Wayward Traveler [Switchblade]

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Thoughts | Actions | Speech

It was a lovely day, bit nippy, there was a small breeze carrying in around the basin. It was cooler here than the south of the mainland, but the brute didn’t mind. Prey lay all around in this area, from fish littering the water to the larger game surrounding the basin. It matched the insatiable appetite Roland had, not entirely all for eating but feeling his ivories sink into each hide and the smooth crimson liquid dribble from his jaws. Earlier this week he'd crossed the Aleisul Crossing. It was rather uneventful, and never once caught wiff of another wolf.

It had been a while, too long, since Roland had a target, a victim. It wasn’t too bad, he’d been roaming the vast island for weeks before another wolf even came within site. One would think with how much life this place is teeming with, and it’s only just after the harshest part of winter, there would be more wolves. Or maybe that was just the red wolf’s hoping. That was the one disappointment the brute had had thus far; there simply was just not many 'friends to play with'. The sun shown high, few birds flew overhead, passing by on their way home. Despite all the ‘set-backs’ the wolf felt giddy, there was no reason behind it.

Roland strolled along the water’s edge, his yellow eyes swept over the water. A sick smile stretched across his face, a common look on the brute. The male swept his right paw across the top of the water, I think every thing here could use a lick of red. A disturbing laugh escaped Roland’s chest, echoing slightly just around him. The brute had a burning desire in his head, one that hadn’t been filled in those few weeks he’d been released into this new home.

There wasn’t much for a solitary wolf to do, besides hunt and survive. Packs, power, and ownership, that’s what drove most wolves. Those lucky enough to be born into such environment and grow to adulthood were few. Most seemed to congregate later in life, after their youthful hardships, to alphas and packs. Roland never had the desire to claim lands, to surround himself with others, or climb the ranking ladder in a pack.

I feel up to a game, that same smile fixed on him. A loud, booming howl came from the male’s throat. That should certainly bring something to play with. He laughed lowly to himself, pacing back and forth as he wait for anything.
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Muse; Horribad, but I tried
Word Count; 431
Notes; Sorry it’s so short, I really wanted to get something up though.

[Deleted]

He was cold. The brute was shivering, a sure sign that he was cold, or maybe it was all in his head. A lot of things seemed to all just been in his head these days. Everything. Nothing. What was the difference? He didn't know, didn't care, didn't want to know, didn't want to care. He was confused, so confused, by his own actions, by his own life, by everything around him. He refused to be in a pack, refused to have contact with any other wolves. He was dangerous, so dangerous. What if he lost control? What if... he went insane? Ha, what a riot. He was already insane, already a mess. All fucked up in the head. And still cold. At last, the wolf rose to his paws, trembling, shaking, and opened his eyes. He could see figurines of wolves dancing and prancing, ghostlike, across his plane of vision. He yawned, watching them, waiting to see if they were real. They were not. They were already disappearing with howls only he could hear. But wait, what was that? Another howl, far off in the distance, lingering, still coming... and then gone. The red wolf blinked, ginger pelt bristling, fangs exposed and bared in a fighting expression. He was violent. He liked violence, the way it felt, the way it made him feel, the blood... the pain. He liked pain; causing it, receiving it. Sadomasochism ruled his life, his emotions, his very being. There was nothing be could do to overcome it. It would simply exist for the rest of his life, perhaps get worse. Where did that howl come from? It wasn't mine. Should I look? Something in him said no but the lost part of himself urged him to reply.

Head tipped back, Switchblade released his own howl into the atmosphere. Blue eyes blinked slowly, slowly, muscles bunching as he gathered himself, still unsure, still conflicted, but alas, he bounded off into the air, dashing, dashing. Where was it? Where had the howl come from? Was it here? The wolf scented the air, drawing in vast amounts of oxygen, his urgency to find this mysterious wolf increasing with each passing moment. He whined, a low sound, ears twitching constantly, and trotted forward, legs moving in diagonal pairs. He kept looking, kept searching. He must find this wolf... he must.


tagged: roland
words: 392
notes:

[Deleted]

Thoughts | Actions | Speech

The brute pranced about on his paws, excitement tingled through him. He loved games, oh yes did he love games. His games, they were bloody, and violent, but oh so amusing. Which game shall it be today, there were so many options. Maybe a round of hide and seek, or maybe a round of chasing, direct approach or not; he had to decide. It couldn’t be too long before his calls would be answered.

