Changes have become too severe in Anikira, and the wolves have been temporarily relocated to the Anikiran Southern Isles. Things have grown dire and unlivable on the mainland; it was time for outside intervention. Please be sure to review the full update on the staff board for more information!
The current season is fall in the Southern Isles. Due to their proximity to the equator, the region is still warm. There is currently no breeding and no birthing amongst the wolves
Mother earth herself seemed to bow before him. Each quivering blade of grass fell like wounded soldiers beneath his monstrous paws, imprints in the dirt whispering of his arrival long after he’d passed. The colossus moved with sure-footed confidence, his considerable bulk navigating across the terrain, head held high and pale eyes ablaze. The sunlight’s radiant beams warmed the thick fur along his spine, shedding light upon the coarse ebony hairs streaked with slate and ivory, marred only by the thick ropes of scars slashed across his pale muzzle, lurking above one icy orb, and snaking down across the thick, muscled forelegs. He’d forgotten them the moment they’d healed; if anything they were a testimony to his ferocity, puckered pink trophies that he did not need to explain. They spoke volumes for themselves. He could still remember the evening he received them during his vicious battle with the mother cougar, spurned in the wake of his terrible rage. He could still feel the sharp burst of agony as her claws had raked across his face, catching both muzzle and brow, releasing a hot burst of crimson that had trickled into one eye and splattered across the earth. He’d fought still, his muzzle slick with fluid and gore, one eye blinded by the gush of it, but fortunately unscathed from the cougar’s claws. He could remember his triumph as his jaws had closed around her throat, her terrified snarl dying in her throat along with the light in her ferocious eyes as she crumpled in the pool of their mingled blood. It had been a fearsome battle, one that still caused pride to surge within Sabaoth’s breast, a miniscule smile ghosting his lips as he walked and reminisced.
Winter was beginning to relinquish her hold on the land, creeping slowly away while shamelessly leaving many chilly mornings in her wake, warring with the persistent sun while lingering for as long as she would be allowed. With her sluggish departure came the inevitable slush of muck and frost, clinging stubbornly to the beast’s legs as he moved towards an unseen point in the distance. He’d found himself in a strange portion of the continent that he had not visited before, and so he allowed his paws to take him where they would. As it turned out, it was towards a river.
He could hear the soft rushing of the currents long before he spotted the water. As he grew closer his triangular ears tipped forward, erect and rigid atop his skull as the river finally came into focus. It was not particularly wide in the sense that most rivers were, and yet he could tell from his vantage point that it was deep in the center, the quick flow of the currents deceptively tame compared to the viciousness should one be sucked underneath. Perhaps he could have crossed if he dared, leaving the land of Caurus to move into Tiayr, although the names of the territories were unknown to the brute. He was larger than most, his considerable mass and the thickness of his legs an even match against the formidable stream…and yet there was always the off chance that he was becoming too secure and arrogant with his size. Perhaps the river was his superior. Regardless, it was a cold morning, and Sabaoth was not particularly keen to test the limits of his body in the frigid waters. He approached slowly, almost leisurely, stopping on the muddy banks, his paws sinking halfway into the muck. The sides of the river were shallow, branching out to dip lower and lower beneath the water until one could not see the mahogany mud any longer. He cast a quick glance around to confirm that he was alone before dipping his head, his wide pink tongue darting out from between his black trimmed lips to lap at the water. It was nearly glacial in temperature, stinging his throat as it slid past his ivory teeth, crisp and refreshing after the prickling had faded. On and on he went, sating his considerable thirst, until suddenly the skin along his spine began to crawl. His tongue darted back into his mouth, jaws snapping shut as the giant lifted his head, icy blue gaze scanning the stretch of land behind him and then the distant shore. He did not call out to whoever lurked there, if anyone at all; they would either show themselves, or they would flee. Regardless, Sabaoth was nearly certain that he was no longer alone.
Roka had been wandering herself, something that she had found herself doing more and more as of late. This land was plush and welcoming in so many ways unlike her home land. She was used to the constant march that accompanied her new life here. The wind was blowing gently, bringing a gentle humming along with it. The winter was fast retreating making way for the spring's bloom. Roka had never spent spring in a place that actually had plants that bloomed. Her own homeland had been covered in snow for most of the year, even summer. She was curious about these new seasons that she was going to be faced with. She knew that life began with the spring and that prey had their young in this warmer time. Roka hated the heat enough as it is, she couldn't imagine it getting any warmer here. As far as she could tell she was in the northern part of this continent. She could only imagine the climate of the southern territories. She had heard of wolves that had lived in the desert, running under a bright and blazing sun. Roka preferred the snow to the sands any day. She was proud of her home and where she had come from, but even more so she was proud of where she was now and the life she was making here. She would never make her way back home to her beloved Tundra, but this land was already beginning to win her over Slowly becoming her home with each passing day.
