Title: Pacer meets Lostholt RP Date: Feb. 21, 2003 Pacer, Nightfall, Shadows, Skywise, wolves Pacer is camped near Lostholt. His wolf, Skinner, strays from hunting to investigate the Father Tree, and a meeting ensues. [Skinner] A narrow-shouldered wolf with brown-tipped gray fur, this loner's musculature is all long, lean sinew. His long legs, built for the chase, and narrow gray eyes emphasize the lines of his form. Skinner looked at Skinner. Skinner> Base of the Lost Holt Father Tree Skinner> A dense grove of grotesquely shaped trees dominated by one immense Grandfather of a tree whose age is no less great than its size. Skinner> It is obvious that the old tree has survived a terrible tragedy and you can see some of the scars left by the terrible blaze on the snow covered branches. Snow lies piled around the trees roots and in drifts around the Father Tree. Like old friends, the gnarled trees embrace one another, their many branches entwined and now snow collects atop them, occasionally crashing down to the ground below. You awaken in the cold winter night to the sound of cracking and snow falling, perhaps from branches above. Skinner> Contents: Skinner> Nightfall Skinner> Shadows Skinner> Skyeyes Skinner> MoonShadow Skinner> Obvious exits: Skinner> Alcove Into the Tree Around the Tree Clearing Skinner> Please type 'losthelp' for commands you may use in this territory. Skinner> Shadows nods and stiffens as he senses a scent change. The wolfrider stands, still very cold from the weather and the fact that his den is a hole under a tree. Skinner> Narrow gray eyes belie a soft rustling in the brush, peering wolfish through leaves. A soft 'hrr' announces a presence there, a bristling sound of warning to the territory's pack. Skinner> Nightfall releases Woodbiter, then watches in surprise as he sulks for exactly 15 seconds. Skinner> Woodbiter finishes his sulk and resumes his normal life. Skinner> Nightfall looks up, sniffing a little harder than her wolf is, trying to understand the scent coming to her. Then she notices the wolf. ** Hey there, friend, you looking for someone? ** she calls softly. She looks at Shadows to check his reaction, then looks back at the wolf. Skinner> The strange grey eyes move forward, with them coming long, lean legs. The wolf emerges from the brush and straightens to a lanky height, shuddering his ruff into place with another soft, sharp "hrr." In his mind is barely an acknowledgement of the send, a mere wolf-presence asserting itself. Skinner> Skyeyes stalks in, tail wagging slightly in a curious cautiousness. Shadows raises his hand, ** Come Skyeyes...do not battle ** The wolf listens and goes over to shadows for some scritchins. Skinner> Woodbiter whurfs at Skyeyes, tail wagging and eyes nevertheless on the newcomer. Skinner> The lanky stranger turns his head slightly to take in Woodbiter, apparently thinking nothing much of Shadows' bond. He is still, rigid, considering and waiting. [Woodbiter] A medium-sized, dark brown wolf who got his name from chewing up his bond- mate's carved creations, he looks at you curiously. Big brown eyes check you out, then decide that you're probably okay. He seems utterly unremarkable, the most interesting marking on him the white blaze on his chest and stomach. Skinner> Skinner growls softly, then turns away. Apparently, Woodbiter - though a wolf who belongs here - isn't his concern. The strange wolf retreats into the bushes once more, ears cocked back in wary anticipation of any nipping that might chase him just a step faster. Skinner> Woodbiter raises his head a bit, then barks sharply. It is soft, however. He then lowers his head and shuffles sideways, closer to his bond, before laying down beside Nightfall. [Skinner retreats to his elf-friend, who takes mount and rides back toward the Father Tree, letting the wolf lead.] Nightfall continues to look towards the way the wolf came and went. Interesting...but even more so is the scent of fresh kill on the wind, something Nightfall hadn't smelled in a while, even besides her numerous forays further and further from the center holtland. Soon enough, the eyes come back. The scent of bird-blood comes with him, and as he emerges through the brush this time, an elf as much the opposite of his mount as can be is astride. Over one shoulder he bears a short, worn bow; on the other, a strung quail. Just barely clear of the leaves, the pair stop, taking in the elves and wolves here, and waiting, silent. Nightfall lifts an eyebrow. ** Shade, traveler. You carry with you the scent of life. ** ** Ah, ** sends the dusk-skinned Wolfrider in return. A smile tugs at the edges of his mouth, vying for attention. ** So I do. ** Pacer slides down from the too-tall height of his mount's back, letting the string on which the quail is tied slide over his shoulder and down his arm. ** A poor gift, ** he murmurs, focusing on the elf-maid who addressed him, ** But perhaps welcome with the whiteflakes coming. ** He breaks the mutual gaze long enough to take one step forward, lay his kill on the ground, and step one pace back from it. [Nightfall] Striking would probably be the word you would choose, rather than pretty. Nightfall has honey-amber eyes, an angular face, and an almost square jaw; her tawny curls are held in check by a green leather