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Post by Faolán Laighaen on Feb 16, 2014 21:53:30 GMT
The small, fox like canid trotted along, navigating the streets of the great floating city and winding between people’s feet when they got in the way, which was a majority of the time. A few curious passerbys glanced down at him, but most were too busy or too focused to care about the dog they very nearly stepped on. To them, he was just another odd-looking mutt wandering the streets and wasn’t anything to be bothered.
Faolán was headed back to the docks where a small group of Tiros was supposed to be waiting for him. The Pryfektus was purposefully being late. It was a test for them, to see how patient the tenderfeet could be (a much needed skill that they would find useful later in life) and it also separated the ones who listened, the smart ones, from those who didn’t and couldn’t have cared less. It, he hope, would also be a source of amusement for him. It always tended to be.
The ground underneath his paws became boards as he reached the docks. The crowds were significantly larger here than in the side streets he had taken, and the people moved quickly to and fro in a flurry of loading ships, helping dock others, and unloading the precious cargo of yet even more. The constant rumble of voices assaulted his ears and here and there a call would go up as someone needed this or that. A few merchants lined the ways, trying to sell their wares to people as they came or left the city. But where were those Tiros?
Faolán weaved between the people, stopping to growl and bare his teeth at one or two as they stepped on a paw or his tail. He finally spotted a small group of Tiros standing around and talking amongst themselves as they waited for the Pryfektus to arrive. It took only seconds for him to realize that it was fewer number than the group he had brought. The dog smiled to himself before he proceeded to walk over to a stack of crates and sat in the shade they cast to stay out of the way of the busy people. Now was time to wait and see what the tenderfeet would do. Would they stay and wait, or leave and join the others that hadn’t yet shown up?
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Post by Thorulf Donalbain on Feb 17, 2014 16:15:04 GMT
Thorulf had woken early that day, like always. Even on his rest days, he was up with the sunrise. A lay-in promoted laziness, and Thorulf was adamant to remain free from such a vice. His clocked chimed at 5am, and he was usually out of his quarters by 5:30am. He dressed quickly but thoroughly, ever the picture of cleanliness. He looked rather dashing; dark, navy waistcoat coupled with his neat trousers and pristine white shirt, the one with the ruffled collar and puffed sleeves. But to Thorulf, his objective was to look presentable. Anything more was a perk.
He'd spent most of the morning training (like always) and tending to Talon. The drake had rightfully earned his day off, so Thorulf resolved to leave him in the stables while he pottered around elsewhere. But even on his days off, Thorulf was resolute to remain as useful as he could be. As of the present time, he had tiros to look after or keep in check. His last apprentices had already moved up the chain and were far too busy with their own business though. It always made Thorulf a little somber, having to let go of his metaphorical fledglings. Still, the next Tiro waiting for his expertise was just around the corner - Thorulf could sense it.
Today however, he wasn't searching for any new pupils. He used to meeting with Faolán on his days off, and was rather content to commune with his fellow Pryfektus; they were more often than not on each others wave length, and Thorulf was thankful of that. A lot of the other senior members of the Drakonrhedi was quite joyless and boring, but Thorulf liked to believe he still had a spark within him that he could share with his younger allies.
He'd remembered something about Faolán being on Midgardborg today near the airship docks, something to do with training. Not really Thorulf's first choice for a training ground - he preferred either Drakonborg or the surface for his more experienced apprentices, but he trusted Faolán's judgement all the same. These were his tiros, not Thorulf's. Nevertheless, the older Pryfektus had been scouring the docks for any sign of his friend. When he was certain that Faolán wasn't perhaps in his normal state, Thorulf lowered his eyes to look around at foot-level.
He soon spotted the fox-like animal padding around, seemingly purposeful, often stopping to growl at people who got too close to his tail. Thorulf gave a very small crooked smile and watched Faolán bob around and come to rest in the shade of a nearby stack of crates. Another scout of the area confirmed that nearby, some tiros were waiting, but by the looks of it, hadn't spotted their mentor yet. Thorulf raised an eyebrow. What is he doing?
Pushing gently through the crowd and taking the long route, Thorulf made sure he mingled effectively with the crowd. He'd picked up a couple of tricks from The Stalkers in regards to the art of blending in, their skills in that field were unmatched by any. Still, Thorulf had learnt a few moves from over the years and before too long, had side-stepped through the crowd until he was standing directly behind the canine Faolán. He leaned against the crates, using a propped-up arm for support. Taking it that Faolán hadn't noticed him, Thorulf gave a cough and spoke, "You know, you awfully cute in that form." he noted dryly, with a touch of a smile, "Rather deceptive, is it not? You'll end up in a pet shop by day's end if you're not careful."
He was joking of course; he knew Faolán was more than capable of handling himself in sticky situations, and was far too proud to even consider that he might be snapped up. Thorulf respected his fire. He came down to Faolán's level, so that he was propped himself up on his knees.
"Your tiros look a little lost." he remarked, scratching his neck. His gave a smug smile, but he hoped Faolán would take it in jest, "They'd follow you around a lot easier if they put a leash and collar on you."
