as he traversed the streets of Avanthal. It whispered lightly in his ear, pointing him to the gates of the city as much as his gut was. It was the allure it held; some would have seen the untamed wilderness in it as a dangerous risk, while others - he - saw it as an opportunity. The guards at the wall of ice would let him pass. And why should they not? Beyond the fact that he was Icewatch like them was the simple truth that the guards only paid attention to those that remained within their city. Those who wished to leave were free to do so. The cost of that was that their life was now squarely in their own hands; a risk some were unwilling to take. And then came the woods. Christened by Winter, seeming almost reborn under a white tide of new snow. It seeped into everything, from the bark of the massive trees to the rich soil beneath Belgar's feet, covering all in icy purity. It was fresh and alive and wholly wild...and never before would it seem so right, so appropriate, for Belgar to be there. But hunters did not pay attention to their surroundings, at least not to the extent of discarding everything else before it. Hunters were, and had to be, focused on the goal at hand - which, in Belgar's case, could only be the large grey seals to be found on the ice littering Mizahar's far northern coast. And that had to be but several bells to the north of here. And so the hunt beckoned.

[Belgar]

In the untouched wilderness, the Dire reigned.

Like the lords and ladies of Nature’s Kingdom, long-fallen snowflakes glittered beneath the dark white sky, as beautiful as they were deceptive. They soaked up shadow and disguised the black earth beneath, blanketed treacherous rocks and roots with shining satin. But where ever Belgar had not memorized the rise and fall of the ground around his home, he knew how to read the snow’s smiling face. He could guess well enough where to step, and how far the earth would be when he did. The feathery snow seemed to lift beneath his feet before it was crushed by their weight, pockets of soft air screaming silently as they escaped into the cold air. He did not need the flattery of the world or the human construct of beauty. He was not a King, but a Hunter, usurped by instinct and humbled by anonymity.

And so it was that he continued on, eyes trained on the slightest movement, nose primed for the scent of warmth. Those who saw him fled, if they were not already concealed. He detected foxes and owls, hiding things and hibernating things, life tucked away against the onslaught of Winter’s cold. There would be no hunting on land today. Rummaging was a prey’s task, and Belgar’s legs wanted of a worthy exertion. Time escaped him. He moved north until he smelled the salt of the ocean, and then he moved further.

Between the scents of snow and sleep, below the salt but above the heat of his own sweat, Belgar detected another scent. It was peculiar enough to be noted, but not enough to cease his progress. It was only on the next inhale that he noticed something was strange. His steps slowed and, as his breath huffed a warning from his nostrils, he noticed that it was getting stronger. It was approaching, or he was approaching it. He did not turn his head, but let his nose sense the world, bracing himself for the unknown.

[Rorugir]

Snowflakes and dead leaves alike crinkled underfoot, driven deep into the yielding soil by the ursine feet. The scent which Belgar had smelled beforehand grew even stronger, but remained at a fixed distance once he stopped moving. It was then that it became clear that it was the second option; whatever it was, he was approaching it. And yet it was not enough to stop a bear. Through snow-dappled woodland he continued onwards, even as the smell grew more distinct and complex. An errant thought might have processed it was not a singular smell, but several mixed together - there were two or more foreign things nearby, then. What it was would suddenly become clear as quite by chance Belgar waded his way into a forest clearing. The frosty light pierced the canopy here, alighting a scene that was both bizarre and familiar. A woman, human, young, lay collapsed at the middle of the clearing, her limbs scattered in every which way. An askew brown-and-green cloak that mirrored the forest background lay atop her, stained by splotches of crimson red. Wavy black hair floated like a halo around her head, braided by leaves and vines. One arm lay atop the snow, outstretched towards Belgar as if asking for his help; across the bare shoulder lay the beginnings of a tattoo, a faintly luminous gray that swirled with the ferocity of a midday storm. Around here, the remains of what had been a battle were evident. Dirt and snow had been kicked up, dried blood dotted the in between and a sword lay to the side of the fallen woman. It had all had the signs of a struggle a guardsman such as Belgar would have seen thousands of times before, except for one thing - one living thing. The dire hawk that perched by the woman's side cast a glance back, looking directly at Belgar. A raw caw-caw, filled with grief and pain that seemed almost beyond a normal bird, filled the air as a golden beak was opened. It shifted mid squawk, filling with sudden anger and warning. The brown feathers across his back became ruffled with aggression. And then, without warning, the bird launched into the air and swooped towards Belgar, sharp talons aimed straight for the bear's eyes.