Roland had been waiting too long for this moment for him to laze about hiding, waiting to strike. The eerie smile never faded, he took a large inhale hoping to senses a new friend’s arrival. Still nothing, he said slightly saddened. The smile dropped as he surveyed his surroundings, he let out a throaty grunt in frustration. It wasn’t going how he want, he loathed when things don’t go by his plans.

Still plain as day, the male paced again, the basin running it’s icy waters just over his paws. They hurt, as cold does to limbs, again he grunted, the brute felt another pang of annoyance. Shaking his paws out, Roland stepped just out of the water’s reach, maybe no one’s out to play. He laughed outwardly at that notion, there’s always someone to play with, he boomed. A small jagged rock stuck the brute's foot, the cold numbed it but he could smell the scent of blood. He laid, checking his paw, running his warm tongue over the wound, barely a scratch.

Chest puffed out, Roland stood, stretching out with a yawn. Ears perked, what was that, he slyly smirked. The brute filled with enthusiasm, this was surely going to be a good day now. The brute let out another powerful howl, he never questioned if this situation would go badly for him. Regardless, his adrenaline began pumping and his buzz started going. This’ll be good, he muttered. Suddenly the brute's head filled with the image, an imaginary wolf he pictured running toward him. The image mimicked his sister's pelt and his brother's physique. The wicked picture shifted, changed, dripping in a medley of grey hues. It became small, nearly the size of a stout, and vanished. Rolands attention snapped back to reality, he glanced around hoping his new playfellow had arrived. He waited.
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Muse; meh
Word Count; 389
Notes; ---

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The cold was making his paws her, sending tendrils of pleasure-pain through his body. His hackles raised as a low, rumbling growl formed in the vastness of his chest, eyelid twitching as he trotted onward, another short howl parting the still air around him as he waited for the other lupine to appear. He wasn't sure exactly where the other wolf was, and the wind was carrying his scent away from him so it was difficult to scent the other wolf, but just enough of the stranger's scent was wafting toward him for Switchblade to know the general direction of his playmate. He, it's a he. He must be here somewhere. I can hear the water. The water, that's where he is. Yes, I must go there. Disorganized thoughts rolled through the lupine's skull, his salmon pink tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth as he broke into a faster pace, one that mimicked the lope of an equine. He whined softly, his tail wagging, desperate to find this stranger and settle his mind. He must know if this stranger was real or was it just another phantom conjured up by his overactive mind.

Ginger pelted beast soon caught the faint scent of blood and again a whine fell from his handsome muzzle. He yelped, bounding forward toward the water, his ears pricked forward, straining to the point that it nearly hurt, but pain had never been something that bothered the lupine. Instead of stopping, he charged at the other brute, suddenly filled with rage and unease, wanting nothing more than to rip out the throat of the stranger. His heart was pounding, racing, paws thudding against the frozen ground in rabid rhythms. "He must die. Do it. Kill him. Kill everyone." The hallucinations made his snarl, eyes flashing with blood lust and insanity, and when he was just a few paces away from the other wolf, he pounced, hoping to land 'pon his back or at least take a bite out of his leg.


tagged: roland
words: 336
notes:

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Thoughts | Actions | Speech

Roland’s face donned a smile, yellow eyes settled on his new friend. Oh yes, a lovely day. The beast’s laugh came louder than ever, his merriment couldn’t be stopped. The brute watched the charge, his playmate’s paws hitting the ground with such rage it should’ve shaken Roland to the core. The opponent stood shorter, but it was too close to tell, though he was stouter definitely heftier. He would be quite the match, I’m so happy you decided to join me, he spoke so jovially. How about a bit of a chase, that would fun. I’m sure he would agree. Roland stood, still as a board, till last chance to make a hasty move. His pal seemed to get a gash in, the brute’s right thigh bled.

