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We are a feral dog game set in Japan, based off the Ginga Nagareboshi Gin and Ginga Densetsu Weed manga/animes (though you do not need to be familiar with either in order to play here!). You can read more about the game here. If you already have an account, login - otherwise feel free to create an account and join us!
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Holding Hands With the Devil


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#1
Mort

Mort
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Why should it matter, your dreams of a child?
Innocence is gone. Only fear to play with
{{OCC: Private: Rocco}}

Faces are changing, but nothing is changing the pain
Too late

Now, this had been an unexpected turn of events; suddenly, Mort found himself with a travelling companion, a disciple of sorts. It was a strange thing, indeed, for a dog who was used to moving about the wilderness freely, without another creature to look after, even "care" for - this would have been unnecessary, if there hadn't been for a small idea that had been growing within the dark stalker's mind as soon as he laid eyes upon the younger canine. With most creatures, Mort would go into calculations as to how to kill them, what new ways of disposing of another living soul he could come up with, and this time had been no exception, aside from the small, yet swiftly growing idea. Rocco, which was his name, was now walking a few paces behind old "Jack". He was a naive boy, and as far as Mort was concerned, not well-versed in the ways of a grown dog's life. Indeed, he didn't seem to be very versed in living at all. He would often observe Rocco with interest, as there was always something quite fascinating about someone who was still so pure. He would feel a sense of wonder as they would discuss various topics, as the thought-patterns of the younger dog was so very different compared to his own, and one couldn't help but wonder... how could one mould this soft, cleanly slate into something wholly different and twisted, how many pushes would it take until the former, angelic form had transformed into something more akin to a demon's? The question whether or not this was possible at all was not present in Mort's mind; there was no one who could withstand the darker influences of the world forever.

With a glance backwards, the black German Shepherd made sure that his follower wasn't falling too far behind. "We'll soon reach the river," he informed, "once we do, we can take a breather." Turning his gaze back to the road before him, Mort continued to speak. "Have you had any experience with hunting?" If Rocco had survived thus far, it meant that he must have had some skill, or at least intelligence in order to acquire food. Still, it was easily guessed that he was none too great at the violent aspects of living as a feral dog, which was just why this was the first step to take; after all, a canine who was unable to take the life of another creature was worthless. Soon, the murmuring of the river could be heard past the foliage, welcoming the two wanderers with its refreshing, cold water.

Mort approached the river bank and lapped some up, but soon raised his head to inspect his surroundings, as the prospect of whetting his throat didn't interest him too much. He had been here before. By now, he seemed to know Ohu rather well, which was only natural as his most common past-time was to stalk the territory's forests and mountains. Slowly, he sat down, waiting for Rocco to recuperate while he pondered the next step; there was bound to be plenty of game in the vicinity, question was if anything was easy enough for the youngster to catch and kill. Rabbits were quick on their feet, and could deal powerful kicks when caught, while pheasants had been blessed with the ability to fly. Mort had yet to see what skill Rocco had, so chances were that he might be just as swift as a rabbit, in which case he would have at least one thing working in his favour. The question was if he would be able to actually kill his pre

y? There was much still that Mort did not know about his travelling companion, but he would find out in due time.

Word Count: 701
Table picture by: dyet


In your mind's eye lives a memory
Hard to find, blinded by pain
And a cold voice sings a melody
Hear it sing, hell frozen rain

Avatar image by Jennifer McGinn

#2
Rocco

Rocco
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Raised to believe all the hatred,
while all of the innocence faded.

{{OOC:}}
Trust in yourself to follow-
the lies just get harder to swallow.


He had little idea how far they had tread; his paws ached and little Rocco only lingered behind Mort's shadow. The young Akita mix may have journeyed to Ohu on his own, but he hadn't been that far away to begin with. Now he hardly knew where he was. He smelled the faintest traces of humans, but none were to be found - the rocks and ground under paw were nothing Rocco knew. He trusted ol' 'Jack' - why shouldn't he? Old Neight Wolf knew Little Red, why not the little Rock know Death? However the young dog kept silent - he didn't wish to annoy the old dog, in case he was left behind. To try to keep his head off of the pain in his throbbing paws, Rocco began to wonder what Jack had done all this time. He wasn't an old dog - older than Rocco, yes, but not old - and he seemed to be just a wayward traveler. The pup even wondered if it were at all possible Jack had gotten them lost, but how could this be? The dog, once he set off, hardly turned around to even look back at the Akita, let alone to turn around and head down a different path. Rocco wondered if this dog had once been an Ohu soldier; the wear on his fur seemed to make Rocco feel that this traveler had to have been a part of something. Maybe not Ohu, maybe of the Southern Alps, maybe of Mutsu or Hokkaido - Rocco wasn't sure. His leader, Jack, beared no wounds. It was such an anaomly. Maybe he regretted his past, although Rocco never thought of that. He was too young to regret much, but that would soon change if he continued alongside this dog.