Tags: Faolán Laighaen
Notes: WAAAAAH SORRY IT'S SO SHORT AND BAD. Still, I hope you don't mind me just chucking Thorulf straight in there
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Post by Faolán Laighaen on Feb 17, 2014 19:31:00 GMT
Faolán had only been settled for a minute when he heard someone come up behind him and lean against the crates. The canine didn’t move as he pondered what the person’s reaction would be if he suddenly turned around and started talking. The man spoke, and he realized that he wouldn’t get a reaction at all, for the voice came from another Pryfektus. Donalbain. Of course it is. His ears flicked back in a sign of acknowledgement before he said, “Yes, well, they’d be in for a rude surprise when they realize I’m not so cute or cuddly as I seem.” The image of someone picking him up and trying to make a pet out of him was rather disagreeable. He’d probably bite off a finger or two and then add insult to injury, he’d show his true form. They’d gape and apologize profusely, trying to make it up to him, offering him whatever they could. He’d not feel bad for them, though; it would be their own fault after all. “But you on the other hand, Donalbain,” he continued, his voice taking on a jesting tone. “Shouldn’t you be locked away to never be seen again? I’m afraid you’ll make a woman blind just by your horrid looks. Can’t have that now can we? Must protect the innocents after all.” Faolán knew how much Thorulf took pride in his looks. The man always had to be spotless and not have a hair out of place. It was just who he was. Faolán did like being clean cut, however, but he never spent that much time on his appearances; leave that to Donalbain and women. Thorulf knelt beside him, and Faolán cast him a side glance as he gave a scoffing laugh. A few people nearby turned, looking for the source of the laughter. He watched them until they turned away to say, “I’d like to see the tenderfeet try. It would not turn out well for them.” Getting a collar on him would be impossible, and it wouldn’t be worth the trouble. Besides, they were here to learn, not follow him around like they were a litter of pups and he their mother. “And they aren’t mine. I’m borrowing them from a few Pryfektus for the day. My own decided it would be brilliant to talk back and is now cleaning out the drake stables until I have decided that he has learned his lesson. Needless to say, he gets no outings for a while.” The dog fixed his gaze back on the Tiros as another came up. The boy looked out of breath, and he bent over with his hands on his knees when he joined the others. The others laughed and his face turned scarlet in embarrassment as he stood. One of the others then patted him on the back good-homouredly. They’d probably told him that the Pryfektus had gone looking for him and the other that still had yet to show. That wouldn’t be the case though; Faolán would have just left him there to find his own way back to the Drakonborg. It would have been a lesson the Tiro would never forget. Faolán glanced back to Thorulf. “I’m just wondering how long it will take them to realize that you’re over here and how much longer to realize that you’re holding a conversation with a dog.” --- Tag: Thorulf Donalbain
Notes: You and I have very different definitions of short. xD |
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Post by Thorulf Donalbain on Feb 21, 2014 11:20:23 GMT
“Yes, well, they’d be in for a rude surprise when they realize I’m not so cute or cuddly as I seem.”
Thorulf continued to balance on his haunches as he scratched the underside of his chin, "Oh, I don't know," he began, sarcastically musing Faolán's words, "I always took you for a man who enjoys a good scratch behind the ears, no?" At that, he reached forward with an outstretched hand and tickled the spot behind Faolán's canine ear. Of course, he hoped the fellow Pryfektus was in a playful mood but withdrew his hand quickly, regardless. He was very well aware of Faolán's no-nonsense attitude at the best of times, and Thorulf rather respected that. He could certainly empathize at least. However, in these small moments when they communed together, it was possible maybe that they both felt so relaxed with the other, there was room for more banter and jesting - certainly in Thorulf's eyes anyway.
In regards to his own shifting abilities, Thorulf rarely did so without sufficient reason; the stag was a creature of great majesty and graceful prowess, and such an image - Thorulf felt - needed to be reserved for special occasions. With that in mind, he usually only shifted during fights, training or sometimes when he took solitary walks by himself, as he found a great sense of tranquility in his animalistic shape.
He had to admit though, that Faloán's own beast form had it's useful perks too; for one thing, Thorulf found himself slightly envious of the fact that Faolán could go almost undetected as he nimbly weaved in and out of crowds. With a stag, it's hard to go unnoticed, and sometimes that wasn't a good thing.
“Shouldn’t you be locked away to never be seen again? I’m afraid you’ll make a woman blind just by your horrid looks. Can’t have that now can we? Must protect the innocents after all.”
Thorulf cottoned on to the joking tone in Faolán's voice and feigned mock hurt, "Alas, it's true I fear. All my boyish good looks...withered. That's what a life of Drakonrhedi service will do to a man." Obviously, there was a lot more worse things the Drakonrhedi life can do, whispered a thought in his mind, but this wasn't the time to be bogged down with such ideas. One must remained composed, after all. "Maybe," Thorulf put a finger to the underside of his lips as he pursed them in thought, "I should change my fashion." He cast a wondering eye to Faolán, "You know, they say dog fur is very much in this season."
