9 replies to this topic

[Garm]

{{OCC: Tyr and Skoll only. Also bad starting post x_x. }} The natural beauty of the area was lost on Garm. He paid no mind to the trees and the like unless he caught the scent of something within them. However the Greenland dog did not wander far off course. It was not time to hunt and kill, it was time to search for information. Information that did him little good, but would help Tyr tremendously. Who exactly were the other dogs of this land? What was their purpose? The scents of dogs literally grew more abundant with every step, and it was hard even for Garm to ignore. He was only sad to see – or rather, not see – the remains of dogs scattered about. Death had come or gone now, and Garm was late to the party. Yawning, his drowsy eyes looked around for Tyr. It was not that Garm feared being lost, but Tyr was his leader for now, he looked up to the dog – metaphorically – as the one who switched his drive to kill off or on. Rather then call out for Tyr when he did not see him right away, Garm merely sat down. His golden eyes watched the landscape with indifference. He saw nothing pretty in this bloody forest; he only saw the lack of death which it held. Garm began to pant, and, finding nothing to hold his interest, he let himself imagine Death. He imagined the trees wilted and burnt black with death. He imagined the grasses to be so dry that they were more yellow than even his eyes. Instead of Tyr arriving, Garm imagined coming upon his carcass. And how lovely it would be. The simple dog almost expected to find just that now, and would be disappointed (or would he?) once he saw his friend being alive as ever. His drowsy eyes blinked, his panting ceased for a moment for him to survey the land full of invisible living dogs. He imagined them all dead; oh what a paradise! To stroll through bodies of fallen comrades was the greatest feeling Garm could imagine. A bit of wind ruffled his coat, and this caught his attention. He wished the wind to be dead, too. The air smelled of Tyr and other dogs; he was not far off. Garm did not think he had split off from his comrade, he had simply trekked on while his small friend lagged behind. Garm searched for Death and nothing more; and what was it Tyr complained about? Garm tilted his head slightly but had no thoughts of which to answer his question. His brain did not care for such matters, it stood with its lover, Death, and cared nothing for the logical minds around it. This suited Garm quite fine, but he was growing anxious. He wanted Death, he yearned for it – it was about the only thing he yearned for – and yet there was none to be had. Sure, he may have ended the lives of some pesky insects by sitting in the grass, but those were simply pinpricks on his passion for Death. He needed much more than that to be satisfied. And yet, for all this anxiety he didn't hurry one bit. He lumbered at his own pace, searching for death. Something Tyr would surely complain about; maybe Garm had gone off course and it was only through Tyr's kindness that he stayed with him. Such lecturing fell on deaf years or stupid mind, whichever the case it would change nothing, and Garm would remain sitting and waiting for Death to cast itself before him. Word Count: 649

[Tyr]

{{OCC: Hopefully this table won't... look too messed up. Sorry if the text's too small, doesn't seem like I can change it. }} Tyr took in the beauty of his surroundings; it was not his wont to openly admire the various places he passed by through his many travels, but this didn't mean that he didn't appreciate nature. The Icelandic Sheepdog was quite capable of admiring the finer things of life, but he rarely took the time to stop and take it all in. This day was no different - there were other, more pressing matters that weighed down upon his brain, and thus he soon forgot all about the maple trees and their crimson arms, swaying lightly up and down or side to side whenever a bird lighted upon one of them, or when the wind's shrill whine increased in power. Now, Tyr might not have stopped to take in the sights, but the red nuances of the forest did remind him of something... A few minutes earlier, the smaller dog had seen his comrade, Garm, continue onwards in his usual, slow gait while Tyr halted, his nose only a few inches from the ground. It was hardly necessary to invest so closely, for these lands were positively drenched in the scent of other canines. Obviously a pack of dogs, unless his nose was beginning to deteriorate. What other canines could there have been? He had heard tales of noble wolves roaming this country many, many years before, but they had died out. Tyr was not too keen on the idea to hunt a species to extinction, for if the game was eradicated then what job was there left for him to do? He would not have minded to find a wolf to bring down, it would pose a formidable challenge for him and Garm - that is, if he even dared bring his old comrade with him. Though Garm was a good hunter indeed, Tyr doubted his ability to control himself. He even had doubts about his own restraint from time to time. The diminutive dog raised his head and glanced over his shoulder in the direction he'd seen his old partner walk off to, and let out a sigh. If Tyr's age would have been multiplied by the amount of times he'd sighed during his six years - indeed, if one were to multiply it by the amount of sighs that had been brought on by Garm in one way or another - his age would have surely exceeded a thousand. He found Garm sitting not too far off, waiting dumbly, almost loyally for his leader. There was nothing for Tyr to complain about there, as it was much better to stay in one place instead of wandering off in a territory they knew next to nothing about. His light footsteps amongst the leaves made his approach nearly soundless, and as he drew closer to Garm he noticed the silence of the area. Perhaps it was merely his imagination, brought on by the blood-drenched trees with their eerie dances, but the place seemed decidedly different compared to the other places they'd been so far. Finally he stopped beside the Greenland Dog, giving him a quick look. "Does this not look like a place fit for slaughter? Only, it seems we have come too late to the feast." Maybe this was Tyr's version of cracking a joke; it might fall on deaf ears, but even Garm could not miss the morbid beauty of the place, not when he had his friend there to point it out for him. Word Count: 646