"We'll soon reach the river, once we do, we can take a breather. Have you had any experience with hunting?"

Rocco had been so preoccupied by his own thoughts, he jumped when Mort spoke. The old man had actually turned to address him! So he hadn't forgotten, his memory was still intact - but when the dog brought up the prospect of hunting, Rocco's emotions forged anew. His eyes widend and his ears flicked back, "Oh! Are you hungry, Mister Jack?" A look of worry overcame him, no wonder he had decided to stop! Look at how skinny he was...perhaps Jack needed more than just company, he needed help. His ears flicked forward and he smiled, his tail wagging, "I have! Mother's friends showed me how." He had faint memories of his mother having friends, faint memories of their names and looks, how they lived together for awhile until...until what? Rocco wasn't sure what had become of his mother's friends. "I could go catch us something, you could stay here and rest." He wanted to help this old man, and he seemed to forget his acheing paws as he sped up to be walking next to Mort instead of behind him.

The young pup - not quite a pup, but not quite a man - lapped up the river's water with great abandon. He needed all the hydration he could get if he was to hunt. In all, he wasn't the best hunter; he wasn't fast nor strong enough to catch most, and his inexperience only showed that it was harder for him to know where and when to bite. Instead, Rocco knew how to use the enviroment around him; he knew how to pelt rocks, knew how to throw them. It was harder, yes, but its what he was taught. Perhaps it was easier for him to kill if his fangs did not have to taste blood, perhaps it was easier for him to fling a rock than his own weight. His innocent way of attacking was just as weak as one would expect; he had been trained to pelt, yes, but he was not glorious at it. In the time Mort could have brought down a boar, Rocco would be still pelting an unlucky, bruised rabbit with rocks. "What do you want? I don't know much of whats around..." Rocco sat down, looking at Mort and looking around him, trying to figure what lurked in the darkness of the woods and not at all relising the darkness that was before him. The path of needles or the path of pins? Either way ones foot was pricked - and Rocco was ignorant of just how much.


Word Count: 749

"If I stand at the sick person's head, you may say with confidence that you can make him well again; then give him some of this herb, and he will recover. But if I stand at the sick person's feet, he is mine, and you must say that he is beyond help, and that no physician in the world could save him. But beware of using this herb against my will, or something very bad will happen to you."
Avatar © Bruce McKay~YSP


#3
Mort

Mort
  • Outsider
  • 36 posts

Why should it matter, your dreams of a child?
Innocence is gone. Only fear to play with
{{OCC: }}

Faces are changing, but nothing is changing the pain
Too late

"Oh! Are you hungry, Mister Jack? I have! Mother's friends showed me how. I could go catch us something, you could stay here and rest."

Old Mort let his gaze linger over his shoulder for a while, amused by the younger dog's surprise. He seemed to pick up on every minute movement of the mix's facial muscles before he returned his gaze to its former position, watching the trees and bushes grow larger as they continued through the rough terrain, all the while with Rocco's face overlaying the path before him; the small jerk, only seen from the corner of his eye, then the widening of the young dog's eyes and the flick of the ears, soon followed by signs of... excitement, happiness... friendliness? The German Shepherd grinned to himself. The pup, for that was still what Rocco was to Mort, still clung to his altruistic behaviour; quietly, "Jack" wondered if this was always the case. Would the young man have insisted on catching something for him if he had been a few years younger? If they had been of the same age? Would his selflessness have existed then, too? Or would he instead have asked for help? Had Mort been of the opposite sex, it was almost certain that he would have been given the same offer of resting. However, had Mort instead been born as a Morticia, one could be sure that he would have been just as poisonous. The fact that Rocco knew how to hunt made things easier - unless he lied, he knew, at least, how to take another creature's life. Even if it may just be a measly rabbit or pheasant. "Ah," he said with feigned surprise, "That's very kind of you, to think of me before yourself. I'm fine, though I suppose it wouldn't hurt to dine - I was mainly thinking of you, you're young and still growing after all, so you need all the nutrition you can get." The worry that came over Rocco was almost sickening, but Mort had taught himself how to deal with many different emotions, both in himself and in others.