cap tied 'round her head--a thick band of pine green and burnt orange. She has a clean throatline, decorated by a gold band with what looks to be a short fat feather with two skinnier feathers on either side, leading down to a smoothly curving chest covered by a close-fitting, pine-green top; winter furs line her shoulders for warmth. Her limber legs are covered by pine-green leggings edged with jagged burnt orange strips covering smoothly muscled thighs and calves on bottom. Warm, fur-lined boots finish up the picture, as well as a leather belt around her waist that supports the top ends of two scabbards with curled ends, one on each hip, each containing a knife. The lower half of each scabbard is held in place by a leather strap tied 'round her thighs, and when she moves, the top of the scabbard shifts with her motion. Carrying: Nightfall's tent woodshaped bow Brightmetal knife Nightfall looks from quail to elf, a little uncertain. ** Do you not know how rare game is lately? We are in a scarcity; I cannot take food from your mouth. Instead, show me where you caught this that I might go and hunt my own....for my tribe. ** The silverhaired elf shakes his head slowly. ** We are only two, ** he explains, simply. His hand ruffs through his bond's fur, and the lanky wolf visibly relaxes in gratitude. ** Lucky enough to take a pair, but no more where they came from, I fear. This one is my greeting. ** Nightfall sighs and stands to take the quail gingerly. She is a bit thinner than she ought to be, from having to live off of root stew, like all her tribesmates. Meat is rare this season, saddeningly so. ** Then my thanks. It will be much appreciated. ** She sighs again. ** I wish I would not have to do so, but I believe I might have to take a group farther afield to hunt. It is very hard finding anything around, as I said. ** Pacer frowns down at his wolf's lean back, eyes darkening a bit. ** Bad turn, ** he sends, almost to himself. ** I wouldn't take a pair together, but this coldtime there'll be no chicks. ** He sighs softly, the first sound he's made apart from the leaves on his breeches and the pad of his feet. He blinks a little, and looks up, as if just hearing something, and considers the elf- maid again. ** I have traveled far, ** he offers. ** I can tell you where meat is -not.- ** Nightfall nods. ** That would be valuable information. ** ** Not, ** the traveler sends, a soft edge of humor in his tone, ** North and east, past the great river, into the spine-trees that are always green. ** He rolls his shoulders, shortbow dropping string-up over his elbow, and he shakes his arm to toss it off into his hand and lay it absently and precariously over his mount's haunches. ** Not also, ** he continues, ** In the land of ice past the spine-trees. ** His lips purse thoughtfully. ** I have not tried the grassy sea, ** he admits. ** I have not hunted so far south before. Wolfrider-scent - not my dam nor sire - I wondered. ** Shadows stays very silent. He's nervous around this newcomer and he too is feeling the pinch of hunger as well as cold. He keeps his eyes downcast, not wishing to offend the newcomer or risk the wrath of Strongbow again. Nightfall nods, thinking. ** Then that means...perhaps more west and south. Hm... ** She continues to think, finger absently drawing a very rough map in the snow as she considers the options. ** Perhaps...they might...but not, it's too far...maybe the ...no, it would lead us right past the Mountain... ** She comes back to herself. ** Ah, yes, well, my thanks. I shall have to talk with my...chief...about our options. ** ** Mountain? ** The stranger catches on intonation, the significance given "the" mountain. ** Flighted birds like the upwinds on slopes, ** he adds, lifting one hand - slowly, smoothly, very intentionally without an effort to arouse suspicion - to push one of his braids back over his shoulder. It slaps against his back softly as he finishes his thought. ** It should be good hunting, as good as anything this season. Why avoid it? ** Nightfall chuckles ruefully. ** The Mountain is the home to the Black Snake. And her thralls are Gliders, the Chosen Ones flying on great birds. It is a dangerous place for any free elf. ** ** Black... Snake... ** It's evident that he's trying to imitate the deep seriousness and bitterness of the elf-maid, but his sending, though strong enough, is not very practiced at hiding things. He thinks it's a funny nickname for an elf. ** And their mounts are birds. ** That much, at least, he can take seriously, and nods to it. ** Not good hunting, then. But do they hunt? Would they know were to seek game? ** Shadows shivers still and slumps against his wolf. The silent wolfrider growls for no apparent reason. ** Food.....we need to find some. ** Nightfall nods. ** Yes, Shadows, we do. ** She blinks, then holds out a hand. ** I have not told you my name. I am Nightfall, and my bond is Woodbiter. ** The silverhaired stranger turns to the other elf, frowning in his general direction. ** Quail, ** he says, simply, apparently assuming that he's part of the huntress' mentioned tribe. He turns back to Nightfall with a deeper frown still, staring at the hand. No meaning whatsoever registers on his face. ** Well met, Nightfall, ** he answers. ** We are Skinner and