“I’d like to see the tenderfeet try. It would not turn out well for them.”
Thorulf raised an eyebrow, noting the threat in Faolán's voice. He was a man true to his word, so he prayed - for the sake of the Tiros - that none of them were feeling in a mischievous mood today.
“And they aren’t mine. I’m borrowing them from a few Pryfektus for the day. My own decided it would be brilliant to talk back and is now cleaning out the drake stables until I have decided that he has learned his lesson. Needless to say, he gets no outings for a while.”
Thorulf gave a small, low chuckle, "I'm thankful you're not my tutor." he joked, but there was a slight element of truth in there; Thorulf always hated cleaning drake stables, "Still, discipline where discipline is due. Tiros can awfully cheeky buggers, can't they?" He said that last bit sincerely; obviously he hated disrespect. However, there was still a slight softness in his eyes. More often than not, he felt genuine affection towards Tiros; they were like young children, mewling for praise and knowledge. And true, like young children, they misbehaved. So it was it up to people like Faloán and Thorulf to instruct them on the right path, in whatever way they saw fit. "So tell me, pray, what fine lesson are you teaching them today?"
Thorulf's attention had been briefly caught by the late arriving Tiro, who was welcomed warmly by his peers. Faolán's voice brought him back into focus.
“I’m just wondering how long it will take them to realize that you’re over here and how much longer to realize that you’re holding a conversation with a dog.”
Thorulf raised his head to look at the Tiros; they were too busy concerning themselves with their newly arrived friend but Thorulf suspected that eventuality would come soon enough. "They must know you shift into a dog, surely?" Thorulf queried, "Ah, but are you choosing to take the 'mysterious mentor' approach today?" He eyed up the Tiros; none of them looked familiar to him, then again, Drakonborg was a big place, it was easy to spot a new face every day. "Better yet," Thorulf added, "They see a dog and a deer communing with each other. Perhaps I should lend a hand for your lesson. An entire lecture performed as beasts, rather unique I think."
Tags: Faolán LaighaenNotes: WHEEEEE I FINALLY DID IT. I hope you haven't been rewarded for your patience with a sucky reply. also thorulf rhymed in one of his sentences he's a poet and he didn't know it |
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Post by Faolán Laighaen on Feb 23, 2014 1:29:13 GMT
"I always took you for a man who enjoys a good scratch behind the ears, no?" Donalbain reached out and scratched him behind the ear. Faolán snapped half-heartedly at the man’s hand as he retracted it. He knew Donalbain meant the gesture playfully and he responded as such. The relationship he had with his fellow Pryfektus was far more lax than most of his other relationships. Most people who interacted with him saw his stricter side, but Donalbain was one of the few whom he allowed to see beyond that layer. "Alas, it's true I fear. All my boyish good looks...withered. That's what a life of Drakonrhedi service will do to a man." Faolan gave a small smile as much as his form would allow. There was a hint of sadness behind it. They both knew that the life of a Drakonrhedi would take away a whole lot more than just good looks. They’d both experienced it first hand, and they both knew that nothing was guaranteed in the life they lived. It was a hard life, but the rest of human kind did not care for their ease. They demanded that the Drakonrhedi fight for them and their survival, and the Drakonrhedi complied. After all, it was their blood that was shed in keeping the rest of humanity intact. Every single person aboard the Drakonborg had and would sacrifice something, some far more than others, for the sake of the people that relied on them. And they would do it willingly. Faolán gave himself a mental shake. Now was now the time to brood upon such things. He was supposed to be having a conversation with Donalbain as he kept an eye on his day’s charges. The Pryfektus tuned back in to what the other was saying. "You know, they say dog fur is very much in this season." “I’m afraid you’d have to look elsewhere. This isn’t for sale and there’s not enough to make anything. Go find one of those other non-talking mutts that wander about. I’m sure they’d be willing to be skinned. Or better yet, I know that there’s a deer somewhere here. I’ve heard that their pelts are very valuable,” he tossed back at Donalbain. "I'm thankful you're not my tutor. Still, discipline where discipline is due. Tiros can awfully cheeky buggers, can't they?" Faolán noted the softness in the man’s eyes. He was fond of them, like all mentors were. It was hard to not like one’s young charge. One saw them almost every day for nearly five years. One watched them grow and learn, watched them struggle and triumph, helped them, taught them everything they needed to know, and gave them a guiding hand. No, it was impossible to not grow attached to one’s Tiro, and whoever did had a heart as unmoving as a mountain. “Yes, yes they can be.” He could hear the affection in his own voice, but paid it no mind. He may be harsh on his Tiros, but it was because he cared. He wanted them as prepared as they could be when they emerged from his sheltering wing. Sometimes it didn’t help though. Sometimes one he had mentored ended up dead, but there was nothing to be done. It happened. Stop being so dismal, Faolán. There are always the good things in life too. "So tell me, pray, what fine