A scent carried on the gentle wind caught her attention, drawing her from her thoughts. Thoughts that seemed to occupy her time more and more. It was a new scent, not one that she had ever come across before. She had met many of her kind here in the north, but as many as she did meet there seemed to be more lined up. Roka wondered if she would ever meet all of the people that roamed this vast land. It was doubtful to say the least. Roka continued along following the scent, her ears prickling at the sound of water. Her paws carried her to the edge of the stream only to be greeted by a grizzly sight. The brute before her was massive in size, larger than any wolf that she had ever come across in her whole life. She had thought her old alpha was large, but this creature truly gave the word brute a definition. He was covered in scars that spanned from his face down to his legs. It made Roka wonder what kind of beast was formidable enough to cause that much damage to a giant. He was black and white with grey mixed into his coat, but then again there were plenty of wolves with similar colors. Roka couldn't take her eyes off of his scars and the majority of his body that they covered. Roka had thought her own scar was bad, but it looked like a paper cut compared to this wolves injuries. As she watched she saw the males body stiffen and become tense, obviously aware that he was being watched.
It did not take long for the pensive stranger to show herself; Sabaoth stood gazing onto the distant shore when from the corner of his eye he spotted a flicker a movement. Slowly his head turned, icy gaze moving immediately to the still form of the wolf who stood a fair distance away from him. The cool breeze carried her scent to him as if delivering it on a silver platter; she was unmistakably female, and wise for being wary. He watched her gaze slide across his frame, lingering on his scars, and it was with deliberate precision that he allowed his to do the same. She, too, had scars, an array of them across one milky chestnut eye. For the briefest moment he paused there, seeing in the depths of the blind orb what could easily have been his fate with the cougar. She’d come startlingly close to blinding him just as this strange she-wolf had been robbed of her sight, something that would have enraged Sabaoth significantly more than mere battle wounds. He could not imagine being sightless in one eye; it would give him an obvious weakness, plunging him into darkness on one side. No, eyesight was too valuable in terms of many things, with bloodshed being foremost among them.
She made no move to approach him, nor did she speak. Truly he could not blame her, for he towered well above her. Should she draw near, he would have to tilt his head downward to look her evenly in the face, which was a thought that pleased him. He enjoyed seeing the awe and inevitably the wariness, usually bordering on fear, that shone in the eyes of those lesser in size. Sabaoth had never met a brute who rivaled his size outside of his family, and while he was sure they existed somewhere, he would take temporarily enjoyment in the fact that he was one of the few behemoth’s to walk the land.
When it came abundantly clear that she would not proceed in making the first move, Sabaoth shifted his bulk, striding purposefully across the stretch of bank towards her. His movements were slow so as not to startle her despite how he would have enjoyed seeing her flee; he found that he was curious about the she-wolf with the marred flesh, curious to see how it had changed her – whether she’d softened beneath the scars or grew stronger. He stopped a decent distance away from her, his intense gazing boring into her as lips parted around ivory canines, the deep baritone of his voice carrying across the silence.
”Am I so very intimidating, little wolf, that you will not even say hello?” He asked. Far above, the sun shone down upon the pair as he stood watching her, his gaze steadily focused on her face in an attempt to analyze any emotions she might display. It had been some time since he’d interacted with another; so long, in fact, that Sabaoth was almost tempted to turn and retreat to avoid the effort that it would surely take to remain civilized. Almost.”Surely you have a voice. Tell me, what is it that you are called?”
Roka watched on as his eyes made the way over her form lingering on her own scar. It almost itched with the extra attention it was given. She couldn't blame him for doing exactly what she had done, giving the scars more attention. She always wondered if there would ever be a day where the scars wouldn't be the thing that drew the most attention, but she knew it wasn't likely. The scars would always define her, just as they defined him. She would be judged by her scars for the rest of her life, as he would for no reason other than they were marked. His gaze was cold and searching as his gaze found it's way back to her scar. He was scarred much more than she was, but her scar was more damaging than his. She narrowed her gaze at him returning his icy ferocity. She watched as the hulking best made his final assessment of her before approaching. It took everything that Roka had to stand her ground against the massive brute. Her instincts were telling her to run from him as he drew closer. Her one good eye scanned him intently trying to keep him within her sights despite her handicap. She adjusted her stance keeping him to the right of her so that she could see him. She had her other senses to rely on, her hearing and her ability to feel, but nothing was as reliable as her sight.
