[ ✸ ] you are NOT the father.

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The mission he'd been sent on was one of pleasure and sweet sorrow, legs wandering onward, aimlessly yet with a target. He couldn't help but let the thoughts stab him in the frontal lobe. He couldn't help but think of the act in its most raw form. The very fact his own blood had mingled with a monster (which was a strong word given their racist, judgmental ways) made his skin grow limbs and run away.

Though he had to be true to himself. There was less blame on Vengence, as Flynn knew the male would likely make love with a pile of manure if it was warm enough, and more fault on his Queen. Why in her right mind would she do this to herself? Still, he had so many questions she hadn't yet responded to, but his tongue didn't have the strength to speak out when he knew the answers she'd return would ignite a fire in his chest.

Did Vengence even love her? Of course not. He snorted in his own dark humour, slamming his rump upon the ground as the dreadfully familiar stench of decomposition swirled up his nostrils. A deal is a deal. He sat, waiting. The beast would be there soon enough.

—

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Luckily for Flynn, the Nightwalkers didn't have enough members yet to allow him to lounge around within the heart of his lands to let the followers watch the borders. No, he was always on the move to make sure that the borders were watched. Refreshed with his own putrid essence, and guarded by the lord of the land himself. Perhaps later he would grow fat and lay around enjoying the fruits of his labour.

Instead he was quick to find the Elkshire resident on his border, sitting around like some petulant child waiting to be found. If it weren't for the stench of Célnes' presence and the alliance, the boy would have a rather large target instantly painted on his back - instead, the beast approached calmly. Mist swaying with every step as it swirled around its master, stopping only steps away from the brunette.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of an Elkshire visitation?” Cocking his head to one side, he eyed the man with a curious single eye, letting his tail sway once from one side to the other with intrigue curling it at the end. 

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Then like some sort of demonic, foul-smelling magic, the man manifested himself. “Ah... Pleasure... Yes,” And now everything he wanted to say in his chest was suddenly pushing at his teeth. “That's what this is.” But he'd be dammed if he traveled all this way (which really wasn't that far, but by the Gods did it stink) to ruin everything that his Queen had planned. Thus, the young prince pushed a smile to his lips, boyish features gleaming elegantly as a sign of health before allowing himself to bow... Reluctantly.

Personally, he didn't have a true issue with Vengence, which probably came off as a surprise for most. Flynn hadn't turned a blind eye on the falsehoods of his own blood, his own pack. They, too, were vicious and cursed in their own right, and he'd be lying to himself if it thought their packs didn't somehow merge almost perfectly. It was merely the fact that in front of him stood the maker of his new family members. The annoyance showed in his eyes. “I'm sure it is rather obvious I'm here on behalf of Célnes, she wanted me to let you know that your deal... Was successful.”

—

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There he stood. An obelisk in the mist as he eyed the man from the Southern reaches of the Temperate regions. One who was untouched by his reign in the Northern hemisphere, above the river that cut them in the lowest parts separating them from his touch. So far, he hoped, they lived in peace and spread their own claim as far as they could go. Even with his greed, perhaps they could come to an agreement where one could claim leaving the other to do the same.

But it took an immense amount of trust. And such was a hard thing to accomplish. How far would Célnes go for the Warlord of the mist and vice versa?

The man bowed, not many would take the opportunity to do so - which pleased him to see as he still remained tall and proud as his rubies followed the Elkshire man in his curtsy. As the news was uttered with bitter words, the sour smelling man hummed. Pleased with the news despite the annoyance that was clear in the other man's eye. It would go ignored for now.
 
“Hm. Good, and so we are bound by blood.” By 'we' we wouldn't expect it to be him and this man in particular other than just mentioning both packs in general... but oh how sweet such a revelation would have been. “Is there anything else?” Already he was prepared to dismiss the man.