lesson are you teaching them today?" Had he just rhymed? Probably not on purpose. “Patience and punctuality. And to always be prepared for the unexpected.” "They must know you shift into a dog, surely?" Faolán shook his head. Ah, but are you choosing to take the 'mysterious mentor' approach today?" He laughed. “Not quite so mysterious. I, after all, was the one who brought them here. They just don’t know my animal form, which makes keeping an eye on them that much easier.” "Better yet, they see a dog and a deer communing with each other. Perhaps I should lend a hand for your lesson. An entire lecture performed as beasts, rather unique I think." The dog bared his teeth in an amused grin. “Now that would be entertaining. I think I may just rope you into helping me with my lesson.” A plan had been forming in his head for a while now and he really wanted to follow it through. “What say you to giving those Tiros a most memorable show? I want to see how well they react to a fight.” Oh yes, he’d almost forgotten, there was still a truant Tiro wandering the streets somewhere. Well, the young man would probably be very unhappy when he found out what he had missed and the fact that if he didn’t show up soon, he’d be left behind. Faolán may, out of the kindness of his heart, go searching for the lost Tiro before they left. He was being so generous today wasn’t he? First, a little performance and second, a search and rescue mission. They’d be singing his praises for a long time to come. Ha. Good one. [/s][/s]
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Post by Thorulf Donalbain on Feb 24, 2014 1:22:10 GMT
As Faolán snipped playfully with his hand, Thorulf gave a mock yelp of shock, but followed it with a small, soft chuckle. There was a lot of strict behaviour and more often than not, grouchy attitudes within the higher ranks of the Drakonrhedi, and Thorulf put that down to mainly competition between the higher ranking members (ok, maybe he was sometimes a little guilty of that. Sometimes.) but in these rare moments of genuine friendship between him and his allies, Thorulf allowed himself to fully relax into a much softer demeanour. Of course, most of the time, Thorulf was as stern and hoity-toity as they came, but with Faolán nearby, there was always room for a smile and a round of jesting or two. The fellow Pryfektus brought out the worst in him.
At Faolán's response to his remark, Thorulf spotted the twinge of pain behind the otherwise emotionless canine eyes. Once Drakonrhedi had reached Faolán's age and certainly by Thorulf's, the true nature of the job stung like a thorn in the foot. Although Thorulf had always restricted himself in asking what Faolán's own cause for melancholy was, his own past gave him reason enough. It was like a dead weight in the chest; numb and heavy. Throwing oneself into one's work was sometimes the only thing a Drakonrhedi had left, and they held onto it with every ounce of strength they had.
There was no room for weakness in such demanding ranks, but Thorulf felt that in each other, both he and Faolán understood and regonised each other's burdens.
Still, this was not an occasion for moping.
“I’m afraid you’d have to look elsewhere. This isn’t for sale and there’s not enough to make anything. Go find one of those other non-talking mutts that wander about. I’m sure they’d be willing to be skinned. Or better yet, I know that there’s a deer somewhere here. I’ve heard that their pelts are very valuable,”
Thorulf raised a curious eyebrow, "You'd make a very lovely pair of mittens." he noted, sounding it rather like a complement than anything else, "Or a hat? Useful and fashionable." He scrunched up his nose and gave a wicked grin, "Just what I've always wanted."
Of course, Thorulf would never do such a thing; his fellow Pryfektus was a priceless comrade to have beside you on the battlefield, but he was also one of Thorulf few but genuine friends.
“Patience and punctuality. And to always be prepared for the unexpected.”
"Dump cold water on their head to wake them up." Thorulf stated bluntly, half-joking, half-serious, "Tiros learn to ready themselves for just about anything, while ensuring they wake up in time for their lessons." At that last statement, Thorulf gave a small gesture over to the late-arriving Tiro, who was just beginning to get his breath back.
Oh, he could be cruel sometimes.
But it was all for training purposes, promise.
“Now that would be entertaining. I think I may just rope you into helping me with my lesson. What say you to giving those Tiros a most memorable show? I want to see how well they react to a fight.”
'Well', Thorulf's mind began to inform him, 'there isn't anything in the rules that says we can't do that'. Faolán had a mischievous air about him, and at times like that, Thorulf found it was often infectious. Still, as long as the tiros got a lesson out of it, there was no harm down.
He gave himself a overly dramatic (but pretend) fluster, batting at his neat, tumble of dark hair, "But of course. But you know, darling-" And he made sure he over emphasized the word 'darling', "-I need a proper cue to enter the stage." The actor façade was dropped suddenly and Thorulf's dark smirk returned, "Trust me, I'm right behind you, friend."
He sat back on his haunches, ready to shift at anytime and preparing himself to leap into a spectacular performance.
Well...It would be considered cruel if he didn't lend his amazing tutoring techniques to these poor, ill-informed Tiros. Thorulf gestured a hand to usher Faolán forward to his awaiting pupils and said with a glint in his eyes, "Forward, maestro."