He walked with purpose confident in himself and his abilities, as he should be. He was a king among beats, larger than any she had seen in her whole life. She did her best to remain calm, but under the circumstances she felt anything but calm. His confidence turned to arrogance, seemingly amused that she couldn't find her words. The fur along her shoulders bristled with the tension she was feeling. She was at his mercy and he knew it. Even if she tried to run or fight back he would quickly run her down and subdue her. She had no desire to be a snack for the big bad wolf. At least not today. She continued to watch him until he spoke, his voice a rich deep baritone that seemed to vibrate through the air. If she wasn't in such a tense situation she would have found the masculine timbre appealing. "Is it so surprising that I find you intimidating? Surely I am not the first wolf you have met who has found you daunting." She grumbled silently, not liking the name he had found for her. Never in her life had she been called 'little wolf' and it grated. She knew that she was smaller in stature than him, but that in no way made her little. "My name is Roka. Isn't it customary to offer your own name before demanding another's?" This male seemed to think that his size gave him a pass on manners and that he had free reign to intimidate others. Roka could not dispute that his size alone could be used to bully others, but that doesn't mean that she agreed with his tactics. He was blunt and got right to the point, which was a mark in his favor for the time being. "Where is you come from? Are there other beasts of your size roaming about?" She couldn't refrain from asking. Roka needed to know how many other giants there were here. If only to be able to avoid them in the future. Does his family reside here or is he a lost soul like so many others I have met.
"Is it so surprising that I find you intimidating? Surely I am not the first wolf you have met who has found you daunting."
Unconsciously, Sabaoth’s lips pulled upwards into a smile, although truly it was closer to a grimace. He’d come across others before to be sure, the majority of whom fled at the sight of him. Not all; some were braver, standing and facing him as this she-wolf did. And some…some were foolish, spitting challenges at him like venom, snarling threats with a false sense of bravado. Those were the ones he did not bother with. Sabaoth had little patience for reckless arrogance; he loathed it more that most things. One could not be reckless if they wished to put their lives at stake, and those that did were not worthy of his time nor presence. This femme, however, was significantly wary of him. He could see it in the way she angled herself, placing him squarely in her line of vision despite her blind eye. She’d learned how to live with her disability, how to adjust to each unique situation. It was obvious that she was no dainty flower from the look of her, and fleetingly Sabaoth wondered if she was a warrior, although the idea was strange and foreign to him. After a moment he dismissed the thought, focusing instead of the next words that she spoke, offering her name and asking after his.
”Is it?” He asked offhandedly in response to her question, discarding it immediately. He did not care much for what was customary, instead focusing on the name that she offered. Roka. He regarded her steadily for a long moment before finally relenting, offering his own name in return, a collection of syllables that slipped briskly from between his lips. ”Sabaoth is what you may call me.”
”"Where is you come from? Are there other beasts of your size roaming about?”
Briefly his thoughts flicked to Ina’mos, bile churning in his gut at the rage that stirred from its slumber. His father was who he owed his colossal frame to, and not only had it been passed down to Sabaoth, but his elder brothers as well. Thoughts of them stirred the flames of anger within him further; it was with great difficulty that he turned his thoughts away from his past, instead offering a shrug of his large shoulders in the female’s direction. ”I hail from here. I have brothers, somewhere,” he replied, turning his pale gaze towards the horizon. A sister as well, but he did not mention her. Did they live, he wondered? Had the waves beaten them into submission as they nearly had with him? He did not know, and he would rather bite his own tongue off than speak of it with a stranger. ”Perhaps you will encounter them one day.”
He turned his gaze back towards her, knowing that it was expected of him to return the question but hesitating to do so. Sabaoth had never been one for the niceties that inevitably came with conversation, preferring to spend time alone instead of with others, and yet after several moments the words finally sprang to his lips. ”And what of you? Your voice is unlike any I’ve heard thus far; where is it that you call home?”
Roka watched as his mouth twitched into what was probably his version of a smile. It was jagged and resembled a grimace in her mind. The brute's eyes seemed to narrow as he watched her, seemingly pleased by her reaction to him. She was no fool. Better to be wary and live another day then throw caution to the wind and forfeit her life. Her life was much more precious to her than getting a jab at this brute. Besides what reason would she have for agitating the male. She didn't even know him. Despite his fractional improvement in mood, she kept her good eye on him. She wouldn't trust him, just as he didn't trust her.
Sabaoth. I may call him that. Roka's grumbled silently. The only reason she had to keep her temper in control was his beastly size. If he had been anywhere near the same size as her she would have skelped him for his insolent tongue. Despite his arrogance and insolence Roka didn't mind the giant male. She could tell herself all day long that she despised the hulking Sabaoth, but it would be a lie. A small part of her respected him, not because of his size, but because he was worthy of that respect. He wasn't some young buck who waltzed in and tried to charm her, a self righteous prick that thought he had a right to her because she was female. As if his cock made him some gift to the assumed inferior sex. Insufferable idiots.
