Blood & Ritual_______OPEN/PLOTTISH

[Sivoncé™]

"Hurry up!"
The fiery russet-red femme strode with an air of high importance and a smug smirk upon her maw. It curled into a grotesque display of distaste as she eyes the weary wolves behind her. She snapped against, eyes fierce as they trained upon them. "Neophytes are reknowned for overzealous promptness, and this lot looks like a bedraggled lump of pond scum!" She shook her head and led on, coming to a stop at a wooded clearing. She turned back to the neophytes, contempt in her gaze.
"We had to move you so they wouldn't find you so easy; not really sure where the Sheeran got off to, and good riddance to the Siverian! But, what do we have left, then? Two Yozorans? I guess it's a good thing Arachna went off recruiting, then."

Behind her loomed the dark shadow of Regulus, poised to run after either neophyte should they choose to flee. On the opposite end of the clearing stood a second guard, a female by the name of Nepthys. She seemed rather bored with the whole display, but feigned interest.

Neveria was shoved forward roughly by Regulus' black forepaw. She stumbled into the dirt, buy got up, snarling defiantly. Assyria watched in mild amusement.
"Don't worry, we're not doing much today. But you will have to listen to a story though; that's not so bad, little, ones, is it?" He tone held distinct mocking, daring them to defy her.

[Njack]

Patch, somewhere in the trees nearby, watched silently. He grinned, ragged and jagged teeth glinting.

His one eye glanced over the surroundings slowly. Patch was glad that he was not the one being scolded. He kept watching. There wasn't much else to do, anyway.

Why had they kidnapped those wolves anyway? No need to think about it. Wasn't his business.

[♫Flisk♫]

Flisk's soft black fur was specked with mud and still had a small patch of dried blood from the battle embedded in it. After he had seen Freya's little encounter with the Blood Mist, he decided he would let them trust him until a turning moment where he would take off into the wind, leaving the others there. Who cares if they don't come back? I mean, I can't help that. It's every wolf for himself out here. Plus, the wolves will still be overjoyed to see me and I can give them the location of the Blood Mist. His tongue lolled out as a dry thirst sat in his mouth, sucking the energy from him slowly.

He listned to Regulus telling Neveria about a story they would listen to. What kind of story? What if they had to act out the parts? Swallowing, Flisk continued running, hatred running through his veins, his head pounding with rage. He felt like a caged animal. Licking his lips, he winced as Trianna flashed into his mind. He began to dream about coming back and her rushing to him, and they would fall to the ground, laughing and licking eachother and then they would grow up to have many pups and they would love eachother for-

"Ooof!"

Flisk tumbled to the ground due to a rock he had tripped over during his daydream. He lay his head on the ground, wishing he could stay there. Not getting up, Flisk wondered what the others would do. He just didn't feel the need to run anymore. He was tired and hungry and thirsty. Maybe it would be better to just lay here until death. Maybe not.

[Sivoncé™]

Neveria watched Flisk run through dulled, careless eyes. He didn't get far; it was clear none of the Blood Mist wolves seemed to expect them to be able to escape, even with so few of them here. Well, this group is enough to keep two small neophytes in their place. And, as she expected, Assyria hadn't even flinched. Her tail swished behind her and Regulus plodded leisurely after Flisk, grinning pleasantly.
"Really, it's not so bad today. Don't even know why you're running, do you?" He took a hold of Flisk's scruff, dragging him slightly, and maneuvered slowly back towards the group. He dropped Flisk next to Neveria and backed away slightly, nodding to Assyria.

"Long ago," Assyria began, eyes sweeping critically over the dilapidated neophytes, "at the heart of this valley, a pair of golden paws illuminated the forests, hills, and mountains beyond. They belonged to a single colossal being; behold, young'uns: the Golden Wolf!" She crouched low as she spoke, eyes scathing slits as she said the name. "The poor old man felt a great loneliness in his gut! He had no one to share it all with, no one to flourish as he flourished in the beautiful creation of the world. And so, because one wolf was lonely, endless millennia came about with the brandish of his paw, millennia of love, war, hate, and above all, betrayal." She looked fiercely into their faces, eyes grave. For once, she wasted no time flirting with her counterparts. Down on their level, she spoke directly to Flisk and Neveria.
"You have been told the beginning by your seniors, no doubt...but what you have been told is a lie."

She had braced herself for pain, to be taking part in whatever sick battle or torture story that rose from Assyria's throat. Now, she could only stare wide-eyed as the female slunk down in front of them, speaking with conviction that Neveria recognized as uncharacteristic of the female. It's clear they believe their stories, even if we know them to be untrue. So they really believe in what they do...they really believe in their purpose...but what purpose can animals like these have? She glanced at Flisk, eyes studying his reaction while displaying the uncertainties of her own.
How many times has the story been called a lie by our own packmates?

[♫Flisk♫]

Flisk waited quietly while Regulas pulled him back onto his paws. He curled his lip unpleasantly before blinking slowly and turning to Assyria. He noticed Neveria near him but didn't really acknowlage her as he was wondering what kind of story he would have to listen to. His shallow panting slowed to a regular pace as he let out a huge squeak and a yawn. Blinking drearily, he watche Assyria begin her story. As it went on, Flisk grew more alert. What was she talking about? The stories he learned were true. They couldn't be lies. Could they? Clearing his throat his tail twitched.