"All the gods laughed, except Tyr."

Avatar by eqkrishena

• Back to top

[Skoll]

Another day, another patrol. Skoll had healed from his injury and returned to the land that he had claimed for his home. His return had not changed much but he did feel a certain... pride, perhaps, in defending it from the threat that he had found; a certain protectiveness over the land. It was the home of himself, of his pack and of Raidon and Hitora. It deserved to be defended lest fools wander into it and ruin it, lest some upstart think he could get a hold in the land... lest the beast that was a dog but not a dog returned and others had to be warned. So, for once, he found himself not begrudging the patrol through the lands. Some of the other dogs would be far more willing to scrap with a stranger in their lands, some of them would probably be far more eager to just outright kill that stranger (and some to even dine on that stranger's flesh). Skoll was more willing to wait and see if he needed to. Most days. It depended on his mood, on the state that he was currently in. Right now, Skoll was somewhere in the middle. This was not his favorite part of the territory held by the Southern Alps and he would much rather be back in the heart of the land, but this area was not the worst of it. It even held a sort of serene beauty at times if one was looking for that sort of thing. Skoll was a bit too rough in nature to be searching for the beauty in the land but there were days he could appreciate it. He usually could appreciate much better when it was in the grip of the darkness of night and when the moon cast her soft light down onto the reds and oranges, muting their colors and yet somehow illuminating them all in the same time. Right now, however, he was not in the mood to appreciate it although he was not worked up so much that he would lash out at the first individual that came near him. He was nearing the end of his patrol. Soon he could return home and lose himself in the end of the day, waiting for night to fall. At least, that had been the plan just a few moments before. The scent on the breeze had tickled at his nose and told him that his job here was most definitely not done. There were two strangers on their lands. Were they there for a purpose? To attempt to ruin, to destroy? Were they there to join? Or were they just wanderers? The first met swift ends. The second he could deal with and the third he could grudgingly allow a swift passage to. It was time to do his job for the leaders of the pack yet again and see what would come of it. Perhaps they might gain two new members or perhaps there might be a different sort of red spilled all over the forest floor before it was done. Only time would tell. His sure strides carried him through the land until he came upon the duo of canines, just in time to hear the darker of the two dogs speak. "There will be no slaughter here. At least, not yet," the dark shepherd rumbled the words out as he approached. The meaning of his own words certainly wouldn't be lost on the strangers in the least. At least he hoped not. Skoll greatly despised speaking with idiots, after all. © Judah & Sker.

[Garm]