Neither was he some mouse of a creature that constantly bowed and checked that his words had caused no offense. Sabaoth didn't care about whether or not his words caused any reaction in him, much the same as her. He was blunt and to the point and for that Roka seemed to prolong her stay in his presence. His scars were also something that Roka admired. Some other might see them as a blemish on an otherwise brutish male. Roka saw them as they were. Achievements. He could have only earned such marks by taking part in some kind of battle and winning. He was a survivor, much the same as her. Her eyes had been wandering, giving special attention to each of his scars in turn. Before she could finish her her perusal he mentioned that he hailed from this continent. He also said something about having brothers roaming about. Roka could only imagine what kind lineage had spawned such monumentous sons. "No offense, but I would rather not." Her reply was gruff as it was honest. If his brothers were anything like his size then she figured it was in her best interest to steer clear of them.
His own inquiry of her history was false at best, forced at worst. It was obvious that he had no interest in what she had to say, but she might as well keep the conversation flowing. That is if she wanted to remain here any longer. "I would consider this place my home now. Unless you know of some way off of this island." She had resigned herself to accept that she was going to remain her for the rest of her days. It was how life was and the sooner she accepted it the better. "I came from a place called Russia. My voice sounds strange?" Her head tilted a little with her question, whether she was aware of it or not. She had never heard someone mention her voice being strange, but then again she wasn't from here. If anything his voice sounded strange. She kept her tail and her head held high, not really in any sign of aggression, more of a sign that she wasn't going to roll over at his beck and call. She was an independent femme and wasn't going to throw all of her convictions out the window just because of his size.
Russia. It sounded odd on her tongue, the unfamiliar word rolling strangely into the distance between them. Sabaoth considered it, having not the slightest clue where it was located and yet not wishing to disregard it so easily. He could not imagine what the world was like outside of Anikira, for he had never ventured from his homeland, and he could not deny that it was a strangely appealing idea that he wished to learn more about. Although he was certainly no trembling waif who relied solely on wit, this was not to say that Sabaoth was not intelligent. He prided himself on both brain and brawn, but during his travels he’d found that many were prone to believe that strength diminished cleverness. This, however, was a lie. There was a certain art to battle, a strategic planning that was required for each step, each attack, each breath. One had to be quick witted to succeed, for brainless and recklessness would result in swift downfall.
Roka’s question drew his attention one more, a soft laugh rumbling from deep within his chest. It was low and gravelly, much like the sound of grating stone, his pale eyes lit with amusement as he regarded her. ”It is unlike any I have heard before,” he admitted; it was deeper, throatier, so unlike the simpering whispers that usually fell from femmes lips. It stroked his curiosity above all else, for Roka was a strange wolf in the fact that he had not encountered one like her yet. His mother had been small and soft, much like his sister, Aaricia. He’d always felt so awkward and bumbling in comparison to them; while he’d struggled to grow into his rapidly increasing size, all long legs and clumsy stumbling, Aaricia had begun to grow into the effortless elegance displayed by Ahri. It had reminded him of frail things, of weakness, and so Sabaoth had distanced himself from her. Roka, however, was nothing like his snow-hued sister had been. She was larger, more rugged, the scar across her face interrupting what otherwise might have been comeliness. But her size, her scars, her wary eyes, all of it made her uniquely striking. She sported her gnarled flesh as proudly as he himself did, recognizing them for trophies. He did not feel as if he were speaking to one lesser and weaker then him despite the fact that he was significantly larger than her; he felt as if he were speaking to equal, as if they were two skilled soldiers meeting upon a battlefield. He would not show disrespect towards her strength.
His thoughts moved once more to the strand land that she claimed as home, his ears flicking absently atop his skull as he shifted his weight from paw to paw. ”Russia you say? I have never heard of it. Is it very far from here?” He asked, longing for his growing curiosity to be sated. He wondered if all she-wolves were as intrepid as she was in this strange new place, and yet he did not ask. Somehow Sabaoth did not think Roka would appreciate her ferocity being compared to others, much like he would not.
Roka's ears twitched and she had to suppress a growl that almost made it out of her throat. She was a proud wolf, one that didn't take kindly to being made fun of. He found amusement in the fact that her voice was different than his, something that she couldn't control. She raised her head higher, narrowing her eyes at the giant brute. He thinks that just because he is some kind of giant I will just sit here and take this. That he can just insult me. Her breathing began to increase as well as her pulse as she tried to stamp down her anger. "The same can be said of your voice.", she grumbled almost like a sulking child unwilling to show how his comment affected her.
His musings were leading him down the right path indeed. Roka didn't like being compared to others simply because she wasn't like others. Female fought over petty things like mates and pups, where as males fought over petting things like mates and land. Not much complexity to be held within those depths. Roka on the other hand took up no cause, fought for no burning issue that pressed against her mind. It was all power and blood in the end and she wanted no part in that. Perhaps there were others like her out in the four corners of the world, but in her heart she knew that none could rival her determination to survive. She was level headed enough, with a clever mind and a sharp eye. Some would say that her intelligence came from the fact that she liked to wait and watch instead of charging into an unknown situation. A situation similar to the one she was in know. If she had just charged in with no caution what so ever, she would have been dead long before now.