[Belgar]

Belgar’s nostrils itched with the stench of it, no matter how many times he huffed and shook his head. It was his duty to investigate, to discern whether she was a citizen with a family to miss her, to find out what it was that had ravaged her and determine whether it was the threat to the city. The petty corner of his mind told him that it was his day off, that it was not the responsibility of a true bear, a Hunter. The frightened corner of his mind held back a dam of memories and pleaded that he abandon the scene. The rest of him knew what he had to do, and so he stepped toward her.

He refused to realize that it was not only the smell that troubled him, but reminiscence. Thoughts of the world, of the past, of the humanity he thought he was escaping flooded into a mind that hated to acknowledge them. It was easy enough to block them, to conceal them behind the urgency of the hunt and the observations of ursine senses. But the effort was like covering hot blood with soft snow; retreating from the reality of this death would quickly melt in the heat of old memories.

Still, he tried. With all he had left, he tried.

He had barely thought to acknowledge the bird, whose living blood ran warm with untold malice. Perhaps he had assumed it had known her, and meant to mourn her. The turmoil in his mind was a distraction, his humanity a weakness. The attack was a surprise.

His eyes closed instantly by reflex, and the bird tore the burn of red pain into the soft of his face. His mouth stretched into a retaliatory roar as he heaved his forepaws from the ground, shaking his head and shoulders as fast as his heavy muscles would let him. His teeth snapped fruitlessly at his assaulter, and his arms reach up to tear it away. He could not grab it, but if his claws could find purchase on its bony talons or its feathered flesh, then he could bring it to the ground and crush it in two strokes, if not one.

Belgar was as merciful as he was passionate, moving with efficient resolve. He found himself hungering for hawk.

[Rorugir]

As the hawk soared away with ribbons of Belgar's blood in his talons, the retalitory paw was met with only air as the nimble but ultimately fragile bird evaded his grasp. He soared towards the edge of the clearing, leaving a sizzling trail of hot blood that was not his own behind. The very same blood dripped onto Belgar's eyebrows, accompanied by a sharp lance of red pain through his head. Over in the middle of the clearing, a moan pierced the woman's lips. Her head lolled to the side, displaying her ear and the feathers that framed it. The bird, reaching the trees, turned suddenly around, wings whipping in the air. Now facing Belgar once more, a caw and a swift approach betrayed his intent to strike again. “No! Stop!” The words, spoken in Common, were quickly followed by a string of foreign sounding words. Every last syllable sounded eerily similar to the bird calls the hawk had made before. The bird in question broke off suddenly. A strange sense of urgency tainted his flight. He hovered over the woman for a moment, and then, reluctantly, broke away and flew off into the trees. And then - gone, green fir and white snow claiming their right. Belgar and the woman were left alone. “You...come here.” The woman's voice was faint, but in the ever-consuming silence of winter it reached Belgar's ears clearly enough. A pale hand rose to accentuate the words, weakly gesturing for Belgar to approach. When and if he did, the woman's head would turn to look up at Belgar. Eyes a bright emerald green in color would meet the bear's own black pupils. “Are you...” her voice failed, then begun again. “...Are you one of the guardsmen of Avanthal?” There was a strange quiver in her voice, some inestimable emotion that implied Belgar had to answer her carefully.

[Belgar]

His head snapped toward the speaking woman. Warm white air rose in palling bursts from between his teeth, black eyes searching the scene around her for another assault. It took him more than a moment to discern what it was she had said, and even when he did he did not think to answer immediately. There was nothing to say, even if he could speak. He paced, shaking his head, letting the cold sink back where it belonged on his boiling blood.

Those talon wounds were thinner, cleaner than the weapons or elk or walruses. The blood that pinked his fur stung like fire on air made of ice, pushed his eyelids together unless he forced himself to see. His tongue was heavy with salivation, which was already freezing on the edge of his lips, when he was finally close enough to meet her eyes with his.

Guardsman, she had asked. Was he? Not today. And yet...

Hot moisture huffed at her from between his nostrils: an acknowledgement, if not a sign of intelligence. She knew something about Avanthal, if she knew to speak to a dire bear in wilderness. Or maybe she simply knew something about his kind. Belgar could not afford to wonder for long. He itched to move on, to taste the fresh salt of a grey seal’s blood, and yet he could not bring himself to leave this woman, who had reminded him of his duty. His pained eyes stared at her with certain resolve, and he snorted again.

It was as close to yes as he could bear.