from the woods > a medieval werewolf role play > o & a

[InfectedHau]

Edelheide Fenn||Princess of Fordaemdur||Castle Town||Tagged: Open

She turned a few heads walking through the streets, but that was to be expected. She wasn't exactly dressed like the average commoner, even if she was freed of the silks and liveries that she usually wore. Still, it was less heads than if she went about as herself, and that was the important bit.

A long cowl hid her eyes in shadow, and a black mask shrouded her face. A long cloak shrouded her body, hiding her oiled leather armor and sheathed blades. She walked with a casual, languid stride, a far cry from the graceful steps that carried her through the castle halls. There was nothing in the way the cloaked figure moved or acted that could at all tie them to the elegant, proper princess of Fordaemdur, and that was entirely the point.

This was how Heidi spent a lot of her time. It was good to keep her finger on the pulse of the commonfolk, and lend a hand where she could. The guard were good at their jobs, but they couldn't catch everything, and she saw many things that they didn't. Innocent or guilty, a uniform put people's guard up, they were more themselves when they thought themselves free from royal eyes.

There was more to this particular excursion than just casual observation, however. Word had reached Heidi's ears of a conspiracy against the throne, a coup in the making perpetrated by a person or persons unknown. She had her suspicions as to the ringleader, of course, but she didn't have enough evidence to act on them, nor did she have any idea as to how large of a following they might have. Information gathering was the order of the day, and thus far it had been relatively unproductive. There was no lingering discontent among the general populace, no more than usual at least. There was always going to be some grumbling about those in power, that was part and parcel of ruling over others, but nothing that spoke to revolt. Someone less wary (some might say less paranoid) might have dismissed the information she'd received as false, but Heidi knew her sources, and they wouldn't come to her with something like this without good reason.

[.:Friday_The_13th:.]

𝕵𝖆𝖘𝖔𝖓 𝕸𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖙
𝖂𝖔𝖑𝖋 - 𝕭𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖘𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖍 - 𝕴𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖙: 𝕸𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖍 𝕺'𝕸𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖞
Sparks flickered out from the crash of a hammer, heavy clangs and metal scraping breaking the still air of the dark room, which was only illuminated by the empty light spilling through an open door. The bright flash of molten steel lit up a figure, tall as the mountain and heavy as a bear. Jason was by all means not a small lad, his large frame and heavy stature seemingly giving him an intimidating appearance, his hard eyes and usual scowl helping to extend that image. Sparks flickered off his exposed upper torso, glittering across the table before dying on cold stone floor. The glow of a hot sword slid from the table and lifted into the air as piercing eyes inspected the craft, finally the mass moved to an oil vat, where he quickly slid the blade in. Steam and smoke billowed from the barrel and rolled out of the oil, smoking to the floor and in the air before the blade was pulled free. Jason picked up another lump of steel and slid the metal across the blade, listening for any soft spots that had occured in his quench. Nothing, the blade was tough and the quench had proven successful. The large male paused and looked out the door at the street that bustled by, people living daily lives and going about the day like every other sun high. He let out a deep sigh and tipped his head back, sweat rolling down his face and neck as he did so. He usually took a moment or two break after a quench, the moment of freedom from the sizzling heat giving him a relief. The cool breeze that blew through the open door made him relax a small bit. Jason closed his eyes for a moment before hoisting the heavy blade back up and moving on to sharpen his craft.

[multicurious]

SERSHA EATHE
─────────────────────────────── ──────────────────────────────
[ title. werewolf lesser heir ] [ tagged. arlo eathe, tarner eathe | mentioned: n/a ] [ location. the forest ]


─────The edge in Tarner’s voice, though directed at Arlo, did nothing to set Sersha at ease. The quickest snarl twisted his lupine features, fur standing up along his scruff. She moved her gaze between her two brothers, watching their movements from her position kneeling on the ground. She was uncharacteristically still with wariness, muscles tense as she instinctively prepared to shift forms. Arlo and Tarner have had these moments of hostility for as long as she could remember, they’ve only increased in frequency since Tarner ascended to their father’s position. While none of them have broken out into a true conflict as of yet, Sersha couldn’t help but prepare herself to spring into action to separate them. Whether that would be well received by Tarner was a side note she wasn’t willing to consider.

─────It wasn’t until the alpha revealed his true intent that shock wracked through her core, her face visibly blanching at what Tarner was alluding. Or rather, exclaiming. “You… this is what you want? Why?” Sersha’s brow creased with concern, her question posed in an attempt to understand. The initial surprise passing, Sersha finally joined the telepathic link established by Tarner, to avoid being overheard. What could you possibly want with the human throne and its people? She put a little more emphasis on ’people’ than perhaps was necessary, but that was her main concern, really. The idea of a single pack of wolves warring with an entire kingdom in pursuit of control was insane in her mind, resulting in needless death on both sides. Worst case scenario, the kingdom’s army wipes out their pack.