Despite the pleasantries being over and done with he still wanted to know more about her origins. If she had lost her sense she might have rolled her eyes at him. One minute he acted as if it was a chore to have a conversation, the next he was genuinely curious. An utter tailspin. She took a deep breath and asked whatever higher power there was out there for patience. She had a nasty temper that she didn't want to lose in his presence. From the looks of him, he had an equally nasty temper to match. She would get sore if she stood like this forever, shoulders tense and tail held high. She didn't want to show him any weakness, but at the same time she would wear herself out continuing as such. After another deep breath she lowered her hind quarters to the ground, relaxing into a sit. Despite her more serene position, her fur still remained upright in response to Roka's tension.
He wanted to know about her Russia and whether or not it was close to this land in proximity. She would have loved to enthrall him with tales of her beautiful land, but it was no more beautiful as this place. This land was warm and so colorful, where Russia was cold and bland. She was also not able to tell where exactly it was that she had come from. All that she remembered was being transported to somewhere and then crashing here. She had no idea how far or how long they had traveled. "I have no answer for you. I was packed away in a dark container for much of the journey. I guess the only thing I can say with certainty is that it is very far away."Far enough that I will never see my home again. She looked around her taking in the life that swirled all around her. "Sometimes I think that whatever gods are out there they must favor this haven."
Perhaps Sabaoth was more sensitive to anger due to his own explosive temper, for he could practically feel the tension in the air as the she-wolf stared at him, her gaze never wavering and her irritation simmering. He’d somehow managed to worm his way beneath her skin, and while it was so very tempting to prod at this chink in her armor, to see just how far he could push her, he would not…yet. ”I am sure,” he replied mildly to her murmured remark, ”but mine cannot be considered unique.” It was an offhanded compliment that did not quite feel like one; his tone was not suggestive nor flirty, his expression never changing, gaze still locked onto her face. It was muttered purely to throw her off, to keep her guessing, a game which Sabaoth found he was beginning to enjoy more and more with each reaction that he prompted from the indignant vixen. It felt very nearly like toying with prey, although thus far he had no known intentions of harming her. It would be pointless to take her life when she would wield no honor nor bring him glory, for he had nothing to gain by destroying her. He would simply continue to amuse himself with her presence instead…until she grew weary of his company and fled.
He watched her as closely as a hawk might its quarry when she finally sat, lowering herself hesitatingly to her haunches before relaxing, if only a fraction. He glanced away as she began to speak, gaze settling on the swirling path of the river, his erect ears a telltale sign of his interest despite his wandering eyes. It was her last statement that made Sabaoth glance sideways at her, his face a stoic mask of blankness as he considered her admission. He believed in the gods to be sure, and yet rarely did he consider them. In his wandering he had very nearly forgotten them all together, so consumed by his hatred that nothing else mattered. Even now he did not see the beauty she must have to consider their surroundings a haven, but he did not berate her for her beliefs. He glanced back towards the water, wondering how it must have felt to find contentment with such simple things. He felt as if his burning hatred and thirst for revenge had stolen such delicacies from him, had ripped the foundation from beneath his paws and left him flailing in the dark for so many moons. The gods…ah, the gods. To have thrown such hardships at him, they must have been cruel indeed. His lips curled at the thought.
”How did you receive your scars?” He asked by means of switching subjects, presenting the first question that wriggled into his mind. Perhaps it might have been considered impolite or blunt, but Sabaoth found that he did not care for the trivialities of proper etiquette; he wished to know, and so he asked. He would not behave as others did, unable to tear their gaze away from the imperfections but too uncomfortable to give voice to their questions. He had been on the receiving end of such gazes, and it had always irritated him more than flat-out asking. He turned his head towards her once more, his cool gaze lingering on her marked achievements before moving to settle on her good eye.
He was toying with her and she knew it. Her temper flared beneath his scrutiny despite her best intentions She knew that her anger was a weakness and that it could be taken advantage of, but she didn't try to contain it. Her temper was a wildfire that knew no restraint. His compliment was fleeting and held no meaning to her. There was nothing about being unique that she would treasure or take to heart. Being unique was something that everyone had in common, thus it lost any sentimentality. A thousand unique beings in a unique world. Placating words that went in one ear and out the other. He enjoyed toying with her, she could see that much and as much as it bothered her she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. She gritted her teeth, keeping her jaw locked until the majority of her anger passed. She would not let him win this little game. She was too stubborn to allow for that.
He changed the subject before she could say any more about the gods. She wasn't sure about which gods she believed in, just that there had to be some kind of creator out there. Some talked of wolf gods, others talked of a human god, few mentioned families of gods that lived up in the clouds together. Roka didn't know, nor did she care who it was. Whomever she gave her thanks to, her nameless god, would get the message either way. If there was only one god or one creator then there would be no one else to steal her prayer. If it was the family of gods in the sky then they could share her thanks. Her belief was limited to the creation of her world and her life, it didn't branch into the events that seemed to take place all around her. There was no one to blame for what happened to her but her.