Tags: Faolán Laighaen Notes: bad post ish bad. BUT I'M TIRED BAWWWWWW
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Post by Faolán Laighaen on Feb 28, 2014 13:42:27 GMT
Donalbain let out a shocked cry, fake of course, making Faolán crack a grin. It was almost impossible to stay passive and stone-faced with the other Pryfektus around. Pleasant banter usually marked their conversations, and he rather enjoyed not having a dull exchange with the man. It broke up the monotony of all the other dull exchanges that he had throughout the day. "You'd make a very lovely pair of mittens. Or a hat? Useful and fashionable." Donalbain grinned at him maliciously. "Just what I've always wanted." “Ah, I see how it is. I am of no use to you or anyone else. I suppose I must give into my dastardly fate. Alas! My poor soul, damned from the beginning!” Faolán replied melodramatically. "Dump cold water on their head to wake them up. Tiros learn to ready themselves for just about anything, while ensuring they wake up in time for their lessons." This particular remark elicited a bark of laughter from Faolán. He’d not thought of trying to do something like that. It would definitely get a Tiro up and on his or her feet in a matter of seconds and cure them of the tardiness that plagued almost every single one. He’d have to try that little trick on his own Tiro one day. It would be worth it. Faolán nearly rolled his eyes when Donalbain took on an actor’s veneer and even went as far to call him darling. “You’ll get a proper cue when you can actually act, Donalbain.” "Trust me; I'm right behind you, friend. Forward, maestro." Faolán could tell that the other man was looking forward to this just as much as he. It wasn’t a traditional teaching method, but he hoped that the Tiros would actually glean something from it and he wouldn’t have to beat the lesson into their heads. The dog got up to his paws and briefly stretched before he left the pleasant shade, his paws lightly touching the ground as he trotted along. He nimbly twisted around and between people’s feet, making an otherwise straight line to his borrowed Tiros. He was sure that Donalbain was right behind him but he didn’t glance back to check, after all the man had been eager to do this as well. He came to an abrupt halt, his sensitive ears flicking up then off to one side. Faolán turned his head, his eyes scanning the crowd. Had he just heard what he thought he had? Yep, there it was again. A cry, but it wasn’t the normal ones that merchants shouted when selling wares or the workers calling to each other. No, this was sharp, a woman’s scream perhaps, and nearly drowned out from the din of the docks. “Donalbain!” he hissed, unsure if the other Pryfektus had heard the cry as well. “Come.” Faolán darted off into the crowd, the Tiros would have to wait, narrowly missing being kicked and stepped on. He threaded his way out of the crowd and into one of the many streets, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. --- Tag: Thorulf Donalbain
Notes: Pardon the shortness and the lateness. Also, I like that Faolán calls him Donalbain. |
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Post by Thorulf Donalbain on Feb 28, 2014 21:18:13 GMT
“Ah, I see how it is. I am of no use to you or anyone else. I suppose I must give into my dastardly fate. Alas! My poor soul, damned from the beginning!”
Thorulf's hand clutched his chest mock-despairingly, "What a cruel twist of fate to befall one of the Drakonrhedi's finest soldiers! The great Pryfektus Laighaen...reduced to a pair of mittens. His last words were," And for the following dramatic segment, Thorulf put on a high squeaky voice just to playfully spite Faolán's own deep vocal range, "'I am not a bush dog!'" Thorulf knew just how tread on thin ice with Faolán. Of course, like before, he never meant it seriously. Sometimes it was just a competition to see who could out-trump the other in verbal jests. At the moment, Thorulf reckoned their score board was about equal.
“You’ll get a proper cue when you can actually act, Donalbain.”
Thorulf responded with a smug smirk, pleased to see that Faolán was still in on the joke. He watched as his fellow Slayer stood up on all fours, stretched and departed from the shade at a brisk pace. After a couple of moments, he shifted to join him.
The great horned beast that stood where Thorulf had but a few seconds ago been sitting raised its proud head to welcome the rays of sun bathing against his thick, brown coat. His twisted antlers looked slightly aged in the light, but still carried a sense of graceful magnificence. Not that Thorulf was a showoff or anything. Perish the thought.
A few people had stopped to look at the out-of-place stag, but after a moment or two they simply dismissed him and carried on as normal. It was obvious that a creature so out of the ordinary in a busy city was in fact, not a real stag. Thorulf always thought that a large disadvantage of his shifted state. Then again, he was never going for subtly in the first place, so it didn't bother him too much.
Watching Faolán progress further to the Tiros, Thorulf craned his head to watch the canine weave skillfully in and out of the crowd, ears flicking as his animal senses treated him to a much more vast array of sounds. It was a good thing he now possessed such ability, as the sound of a faint but certain scream suddenly reached his ears. Thorulf lifted his head high, peering through the crowd, ears up and forward.
“Donalbain!”
He heard Faolán's hiss, and it was obvious that the other Pryfektus had also heard the cry, "I know." Thorulf's voice was low, hushed and full of baited dread. His eyes were still searching through the crowds, trying to identify a source, but he could see none. Such a noise was definitely not a good sign.
“Come.”