Rocco's innocent mention of his mother's friends passed Mort by without any outwards confirmation of the other's words. He didn't doubt that his companion knew how to hunt, since he assumed Rocco had to know the art of the trade if he had survived this long - unless he had relied on others to provide for him. If it was true though, there was no saying just how skilled he was. Mister Jack was curious. "It's a welcome offer, though I was wondering if I could teach you a thing or two about hunting... but if you don't want me, I shouldn't get in your way." He purposefully worded his sentences in such a way that Rocco be inclined to respond with a sort of restrained eagerness upon hearing the proposal; perhaps he wouldn't, perhaps his worry for the older dog would get the upper hand.

"What do you want? I don't know much of whats around..."

The face in the water stared back at Mort, with his head tilted to one side and the dark, glittering holes appeared like giant stars in the galaxy of his black fur, or two wonderful, shining moons, coloured darkly by the surrounding deep space. "What is easiest for you to catch? Or on the contrary, what do you think is most difficult to catch? I might be able to teach you a trick or two, if you want." Needless to say, he did not have a personal preference when it came to acquiring provisions. Anything was okay with Mort when his stomach began to rumble and his legs started to give out beneath him, for at that moment all that mattered was to fuel his body in order to continue on with his life. Others lived to eat, while Mort simply ate to live, there was never an exception. Never a time when he looked forward to stuffing his face, for to him, it was only an annoyance, a hindrance in his otherwise flawless life. Having to stop in order to eat or drink was like a bump in the road to Mort. Killing interested him, but killing for food was much less interesting than h

is usual endeavours in the field. Still, it was better than nothing. The sight of blood always managed to excite.

Word Count: 807
Table picture by: dyet


In your mind's eye lives a memory
Hard to find, blinded by pain
And a cold voice sings a melody
Hear it sing, hell frozen rain

Avatar image by Jennifer McGinn

#4
Rocco

Rocco
  • Outsider
  • 67 posts





Raised to believe all the hatred,

while all of the innocence faded.


{{OOC:}}

Trust in yourself to follow-

the lies just get harder to swallow.






”That's very kind of you, to think of me before yourself. I'm fine, though I suppose it wouldn't hurt to dine - I was mainly thinking of you, you're young and still growing after all, so you need all the nutrition you can get. That's very kind of you, to think of me before yourself. I'm fine, though I suppose it wouldn't hurt to dine - I was mainly thinking of you, you're young and still growing after all, so you need all the nutrition you can get. It's a welcome offer, though I was wondering if I could teach you a thing or two about hunting... but if you don't want me, I shouldn't get in your way. ”



Oh, he was caught in the trap. Pricked and pinned with needles and pins, threads crisscrossing over his fur. The monster’s shadow loomed and smiled his Cheshire smile, and the words melted off of his tongue and constricted the young pup’s mind. ”If you are sure you can manage, sir.” Rocco stated, apologetically, his bright eyes unwavering from the devil’s words. Oh how smoothly the other dog roped him in, tied him closer like a rodeo calf and ready to stab him through the heart like a bull. ”No, sir, you wouldn’t get in my way. I was only worried about you, but if you say you are strong enough…” Rocco’s ears flicked, and he smiled, looking from the ground up at Mort, ”I’d love to learn from you.” Rocco imagined, in his mind, that Mort was once a soldier who fought against Akakabuto. Rocco imagined Mort fighting bravely, and who could turn down this veteran? Truth be told, Rocco would have offered to get the food regardless of age, but his need to be an obedient, polite child was brought forth twofold because Mort was older than him. Because Mort looked and acted like a ragged mongrel, how could he ignore him?



”What is easiest for you to catch? Or on the contrary, what do you think is most difficult to catch? I might be able to teach you a trick or two, if you want.”