{{OCC: ---}} "Does this not look like a place fit for slaughter? Only, it seems we have come too late to the feast." Garm had sat idly. Thinking about nothing, and he barely reacted when Tyr came close. His ears did respond to his friend's voice, however. He tilted his head with a slight confusion? Was that it? Confusion? He now looked around, as if he hadn't done so before, and saw the faint red colour to the trees. He understood that red was blood, and so Death. A twitching smile flew on his jaws, but he hardly reacted past that. He simply remained sitting, his gaze lazy and sleepily looking over the land that was not quite yet drenched with blood. And yet, as he sat there in his daze, Garm sensed the presence of something they had come to find; another dog. However like he had with Tyr, Garm did not respond. His ears flicked, and his nose inhaled the approaching scent, but he cared little. If he was not hunting or fighting, there was no need to act excited. There was no death around, as much as they could hint at it, and this disappointed Garm greatly. He almost seemed to fall asleep with his boredom. He might have if the figure had not spoken, but the Greenland dog had just barely closed his eyes to dream of Death when the German Shepherd broke the silence. His eyes snapped open and his ears stood erect, so suddenly it seemed to be out of character. "There will be no slaughter here. At least, not yet," ”And who are you to know Death's bidding?” Garm's head tilted ever so slowly. ”This is the breeding ground of Death, let it be born if it wants to be.” His words would have been poetic if they were not spoken with a tone of a dumb hunting dog; his voice was a drone, a monotone growl. Yet Skoll had dared to say that Death, Garm's mate, Garm's true love, could not exist here. How was he to act when the one he loved was insulted? Well, in truth, he acted very little. He merely stated some lines that must have been said by someone in the past. He blinked slowly and now took the time to look Skoll over. Nothing was out of the ordinary, Garm began to fantasize, however, a nice scar forming itself upon his neck. He imagined his fangs burying themselves in the dog's fur sand ripping him apart. Oh the thought of such was intoxicating to the executioner. His tongue moved to trace invisible blood off his fangs, and Garm realised sadly (?) that there was no blood. The German Shepherd was still alive as ever, as was Tyr, as was he, and as was the world around them. Everything became boring and without interest to Garm once more. He yawned now and looked over at Tyr, waiting for his master's call. It was the first time he had really acknowledged Tyr's presence. There was no doubting Garm was a monster; he was probably uncontrollable given the opening, but he was loyal. He was the mindless soldier, and would forever be that. He served Death through the command of his leader, who for now was Tyr. The enemy before them – if it was an enemy, all that Garm knew was that it was alive when he wished it to be dead – could be the next meal they were to have. Not that Garm was a cannibal, but a feast of Death was as good as a Feast full of wild game to Garm. He tried with difficulty to even remember why they needed to talk to this dog, and eventually his mind told him that they were quite lost. No idea where they were, no idea of what to expect – whether alive or dead – and that was always bad for a hunter. He needed to know the landscape to be in his element, even Garm knew that. Death could not exist with life in full bloom, but it would creep in. Only a few places at first, but oh, would it expand. All Garm needed to know was when he was to conduct this Death and where. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered what colour the German Shepherd's Blood was. Would it match the scenery? For once Garm thought more like he was of nature and not of Death, but the morbidity of it all perhaps made it defunct. Word Count: 813

[Tyr]

{{OCC: }} Tyr had not expected a great reaction from his friend. He knew the other dog too well for that; the only thing that would, maybe, lure Garm out of his death-like state was any mention or promise of Death itself. It was of no matter to him, he didn’t need a talkative companion by his side, no matter how dreary the days became when one’s friend was such a single-minded creature, he knew that his subordinate was amongst the best to be had. After all, their occupation did not need intelligence as much as it needed stamina, fearlessness and resilience – Tyr had all of these, as well as a good head on his shoulders. Garm was the brute force of the duo, and together they complemented each other rather well. If the Greenland Dog had been without any redeeming qualities, chances were that Tyr would not have put up with him as long as he had. As he contemplated whether they should press on further into this ominous territory, a noise caught his attention and his ears swivelled around towards the noise. "There will be no slaughter here. At least, not yet," ”And who are you to know Death's bidding? This is the breeding ground of Death, let it be born if it wants to be.” His eyes fell upon the dark German shepherd as he emerged in front of them, his voice confident and not without a hint of warning. If his words had not yet made it clear, the scent coming from his direction surely did. Tyr scrutinized the stranger carefully, his blue, piercing eyes looking the larger canine over with a certain sternness, as if he was insulted to have been interrupted in his one-sided conversation. However such was not the case, as this had been exactly what they had been looking for. He gave no acknowledgement to Garm’s words at first, but concentrated wholly on the new dog. ”I take it you are of these lands, then,” Tyr said with a barely noticeable nod. ”If so, would you be able to tell us exactly where we are?” His voice was, as usual, neutral, bordering on cold, but his bearing, though wary, did not tell of hostility or impertinence. Tyr was not one to dance around a subject but struck immediately at the heart of the matter – and to him, this was the natural course of things. Perhaps this dark stranger would be the same, but if not, it was nothing which the Icelandic Sheepdog couldn’t handle. He continued to gaze at Skoll as if he was a precious prey who, with barely a second of warning, would flee – or rather, in this case, attack – as soon as one’s eyes wandered elsewhere. Tyr thought back to Garm’s words; he found himself puzzled, for his friend could not have heard them from his own mouth, yet who else was there to plant ideas within the brute’s skull? He knew very well the fantasies that must have begun to spread throughout what could be likened to Garm’s “mind”, but since he had not yet given the signal for action, the protector of Hell remained calm, although reluctantly one would assume. Tyr knew what luck he had to have such a soldier on his side, and as the God of war he had the ability to direct this strength in the shape of a dog wherever and whenever he chose, but there was no need for such. Bloodshed would have to wait – though, as Garm had said, if Death wanted to be born it surely would, and there was little Tyr could do to stop it and in the end he might feel all the better for it, granted that he still remain on the side of the living. For now, he merely waited for the German shepherd’s answer, hoping it would shed some light upon their whereabouts. Word Count: 701