The question that always came up no matter who she was talking to finally made it's way into their conversation. She couldn't blame him for curiosity because it was rivaled only by hers. She wanted to know about his scars just as much as he wanted to know about hers. Her good eye widened not really sure where she should begin with her story. It had all happened so fast that she wasn't even sure how to retell the events. "I was hunting and took down a deer. It had been a hard winter and I was too hungry to pay attention. Before I knew it the damn snow leopard was on me tearing me to bits. The bastard took my eye before I could even fight. After that it took my kill watching as I bled out on the ground." Her tale made her sound weaker than she could ever recover from. She was such a pitiful creature that she had allowed the leopard to creep up on her and steal something so precious to her. She knew how to fight with her disability, but back then she had no idea what was happening to her. "The worst part was trying to fight blind. Feeling that bastards claws tear my face apart and not being able to kill him." That was her biggest regret. Despite recovering from her wounds and adapting to her blindness, she had never gotten the chance to kill the creature that had stolen her sight.
"Fair is fair. How did you get your scars?" She wasn't sure if he had gotten them from the same instance or if they were markers of multiple battles. Roka couldn't imagine what kind of beat would cause such damage all at once, especially to this large foe. She looked his scars over again and wondered how he survived so much damage all at once. She would have assumed that he would have bled out before he could get the chance to heal. Perhaps it had been one of his brothers that had brought down such a fate. Neither sounded pleasant in her mind and she was grateful that her encounter had been paltry at best compared to his.
Sabaoth listened intently as she spoke, spinning a tale that was faintly similar to his own. He, too, had been marred by a vicious cat, although never before had the behemoth encountered a snow leopard. It was clear from her tale that although foreign to him, the creatures did not lack ferocity. To have leaped upon one who was preoccupied in an attempt to kill them was cowardly, and his lips curled with disdain at the thought of creature. He assumed that Roka was smaller than this leopard if it was anything like the cougar he’d encountered, though by no fault of her own, and so it made the creature’s honorless maiming even more detestable in his mind. There was no shame in taking what one wanted, but to behave so sneakily, to fight so unfairly, was a concept beyond reason to Sabaoth. The fact that Roka had survived the inevitable blood loss that must have come with such a substantial injury spoke silent volumes of her will to survive. She’d expressed anger over the cowardly creature escaping with its life, and this was something that Sabaoth understood more than all else. Some nights he would still lay awake, simmering in his festering detestation as the realization that his parent’s murderers still walked the earth hit him over and over again. He’d been like Roka then; smaller than the assailants, powerless under their ruthless assault. Never would he forget the feeling of weakness as long as he lived.
”Fair is fair. How did you get your scars?”
He took a moment to step back a fraction, lowering himself to his rump much like she had done some time ago. His head still towered above her own, but Sabaoth’s gaze no longer held its gloating edge. It was filled with cool consideration as he spoke, maw parting to weave the tale of his own maiming. ”A cougar,” he began, speaking slowly and thoroughly. ”I was unaided in my travels, solitary in nature, when I came upon her. I was foolish and negligent, blundering through the forest like some great lummox. I was…angry.” Angry, of course, was a mild term. He’d been furious, so deep in the tangles of his rage that he’d been careless. He’d been blood-thirsty when he came upon her, and she’d paid for it with her life. ”She was a new mother. I startled her, and the scent of blood was upon me from my hunt.” Hunt, much like before, was not entirely the truth. He’d slaughtered every small creature in his wake in some vain attempt to sate his thirst, and yet he did not correct himself. ”I believe she panicked. We were similar in size, though she had me in weight.”
He paused for a long moment, remembering the feel of his teeth closing around her throat, as well as the strangled cries that had followed. ”I killed her.” For all intents and purposes, Sabaoth did not react to this admission. He was not gloating, for he did not wish to make Roka feel as if he were bragging about killing his assailant when she had been unable to do the same. It was a simple fact, and had he not been granted the advantage of size, he very well might have ended up dead. ”I was grievously wounded afterwards; she tried to take out my eye, much like your attacker did. She narrowly missed. Regardless, she was the reason I lived, although I daresay she did not know it. I hid away in her den and fed myself with her cubs. Perhaps had I been more skilled at healing, I might have tended to the wounds better. As it was, I had only water at my disposal. They healed, but they are vile.”
He glanced to her own scars once more, a fierce light in his eyes. Telling his story had not been some huge admission, nor had it been a weight off of his shoulders; he was as distant from the memory as he could be, and yet he knew that Roka at least understood what he’d gone through on that long, savage night. His words applied just as much to her as they did to himself when he next spoke. ”They are indications of strength, and proof that we were victorious. Proof that we will survive.”