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Was there anything else? “Bloody fuck,” Apparently there was, and he'd done it in the least princely way possible. “What am I suppose to do with this... This mess you two have made?” Standing, pacing, but never letting his eye contact drop from the man. Others from far off might take it as a warning, and there was always a chance the warlord would too, but it was clear the stress and anxiety that bled from the boy.

“I already have to kiss her ass like a fucking brown-nose just to get her to notice me, and now I'm going to get stuck on bastard-duty and watch as she once again tosses me around like a used piece of meat all for a bloody deal? A lead? For more members that have a possibility of disappointing her due to a blasted colour?” His emotions had never been taken in account in anything the Queen did, which perhaps that was what she wished, for him to end up a copy of her... A fake, drained, do-anything-to-feel-alive individual that's sole purpose was to please a pack of animals that weren't even pleased in themselves. 

“I've waited years to get here, only to get kicked down on my fucking face just because you both decide that shagging one another is... Is... The hell even is it? I don't even know! She tells me to do shit and I bloody do it because I love her, I never have the guuuullll to ask questions because I don't want to get slaughtered due to this pigeon-shit of a birthmark on my back!” Trembling, drooling, muscled flexed, and warm. The crown upon his head had fallen, and while he still made no attempt to attack, there seemed to be no end to his anger.

“I-I-I why... I don't understand, I just don't understand why the fuck I'm so pissed about the shit I can't do anything about. I'm stuck here, stuck with her, stuck with you, stuck with these godforsaken pups. This isn't supposed to happen.” He froze. Looking past the male, eyes dripping in mist. “No, I...” Then, in a single moment, he ran.

—

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No more Nightwakers to join the thread please! We have more than enough and wanna keep the thread moving!

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The dismissal didn't seem to be taken as such - instead, it seemed to have opened a door to welcome the other man to bitch and moan about the goings on back in Elkshire and his own personal gripes. One of which was both annoying and intriguing to hear some of the internal turmoil within Célnes' own empire. How interesting. It was one way to learn of such things, but he would have much rather it didn't involve a mad man rambling on when he had done what he was told.

As the prince verbally vomited in the Warlord's face, his expression was flat. Though bored in appearance, he listened and clung to every word and piece shared. If he was going to stand here and take it, he may as well gather as much shit as possible when such beautiful tea was being spilled without much effort.

Flynn's posture changed and so did Vengeance's. Crown lowered and guarded against whatever the boy might be thinking in this moment of madness - for him to up and flee further into the woods, unwelcome to wander, was for a brief moment a surprise to watch.

The brute was no runner, especially in comparison to the leggy man who was already disappearing into the mist; and so, he did the next best thing. Use what he had at his disposal. With a call ringing out from his barrel chest and into the mist-filled skies, he called for the Nightwalkers to gather and catch the running Elkshire man before caused any damage to their lands.

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^^When the Devil called, his Demons answered and the restlessness that had been coursing through Morag's veins roared to life as the Warlord's call echoed through the land. Morag's dark ears cuffed forward as she lifted her nose to the sky and gave a sniff, noting the scent of one that wasn't a Walker. Or perhaps it was a new one; she couldn't be sure but either way, Vengeance was calling. Perhaps there was some fun to be had for the she-beast, hm? Morag's mouth opened with a short, returning howl as she told the world she was here too and she was coming. Though a Soldier and lined with muscle, Morag was certainly more athletic in her weight than Vengeance in all of his meatiness.

Morag's teeth clanked together as she snarled into the forest, her golden gaze vibrant with the promise of entertainment. Vengeance didn't call for nothing, a meeting though something in her gut with the new scent told her that it wasn't -- it was a call that beckoned them for chaos. Pooling in the pit of her mouth was excited saliva, her paws thundering against the forest floor as she approached. Whatever he had, Morag hoped it was fun. 

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oh lawd she comin'. arrivin' next round

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The man had just been minding his own business, tending to his den, catching his dinner - that kind of stuff. However, when his father's call rang out, he knew he couldn't just sit idly by. He wanted to win the warlord's favor, which meant doing what he asked and showing up when called. He was still a bit iffy on the Nightwalker stuff, especially the violence, but he had to put up a hard front if he was ever going to make it with them.