[Skoll]

"You talk pretty big for someone who doesn't even know what or whose lands he walks on," Skoll directed the words towards the larger of the two dogs. He was never very fond of the dogs who came in and challenged him; whether that was an actual challenge or ones who simply refused to listen to what he was saying and worked off their own agenda. However, a quick look between the two dogs told him which one that he should pay more attention to. Oh, he wasn't about to turn his back on the white furred dog. He was large enough to do damage and just because he was sitting placidly, even a bit vapidly after his words, that didn't mean he couldn't be a threat. But the way that the other dog comported himself told Skoll that he was used to being the one in charge between the two of them. The shepherd's brown eyes focused more on him even as they narrowed. He stared at the other dog, mentally testing for weaknesses or places he could exploit if a fight came down to it. Oh, how long had it been since he had been involved in a fight? A true fight and not the training sparring he had engaged in with Rasp or the one-sided fight for his life against the not-dog? Too long. He pulled back just a little bit so that he could straighten up, hold himself just a bit higher. He was, at least, slightly taller than one of the dogs and rather taller than the other. He didn't think size was everything in a fight, but it could help at times. Then again, it was two against one - not that he had never had those odds before, but it was always something to consider when faced with two foes. If they were foes. Despite the other dog's words, there had been nothing else to make Skoll consider these two to be foes just yet. Only time would tell if it would remain that way. At least the smaller of the two, the one that seemed to be the leader of them both, had given him a tiny nod. It was a least a tiny sign of respect. "My name is Skoll. Skoll of the Southern Alps pack, on whose land you tread." And sometimes, that was more than enough to get a cringe out of some dogs. They had not yet achieved a name such as Hougen during his rule, but rumors were swift and quick to fill the ears of the land. Sometimes, rumors were more terrifying than reality. He turned his head just a little to keep an eye on the other dog as well, but so far neither of them had made any move. "This land is claimed by Lord Raidon and Lady Hitora. Do you seek passage through it?" Because that was about all they would get. Those that wanted to join usually announced themselves, or asked if they were in the land of the pack that they sought. So far, these two just seemed to be lost. They weren't exactly lucky to have stumbled across this land, although they were lucky that it was Skoll that had found them. There were some dogs within the pack that probably would have been more than happy to murder them out of hand, if only to eat their flesh or just to feel the thrill of a fight. Skoll would at least temporarily give them the benefit of the doubt, although if they pushed him too far he, too, would not exactly deny himself the thrill of a fight. However, he didn't know who might miss these two dogs if he, or any other member, took them out. There was a reason that, for now, the Leaders just preferred that strangers be escorted to the border and told to not return. © Judah & Sker.

[Garm]