Thorulf gave a brief nod of his great, horned head as Faolán shot forward, quick as a flash. Thorulf raised his muzzle and emitted a loud, deep bellow to catch the attention of the streams of people in front of them. Once he was certain that the people blocking his path had laid eyes on him and that he wasn't going to knock them down, he surged forward with quick, powerful strides. It wasn't exactly the sneakiest of approaches, but it was better than running down innocent bystanders because they hadn't seen him (it was pretty hard not to seen him, but you can never be too careful). Besides, once a couple had moved out of his way, it became a chain reaction with people ducking frantically and leaping out of his way with a collection of gasps and yelps.
He quickly caught up with Faolán and slowed his pace to match his canine comrade, so that he was now moving at a slow canter-like pace. "What do you think that was?" he asked, voice jostling slightly with his movements, "And weren't you missing a Tiro back there? I noticed you didn't have a full group." His voice sound grave as possibilities that he hoped wouldn't become fact filled his mind. Hopefully said missing Tiro was just running late from the Drakonrborg, and hadn't fallen prey to much more sinister circumstances.
Tags: Faolán Laighaen
Notes: shit's going dooooooooooooooown
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Post by Faolán Laighaen on Mar 1, 2014 23:37:47 GMT
Faolán wasn’t pleased with the bush dog comment and the squeaky voice thing, but he’d have to get Donalbain back later. Right now there were far more pressing matters to attend to, like the person who had screamed. He didn’t know where it had come from and hoped that either they’d hear a scuffle or the person, a woman most likely, would scream again. He didn’t have to look back to know that Donalbain was at his heels; people yelped as they tried to get out of the buck’s way as the Pryfektus charged through the crowd. Faolán could also hear Donalbain’s hooves clatter against the ground as they ran. It didn’t take long for Donalbain to come up beside him. Faolán wished sometimes that his own animal form was bigger, he’d be able to move faster, but he did enjoy the perks of being a small-eared dog. No one noticed him and he could easily navigate crowds unnoticed; Donalbain on the other hand stood out like a sore thumb when he was in his animal form. "What do you think that was?" “I don’t know, Donalbain. But whatever it is, it’s nothing good,” he replied. "And weren't you missing a Tiro back there? I noticed you didn't have a full group." Faolán nearly flinched. So Donalbain had noticed, and they were both thinking the same thing, though Faoán had put it to the back of his mind, not wanting to think that something may have happened to the Tiro while the kid was supposed to be under his watchful eye. Yeah, because you are being so watchful today, Faolán. If something has happened to him, it’s your fault. …Again. He brushed aside the accusing voice in his head and began to focus on the sounds around him, trying to pick up on anything that would lead them to the person or persons in trouble. He stopped at a crossroads, his ears flicking back and forth. Ah. There! He darted off to the right as another cry sounded, muffled, weaker, and then took a left a matter of seconds later. It was a good thing he actually knew his way around the city. Years of experience and countless dead-ends had made it possible for him to navigate the labyrinthine streets of Midgardborg like he was someone who had been born there. Faolán took several more turns before he found the source of the noise in an alleyway that led to a dead end. There on the ground lay a woman. She was curled up and whimpering in fright. There was someone protecting her, but he couldn’t see who due to the burly men that stood in his line of sight. There were three of them, each larger than him if he had been in his normal form. He bore his teeth and snarled at them. One turned and he caught a glimpse of the woman’s protector. It was a young man, the missing Tiro, bravely holding a sword against the advancing men who towered over him. There was blood lacing down his cheek from a cut and Faolan could tell that he was tired. If there were any other wounds, he couldn’t see them. “Oh lookie ‘ere. An ugly mutt. Shoo!” Apparently the blithering idiot hadn’t seen Donalbain, or the Pryfektus hadn’t shown himself. The man took a knife from his belt and flung it at Faolán, who didn’t need to move it was so off mark. “Oi! Get outta ‘ere, ya stupid dog!” The ‘stupid dog’ shifted, anger blazing in his eyes. Faolán removed the sword strapped at his hip from its sheathe. “You want to say that again?” Fear entered the man's eyes and the other two turned. "No? Good." |
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Post by Thorulf Donalbain on Mar 2, 2014 18:15:36 GMT
“I don’t know, Donalbain. But whatever it is, it’s nothing good,”
Thorulf gave a stag snort in response, hooves quickening against the cobblestone path to match his companion's pace. He could feel the worry emanating from his partner, but his own soul felt heavy with dread too. Tiros were young and inexperienced, and often thought they could handle certain battles purely under the guise that because they were Drakonrhedi, they were invincible. But a title is only a title after all. Members like Faolán and Thorulf had to learn that the hard way. Nevertheless, somehow in Midgardborg there was someone (whether they were a Tiro or not was irrelevant, but the Drakonrhedi couldn't stand to loose more lives) in danger and it was up to Thorulf and Faolán to amend the issue.
