an advanced play-by-post realistic wolf roleplay
NORTHOFNOWHERE


[P] Devote [Tristan]
#1

The earthy pelt of the male was not hard to see as he passed through the frozen land that was once a green wonderland. The tons of brown, tan, and white did nothing to hide him from the prying gazes of anyone that may be around. In fact, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Of course, when it came to his siblings he would never aim to hide from them. Alas, he hadn't seen them since the snow changed everything about the home he knew. Despite that, they were the only reason that he did what he did.They were the reason he continued to press on. He still believed they were out there somewhere.

From a young age, he had been tasked with the job of making sure that they were well taken care of. His parents had never tasked him with such a chore of growing up early -- at least, not on purpose. He could only guess that they hadn't intended to die shortly after having the litter. The same could be said about his grandparents, who inherited the pups after his parents' untimely death, but soon even they were no more.

It was beginning to look like a pretty gray life for the siblings. Any that came into the care of them mysteriously died. Lyllo was not one who believed in curses, nor was he one who believed in hexes or magic for that matter. The events, however, made the male think that perhaps there was an exception -- the Yashine siblings were the exception and they were indeed hexed. He had never spoken these thoughts out loud for it seemed quite foolish to put such fearful thoughts into the minds of his younger siblings, but the thoughts were there all the same.

Lyllo came to rest under a tree with a thick trunk, but barer than a naked mole rat. He was hungry, he hadn't found prey that would hold his hunger for more than a few hours in a long while. Still, he did his best to make sure he could keep up his strength. A soft sigh filtered from his lips as he reclined to sit in the frigid cold that blanketed the once green paradise in its icy grip.

"Lyllo Yashine."

table by jay & image by Yej
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#2
T R I S T A N
The blood tasted bitter and rancid on his tongue, but desperate times called for desperate measures. The gaunt snow hare clutched within his jaws was hardly a meal, practically skin and bones, white mottled fur stained with inky red blood, but it was a meal, and honestly, he couldn’t recall the last time that he had eaten.

Winter had arrived in Elsynia, harsh and cruel and unforgiving. The world withered, dead and useless beneath frost, ice, and snow. Animals had grown sick and died, both hunter and prey alike. How many frozen corpses had he stumbled upon through his lonesome, solitary travels? Wolves without names, left to the elements, starving to death or succumbing to the cold, gone and forgotten. It was a life that Tristan hadn’t intended to become a part of when he had left the safety of his parents, but it was the life he was given. His desire to seek purpose, glory, and adventure was put on the wayside, replaced instead with the cruel game of survival. He had to survive. He would survive. Winter would pass, and hopefully, Gods willing, spring would bring new life to the desolate land.

The wanderer’s vibrant cerulean eyes roamed the scenery, taking in the barren trees, gnarled and twisted and black with death. He did not know the history of this place. He didn’t know the history of anywhere here; he was a stranger among this land, foreign and unwanted, yet he pressed on. His pace was slow, weak and exhausted, the hare like a stone within his mouth. The cold bit at the pads of his paws, and desperately he searched for some place to rest and eat his meal. The browns and tans of his coat were frosted with ice, his form far more gaunt than it typically was, a blatant statement that he was underweight and weak. Despite this he stood out sharply amidst the plethora of white, the snows having fallen in buckets upon the gnarled remains of a dead forest.

He scented the air but nothing reached him save the stale scent of winter and the copper tang of blood from his kill. Tristan prowled among the snow, hare hanging from his mouth, but froze when sharp eyes spotted a tawny figure nestled at the trunk of a rotten tree. A wolf. The boy paused, ears tipping back, breath puffing from his maw only to disappear in the cold air. The stranger seemed to not notice him... Was he even alive? Frozen to death, reclining against the tree?

Instinct told him to press on, to ignore the stranger who might steal his meager kill. Compassion, instilled into him by his parents, told him otherwise. It would always be his heart that would win. Carefully the wanderer crept closer, eyes narrowed, and when he stood a few paces away did he lower the hare to the ground, but kept his posture upright and rigid, bearing down over his trophy.

“… Are you alright?” Tristan inquired, praying that he wasn’t about to make a grave mistake. Times like these could bring out only the worst in others, and while he was an optimistic fellow who tried to offer everyone benefit of the doubt, doing so now might leave him dead.


