an advanced play-by-post realistic wolf roleplay

The grove was adorned in white, every tree decorated by the north's heavy hand, a wintery claim, a bitter cold takeover. A group of boars wandered amidst, shoveling the snow with their snouts, tearing up what little plants they could scavenge. A raven shook the snow from a high branch when it took flight. A wolf rested against the trunk of a pine, the snow pushed aside in favor of a bed of gathered needles.

Head raised but with eyes half closed, he watched the forest. The wind curled its fingers through his fur gently, unhurried, having long given up its barrage when nothing would stifle the king. The snow fell lightly from a pale gray sky and collected on the backs of the boars, the tips of the needles, his white lashes. Morning had come and passed, but still the cold remained, still it fell from the skies where the winter sun hid away.

Peace. He felt peace for a singular moment - just one. When he wasn't plagued by a war now that his enemies had succumb to nature's will. When he wasn't pained by the disappearance of his own family. Heilis was only the hiss of the wind, a powerful family lost to the cold that poured down from the stars they loved.

Were they deserving?

His jaw ticked. The peace fought for its sails as the sea roiled and churned.

He should have done more. Had Isolde been right - had he been too reserved? Should he have backed his son, married away his daughter, faced down his enemies instead of retreating further into the mountains?

He could only tell himself that it was passed. The north had thrown him from his throne until he kneeled in his adversary's land, forced to bear all he had failed.

Only for a moment - he would climb again.
art by bethaleil


It was a twisted sort of amusing, wasn't it? He stood now upon land once claimed by an empire. He'd never met a soul to belong to it, no, but their scent markers were all he needed to prove their existence. "Do not enter, lest you face our teeth." They used to warn. Victorian always had the intention of one day trespassing, for of course he was not deterred by their warnings. Fate wiped them clean before he could however, and with time did their borders fade away. And that was simply the funniest thing he'd ever had the pleasure of bearing witness to. So funny, in fact, he had to fight back barks of laughter. Not even an empire could weather the storm and for all their greatness he imagined they thought they had, he could just as easily say this land was his now.

What a foolish bunch they must have been. Victorian was not untouched by the fury of nature. He was scruffy, unkempt, and lean. And still the man strut with all the pride of the sun, for he prevailed and they did not. He; a rogue without imperium to his name. He; a mere boy in the eyes of most. He; the Architect. The sound of snow under keratin drew him away from his thoughts. He followed the distant noise to the family, and could not help but to grin at the sight of the boars. The kingdom had fallen and, in its wake, swine remained.

The Coax nearly missed what lay just beyond the pigs, for it was white like the snow. A bear? No, a man just as he. Victorian did little more than observe him for a long moment, separated by the line of boars. Then he spoke.

"Why were you spared?" Spared famine, disease, death like he believed so many others had found.

"this is the best i can do for you"
table x manip ▶▶ claerie. stock ▶▶ Roman Marvin & Ryoji Hayasaka & Dawnthieves


He arrived just beyond the boars. He thought it a figment of his imagination - surely the black wolf wouldn't approach him again. The outcast, the forgotten, the wolf untouched by the stars. Not after he had threatened to hunt him to the ground if he did. But he saw the way the boars shifted, the young moving inward while the old walled them in. They kept to their scavenging, but he could taste their wariness on the air. No, he was no longer alone.

He shifted, lifted his chin to eye the wolf that watched him with a stark gaze of orange. Not the outcast. It was a pity, he had hoped to kill the man himself. Being taken by the cold was far too easy a death for the forsaken boy.

Why were you spared?

He seemed young, though perhaps it was because Seraphim was reaching the height of his prime. The top of the mountain with a view to greet him - and the descent. It was the way the cold settled deeper into his bones. The ache in his limbs when he made climbs that his younger self had conquered with ease. It was a curious question - questions that only the youth ever seemed to ask.

Spared. As if the storm had chosen Seraphim, old as he was, to survive and not his children. He watched the wolf through the shifting tides of brown. "I outlasted; I was not spared." He rose from his nest of needles, shook his fur of what little snow clung to the tips. "I would not rely on faith to survive the cold." The preacher's son who didn't trust the gods to see him through the night.

"Would you say you were spared if you took down a boar without being lacerated? Or is that a learned skill?" The pigs migrated away from the rising bear only to find another wolf waiting on the other side.
art by bethaleil


Outlasted. A fair point. Did Victorian himself outlast as well? He supposed he certainly had no faith to hinge his survival on. The sky was empty, cold, and lifeless. There were no gods to favor him, to spare him. And if they did exist - surely they'd fear him. The mortal boy so close to them in power, a threat that could only grow should they not snuff it out while it remained but an ember. This storm of ill tidings would certainly be a poor way to do it, so indirect, so impersonal.

But the bear went on, asking Victorian if thought the avoidance of pig-teeth was of skill, or of some other higher cause. His brow furrowed in thought. Eyes bright like the setting sun trailed over the tusks of the boars that so briefly drew near, curled like knives waiting for bared flesh. "Skill can only get you so far, mm?"

He finally spoke, nodding to himself as though reaffirming his own thoughts. Not knowing danger as many other did, Victorian saw no need for skill. It was a poor thought - a naive one. "If it is the will of the boar to live, and its will outweighs your desire to eat, I do not think you could avoid defeat."

Will was such a standing factor in Victorian's mind. All things he succeeded in he believed to have come to fruition due to his desire. He wants it, therefore it shall be. All failures? His own fault for not wanting it bad enough. Undoubtedly this was not the case, but young and ill-taught was the man. Deluded in his own sense. He grinned at the pillar of ivory before him, finding those warm eyes of his a comforting sort.

"Did you want to live, paladin?"

"this is the best i can do for you"
table x manip ▶▶ claerie. stock ▶▶ Roman Marvin & Ryoji Hayasaka & Dawnthieves


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