Like a shadow did he weave through the trees, his paws thundering as he went to answer the call. Unlike Morag, who hoped for a fun little showdown, he was purely in it for business. Man on the run? They needed someone to catch him. Who knows, he might even get a figurative pat on the back for doing a good job should he be able to catch the runaway. Just like Vengeance, his brawn did come at the expense of speed, but he was leaner and a bit lighter and he ran a lot while out hunting. He let his own call out into the woods to let everyone know he was ready and coming and there was nothing that could stop him.

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The call of vengeance was one that was unmistakable. The baritone of its pitch was nearly un-wolf like, he was a beast of thunder and earthquakes. As it rang out, it took little to no time for others to call back - their howls weak and hollow, in comparison to their commander. Then came the rhythmic stampede of multiple pairs of legs, racing through their homestead.

Siberia followed suit, but instead of tracking the target Ven had placed on another’s head, she found herself gravitating to the Warlord. The grizzly colored man was easily spotted, and more obvious to scent out.

The smaller, blonde woman sat along side him after closing in. ”I’ll stay close, should your hounds rip the fleeing fox too drastically, at least I can fix him to your standards,” silver eyes glanced over, roaming the massively sized wolf that towered beside her presence. She would fix them to his standard, not above nor below.

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Ah, well, that was something he couldn't ignore. It wouldn't have been very general-ish of him if he'd simply brushed off the single time Vengeance had ever summoned the pack, and so he wandered off at a steady trot. The scent of Celnes was thick in the air, but she was not present. Instead, he spotted a flash of fur as it bolted from the scene. "Are we to war with the deer queen?" he asked, the excitement obvious on his face. He was all about it, to be quite honest.

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---

He... He couldn't see. A bittersweet mixture of tears told him he was still alive, a thicker layer of mist hiding them as they kissed his cheeks, and the thickest layer of fog shielding his pale furs from the light of day. He'd told himself that if he just kept running, if he just held out until daylight, that the ghouls would wither into the heat of Ra's eye. Truthfully, there was no written rule stating his hypothesis as fact, but he had nothing else to grip onto, other than the ground to his feet.

And that's what he did.

The stag galloped, he leaped, he sprinted. He ran with the herd upon his heart and the breath of nature filling his lungs with every stride he took onward. Those following behind him might have had the advantage of knowing their territory, but Flynn had the leverage of endurance and agility. Princely eyes had once gazed on the folk Vengence carried, the lot of them were bulked with muscle and fat, whether it be the good kind, he didn't know, and he sure as hell wasn't sticking around the find out. Thus, he remained as silent as limber paws could be, dashing into the rising sun.

—

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Three howls rang out after him answering the call to come as commanded. He knew better than to give chase himself, even with the knowledge of the mist and its lands he was simply not as fleet of foot to catch the fleeing man without laying an ambush for him to run into. They simply didn't have the time to do that.

Coming out from the shadows was Siberia, quickly offering her assistance in mending any wounds that would most likely appear on the messenger once he was caught. “Mmm... good.” He grunts with pleasure to her oh so readily available as she was.“Shall we follow?” Less of a question and more of an invitation for her to walk with him. His gait would be longer and pace a little quicker than usual as to keep up as best as he could with his lumbering bulk - but he would appear soon enough once the deer-man was caught and subdued. 
 
“Do not kill the trespasser! This is not war Caligula!” He called out with a thundering voice, letting the trees carry his message as they hunted the long-legged man. “Let Célnes decide on his punishment once he is dragged home.” His final words were uttered only above average tone, letting them drawl on to any who might be attentive enough to listen and hear them.

He would be lying if he said there wasn't an ounce of excitement flowing through him at the thought of bringing Flynn back to his Queen...