Pacer. ** The words are identified by the faintest sent flickers of wolf-image and elf- image, respectively. Slowly, he reaches out his hand, not closing the distance between but merely holding it there, in imitation. [Shadows] Before you is Shadows, a relatively young adult wolfrider elf. HIs long, dark grey hair is braided carefully down his back to nearly his waist. It is bound by some grey cord and lays just above his eyes in the front. Dark violet eyes set in a pale face accent the look of this interesting elf. A scar cuts through one eye though it is clearly healing nicely. Nice leathers now adorn the plantshaper. A longsleeve tunic of slate and violet help accent his hair and eyes on a paler level. Within the blue corners of the shoulders are flowers of violet. A hood hangs from the back for harsher weather. Violet sleeves disappear into dark leather arm guards with supple violet leather at the wrists, allowing for more movment of the joint. The arm guards cover his palms up to his fingers which are free for bow use. The body of the tunic is also violet and reaches to midthigh. A dark grey belt is tied to one side, the edges dangling down. Slate breeches disappear into dark bear leather. Tufts of ravvit fur trim the interior of the boots and the edge of his good. The knees are reinforced with a heavier violet leather. Clearly someone thought ahead for prolonged use. There is a slight confidence in the wolfrider's eyes. Scars on the neck are nearly gone and partially convered by the cord of a purple stoned pendant. Most noticeable now is a wolf tail that is the same color as his hair that is attached to his rump. It is quite capable of wagging and apparently is a fully functional tail. Carrying: piles of furs Shadows' Bow Basket of Glowmoss pendant Straw Toss Nightfall chuckles softly. She steps forward, slowly, and grasps Pacer's forearm for half a second, then steps back, just as slowly and cautiously. What is it about her that she encounters so many strange and twitchy elves? ** And I would not recommend going to the Mountain and seeking out the bird- riding elves. They are dangerous, and suspicious of any that are not like them. They have humans to hunt for them, humans who revere and worship them as gods. ** A pair of silvery eyes glint in the shadows, moments before Skywise enters the area in front of the Father Tree. He'd caught the last remnants of the conversation, though does not comment on it openly. ** Nightfall. ** He greets once his eyes fall upon her, and then he glances to Shadows, and finally towards the newcomer. ** I see we have more visitors. ** His hands empty, it seems he's forgone the futility of the hunt so far. Nightfall nods, and notices the empty hands as well. ** Yes, visitors. ** She nods towards the quail on the ground. ** Though Pacer brought a gift. ** ** Humans. ** This is not an alien concept, though it almost seems like he needs the truth and understanding of sending to understand the word. Pacer's nose wrinkles, lip curling like a bad scent came in on the breeze. He nods once. His eyes then shift to take in the newcomer, and he sends the slightest nudge of a greeting, utterly unchallenging, wary: perhaps this is the chief previously mentioned, but not named. Shadows coughs against his wolf's side, burying his head in the thick winter pelt that barely hides the bones beginning to show on the great wolf. ** I do not think I can stomach more of the burnt water with meat flavoring.....** Perhaps it is good that Shenshen did not hear the comment about her soup. Pacer certainly 'hears' Shadows' send, but daren't reply. His gaze is fixed on the silver-haired newcomer, waiting for some sort of cue. His hand, however, belies some anxiousness, stroking Skinner's fur. The long-legged wolf leans into his bond, coughing softly a wolf-cough of boredom. Nightfall clears her throat, then sniffles again. Damn cold weather. She sighs. ** Skywise, this is Pacer. Pacer, this is Skywise, a friend and a tribesmate. Where do you hail from, anyways, Pacer? ** Skywise just gives an abrupt nod towards Nightfall, as he finishes stepping into the clearing in front of the great tree. ** I hope Strongbow has been told of his arrival. ** He sends, openly, to the huntress. Only afterwards does he return his silvery gaze on the newcomer, awaiting his response to her question. [Skywise] Silvery white hair, thick and as soft looking as a floating cloud, is held back from his features by a blue troll-forged metal headpiece. Framing his characteristic face, the face guard adds to the appearance of blue in his silver-gray eyes. His nose is straight, not much pert to it where it rests over easy-smiling lips. Usually, you'll find an impish smirk or crooked grin there, cheeks curving up to rising cheekbones. The sharp but firm chin and the line of his jaws only add to the impish look. Lean and graceful, his small compact form witnesses the strength and agility of a wolfrider. A cord braided out of hair rests about his neck and from it, his most prized possession, is fastened securely; the wedge of a stone, which some know to be the Lodestone. His vest is of midnight blue, open in the front, which allows a display of finely toned muscles. It fringes out over his hips, from under the gray belt that marks his slim waist. Wrist