Faolán came to an abrupt halt just ahead on him, and Thorulf slammed on the deer-brakes. That was the other disadvantage of having such a hefty animal state; you had to give yourself more of a stopping distance. Faolán was lucky; his smaller canine feet were much more nimble than Thorulf's great hooves. He'd stopped just above Faolán, the smaller canine-shifting Pryfektus standing between his two front legs. It would've been quite a comical site, had there not been a sense of great urgency. Faolán's ears were pricked and twitching and Thorulf raised his muzzle to sniff the air.
Suddenly there came another cry, and as Thorulf's head snapped around to the direction of the sound, Faolán had shot off, quick as a beat, before Thorulf had any time to ask his companion's synopsis. "Faolán!" he called, but his ally was already out of probable ear-shot. Thorulf followed soon after, but the other Pryfektus had darted out of his sight. Thorulf gave a mental curse and decided to take his own route towards the sound.
He twisted through alleyways and cantered down streets, often at times being forced to jump over knocked over crates and other obstacles in his path. He cleared them with ease, muscled legs pushing him from the ground with powerful ease. His speed was a little lacking, but he mentally put that down to him focusing on where he was going.
Before too long, he was running up a particuarly narrow alleyway, and was just about to burst forth into the street when the sound of raised noises reached his ears.
“Oh lookie ‘ere. An ugly mutt. Shoo! Oi! Get outta ‘ere, ya stupid dog!”
Ah, marvelous, it would seem that Faolán had already located the trouble.
He came to a slow halt, hooves gently sloshing in puddles of murky sewage water (Thorulf made a mental note to have someone furiously polish them later) as his movements ceased. He waited for Faolán's reaction and - soon enough - it came.
“You want to say that again?”
From his vantage point, Thorulf could see in the reflection of an opposite shop window that Faolán had shifted back into his normal state, and was bearing down ferociously on the scared individual who'd previously insulted them. To Thorulf relief however, he spotted the fearful Tiro. The young man seemed a little battered up, but he'd survive, and Thorulf silently commended the young lad for his bravery at protecting an innocent civilian.
Which brought him onto the silent dilemma of what to do with the three assailants. Justice needed to be taken, that's for sure. But the Drakonrhedi was a professional organisation, it would certainly be bad for publicity and social standing if humans were slain. Besides, there was no honour in killing simple men. They specialized in Behemoths, and the three attackers they faced now were just simple -but stupid- men.
That being said, if things got too drastic, Thorulf didn't object to getting a little more...dirty.
"No? Good."
At this, the two others assailants became slightly enraged as one drew his blade and advanced towards Pryfektus. "I'll slit yer nose, you cocky little shi-"
Time to step in, Thorulf.
"Now I reckon," he began in a low, grave voice, emerging from the shadow of the alleyway, horns bared downwards, "-that would be a very disagreeable idea indeed." The man turned to him, surprised but weapon still drawn, "Perhaps you ought to lower your blade. There's a good boy."
The man hesitated for a moment, lingering on the idea. But then his hand gripped tighter around the handle of his sword and snarled viciously, "I'll hang your head on my wall!" Suddenly he lurched forward, the blade of his weapon poised outwards to start hacking away at Thorulf's neck.
But the Pryfektus met him halfway.
You don't trifle with stag whose bared his antlers.
Thorulf had shot forward as soon as his opponent had, and as the man's sword was about to come down on him, Thorulf jerked his head upwards in slightly twisting fashion and the blade became ensnared within the entanglement of antlers. Mercifully, the sword was considerably blunt and made of weak metal, so it only chipped slightly against Thorulf's horns. Thorulf prayed that would buff out. It was now a question of strength. The man was trying to wiggle his blade free of Thorulf's horns, but the Pryfektus was jerking his head backwards, trying to disarm the weapon from his assailant's fierce grip.
Out the corner of his eye, he noticed the third man pull a bow and arrow from his back.
Arrows were a considerable weakness for Thorulf.
"Laighaen," he called, using his companion's last name this time (after all, it was better to appear professional during battles), "Would you like to ever so kindly do the honours?"