The thought of being taught by a master surpassed Rocco’s wildest dreams, and though he knew well that Mort was not, officially, a soldier of great standing, Mort was indeed an old fellow who could pass on his wisdom. And what was Rocco to do but to accept the offer? It was something unbelievable! Something great and full of honor. His tail wagged as he stood up and waited for Mort to lead the way, ”Well, I don’t hunt like most dogs.” Rocco stated, a bit unsure, ”I don’t use my fangs or my claws, I use rocks. I’ve learned how to kill birds, rabbits, fish…but larger animals, like deer and boar are too hard. I’m not even to the shoulder of most boar! To think I could even pierce its hide…” Rocco picked up a stone and held it between his jaws. It didn’t look like much, but the pup was far from starving; he was no pet, to be sure, but he wasn’t a liar, either. He at least had enough skill to kill food he needed in order to eat. ”Do you have any experience with those, Mister?”





Word Count: 624

"If I stand at the sick person's head, you may say with confidence that you can make him well again; then give him some of this herb, and he will recover. But if I stand at the sick person's feet, he is mine, and you must say that he is beyond help, and that no physician in the world could save him. But beware of using this herb against my will, or something very bad will happen to you."
Avatar © Bruce McKay~YSP


#5
Mort

Mort
  • Outsider
  • 36 posts

Why should it matter, your dreams of a child?

Innocence is gone. Only fear to play with


{{OCC: }}



Faces are changing, but nothing is changing the pain

Too late




”If you are sure you can manage, sir. No, sir, you wouldn’t get in my way. I was only worried about you, but if you say you are strong enough… I’d love to learn from you.”



Mort could feel the reeling in of his prey. When he had first met with Rocco there had been a few obstacles in his way; the first, and most noticeable, being the German Shepherd named Star who had been conversing with the younger dog as he, the good ol' Jack, came across them and introduced himself like a proper gentleman. He could not help but wonder if she had felt something amiss - something she couldn't quite put her finger on - as he had appeared, a stranger to most of Ohu, usually known to others through vague whispers in the night and never by his true name. A mere concept riding on the wings of hushed tales told to unruly pups. But Mort had managed to hook the fish, and now all that remained was to land it and gut it till all that remained was the bones representing the new and reborn Rocco. "I'm glad to hear it," Jack said with a warm smile. "It makes me happy to know that there are still those who care for their fellow dogs - if only there were more of you..." His voice trailed off and he gazed across the river. Perhaps if there had been more of them, Mort as he was would never have been born.



”Well, I don’t hunt like most dogs. I don’t use my fangs or my claws, I use rocks. I’ve learned how to kill birds, rabbits, fish…but larger animals, like deer and boar are too hard. I’m not even to the shoulder of most boar! To think I could even pierce its hide… Do you have any experience with those, Mister?”



Indeed, the technique that Rocco described was unlike anything Mort had ever seen or heard of before - a good-natured chuckle escaped his throat, and he nodded. "Good. That resourcefulness must have served you well - and hopefully it'll continue to serve you well for many years to come," Jack turned to his young disciple, watching as Rocco picked up a rock with his mouth in demonstration. "It doesn't much matter how you do it, as long as the end result remains the same - in this case, a meal to silence your stomach. However, while using rocks as your weapon of choice might be fine for smaller prey, it would hardly work for bigger game..." Mort raised his head and sniffed the air, moving slowly along the riverbank. A little further down the river the water began to flow with increased strength, eventually crashing into some large and sharp boulders just before a smaller waterfall - he peered down the edge and saw how the flow soon returned to its former, leisurely pace. Again, Mort began to sniff the air and followed the scent he had previously caught a whiff of.



"If you wish to catch anything larger than a rabbit or a pheasant, you'd do well in observing your surroundings and use anything you can find to your advantage," Jack continued, glancing towards Rocco. "Can you smell that? A lone deer, not far away. If we surround it, we can herd it towards the river, and then I'll show you what I mean." As they came closer to the source of the scent the deer came into view and Mort crouched low, advancing to the one side of the animal with movements more akin to that of a feline than a canine, as the blades of grass softly brushed against his dark, glossy fur. He kept his eyes peeled on the cervine grazing unawares a few feet away, making sure that his and Rocco's positions were in perfect harmony before he leapt, snarling with saliva dripping from his jaws. The black German Shepherd was not intimidating by traditional means, yet his thin, eerie body managed to frighten foes and prey alike. With some skill, and a little bit of luck, they would lure the deer into the river without much difficulty.



Word Count: 701

Table picture by: dyet




In your mind's eye lives a memory
Hard to find, blinded by pain
And a cold voice sings a melody
Hear it sing, hell frozen rain

Avatar image by Jennifer McGinn




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