So many similarities between them, they were beginning to abound themselves right before her eyes. His storied almost mirrored hers in that he too was attacked by a large cat, accept he had actually gotten to kill his foe. That was the one thing that Roka felt true shame about. Her father would have called her a weakling, a disappointment like he always did. He had always been ashamed that his one and only offspring had ended up being a girl. Claimed that she got one last jab at him by being the first one born while her brother and mother had died. Roka knew that he father had felt no love for her mother, but his status of omega within the pack restricted him from ever breeding again. Her inability to kill the snow leopard would have only angered him more. 'Your brother would have killed that leopard. Damned fool.
A small part of her had been satisfied knowing that she had been the one to survive. That her brother had died and denied her father the chance to rise to power. A power that had never been within his grasp, but within hers. If she had let the alpha take her and make her his she would have been nothing better than a breeder. She would have had two litters of pups by now and she would have become nothing more than a slave in her own home. She would have never lost her eye and never ended up here. Yet she preferred this fate to any the alpha would have dreamed up for her, blind and all. Mostly to spite her father, but also because she couldn't imagine suffering through a litter of pups. She was too proud to let herself be defiled by some prick all for the sake of pups. If the time ever came she wanted to do her duty to her male and continue his line. Nothing more nothing less.
Sabaoth talked about his time in the cougar's den and how he had eaten her young to survive. Roka's mouth watered at the thought of those young, how she would have felt if she had gotten the chance to end the snow leopards line. unfortunately her demons still lived and was probably sowing his wild oats somewhere in the tundra. She would have ripped his family from him if she had ever gotten the chance, but she would never get the chance to see him again. He blamed his scars on his lack of knowledge for healing, but even Roka who had humans to help her heal still bore her marks. "Some marks are not meant to heal. They are meant to be worn proud." Roka was proud of her scars, as he was of his. They set her apart from the other wolves who lived life too safely, not allowing themselves to fight. Roka would fight to protect what was hers, what she believed in, had faith in.
Proof that she would survive. That she had always survive and that she would always survive. "It will take more than a damn cat to take my life." She wouldn't allow something that she had spent so much time and effort building just be ripped away. She didn't know if she believed in an after life, but she knew that here and now was real. Reality was the only thing she had. The only thing that she could live for. Some might think her selfish, but she was her own priority.
”Some marks are not meant to heal. They are meant to be worn proud."
Sabaoth dipped his head in acknowledgement, his own scars seeming to itch in response. While some might have detested the marring of their perfect flesh, Sabaoth had welcomed it. He had never much cared for appearances, specifically his own, and the fact that the scars might be considered unattractive had never concerned him. Inevitably his thoughts flickered to his elder brother, Isaiah, who Sabaoth had been known to call ”pretty boy” in their youth. It had been the irritating teasing that was often seen with siblings, and yet as they’d grown, Isaiah’s generous features had only continued to morph into handsomeness. What would he have done had his angular features been ruined, Sabaoth wondered? Surely he would not have taken it with ease as Sabaoth had…but then again the dark brute had never come to know his brother in a personal sense, and therefore he could not say how he would react. It was a sobering thought.
”It will take more than a damn cat to take my life.”
Once more his lips pulled into a smile; he could not recall the last time he’d displayed so much amiability in one day. Her fierce spirit was infectious, seeping into his very bones as he gazed upon her. Perhaps Fenrir himself had guided Sabaoth here today, for otherwise the fact that two marred warriors had found each other would be a humorous convenience. He found his thoughts wandering to packs, for surely any of the various packs of Anikira would welcome a strong warrior, even one who was partially blind, especially considering how well she seemed to have adjusted to her ailment. As it was, Sabaoth had not bothered to learn very much of the claimed territories; he loosely knew the callings of several packs, but not the names of their leaders nor any of their ideals. He had never sought one out after the downfall of his birth back, and indeed he was not sure that he ever would. But Roka…what was her story, Sabaoth wondered?
”I am surprised that you do not belong to a pack, unless I am mistaken, but I smell no others on your pelt,” he said mildly, his head tilting to one side as he observed her. She seemed healthy enough; if she was truly a loner, the prey was treating her well. ”I was under the impression that they are like vultures when it comes to capable warriors. Have they not attempted to snap you up yet?” It was said with a touch of amusement, not at the she-wolf’s expense, but rather due to the fact that he could not imagine her taking kindly to being recruited. Her temper seemed dreadful, perhaps almost near to his – although never had he met another who truly rivaled his murderous rage. It was not something he commonly bragged about, after all, but neither did he apologize for it. Sabaoth had come to realize that it was a part of him, and one could not be expected to express sorrow for what slumbered within their hearts. It was their very nature.
