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Welcome to Vagrant
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!

Garm

Garm

Member Since Sep 04 2011 02:31 AM
Offline Last Active Jul 24 2015 12:47 AM

In Topic: Midgard

Jul 23 2015 11:44 PM







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”"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