bracers in th e same troll forged, blue metal as his headpiece adorn his wrists, a bright metal long-dagger fastened to his left hip. His breeches are rock-gray, X-stitched at the sides and tucked into a pair of midnight blue boots. Carrying: Sword The Lodestone Pacer's rigid posture relaxes just a smidge. He still hasn't budged from the spot where he came in through the leaves, but he smiles, easing a bit. ** North, ** he says, simply, a whirling send of his latest journey, in reverse, accompanying it: over the river, toward the Hub Star to the spine-trees of evergreen, past those farther to a land of leaf-trees and short stubgrass, where the trunks gather close enough that little brush grows and the forest is clear, all sorts of small things growing in the constant shade. Shadows frowns and privately sends as he glances at Pacer and then Skywise. The wolfrider then reburies his head in Skyeyes' fur. Nightfall grimaces at a send, and nods. ** Yes, well, if you were driven down here because of lack of game where you came from, then I am sorry that we did not have much to offer you. You are welcome to stay until you move on, but I would suggest you seek out Strongbow when you get the chance. He does not take it lightly when visitors do not...announce their prescence. ** Pacer frowns slightly, and bows his head to one side, a mix of gestures: acceptance, and bared throat. ** I will do so. I have nested on the edge of your wolves' territory for some time. I will apologize, with meat if I can be so lucky again. ** Shadows coughs harder, taking a few moments to breath before he responds, ** There is almost no meat to be found. And what is found they take and make into something akin to boiled pee ** That tiny smile tugs again at the corner of Pacer's wide mouth, and he tilts his head toward Shadows, directly addressing him at last. ** Do you eat anything -but- meat? ** The 'you' here is personal, direct. ** I have some luck with finding alternatives, even in snow. If you are ill from hunger... ** He trails off, a silent offer. Skywise remains silent, outwardly, as the conversation continues around him. He looks thoughtful, though stoicly quiet as he moves over towards the Father Tree to lean against it. Nightfall clears her throat. ** I would be careful giving meat to my chief. He is a proud 'rider and often takes things differently then other's might. He is not called Strongbow for nothing. ** ** Ah. ** The sent not-quite-syllable, the first Pacer introduced himself with, is enough to indicate that he'll take that advice to heart. ** How, then, should I go? ** Nightfall's forehead crinkles a bit as she thinks, giving a nod to a send from Shadows. ** I am not sure, just that you must be cautious, for he is strong in his sends and proud in his ways. He does not think himself better than us, just knows that he is strong. ** Shadows frowns, ** He feels his version of the way is the ONLY way.....Cutter at least had an open heart. ** The pale elf wanders over to Nightfall and tries snugging tightly in his old furs. [Pacer] A slender, compact elf of average Wolfrider size, Pacer is blessed with a clash of features, each in its own right beautiful, but taken as a whole almost a cacophany of color. His eyes, actually a silvery green, seem almost white against his olive skin. His dark slate-gray hair has a sheen that makes it, in woodlight, almost blue; in bright sun, however, it sparkles like water in the day. Twin braids of it stray down his back, tied with black leather and a downfeather from an owl. His face is lined with the faintest trace of down. Not at all like an elder's face-fur, it's rather more like the halo of soft fuzz on certain mushrooms. He wears an undyed doeskin tunic, open in front and tucked into breeches of the same hide. A sash of black leather keeps his quiver close at hand, while a small bow sets upon his shoulder. At either ankle, small bone knives tuck into black boots, each trimmed with another tuft of owl's down. Pacer wears a neck-band of black leather, streaked with a series of blues dark and midnight; from the band hangs a single owl's claw. The brown-and-silver, compact archer nods thoughtfully. ** A 'Way' binds a tribe, makes them as one, yes? My sire spoke of it once, of the tribe he and my dam came from, of their chieftess and the 'Way.' ** A confused description of the thing at best. ** I will live by his 'Way' as long as he allows me to stay here, if it his wish. ** Pacer sighs and rolls his shoulders once more, lifting the bow from Skinner's patient back and stringing it over his shoulder. ** Nightfall, ** he sends softly, ** Skywise, Shadows. ** Sliding up onto Skinner's back - and at this, the tall wolf pants heartily and pleasantly - the silverhaired elf at last allows himself a full-body shiver of cold. ** Tell your chief Strongbow that I await a chance to meet him, with respect. ** Nightfall nods and raises a hand to Pacer. ** We will do that. Please don't hesitate to visit again. ** Skinner shifts from one paw to another, evidently glad to be on the move again. His rider smiles softly. ** I will hunt, whether bird or black-cap, ** he promises. ** Be well, Shadows. ** This last has a hint of concern in it. Upon it, Skinner bears his elf-friend back through the leaves from whence they came. [End log.]