Wasteland (Closed)

[Tiki]

TS: 60th of Winter, 512 A.V. In the Wildlands outside Zeltiva, high noon Half of winter had passed, and all soul gone with it. The untrained eye walking through the wilderness witnessed death take its reign over nature, with the sole exception of those royal pines clothed in green raiment, their pines, however, hardened to bladed tips. Even the howling winds were discouraged from blowing; no matter how gentle they were the airy swooshing that made the tall pines sway. What was still green on the Zastoska range moved like a wave. Dusted white, the winds kicked up and twirled around, some playful thing of Zulrav, in walls and columns of micro-ice. The bitter touch indeed cut the skin that was left bare, the skin of the body being slashed apart and left to drain a man of his warmth, dead. Despite all pleas, Morwen would not yield. In those brief moments when the wind stopped, or on slopes and thickets where the wind was guarded from and made to stop, the world became still and unmoving. The unnatural silence would freeze the mind in ways the cold never could, the very soul stopping to pause and ask itself if eve it had died. The darkened bark and wicked branches, stripped bare, skeleton hands, did not answer. Though but some time and a walk in the other direction, where the fish still swam into ready nets, movement and energy persevered there was no cast of light that could overcome the shadow of the mountains. Here energy was limited, and the most of momentum was derived from what strength could be spared between now and the walk home. Even though the weather lacked the viciousness of Taldera's waste land, it was indeed a particularly cold day, and particularly windy, summing to a particular chill that would thieve the life away from those unsuspecting. He moved as one of the shadows, moving only when the winds shifted amidst the snow to not startle suspicions that life crept out in the wild white. In the brief moments of pause he stopped to smell what messages the winds brought him. He gathered what intelligence he could from these mere observations. Rather than blindly chasing the nearest prey, by temperament and intellectual design he sorted through the scents the best he could aiming for the largest prey he could drag back into the mountain. Though the elk or deer were not necessarily of the same breed, elk smelled of elk, deer of deer, and so on; that did not change. A pack howling through the wind over the ridges was a sure reminder that even here, in this still land, life was clinging. He only paused in consideration of this with the wind, and when the pure powder kicked up again he was gone. He felt no chill, his paws had been accustomed to such cold for some seasons in Avanthal, the nerves having evolved or died in the soles of his paws. Though warm underneath, the air around him, unmoving, was cold enough for the diamond dust to cling to him at all ends and reflect what little light was breaking through the thickened clouds. It was noon, as he could tell from the rays that shot through the silver mist and made mirrors on the mountain side. He wanted to be done with the lair before dinner and return to Hadrian at once. Tiki told himself this out of practice, promise, and motivation. Had it become so mechanical now that he could follow that vague trail as far as he could, falling fool to the winds some times, but nevertheless coming across the prey to begin the same chase again? To ask what danger was a hoof was overlooked, hook claws being more dangerous and large fangs more yet. He had not strayed far from Zeltiva and feared no wolves or bears to come for him, especially not during this the dead of winter. The winds started again, and his low dark form hugged the shadows, hid under the cover of the icy blanket, and crept forward through the snow. His paws left large prints, and the dragging long trails to follow home. The snow had been packed below, and now only this thin, soft stuff really changed its shape under any weight greater than its own. No proper shape could be made from it; only the print in the earth held. His stealth took him as far as he could, that nose of his picking up some rodent nearby, maybe a rabbit hole to raid. Scrap rabbit furs could be carried along or stored in his sack. It hung empty on his back, slinking to either side as his hills of shoulders lifted and fell. The orphans could use every bit of meat (if his gut could help itself) and fur and whatever money it would bring to survive this season. The first winter after the storm had only made things more difficult. Moreover, anything that would make Hadrian proud or even mildly satisfied with him was a worth pursuit. The wind died, and under the cover of a narrow pine Tiki paused to resume his track. He came across a peculiar scent, some new mix in the wind that was not registered in his categories of scents. It was…not quite artificial, but alien to this world, something expected from the city. Tiki was unaware of what people lurked this realm and did not take the hospitality of those peoples he knew for granted. Cautious of slavers, Tiki tried to position himself to observe this odd scent as a predator would prey before the kill, unseen, unheard, unknown.

[Cadicus]

Maritus longed for the Sea of Grass, he could tell, as the Strider galloped quickly through the narrow Mirahil Pass. No souls stirred through the foothills of Zeltica and beyond; none that Cadicus could see, for the Winter was a deadly time to brave the elements that were not so kind even in the warmer months. The wind bit at Cadicus' cheeks, gnawed through his thick woollen cloak, and he could only imagine the bracing chill that slapped against Maritus' thighs as they stormed through the snow like one of Zulrav's rages. The Strider and his bonded rode through the thin daylight, fleeing from the confines of the city by the sea. His bone white horns glinted against the snow, glaring white and startling. Cadicus loathed the way his skin glinted in the sparse sunlight, loathed the way his copper flesh marked him as one of Syna's. Looking at him, one would not know that he had forgotten his former goddess: or tried to. One would not realised that he loathed the Sun goddess as an abandoner, a mutineer. A mother who could not care less for her children. A raptor that threw fledglings from the nest before they knew how to fly. In the cold winter sunlight, Cadicus could finally breathe again. He wasn't trapped in the cobblestone, trapped by the port with their flimsy boats that could sink in a moment at Laviku's rage. Since Cypress had come back into his life, his facade had cracked, and with the cracks came instability. Today was a day of self-loathing, a need to escape. Today was a day where he was as angry as the newly Forsaken. Today was a day that he needed to ride. And ride he did, in the mountains beyond Zeltiva, in the shadows of their white-caps and endless grey insides. He tried not to think. Thinking was where he found his hatred, his realisation that he was worth nothing to the goddess he had devoted himself to, his realisation that he did not deserve Cypress and never truly would. Maritus, though. Maritus was a faithful friend. The galloping Strider left hoof-prints deep in the snow, a trail to who-knows-where. Whatever lay beyond the next corner. OOCIf you want to jump out at Cad in kitty form, go for it. Otherwise I'll find some reason to stop in my next post. I'm so sorry for the wait, and thank you for being understanding/not pushy.

[Fallacy]

XP Award! Name:Cadicus XP Award: Riding-1 Lore: Longing for elsewhere Notes: Too bad this thread never really got going. Your one point of riding, as you requested. Though as you get more and more advanced into riding people are going to expect you to go into more detail about the skill itself. Have fun with it. Just a little warning Any questions or concerns about the rewards gained please send a PM