[ P ] Red String

Kjartan Faroe
Male 2 Lowlander Imperial Army Medic (Specialist)




posted 09-07-2021, 11:35 AM - Word count:

A fog lay thick over the lands. The pre-dawn sky was growing brighter by the second; pale blues and periwinkle blending away from the colors of the night into the light of day. The air was chilled, the fog bringing a heaviness with it, like breathing in a cloud. The faint tension of each breath dragged in left him wondering more and more about potential coughs he’d encounter in the hard working folk who lived here. The well worn memory, like a built-in compass, dragged his paws this way, then that, as though he were a blind man being led through the night. He’d know his way home in his sleep, and the restlessness that had gathered in his belly sat there like anxiety as he got closer and closer. The next forty-eight hours he had off would be used to check his neighbors health, stock the den with more medical supplies, and maybe sleep where every lingering scent wrapped him up in nostalgia; a pain for his heart and safety for his mind.

It had been a very long month since he’d been back, and he could only guess the state of his place. Winter was never a kind season to the commonwealth. And though Myra had been a mercenary, picking up jobs when they needed something, Kjartan hadn’t been entirely removed from the people and their troubles. you’re not like them, little one. Myra’s voice had had a touch of sadness that day; her bright eyes watching him carefully. She’d been gentle about him not making friends his age; it wouldn’t be practical, they would eventually ask questions, couldn’t have too many wolves snooping around their business. But then he’d gone to college and eventually the army, and whatever suspicions any of their neighbors had had about Myra were forgotten. they’ll take care of me, kjartan, you know they will. his jaw clenches, his breath let out slow as he feels the old grief, like bitterness, weigh in the back of his throat.

Not having to run in to familiar faces was part of the reason he’d arrived so early. He’s blend in with the fog for enough of the trip in, and escape towards the knoll where his den was before anyone could see him and ask him where he’d been, or if he was okay. He doesn’t know what kind of answers he’d be able to give if they asked, if they confronted him. He needed to see what was left of the stores, make some calculations about what to go and find, and then make himself amiable enough to do some rounds and check up on those faces he still begrudged Myra’s death.

The cool grass under his paws begins to angle upwards, and his head lowers a little as he climbs the knoll to where, between twin rocks, the entrance of his old den sat welcoming and waiting. He eyes it, nose drifting to the ground as he takes in old and fresh scents; marking them for future follow-ups. not too many... that was good at least. A break of light cuts across the rocks in front of him, and he lets the warmth of the sun bathe his shoulder, meting out the chill that had crept into his bones. He turns, then, to watch the sunlight split the fog and lets himself sit there beside his den; greeting the day with a peculiar longing in his heart for a time he couldn’t get back.


Nyx Orpheides
Female 3 Outlander Commonwealth Adventurer




dance with me in the dark

posted 09-10-2021, 01:15 AM - Word count:

i used to wake up with the moon
praying for the sun to die soon

What a vivid crimson, the uncut gemstone, like a rough clot of blood — the center is dark, shadowed, nearly black, but the the ruby shines brilliant red through the edges. It lies on a patch of snow at her feet, matching the surrounding blood splatters. Nyx smirks. Her client will be happy to get this back — the bastard she'd just beat down regrets his decision to steal this beloved family heirloom, she's sure. He's fled the scene after a short but brutal altercation, in which she'd fractured his nasal bone and left him bleeding profusely and gasping for air. It was enough and her client did not call for his death, so she released him, leaving him in the jaws of Fate.

He shall live, if he receives urgent medical attention.

What a weak and pathetic wolf who stood no chance, but then again, she got him while he was lounging out in the open, lying on his back to watch the stars without a care in the world. The stone was far too close to simply swipe unseen (and such a tactic is not Nyx's style anyway), so she tried a more diplomatic approach at first — pounce him, hold him down, and demand what rightfully belonged to her client. He didn't cooperate and left her with little choice. He may be bloody and beaten, but he should consider himself lucky. Not all wolves are as honorable as Nyx. Another might have chosen to do much worse.

She is tired, as the rising sun beckons her to find a spot to hide away for the day, with most of the blood licked away from her muzzle but some fresh, open wounds remaining on her front leg and shoulder from her mark's desperate counterattack and some mud smudging her paws from the struggle. A mess she cannot stand, but she can linger here no longer.

She picks up the ruby, the thing she had come here for, and she gets moving. It is small, but just large enough that she can hold it neatly between her teeth. It's already nearly dawn. She lopes about a mile or two until the scent of wolf makes itself known to her, a scent like the forest floor with a hint of that masculine odor. It leads right in the direction she must travel and may not be avoidable. Her brow furrows for a fleeting moment.

Nyx slows her pace down to a steady plod, an attempt to appear more leisurely and casual, and it's only a matter of minutes before a hill draws the eye, rocks bathed in sunlight, with the dark silhouette of a stranger visible from her position, sitting and looking down her way. Undoubtedly, he would notice her. She just carries onward, silently preparing herself for an engagement.

i used to get caught in the clouds, with blood on my face, with the strangest smile
hoping for the wind to carry me away