The pain raced up and down his leg, I’ll just have to run this off, he chuckled. Each of his paws hit the ground, very unevenly due to his new injury. He romped, hoping to provoke the raging brute, jumping a few times kicking some dirt up. His cheery demeanor never let up, and his heart only sped from excitement. These were just the games Roland enjoyed, a bit of running, the possibility of death; he yipped in delight. Come get me buddy boy, he wiggled his rump a bit before taking off toward the water. It served two parts in his game. He wasn’t daft, he knew the would had to be cleaned, and a dip in the water should do it. Then his excellent swimming skills could come into use, plus he was interested in seeing what his chum looked like. A drowned runt perhaps?Or maybe a majestic varmint, but we all know there’s no such thing, he snorted. The sting in his leg wouldn’t let up, not enough for him to be enjoying his game as much as he could. A sudden stitch of anger wove into his mind. I was just having a fun game, you’re not allowed to cheat, as hurting him was against the rules.
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Muse; ---
Word Count; 368
Notes; ---

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Excitement mixed with rage to form a disasterous feeling within the young brujo. He was a danger to himself and others when in his current state of mind, a state of mind which could only be describe as psychotic. Psychosis must be one of his problems for he could hardly hear the world around him as the whispers and murmurs inside his head grew steadily louder and louder second by second. They urged him on, urged him to feel blood on his maw, to taste the bitter, metallic tang of blood. He whimpered, needing that feeling, needing to have that taste in his mouth. It was the only thing that would make them silent, that would ease his mind enough so that he could act the part of normal for just one more moment in time. Just one bite, just one kill, just one pack destroyed, just one world littered with the corpses of the lupines he'd destroyed. That's all he needed. But this laughter, that laughter. Was he laughing at him? Switchblade growled. He didn't like the sound of laughter. I’m so happy you decided to join me, The words were hardly heard. All that the ginger wolf was aware of was the familiar taste of blood on his lips, flooding over his tongue, making him howl with desire for more. But his victim was already bounding away from him! That was no fun, no fun at all. Switchblade jolted to a halt, teeth bare, his maw slowly becoming stained with scarlet.

I’ll just have to run this off, More laughter. It was almost painful to listen to. The young brute whined in protest of the laughter, pacing forward, long, lean legs carrying him with practiced grace. "You dare to run from me? You're a disgrace. We'll get you," he snarled, his voice booming, louder than he had meant for it to be. Come get me buddy boy, A challenge? 'Twas all that was needed to set Switchblade into motion. Within seconds, he was loping forward, snarling, growling, crimson tinted saliva dripping from his jaws. He was an eighty pound freight train running head long toward his victim, toward his prey. Or maybe a majestic varmint, but we all know there’s no such thing, Switchblade didn't understand this rambling so he ignored it, not caring enough to respond. He'd done his fair share of mindless, senseless rambling. Without thinking, he lunged into the water, causing a great splash.

Sapphire eyes narrowed and blinked as crystal droplets of water waved before his face. He grunted, propelling himself through the clear liquid with powerful strokes of his four legs. He would stop at nothing to get closer to his target, not caring how long it took him so long as he got there.


tagged: roland
words:
notes: these two are interesting together!

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Thoughts | Actions | Speech

The brute splashed in the water, feeling the cold sting against his wound. Still, the pain shot through his body, there was no other reason he should stop; not with game in toe. A devilish smile breached his lips, You dare run from me? You’re a disgrace. We’ll get you. We? Who is we, shall I peruse the lands for more fun. Maybe he’s a nut?! He let a wicked laugh slip, tell me, my friend, are you a nut? Have you gone positively mad? His voice was calm, excited even, ignoring the raging flame in his leg slowing him.

He swam further in, before making the quick turn back to the shore. Glancing behind him, Roland caught sight of his pal swimming on his heel. A bitter cold wave splashed over his face, lovely day for a swim, don’t you think buddy? Nonsense spewed through his mind, nothing coherent enough to be said allowed. His front paw touched a sandy bottom of the approaching shore. In a single motion, Roland launched himself out of the water as far up the water’s edge as he could. From there he sped his pace, gaining only a few feet head start towards the wood. No cheating again, my dear friend, it makes me rather mad.