{{OCC: ---}} Garm looked over the German Shepherd; the dog did indeed have a regal manner, but it was lost on Garm. Even a deer had pride that she was part of a herd! It made no difference to Death if you were a prince or a pauper, in the end you were dead. Yet this fellow wasn't a deer, Garm knew that much. He was a canine, one of them; did he have an owner like they had? Or was he feral? Tyr's mind handled these things, but Garm's mind did wonder if there were more of him. Bunches of prey meant a larger probability of capture, but competition? It was rare when he had been part of a group, but now it was just Tyr and Garm; war and death, though the odds, when one thought about it, were not against them. Garm's mind, it should also be said, didn't seem to remember or recount his times in a pack. He couldn't name another member's name, nor his owners'-but he had lived in the wild, he had learned and seen other dogs. German Shepherds were vicious, Garm remembered. He was larger than them both, but Garm only saw it as an advantage; it was easier to bite up than bite down, at least for him. Again his mind wandered. His fangs probably would fit around Skoll's neck like a collar, and Garm merely blinked at the thought. His bored countenance almost made him appear laid back, and had he been another dog, born of other ways, he may have laughed aside what he had said. But this dog, whether or not he was to die today, still stood between him and Death and still opposed him. Garm found this intolerable, but for now was dormant. ”I take it you are of these lands, then, if so, would you be able to tell us exactly where we are? ” The Greenland Dog's skull shadowed his friends'; it too nodded, although he only copied the actions of Tyr. Garm's eyes stood on Skoll, not wavering, although he seemed to be falling asleep. He paid enough attention to the conversation to know that Tyr was asking where they were; they certainly weren't in any place Garm recognised. Then again, traveling as a wild dog and traveling as a human's comrade lead to different settings. Still, Garm would have thought to remember a place that would have been quite an erotic fantasy for him if he was of the romantic type; the blood coloured trees matched his mate well – but as he was simple minded, or so it was to be believed, he had only the thought that the place reminded him of blood. Such a place would be hard to forget, even with Garm. He could remember some things, surely, such as Tyr's name, his name, and various other bits of trivia that were needed in order to survive. But, when this German Shepherd-who would soon give his name as Skoll-introduced himself, would Garm remember? Probably not. "My name is Skoll. Skoll of the Southern Alps pack, on whose land you tread. This land is claimed by Lord Raidon and Lady Hitora. Do you seek passage through it?” Garm's head tilted slightly at the name. It held an echo of ironic familiarity, but there was more to it than that, far above the reaches of Garm's mind. What he focused on, instead, was that this dog insisted on calling these lands owned. Garm did not know the native lingo, it hardly troubled him, but Lord Raidon and Lady Hitora did not seem like 'Death' to him. He raised his head and sniffed the air slowly, catching passing whiffs of other dogs, “your leaders do not own this land. They only use it. Death owns the land, and he will come back to claim it one day.” Lowering his head, Garm's eyes looked over Skoll again; their was an essence of ominousity in his voice, but even it was blinded by the simplicity of Garm's voice. He still stared at Skoll though, with a predator's gaze. He made no aggressive movement, and in truth cared little about who owned what land, anyone could have stood where Skoll did and Garm's gaze would have remained the same. He blinked slowly, and the dull eyes were like the triggers of a gun. Although his fur did not stand, although he was not tense, he was waiting for some sort of cue from Tyr. Of course, Garm had no care of killing Skoll or anyone on these lands, had no reason to take over the lands or otherwise – but he was one to enjoy death. Without it, the world...wasn't the same for Garm. It was a boring drone of absolute nothingness of lively life and flaunting flora and fauna when he would want nothing more than the opposite. Oh woe was Garm. Word Count: 871

[Tyr]