Tags: Faolán Laighaen
Notes: apparantly thorulf's antlers are made of freakin' titanium but there you go
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Post by Faolán Laighaen on Mar 11, 2014 1:16:45 GMT
Oh? Did that blithering idiot really think he could take Faolán on and win? The man wouldn’t get remotely close to it. He’d be down and out before the fight actually began. "Now I reckon that would be a very disagreeable idea indeed. Perhaps you ought to lower your blade. There's a good boy." “Ah, Donalbain. Nice of you to show up.” The ruffian had hesitated at Thorulf’s sudden comment, but was now swinging at the buck with his sword. Faolán didn’t continue watching, for the first man, the one who had called him a mutt, withdrew an ax. Apparently he had found his nerve and wanted to fight. Though it would have better for him if he hadn’t, he was up against a professionally trained soldier after all, and the scales were not in his favor. The man lunged, bringing his ax up high as if to cleave Faolán in two. The Pryfektus snorted. How foolish. The man left himself wide open and if this had been an actual fight, Faolán would have taken advantage of that, but this was not, and killing the man wasn’t something Faolán was about to do. Now hurting him was a completely different matter. Faolán side-stepped the ax and rammed the pommel of his sword into the man’s lower back. The man hissed from the pain and turned, anger now in his eyes. He charged and Faolan met him this time. Their weapons clashed, ringing throughout the alley. "Laighaen," Donalbain called to him, "Would you like to ever so kindly do the honours?" Faolán took a quick glance over his shoulder. Crap. The third man had a bow and was in the process of aiming the ranged weapon at Donalbain. “Give me a moment.” He pushed the man away from him, then turned and swung his sword at the archer. The man let out a surprised yelp and practically dropped the bow as the blade came up to his throat. Footsteps behind Faolán made him turn. He swept his sword up, catching the ax at its haft, wrenching it from the man’s grasp. It clattered to the ground a number of feet away. ”You go for that weapon, I will not hesitate to lop off a limb.” The man froze and Faolán turned his attention back to the archer, only to find that the Tiro had his sword pointed threateningly at the man. He couldn't help but smile at the tenderfoot. --- Tag: Thorulf Donalbain
Notes: Please pardon the shortness, crappiness, and lateness of this. |
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Post by Thorulf Donalbain on Mar 14, 2014 22:17:37 GMT
Thorulf had been in less than desirable situations before. Of course, that was all part of the job, and such occasions happened on a numerous basis. And while all necessary action was carried out in a strictly professional fashion, there was room -as Thorulf had learnt in his years of experience- for...a certain amount of creative flair, something to keep the spark in one's career. He regaled with fondness of how -in his early years in the Drakonrhedi- each mission and assignment was done with such passion and excitement, because every mission and assignment was different. Of course, now he was older, he had come to expect unexpected things, and while there was still obviously passion in his methods, his experience had wormed its way into his being and now everything he did was almost performed with sense of systematic efficiency. Nevertheless, it was effective, so there was no real drive to change what he already knew.
“Ah, Donalbain. Nice of you to show up.”
Thorulf found his furred lips were pulled slightly in a small smirk, "Well, shame to let you have so much fun." he cooed, his hooves hitting the cobblestones with loud and foreboding steps.
The man he'd locked antler-to-sword with was now finding his efforts to be in vain, and as Thorulf felt opposing struggle diminish slightly in desperation, he jerked his head backwards, yanking the weapon from the man's hands and safely disarming him. The blade came crashing to the ground with piercing clatter, its ex-owner now standing completely dumbstruck in front of Thorulf. The stag kept his head down slightly, but his eyes stayed locked on to the assailant.
“Give me a moment.”
A stray gaze over to Faolán at the sound of his voice found that Thorulf's fellow Pryfektus was successfully dealing with his own opponent, before turning his attention to the encroaching archer. Satisfied that his own attacker was sufficiently neutralized, Thorulf snapped his head round to the archer. Arrows were something that could easily stagger a charge, providing they hit of course. While Thorulf was effectively agile (heck, you had to be to survive this long in the Drakonrhedi), he was still a large target, especially in his stag form. You had to be a pretty poor shot to miss him if he was standing still.
Thankfully, he wouldn't get to see this archer's bow skills, as the Tiro had put on a sudden show of commendable bravery and was now squaring up to the man, sword drawn. Thorulf didn't speak his appreciation, but gave a loud snort to show that he had acknowledged the Tiro's courage and was brimming with gratitude for it. The archer's bow was now lowered, and he stood with both hands up in defeat. Wise man.
Just then a shrill scream sounded, and Thorulf instantly felt his heat flutter in apprehension. Even after so many years of faithful service, such sounds still managed to twist his insides. His head turned quickly to watch as the man he'd disarmed was now roughly manhandling the woman previously protected by the Tiro. Thorulf lurched forward, but the man saw him and -quick as a flash- produced a knife from his belt and held it against the young lady's neck. Thorulf came to a shuddering halt.
"One move, and this pretty thing gets it." the man hissed, wrapping the woman in a terrible embrace as she struggled helplessly.
Stags don't usually growl, but Thorulf felt something very similar bubble away in his throat.
"Damned coward." he snarled back, voice like thunder. His stance was squared now, demonstrating that the man's threat hadn't totally diminished his own fire. Holding capable warriors against their will was one thing terrible enough, but an innocent civilian? 'Blood boiling' was an understatement.
As they were locked in a stalemate, the man -with his dagger now pointed at Thorulf and Faolán- suddenly lugged the panicking woman onto his shoulder and she tried to thump his back and kick at his chest with all her might in a desperate struggle for freedom, but of course, to no avail. The assailant gave a short burst of mocking laughter and took off down an alleyway.
Thorulf quickly looked around to Faolán, "People snatchers. If we don't catch up quick, gods know what will that happen to do that woman." Thorulf didn't even dare thinking about it. He gave a quick glance around; thankfully the two other attackers had now made a run for it but the Tiro looked visibly shaken. Thorulf looked back to Faolán, "He can either come with us or head back to the group, it's your call. I'm not in charge of him, and I'll not question your decision."
Tags: Faolán Laighaen
Notes: watch as teapot badly tries to move threads forward wheeeeeeeeeeeee
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