Roland made it to the forest fringe, weaving throughout the tree as best he could. He darted for a mound of dirt, getting one solid roll in; to leave his scent as well mask it. Trickery was fun, it made the game of chase so much better, in his mind. Randomly scratching trees, digging at scattered plants, and leaving his scent in the odd places. Before him was a foxhole, maybe the little toy is gone from his home, he made a overdramatized pout. As expected, the fox had dashed out the back exit of the hole, only leaving it’s scent; strong and pungent. Yes this place, I’ll wait. It’ll be so grand. Ah yes, my crazy little friend will run himself silly, oh wait he already has. Silly, silly little chum. I shall wait and see, oh and if he finds me, shall I bare my teeth? No, no, can’t be rude now. Ha, we are never rude, maybe a small bite at the neck. I wonder if his blood is as deep red as the last one. Oh, yes, he is a fun one. He waited in the hole for his friend to run by, oh! Maybe surprise him. Yes. Yes. That seems fun, he whispered to himself.
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Muse; ---
Word Count; ---
Notes; Oh, I love how these two are.

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Swimming was not one of his strong points. He was much better and used to land. His long, powerful legs were better used for running as opposed to swimming but his broad paws were propelling him forward quicker than he had expected. He was right on the other brute's tail. tell me, my friend, are you a nut? Have you gone positively mad? Mad? Why, he was absolutely mental! But of course Blade wasn't going to tell him that. In fact, he wasn't even going to answer. The only indication he gave of hearing the questions was a quick snort that had his muzzle splashing in the water around him. It was freezing. He was freezing. But it felt good. He ignored all of the talking coming from the leading lupine, concentrating on kicking his paws faster, harder, wanting to get to the shore as soon as possible. When the strange lupine before him began to run once more, Switchblade was only seconds behind him. He yipped once, not bothering to shake himself free of the water. He knew that he had been washed free of all the pretty red droplets and he was eager to paint himself with more. He was not content with just a single bite, he needed more. We'll find him. We'll kill him. He's around here somewhere. His thoughts were scrambled as he bolted forward toward the forest, his ears strained forward, his legs pumping faster and faster the closer he got to the tree line.

He was almost close enough to nip at his tail when he stumbled, grunting as he fell forward, scrambling to get his paws under him again, snarling as he lost sight of the other wolf. He quickly regrouped and pranced through the trees only to suddenly be engulfed in different scents and sounds. But wait. His scent was here. It was so close. It was everywhere. It was all around him. He's gonna find you. The threat sent him into a frenzy, snarling as he darted to and fro, following any scent trails that he came across, tearing apart plants as he went. Anything that smelled like him had to be destroyed, before Blade could destroy the wolf himself. It would be grand. Absolutely perfect. That little shit will be ripped apart, left dying. Yes, that was the plan. He must be destroyed. "Only cowards hide," he called out, his voice echoing around the forest. He was nearing a foxhole now, and the scent was growing stronger, though it was partially masked by what smelled like dirt. Blade could not be sure if it was new or old. It was driving him insane. "I'm not your buddy. Switchblade." He stated his name without any real desire for the lupine to call him anything, the name "buddy" just annoyed him.

He was just moments away from the foxhole now, his tongue hanging out from the side of his mouth, saliva dripping from his maw and splattering his legs and chest. His body, mostly his legs and underbelly, were now coated in a fine layer of mud. It clung to him like a mother would cling to her pups but Switchblade didn't care. He would worry about his hygiene later on. For now, he just wanted to find that bastard and tear him apart.


tagged: roland
words:
notes: i'm open to blade getting any injuries you like, anything that happens is fine by me, so long as he doesn't die.

