flight of the dove. { open.

[`ℓσśτ .]

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[atrb=background,http://i899.photobucket.com/albums/ac192/fireb4ashes/Rikka---MIDDLE.png] Words could not have described what she was feeling. It was almost as if there were no feeling at all. She felt almost as if she were disconnected, watching the world around her through a pane of glass. Perhaps this could have been the trait of a loner, she wasn't quite sure. As troublesome as this brat could have been, Rikka found herself leaving onto the next place before anything extraordinary could happen. And somehow, in all that haste, she was missing her life. Already the age of three now, and what could Rikka account for? Family? Had she had one, they would have been long gone. A love? Pups? Certainly not. Good for nothing burdens, those were. So what was there for a young vixen quite like this? What was the point of such a useless life? Rikka wanted to make something of it. She needed to make something of it. Loyalty seemed to be something that lacked in the life she led, where ever it had gone, she could not find it. But perhaps more could be found! Yes, this sounded promising. But how would one might find such an exotic thing? Again, young Rikka couldn't be sure of this. Nonetheless, she was going on a hunt, whether she liked it or not. Today, she would be trying something entirely new. Ultimately, Rikka wasn't sure how she felt about this, and again we were brought back to the numb feeling. It had been so long since the she-wolf had committed herself to any sort of pack, any sort of loyalty, the feeling was almost foreign. She could barely remember being in a pack, what did it feel like, what was it about? It was mostly curiosity that drove Rikka forward today. And though uncertainty dwelled within the darkest depths of her mind, she pressed onward with a stubborn determination. Somehow dainty gray paws had managed their way upon the mountainous soils, peering anxiously into the heart of the rocky mountains just beyond her reach. Here she was, finally, at the Renegade outskirts. And now, Rikka stood. She rocked on her paws, prodding at the harsh earth with an eager twist upon her maw. This place was so spectacular, glamoured up in all it's grandeur. As awe striking as it was; however, Rikka knew she'd have to confront everything sooner or later, and get down to the gist of her arrival. She debated calling out and summoning someone of the pack just beyond the tips of her paws. Of course, being the she-wolf she was, Rikka settled for the waiting game. Let them do their detective work, for now, she would prowl the outskirts and examine the land before her. ooc; bah, crappy post. sorry! D:

[Makarov]

[atrb=border,0,true][cs=7][bg=000000] Having grown to a size befitting of his bloodline, of hallowed and feared name of ignobility attached to his being forevermore by his own whim, the behemoth pale wolf, when gazed upon, was a force to be reckoned with. Everything was there. The image of the warrior, the build of his massive musculature stretched across his bones, even the tone of his eyes and the crimson-daubed feather woven neatly into the fur behind his left ear. When he moved his legs seemed to stretch out forever in front of him, eating up all the ground in his path with a strange determination. Silence had fallen over Traum, and there had been little word from the many spies which claimed to know every inch of this place. With The Order in the quiet, lurking in the backs of the shadows, Wintersleep knew with every fiber of his being that a storm was brewing itself up in the middle of the fictitious ocean that lay in between them. It turned itself over in anger and impotence, waiting to unleash itself upon the Isle which he had grown to call his home. His birthplace. A storm was coming, and Dragunov and Zero were behind it. He could feel it in his very bones. This was not his territory, but as a Warrior, his duties expanded beyond the borders of his own homestead and into that of the other realms on the island. Passing into the Renegade Empire, was easy going at that, though he had been met by a few gruff figures on his way. Yet he flashed them his badge and his teeth and Wintersleep Solokov was no wolf to be denied. He was an authority, whether the other wolves on Traum saw it or not, and his duties were to every pack residing here. The Order of the Black Stag, they were no pack, they were an organization, a militant group with hellbent ideals on how the world should properly run. They sought to play a metaphorical god when they brought up the hallowed name of Mother Nature. No, every vocation of what he was, a true soldier, knew that he did not serve to the whims of the dark of heart and mind. Weakness is relative. On patrol, he peered across the terrain with the eyes of a bird of prey. It had been a while since he had come across anything. His body moved from out of the scant tree cover. His paws crunched in the thin icy layer of snow and broke through to the softer stuff below into which his sheer weight sank slightly. Wintersleep grunted and tugged at his front limb, freeing it of the snow, but not before the other sank twice as deep, burying him up to his chest. He frowned, one paw gingerly placed on the top layer whilst the other lay buried in a cold tomb. This was his element, he had been born in a snowstorm, and named for a mighty warrior of Russia. If there was anything the Captain of the War Devil Brigade should have been able to conquere, a few feet of snow should have been high on the list. With one final effort, evening his weight out onto his hindquarters, Sleep began to edge the front half of his body out of the snow. Much to his pleasure he was out in a few moments and using those snow-shoe sized paws to his advantage. The beast found his way down off the mound and into the scarsely snowed rocks. To his right, the mountains loomed like sleeping titans and to his left the Renegade Empire. Like his father before him, Sleep had acquired a peculiar taste for the ideal of a perch and so he found a steeper outcrop, scaling up a vein furrowed in it's side and stood atop, surveying the land around him. Nothing but snow, stone and tree as far as his two-toned eyes could see until.. A gray smear, almost hidden against the earthy pale colors of the world below him. It was most definitely a wolf, though her scent would not be carried to him until he found his way back down. The other paused far below, seeming to wait for something. A newcomer to the Renegade lands? Sleep was in no position to accept or greet members but it was his job to be an ambassador to the entire island. He filled his lungs with the icy air, feeling it almost crystallize the dampness inside of them, and released forth a bellowing greeting. There were chances that she could be an Order member, that he was inviting himself into the dance of battle, yet that seemed to encourage him even further. "Hello! Welcome! Privyet!" ooc;; Privyet - Hello in Russian

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[`ℓσśτ .]