I'll come to thee by the moonlight
though hell should bar the way



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#3

The cold was eating through the thick coat that Lyllo had as if it wasn't there at all. Try as he might, he couldn't help but shudder like a leave against the bare tree. His ears pressed back into the fur on his head as his stomach rumbled painfully. He needed to find food or he was going to perish. Lyllo wasn't ready to die yet. Just as he was getting ready to haul himself to his paws, the voice of another caught his attention. His head whipped around, violet orbs wide with surprise. The cold must be dulling his senses! He hadn't even noticed that the wolf was close. He was positioned over a hare, a kill that was a rare and precious resource nowadays. The scent of blood and a potential meal caused Lyllo's stomach to rumble.

For a fleeting moment, he considered trying to take the hare for himself. As soon as the idea appeared in his mind, it was gone again. He had never been a thief and he wasn't about to take up that lifestyle now that times were rough. His morals were rooted too deep within him, his conviction too strong to stoop to such low levels. He gives a slow nod to the stranger who was undoubtedly a wanderer. He had never seen him around these parts and he had lived in these woods all of his life. "I'm okay, all things considering." He finally spoke, noting how his breath came out in visible swirls as the warm air met the frigid temperature.

He smiled slightly, though it didn't truly reach his eyes. He was far too hungry, far too miserable right now to be truly happy. "Lyllo Yashine." He provided his name with a dip of his crown. "Do you need any help?" Lyllo asked though he didn't really think the male did. He seemed to be fairing better than Lyllo was at the moment. He had, after all, managed to snag a hare. Lyllo couldn't remember the last time he had eaten -- he was sure it was only a few days ago, though. His ears pressed forward on his skull as he awaited an answer from the stranger who provided a welcome distraction from his misery.

"Lyllo Yashine."

table by jay & image by Yej
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#4
T R I S T A N
There was a rigid moment of dangerous tension that passed between them. Tristan remained poised over his kill, crisp cerulean eyes peering out from beneath frosty lashes to try and judge what sort of action the stranger might take. Should he react negatively, every muscle within the earthen wolf’s frame was coiled and ready to grab the snow hare and bolt. There was nothing for him here, and even though he was exhausted and in desperate need of a good rest, preferably somewhere warm, he could just as easily press onward. The other wolf, however, with his tawny colors and striking violet eyes, seemed just as surprised to see him as Tristan was. Those peculiar purple orbs darted downwards to the trophy at his feet, surely having scented the dead hare, but did not lunge to take it. That alone caused Tristan’s posture to lessen in tension, albeit only slightly.

The other male spoke, then, in answer to his inquiry. The tone of his voice sounded tired, lethargic and strained, just as surely they all were. ‘All things considered’, indeed. The wanderer dipped his head in a nod of understanding, and then listened as the tawny male introduced himself. Lyllo Yashine. The name meant very little to one who knew nothing of this land. Should it? Tristan hadn’t the slightest clue. He could be standing in the presence of the most notorious killer that this land has ever seen, or the kindest of souls. He had no idea.

Matching the stranger, or, Lyllo’s smile with one of his own, the nomad found himself relaxing even more. Lyllo’s jump to introducing himself without prompt only strengthened his hope that the said male would mean him no harm. “Tristan,” he began in introduction to himself, pondering for only a brief moment if he should include his own family name, before deciding that it would pose no issue. His name carried little weight here, in a land of the unknown and mounting misery. “Tristan Cadfáel. I’m alright, I guess.” He could most definitely always be worse. He was cold, yes, and hungry in an amount that no snow hare could sate, but at least he was alive and uninjured.

Mulling over his thoughts for a moment longer, he dipped his muzzle downwards, motioning towards the hare at his feet. Ears forward, still cautiously watching the tawny male, the wanderer went on. “… You look hungry. Do… You want to share? It isn’t much, but… We need to look out for each other.” Strangers though they still might be, it had been ingrained into Tristan’s head to do everything in his power to help those in need. Yes, maybe he didn’t have a lot himself, but right now, in this cruel winter with death surrounding them and the world seeming to be falling down around their ears, something as simple as kindness could mean the difference between life and death.

Hoping that Lyllo would understand his honesty, Tristan took a step back so that he was no longer standing over his kill, letting his tail droop and shoulders relax. When he spoke next there was a noticeable joy to his tone, cerulean depths bright with eagerness. “The Gods showed me their favor in letting me make a kill. I’d like to share it with you.” Did Elsynia even have Gods? Tristan didn’t know that, either.


I'll come to thee by the moonlight
though hell should bar the way



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