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Thoughts | Actions | Speech

The mud covered Red Wolf was exhilarated. He couldn’t be happier, all sense of reality was lost to the canidae. These two showcased the finest examples of sheer madness and brutality wrapped up, oh how did Roland enjoy every minute of it. He’d felt like a genius in viewing, and hiding in, the fox hole littered by the scent of it’s previous owner. However, inside, the confined space didn’t make for much room of lazing about for the much larger wolf. These little scamps should really dig a bigger home, incase a friendly visitor comes by for a quick meal. The wolf was beaming inside the hole, though his breaths stayed even. He knew to stay quiet when playing hide-and-seek, never wanting to ruin the surprise.

The scent of his companion started drifting around the trees, and eventually into Roland’s hideaway. Oh! The guest of honor has arrived! I shall give him the most proper of greetings, especially for an old friend like him. Wicked thoughts raced in the lupine’s head, death being their central focus, mainly the death of his new friend. A short peek from the hole, and the brute caught sight of the seeker, positively wild! He chuckled under his breath. This is always such a fun game, I really should play it more often! Sharp ivories glistened as black lined lips tugged up into a malicious smile.

Abruptly, the male darted out, SURPRISE! How I hope he was surprised.. The thoughts came just before he reached out to snap at his friend’s neck. Being sure if the strike had it, it certainly wouldn’t cause more than a minute gash. Racing past Switchblade, I rather enjoy your name there, chum, he called back before dashing through the trees once again.

He stopped suddenly, skidding through the mud the two had made from their soaked hides, leaving skid marks. The Red Wolf had only just registered he’d been called something not quite nice, hey, I’m no coward. You brainless, savage, deplorable excuse for a lupine. This game, friend, is quite a desolate one and it’s up to you, pal, to make it up to me. The taste of blood flooded into the brute mind, sending his senses into a craze. He burst into a roar of laughter, a thunderous, sinister laughter that echoed through the trees. He no longer had thoughts or plans, losing his typically well planned characteristic from one insult.
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Muse; meep
Word Count;
Notes; I’m a little drunk. This was fun to write, I hope it’s not all ramble-y. I’m cool if you wanna write hurting his leg more so he ends up limping, or anything, same as blade; as long as he doesn’t die ^^

[Deleted]

It came out of nowhere, the attack to his nape, and it was, as the other lupine had shouted, quite a surprise. Switchblade had only enough time to rear back on his hind limbs, off balance but able to prevent terrible damage to his throat region. He could still feel the piercing sting of fangs sinking into his flesh, making him yelp and snap his teeth at the other male, snarling as a mixture of saliva and water feel from his muzzle. And then the bastard was racing off again, calling over his shoulder, I rather enjoy your name there, chum, Blade rolled his eyes, unamused with this fellow's antics, and pivoted on a hind paw, pushing off of the mud slicked ground and bounding after his prey. Normally, he would not continue to chase someone, he had no patience for it, but this guy had struck a nerve in him. He made him angry and when Switchblade got angry, there wasn't much that could stop him. Not wanting to lose sight of the ginger pelted lupine once more, the longed legged wolf howled and increased his speed, weaving expertly through the trees, leaping over a fallen log that was too long to run around. He had hardly landed and gathered his paws beneath him again to continue running when the wolf he was pursuing, who had been so rude as to not provide a name, slid to a stop. He growled, ears laid flat against his skull, and bolted forward toward the wolf as he spoke, hey, I’m no coward. You brainless, savage, deplorable excuse for a lupine. This game, friend, is quite a desolate one and it’s up to you, pal, to make it up to me. The laughter that rose through the air was probably ner wracking to the more sane wolves that called this place home but for Switchblade, the laughter meant nothing. He simply snorted and continued to race toward his victim, jaws parting, seeking to barrel right into the strange laughing lupine before him. As he got closer, Blade leaped forward, his shoulder aiming to push against the stranger as his jaws sought to close around a forelimb. He wanted to knock his opponent off balance so that he could get to his throat and rip into him, tear out his wind pipe and strangle him with his own vocal chords. He wanted to dig into his stomach and pick out his intestines one by one, forcing him to choke on them, shoving them down his ruptured throat. Blade wanted to mutilate and destroy this strange, rude, and obnoxious bastard... and he planned on doing that as soon as possible.


tagged: roland
words: 450
notes: so sorry it's not any good, being sick is messing with my muse