"Prove it."

[Sivoncé™]

A soft laugh came from the fae at Flisk's rebuff. She rolled her eyes at him. They studied him with immense pity as he made his stands of defiance. She shook her head and smiled widely, gazing out into the pencil-line trees of the forest around them. The waning heat of summer downed over them through the thick canopy above. She waited a moment, eyes flickering back to him, waiting for further lashing comments. In due course, she sighed and began to answer him.

"In the beginning, there was no question about history because history was happening around us. We had no past or even a future. We had only the present. There were no mix-ups. So tell me, then, why was it such a surprise to everyone when Blood Mist came around? We were a band of rouges to the packs. We were one of the five great ones, why were we not remembered? Some of the wolves alive had been born when Verlust first led her Blood Mist. Why did they not remember? That is part of your story, the story of how we came about the 'first time'. No, there was no first, second, third....Blood Mist has always been! We're wolves, not shades or shadows -- we don't vanish into thin air and reappear.," she let her words sink in, tone remaining soft and confident, even patient with the disbelieving faces of Flisk and Neveria. "And what was more, they wrote the Miran Pack out of the equation completely. When your tales were first told -- after we came the 'first time' in pack saying -- there were four original packs, not five. They took no stock in Mira, legendary alphess of the mountain pack, until she came to your own pack, the Yozorans, and an old healer named Silence. Ironically, she couldn't speak, but she was brilliant beyond anyone's years. She didn't speak until she had nine spirited wolves around her -- she led them to the Spirit Wood, the cure for the plague that struck so many of us dead," she spoke the word 'us' to refer to all of them, all of them as wolves. "And then, Mira and her pack were suddenly remembered. And the new generation thinks it's always been so? Ask her. I dare you to dream of your Twilight spirits and ask them if this is all true. They will tell you yes. And they can say nothing in defense. Your four packs have fought and plotted and schemed against each other, but when something different rolls into the equation, seeking to live amongst them, they drive it out and rip its name from history. Never once has anything cordial passed between our packs. And now time has turned too late; we will never forgive them for painting us as nothing but spectors. Mira was soft....she had lived through a century before she finally met her peace. She was beyond caring about simplicities and the world around her. So many lies, so many schemes....do you still not see how your fragile history is nothing but shadows of the truth?"

Neveria watched her, her phrases trickling over her mind uncomfortably, with the persistence of a steely cool river. She was unsettled to the core; her pelt prickled with unease and would-be defiance, her paws shuffled as she watched the forest floor, dancing with Assyria's silhouette as she moved with her tale. She searched for words of response amongst the dirt, words that would lash out as Assyria and take her story back down her ugly gullet. But realizations were falling like heavy stones in her gut.
She's telling the truth.
Neveria was a pup during the plague. Young, she might have been, but never too young to hear the stories the seniors told of the packs. Flisk would not know; he would know the plague, yes, but he wouldn't have heard the stories of the packs during the plague; he came to the pack after the sickness had passed. Neveria's eyes turned to Flisk boring into the side of his head, begging him to look at her.
Flisk...we have to be sensible here! We need to fight it, yes, but we can't attack something that's....that's unspeakably true.
The Miran Pack was never mentioned during the plague, only after. She had asked her mother if they were a new pack, and Saskia had told Neveria more than most wolves would've been willing to admit. She told her the story of the Spirit Wood and how the wolves there had found the cure, along with Silence -- Mira. She told her how the packs were wrong. Saskia had told her...
Her eyes grew wide, wiry veins pulsating in webs in the whites of her eyes. Her jaw slackened, loosing its grip on reality. Like blazing suns, her wide-eyed gaze burned the forest in front of her. She had never thought of it before, but of course she knew who he grandparents were. On one side, she had Clove and Crow, great-grandparents being Sharpie and Holly. All Yozorans, save for Crow, who'd been a loner from the mountains. And on the other....the other....
I'm descended from Blood Mist wolves!
If she's right about the Mirans....she's right about everything else...
And my grandparents are from Blood Mist....what does that even mean?

"Still not satisfied?" Assyria rolled her eyes, seeking some reaction from them. "Well, then, when we 'first' went to the old forest from here, did you know that the wolves there didn't even know who Lupus was? Lupus! We worshipped him. And then he comes out of a comatose and now the packs turn to worship him. Ironic, no? Ask any of this of your dear herb healers and you'll find it's precisely right. "

[♫Flisk♫]

Flisk pawed at his face as Assyria eyed him closely. Her turned his head towards the ground as he pondered this himself. She's...right? Maybe? Oh I'm so confused! I was never good with any of these stories. Ugh. He dug his claws into the ground and curled his lip, unhappy with the predicament he was in. He cocked his head now as he remembered the elders telling him these stories. They left out a little detail. Blood Mist. Were these wolves lying? Flisk felt the weight of confusion grow heavier until his paws literally gave way and he sank to the ground, his eyes squinting as his brain worked furiously to figure out the answer.

Flisk hadn't heard all the stories yet, as he was new to the pack. He believed in all of those things, but he couldn't bring himself to know who was right. He finally decided to test Assyria. Clearing his throat, he cocked his head and asked ever so sassily (is that a word? haha...).

"And your telling us this...Why?"

As if he didn't care. Ha! Flisk was one smart cookie. Or so he thought.