{{OCC: }} "You talk pretty big for someone who doesn't even know what or whose lands he walks on," Tyr had been forced to stifle a sigh as he heard Garm's words; had he been anyone other than the stern, humourless dog as he was, perhaps he would have excused his comrade's behaviour, blaming it all on a mental deficiency (and for all we know, it could very well be true), but no matter if this was true or not Tyr had no desire to put down his companion in such a way. Indeed, he often found himself annoyed at the dull Garm, but the fact that they were partners in war was hard to ignore. No matter what the smaller member of the duo said about the death-worshipping dog, it was clear that he still respected and valued Garm. "My friend has a great desire to make the living... unliving," said Tyr, "but he was not speaking of you or your pack - why would two wanderers dream of slaughtering a pack by their lonesome, when there is game to be had?" These words could have easily had a sly edge to them, if not a haughty, but in the mouth of the sheepdog they appeared trustworthy to all but the keenest of ears. It was however easy to distrust them for other reasons, not the least because of their intrusion into the Southern Alps itself. Tyr was of course well aware of the subtle lie that lay hidden in his words - for there was, indeed, a slight desire of taking on something so grand as a pack of dogs within him, but he knew well the foolishness of embracing such an idea. "My name is Skoll. Skoll of the Southern Alps pack, on whose land you tread." Size had never been able to frighten the war God; naturally, he took the size of his enemy into account before each battle and devised strategies based off of this, and chose whether to be on the offensive or the defensive depending on the situation. Tyr was no stranger to engaging enemies larger than himself by his lonesome - it was usually a difficult endeavour, but he had speed and ruthlessness on his side. However, this German shepherd - this Skoll - was no clumsy bear, and though his Icelandic kin might have had an advantage in speed, it would be a tough battle nevertheless. The way in which the stranger spoke and bore himself told as much. "The name of the place tells me little more than just that - the name. It is easy to figure out it belongs to a pack due to the smell." How was they to know about the reputation of a Japanese pack of dogs? It was true that rumour was swift, but it had yet to reach the two Scandinavians' ears, and so they were, for now, unaware of the fear it instilled in the remaining packs of the country. "The cold lands we hail from know not of the packs, nor their feats, on this small island." Just as the name of the lone wanderer resonated with something within Garm, it did likewise with Tyr, although the bell rang much clearer and echoed long after Skoll had spoken. "This land is claimed by Lord Raidon and Lady Hitora. Do you seek passage through it?" “your leaders do not own this land. They only use it. Death owns the land, and he will come back to claim it one day.” Again, there was mention of names that meant precious little to the ears of Tyr, yet it was wise to store them away for future reference. He heard Garm's reply to Skoll's claim but did not comment on it, he was far too focused on the guard dog who patrolled the borders of these occupied lands. "Eventually," Tyr began with a nod. "But we are foreigners, seeking to better understand the geography of the country and its situation. You speak with respect about your leaders - are they known as great war lords, worthy of this respect?" For now, there was a slight interest within him, which could as easily be shattered by a few simple words uttered by Skoll, although it would not prove enough to break Tyr's spirit. He hardly expected them to come across a pack skilled in the arts of war, led by canines who knew their way around the battlefield, the first thing they did after coming to Japan. Still, he waited patiently for a reply. Word Count: 701

[Skoll]

The shepherd did his level best to keep his focus on both of the dogs. Far too many were the dogs that had shifted full attention to another, only to lose their life. While he was sure that the smaller dog was the boss, that didn't mean that the larger one was useless. He had seen enough dogs that used larger ones for protection to recognize that the other dog was likely a fairly decent threat. For all that, though, more of his conversational focus was on the smaller male. Skoll wasn't stupid enough to believe that the larger brute was falling asleep but he did seem to zone in and out of the conversation. Perhaps he was. Maybe he had a damaged mind or, more infuriatingly, maybe he didn't care one way or the other what Skoll said or about the trespassing that he was engaging in. Maybe both. At the very least, the other dog seemed to be used to dealing with other dogs encountering his companion. It didn't mollify him overly much, but he unbent enough to at least give a snort at the words. "I should hope not. You might find more than a petty challenge if you were to try." Skoll was not in the least bit ashamed to boast about the strength at his back. It was a common enough occurrence among male dogs, after all; especially those that were younger and full of themselves. But he had yet to meet a dog, even a pair of dogs, that would do well against the combined powers of a pack. Especially a pack such as their own. Skoll considered himself a fairly excellent fighter but there were many others in the pack; those with speed, those with power, those with skills that could be more than a bit terrifying. Briefly he thought of the fact that the strange being that had injured him probably could deal with the pack, but he dismissed it. The less that he thought of that not-dog the better. He didn't want to somehow summon it with a mere whisper of a thought, after all. The slight curl of the edge of his muzzle to show a bit of fang gave truth to the fact that he was less than pleased with the answer, though he couldn't find much actual fault in it. It was not the most polite but it was truthful. But then there were times where Skoll operated much more on his emotions than any sense of logic - usually when he was tired, hot and irritated by the lack of a different kind of light - but so far these two had not offered and actual threat. "That doesn't give me names to know you by," he countered. Not that he really cared or wanted to know, but the Leaders would probably kick his ass to Ohu and back if he didn't ask so that he could report it later. After all, if they turned out to be spies or something of the sort having at least an assumed name was a good starting place. He gave another slight snort before he spoke again. "And where do you hail from?" Skoll knew little of outside countries. He had been born and raised in this country, existing in both cities and the wild. But he had never cared to learn much about what might exist out of the places that he had called home. "Not for a long time," Skoll couldn't help the snapped response to the white-furred dog. Of course, if anything death was a prominent feature of the Southern Alps. There had been quite a few intruders and innocents that had fallen to the pack and the land. It was common enough knowledge within the pack, after all, to the fate of such dogs. And then there was always the natural course of death - injuries, prey animals. And that was saying nothing of all the death that had happened in Ohu just a short time ago. Still, it was a silly idea to believe that death itself held claim on a land. It might appear once in awhile but it was no being setting up claim on a territory, after all. And he didn't bother to give the smaller dog the warning that 'eventually' was not going to translate to 'in a few days'. 'Eventually' would turn into Skoll quickly escorting them to the nearest border once their curiosity had been filled, unless they requested to be taken to a specific border or a meeting with the Leaders. He considered his response to the other male. They were strong in violence and war, yes, but they didn't want to tip the scales too soon either; claiming that they were great war leaders might draw attention from unwanted corners too soon. "They are strong dogs who know the way of fighting intimately. They are not to be crossed and are worthy of all the respect one can show for them." Because just a few moments in their presence had been enough to tell him that, and he had worked fairly hard to avoid allying himself with any pack in the past. The amount of power that rolled off of Raidon alone had been enough to convince him. © Judah & Sker.