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[atrb=background,http://i899.photobucket.com/albums/ac192/fireb4ashes/Rikka---MIDDLE.png] The voice came seemingly out of nowhere, crisp and punctuated as it was. The melody was masculine, but had an odd riddle that seemed almost foreign to the young vixen. She flinched as the sound greeted her ears, and bit back a harsh snap at the surprise in her own expense. A huff bellowed from her lungs, hopefully masking the sheer moment of alarm. And setting her jaw, the she-wolf pulled her ears forward and lifted her crown. Drawing an expression of composure, lips twisting up at a corner, Rikka curled her body around to meet the lupine having called such an odd greeting. And there he stood, a wolf of glory. He carried a thick pelt with long limbs and muscles that swelled under such a mighty coat. The stranger could have been intimidating, given such a build. All he needed was a good scowl and he was set to go. Such a greeting; however, didn't quite cry out the impression of some blood thirsty brute, so Rikka could only assume he meant no harm, for the time being. Besides, the vixen was, after all, Nyx's daughter, some of there block headed pride had worked it's way into Rikka's hard wiring. Block headed pride that refused to back down from even the fiercest of competitors. At last, she'd give the slightest dip of the head, acknowledging that she hadn't been looking right through the stranger. Such a mild grin broadened harmlessly, and finally those words came rolling off her tongue. "Well hello to you too." Rikka cooed casually, giving him a final once over before lowering her rump to the frozen earth. "So what's your name, Stranger? I assume this here is your home?" There might have been the odd chance that perhaps he was a loner, too, wondering through the empire. Though this was unlikely. Why would he be here if he did not belong to such a pack, or wish to join it? Oh, how blindly oblivious Rikka had come to this strange land. And here she was, over analyzing the simplest of encounters.

[Makarov]

[atrb=border,0,true][cs=7][bg=000000] She spotted him, with surprise playing in her eyes. It was a mixture of amusement and petty awe that Wintersleep was all too familiar with. If he had a gold nugget for every wolf, particularly of the female variety who looked at him that way today he would be a very wealthy wolf and he pondered that he probably would be no where near this island. If I were rich I would pry Mom's claws out of this hellhole of hateful wolves and take her away to the motherland. Something tells me she'd love it there. His attention drifted on back down the slope of stones. The lithe she-wolf dipped her head to him, smiling ever so slightly. It was a friendly look, but Sleep knew to be more aware, that here on the borders there was a good chance of an ambush from wolves of a darker affiliation. Every day they grew bolder and pushed their boundaries, bending and breaking the rules everywhere they went. Word spread like wildfire over Traum about the death in Enchanted, and the culprit had been clear in the blood, fur and bodyparts that lay strewn everywhere on the ground. There had been little care or ceremony to the murder, and it pointed to only one group of wolves, notorious for their obscenely graphic ways of dealing with those they found unsightly. Slowly but sure, Wintersleep began to scale down the narrow paw-holds and descended towards Rikka with ease. As the hefty male closed in, the pale-gray female's features became all the more apparent. She was pleasing to the eye, that was one thing he could not deny. But unlike most males, it seemed as though there was this repressed lack of the basest testosterone driven urges. He fought, but only because it was in his blood, in his nature. He fought because he had to. And females, well besides Lakota they had never really taken on a vast importance in his life. It was as though the connection between his brain and his balls had been somehow severed, lost in translation oh so long ago. In many ways he was the polar opposite of his sister, who did not hold back on the instinctive urges and passions that flowed through her veins. She was a devil, tempted by the pleasures of life. He on the other paw cut it out, curbed it and cast it all aside. It was simply just not as important to him and he could not really fathom just now why it drove so many other wolves to points of madness. ...Like Mom. The pale she-wolf sat back on her rump, comfortable with his presence for now, perhaps foolishly so. Could he not have been a great demon in the guise of a guardian? It was easy to find a funny colored feather and simply tuck it behind your ear. This did not seem to phase her though, her thoughts were elsewhere. "Well hello to you too. So what's your name, Stranger? I assume this here is your home?" Wintersleep paused a couple of wolflengths away, secretly still amused with the foot or so of height he had over her. He covered this up with a goofy grin and curled his right forepaw underneath his chest, dipping his head down until it almost touched the ivory snow at his claws. It was a very formal type of bow, and though Sleep did not quite understand the importance of a female in many ways, he was instilled with at a young age, the sheer need to show chivalry and respect to them. If anything it just showed him that they were the weaker sex, delicate, not ready for the trials in life which they had to be carted over. Bitches like Idris had quickly changed his mind on that though, oh man had she ever. Wintersleep now sat as well, curving the luxurious muscles of his hind legs and rump up tight against his body. "Well actually sudárynya, I hail from lands to the East. I don't make my home here no, but I guess it's safe to say all of Traum is my family and I'm just out watching out for it." His crimson right eye shimmered as he winked. "As for my name, Wintersleep Solokov at your service. And who do I have the pleasure of speaking with today? I trust you're well and havn't come across too much trouble on your way here." Oh yes his mind may not be on women, but sure he was quite the charmer either way. NOTE;; sudárynya - Russian for Ma'am.

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