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The she-beast had arrived to the scene in time to hear their orders and though she was marginally disappointed in being held back from killing the fleeing man, Morag would enjoy the rest. Morag's sharp, fiery gaze drifted past the Warlord and blonde creature in favour of her long legs carrying her through the trees where the General and leggy man had gone. In the trees she snarled and growled, snapping her teeth in taunt to the fleeing beast. It was times like these where she was thankful she had not grown with the body her sister had; meaty and thick with little ability to run for long distance. Morag had been graced with lean muscle and lengthy strides, her training having set her aside from her useless sister. She had been born for war just as Morag had yet she had the inability to be of any use. A failure, really.

Had she known that she wouldn't be able to do little else other than catch, Morag would have stayed put, thanks. Alas, she had answered the call so she had to carry on. She supposed that perhaps she could wrangle the possibility of sitting on the leggy bastard, just for fun, if she wasn't allowed to kill or maim, then damnit she would humiliate. Morag weaved between the trees, intent on keeping his creamy white ass in her view for as long as possible as she chased to keep up with him. She could have been doing anything else, anything else that would have a better outcome than chasing, catching, but not killing. Woe is Morag.

Thankfully, she was not falling behind and kept up with the man yet not quite enough to be within a good distance to tackle him. Teasingly she snapped her jaws at him, only slightly sorry that she wanted to ruin his pretty little face.

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He wasn't one for maiming or torture, thus the order to not kill the fleeing man soothed him more than it disappointed. He watched how Morag, the woman who'd teased him about his hunting, trailed after the runaway in a way that would make it difficult to pass or even grab him unless she was significantly faster - which she didn't seem to be. He thought for a moment as he ran a distance away from the pair before he decided on what to do. No more would Morag be able to tease him about his skills should his plan succeed, that was for sure.

He huffed and puffed as he increased his speed to the max, using up a lot of energy as he now ran parallel to the Elkshire man - a scent he recognized from his trips to the queendom. Even if he wasn't able to catch him, he'd volunteer to bring him to his queen in a heartbeat just to see the look on her face. Once the ground was slightly in his favor, he turned and bolted at the other much like a bulldozer, aiming to tackle and not much more. He realized perhaps a bit too late that his sudden shift in direction would perhaps throw off Morag - maybe even send her tumbling into them should he be successful. Oh well, that was a problem for after his attempt.

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There was a sudden realisation that flooded over his skull and down his hind, an abrupt emotion that prickled his pelage and allowed the wind to blow through the tight gaps between now visible teeth. It was as if he'd forgotten what it was like to be hunted, to struggle. As if the very roots of his existence had been toppled on their heads and cut down at their ankles.

Though the realisation hadn't been in that the fear of it repeating was upon him, no. The young prince, miffed and empty, was just that and nothing more. He wasn't wounded nor bleeding, neither was he feeble nor god forbid, powerless. After moons of heartache, tender beatings, curses yelled at his adolescent ears; there had been no blooded tassel lashed along his brow any longer, only the one he held against himself.

The one he'd now turned on them.

“Sod off, you dusty bitch!” The blowing buck bounded forward, an impressive feat of six feet, watching as the darkened male was aimed to knock the kneecaps off the woman that had been nipping at his rear. He should have shit on her, but with how she'd been acting, she might have liked that a bit too much. She wasn't his issue anymore, quickly wiping around in a full turn to sprint to the right of them as they gave him the time to retrace his steps.

The prince was set on heading home, even if it meant he wouldn't get there in one piece, and with his vulgar mouth now ajar, he'd probably earned it.

—

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ThIs Is NoT wAr CaLiGula. Caligula resisted the urge to roll his eye and trekked along after the rest of the group, hardly finding it necessary to waste energy on taking the wolf down. If they knew where he lived, it would be easy enough to find him. Besides, half the pack was on his ass and Caligula was a general. If Vengeance wasn't going to exert his pretty little energy, neither was the ghoul.

Okay, maybe a little.

The wolf picked up his pace and pursued behind Morag and Almight, eager to see what the two of them could do. Together. As friends, or something.