[Garm]

{{OCC: }} ”"My friend has a great desire to make the living... unliving, but he was not speaking of you or your pack - why would two wanderers dream of slaughtering a pack by their lonesome, when there is game to be had? The name of the place tells me little more than just that - the name. It is easy to figure out it belongs to a pack due to the smell. The cold lands we hail from know not of the packs, nor their feats, on this small island. Eventually, But we are foreigners, seeking to better understand the geography of the country and its situation. You speak with respect about your leaders - are they known as great war lords, worthy of this respect?” “I should hope not. You might find more than a petty challenge if you were to try. That doesn't give me names to know you by, and where do you hail from? Not for a long time, They are strong dogs who know the way of fighting intimately. They are not to be crossed and are worthy of all the respect one can show for them.” Garm remained silent for the most part, he had little to add or learn from the conversation other than this opposing dog would look rather nice with his organs spilled. Skoll would look much better with the red blood smeared to match the trees when in bloom, and any amount of grass was much better fertilized with death than life. You did not bury someone who was alive; you buried them when their soul left their corpse, buried them when they were taken by death. Only then could they add beauty to the world. Blinking and sighing, Garm no longer watched Skoll or Tyr, or anything, really. It was as if he wasn’t there, as if his mind wandered and his body was an unloving shell, a husk from which his innards were held. However, the moment Skoll’s lip moved, Garm’s reflected. Suddenly his eyes were wide, his ears erect, and though he was still sitting, he looked more like a statue coming to life than a lifeless blob. His fangs shown right back at Skoll, and though he made no movement toward Skoll, it was easy to tell that any threat toward Tyr was a threat that ended with Garm attacking. Perhaps not because Garm wished to protect his friend as much as it was his switch; protect his master and you may have the blood. Protect your mortal master, and death shall be had! A contract killer, of sorts, but where did his loyalties lie? Did he even have such? Could his brain process ally or foe as anything other than ‘prey’? His mind never let it known. Maybe he saw the whole universe in those eyes of his, or maybe his mind was as simple as an on or off switch, and all it took was a minute reaction and the sparks flew into his brain like Dr. Frankenstein’s monster. Reborn, alive. Breath filtered out like a dragon and echoed in his chest; a low, murmuring snarl. Not quite a growl, not quite a snarl; it was something unique to Garm and Garm alone. And yet, he sat there sitting, his eyes focused on Skoll the way they would be focused on any prey animal, and yet, there was that slight shift. That slight pull, tugging, that caused his eyes to wander off course and away from Skoll. It was certain though, he had no fear. It wasn’t pride that made him act like this, id he even had pride, but he certainly lacked fear. Dog or no dog, the words were venomous. ”You have no control over Death. It only winds around you, shackles you to the earth, not to be broken until…” Garm’s thoughts wandered, ”we come from Hel.” There was no utterance of where Hel was, or who Garm was. No reason or logic behind his words, but it seemed natural to him. He did not mean Hell in the warm sense, no, the missing L, though hard to hear and trace, was there. Garm referred to the cold Hel, not the hot one, and indeed, they both hailed from northern countries much colder than Japan. ”Respectful warriors or not, Death will claim all. Some sooner than others.” It might have sounded like a threat, but Garm’s slow blink seemed to mean…what? His mind didn’t seem capable of a threat, the lumbering hound simply sat there, watching and not watching Skoll, his fangs bared but without any charge. His switch not yet tripped. Word Count: 830