Her fury and determination seemed to amuse him. He smiled for the second time since their meeting and it made Roka feel more comfortable. She was glad that he enjoyed their dealings. If he were to leave in this instance she would have nothing to do but roam about some more. She had roamed this north for so long that she felt as if she had memorized it. If it wasn't so hot in other places she might have considered traveling throughout the rest of the continent. "What is it like everywhere else." Her curiosity got the better of her and she couldn't stop herself from wondering. What would it be like to explore all of the riches that this beautiful place had to offer.
Sabaoth mentioned packs as if they were suppose to mean something to her. He expected her to have the smell of others on her pelt, but Roka knew that she would never venture to a pack again. She had seen enough of the power struggle that seemed to over take people. It was like an illness that made it's way into peoples hearts, dragging them down until they were a shell of their former self. Her father had once been considered honorable, before he had gotten just a glimpse of the life that he could achieve. He had changed rapidly after that, becoming a real bastard. "I am sure you can tell so much from my smell can't you.", she huffed bristling at the edges. She didn't know why he assumed that she would belong to a pack. Like she was some great asset to some grouping of self righteous bozos.
To snap her up would be an achievement indeed. She hadn't encountered any of the packs on this continent even though she could hear them calling in the night. Their howls were loud and they echoed across the expanses of this territory. The volume alone suggested that at least one was close by. She couldn't stomach the idea of even interacting with them. She preferred to be left to her own devices in this world. "What makes you think I would be such an asset to any pack. Besides I don't play well with others." It was the honest truth. Even when she had been young she had despised submitting to another's will. As if she was some slave that was to do as commanded. She fought for what she believed in not for any one wolf or pack. She had heard a pack compared to the bond of a family, but Roka held no belief in that. he had lived in a pack that had her family in it and they had been sore examples of love and care.
It was all blood and destruction and chaos when one interfered with pack dealings. Roka had smelled his scent on the air and it also lacked the smell of others. "I could ask the same of you. How has some pack not come along and snapped up a beast so giant as you."
With each moment that Sabaoth spent in Roka’s presence, he grew more and more certain of one crucial fact concerning the she-devil; she was never predictable in her responses. It seemed as if he had somehow sparked the fire within her once more at the mention of packs, as well as mentioning her scent, and he watched her with amused fascination as she spoke. She was dead-set on her decision, it seemed, confirming his suspicions that she called none of the surrounding packs her own. Well and so, Sabaoth would not complain. The last thing he needed was some over-confident warrior chasing him down later, warning him away from Roka, the pack, or whatever else it was that he foolishly valued.
”Your scent does tell me quite a good deal about you, actually” he murmured after she’d finished, delaying her question for the sheer sake of seeing the familiar gleam of irritation in her eye. ”Such as that your scent is the only one that lingers on your pelt. You are untouched.” The suggestive dip of his gaze was offered purely so that his meaning was made perfectly clear, and once more to provoke her if only lightly. He could not prove that she had no mate, after all, for there was always the possibility that the theoretical male’s scent had just gone stale upon her, and yet his blunt suggestion would possibly earn him a scathing glare at least. Truly he was curious as to whether or not such a headstrong femme would allow a male to touch her, but he’d delayed answering her for too long now. ”I avoid packs like the damned plague. I am not tame enough for them, and they are not compelling enough to sway me.”
His thoughts flicked briefly back to the question she’d asked before concerning the rest of Anikira. Sabaoth had traveled far and wide since his swim from Ina’mos years ago, and so it was with confidence that he responded. ”As to your earlier inquiry, everywhere else is…different. There are fields and forests to the east, and if you are fortunate, mayhap you will find yourself at a spring. They are quite warm and refreshing in the cold months. There are sandy beaches to the south with churning waves for as far as the eye can see. I have not yet explored much of the west, I fear, but I have heard that a volcano resides there. I would very much like to see it one day, if I find myself in the area.” Something so massive and imposing as a volcano – even an inactive one – had inevitably piqued Sabaoth’s interest. He was markedly obsessed with powerful things, and the strength of the landmark could only be doubted by the daft or impaired. Thoughts of the west had inevitably stirred up thoughts of Ina’mos, which rested off of the western shores. More than anything it was why he had not yet ventured there; he had not dared. It had been a year and six months since the day that his life had crumbled before his eyes, and still he skirted the rocky terrain like a coward. Yes, he would have to seek it out one day…but for now, he was content to amuse himself with the brazen femme who sat before him.
POSITION. Coding Mod & Pimp Ass Sugar Daddy CHARACTERS. Eidus Thor Stark
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This untraditional coupling is one of the truly loving matches in Anikira. Although they are members of two different species, Calantha and Rikez have overcome the differences and rose above, finding love in the most pure of ways. And from this pairing, a litter born of two loving parents was conceived. These little boys and girls will have the great honor of being raised by two parents that support each other, while many of the offspring in Anikira have not had such a benefit. The pair are truly fitting of one another; both kind-hearted and generally good individuals.