"Just because we aren't supposed to off him doesn't mean you can't punish him for calling you a bitch, Morag," the general offered nonchalantly, hoping to stoke a flame within her. Go, girl. Go get him.

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Got permission to skip and powerplay Morag and skip Vengeance :)

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The risk he took was calculated, but boy was he bad at math. When the bearbuck bucked and jumped his way halfway across the temperate, Almight was left with only one route; straight into his packmate. He dug his heels into the dirt to try and slow down, bracing for impact with eyes frozen wide.

The large wolves tumbled into each other as the stormy mean yelled “Sorry!”, making quite the spectacular roll-over before landing on trembling legs. How the fuck had he managed that, he wondered, as he looked to see if Morag was alright. Despite possibly some bruises on the both of them, they were fine, and were quick to continue their chase.

They'd fallen behind quite a bit, but granny Rache didn't raise no quitters.

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The boy ran, he ran until fresh wounds bled tender, he ran until vision became but a dream, he ran until the adrenaline withered away behind him in a pathetic trail of exhaustion. Perhaps if he hadn't been so foolish nights prior, mayhaps he hadn't been beaten black and blue by the hands of a false prophet he called 'Queen', but more endearingly, ' Mother.'

There was no resisting her love, even if it held him in fake protection and spun him around like a doll on strings. It had taken so much agony to make his tear-bitten eyes see her affections were only at the expense of his own stupidity. Maybe she didn't pity his childlike adoration, but the fact he'd been so foolish to hand it blindly over to her. No questions asked.

But now, it all made sense. It made sense that as he ran for his life why she'd sent him. Not because he moved with the deer in his feet, not because he was so whipped into her ways that he'd do anything just for her to finally say she loved him. It was because she didn't want to. The Queen, Célnes, a worshiper of Elk and earthy furs, had no want to express her love for the pale prince. As he didn't deserve it. He'd never deserve it. He was expendable, an item that she could throw around and watch break without worry of how much it cost to repair because his pain was not hers, it was his and his alone.

He was alone, wasn't he? Although bloodied paws dizzily danced onward, ears filling with an eerie numbness that distorted the voices behind him. They didn't truly exist, did they? If he had any portion of his mind right now, he would be envious of the darkened male nipping at his tail. For Vengence, while rancid and appealing, lifted his child with praise even now.

And where were his parents? His guardians? Letting a man, no, no, he was a child. Letting their child be consumed by a self-hatred so black that it coated his body with bruises simply to remind him he was alive.

Flynn didn't want this anymore.

He didn't want to run or see or hear or feel.

But if there had been anything he'd learned from a life as a puppet, it was that a show was never finished without an ending, and by God did he want his to be good. One, at the very least, dictated by his own decisions.

And so he jumped.

Flynnigan Icarus Déorwine flew directly off the mountainside he'd placed himself on.

His body crumbled, into red-stained stones, into trees, into broken bones, into nothingness.

—

 

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Though he could not run fast for very far, Vengeance had a certain haste in his step as elongated legs carried him through the mist toward the scent of the boy. The others would follow him and try to take the man down, and Vengeance had faith in his followers to do just that. None would wander into their borders unwelcome, not even an ally who spewed nonsense and insults before bolting off into the heart of their lands.

With Sibera quickly trotting along with him, they were the last to arrive on the scene as they looked down on the Elkshire man who apparently leaped off of the cliffside. What was going on in the boy's head was beyond him. A quick glance to everyone else gathered around questioned what the hell had happened here.
 
“@Siberia, will he survive?” Without tearing his eyes away from the bloody mess bellow, a flat question was brought to her attention. He didn't care for the man's survival, but to carry a corpse would be more effort than to just tell Célnes one of her own had perished on his lands. A frown carved its way to his features, a glimmer of fangs peeking through beneath blackened lips as he thought of ways to tell Célnes that this was not a declaration of war.

Did this man truly just squash an alliance with his stupidity?

If he wasn't dead already, if this alliance was in jeopardy because of him, he would soon wish he was.

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