[vulture,]

Caine Mallory
| Male | Human | Kennelmaster |

A single moment of peace was often hard to find when your occupation involved handling a rowdy pack of hunting dogs; the quiet walk to the market in the crisp morning air was a welcome relief for the grizzled kennelmaster. The bustle of the markets were still far enough to be just a quiet hum in the distance, leaving the sounds of Tyrus' claws to echo through the alleyway. Caine walked these cobbled streets just about every morning but they never lost their beauty. The craftmanship that went into every single brick was awe-inspiring. In another life, perhaps Caine would've been a stonemason.

The smell of fresh bread delighted Caine's senses as he neared the market. By his side, Tyrus' abundance of drool suggested that he too smelled the forbidden treats. "We're eating well, remember?" Caine murmured to the wolfhound as their steps both slowed in front of the bakery. He glanced down at Tyrus who in turn looked back up at him with a quiet whine as a long string of saliva crept toward the road, "You're a terrible influence." When they approached the shop, the baker already had their usual set up on the counter with a knowing grin. Caine paid the woman and could not hide his delight as he bit into a sugary sweet roll. The quietest squeal of delight involuntarily rang from him with that first delectable bite. After Tyrus had scarfed down his day-old biscuit, they set off again.

| Tags: xx | Mentions: xx | Location: Markets |

Svala Holt
| Female | Werewolf | Blacksmith | Pack Subordinate |

Soot and ash stained Svala's sun kissed cheeks after a busy morning over the forge. The blade she had toiled over for a full-pocketed nobleman was finally finished. She had no doubt this fellow had no clue as to how to wield a weapon so fine as this-- evidenced by the impractical design he demanded of a frilly golden hilt embellished with a glistening ruby that would no doubt eat into the hand of its wielder-- but he offered a hefty pouch of coin that she would've been mad to decline. With an exhale of accomplishment, Svala polished the dagger one last time and set it upon an oak rack to await pick up the next day. It took her only a moment to run over a carefully organized mental list and conclude that her orders were complete and she was free for the better part of the day.

After peeling off her worn leather gloves and apron, laying them across an aged anvil, the she wolf locked up shop and set off in search of mischief. Every step was delivered with a little bounce and swinging arms. Her golden ocean of hair swayed as she bobbed her head from side to side, humming a lively tune to herself as she set off. A sharpness lined her emerald eyes and her expression portrayed the smugness she possessed. Every look she delivered was lined with a challenge that would make a weak man cower. This very gaze fell upon a questionable cloaked figure that weaved through the streets. A smile played upon Svala's lips; the mysterious person embodied trouble. She had found her entertainment for the day and quickly adjusted her stride to tail the stranger.

| Tags: xx | Mentions: Edlheide Fenn | Location: Forge > Streets |

[Meekins12345]

❀ 𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓱 𝓚𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓭𝔂 𝓞'𝓜𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓮𝔂 ❀
{female|human|domestic servant}
{Tagged: Open | Mentions: None | Location: Marketplace}
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The humming hustle and bustle of the marketplace was always something that Moriah both enjoyed and loathed immensely. It was enjoyable by the fact that it meant she was getting out, for she barely left the castle. A servant's work was confined into the domain of which they were given, after all. The marketplace and the crisp air that was mingled with the scents of baked goods, worn leather and hot metal was, initially, quite inviting, exciting even... but it was always the massive crowds of people that made her immediately regret whatever decision it was that had her come in the first place, and there was usually plenty of people scattered about the marketplace. Of course, she could understand why so many people made it a habit of socializing here. This was a place to talk and meet people, and to get errands done on top of it, so it was rather convenient. She could imagine it would be a bit fun as well, if a person had companionship and someone to talk to. More often than not? She was alone, off by herself to finish the work. It wasn't all bad, though. She got to explore, at least. And no one ever really bothered her since she didn't look to be of noble blood, which she was more than convinced that she carried nothing of the sort. Sure, there were often a few strange men that would try to grab her attention from time to time but she could stand up for herself... so long as it was the art of speaking.

She was quite grateful for the ride here, though she knew well enough she'd be on her own from here on out. At least there wasn't that much she had to get, the list given to her by Lilith, a fellow servant, which was written by the royal chef, was rather short. A few heads of cabbage, some potatoes, carrots, some flour and a few dozen eggs. Simple enough. A nod was given at the list before she stuffed it back into her dress pocket and proceeded off to the first stall.

[.:Friday_The_13th:.]

𝕵𝖆𝖘𝖔𝖓 𝕸𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖙
𝖂𝖔𝖑𝖋 - 𝕭𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖘𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖍 - 𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖘: 𝕸𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖍 𝕺'𝕸𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖞
Jason held up the long sword, inspecting the sharpness and the quality of the overall finished product. It was a fine blade, made specifically for one of the shop keepers. Jay made good money for his craft, but often found trading weapons and other forged items for food and other things he enjoyed as an easy money saving habit. With Jason always having a steady supply of iron coming into his forge, it wasn't too difficult to practice his money saving trick.
Jason set the blade into a bright leather holster and stretched his back, listening to it pop a few times. He licked his dry lips and walked over to a water barrel, scooping up some of the liquid to wash the grime and soot from his face and arms. He ran his hands along his neck and bare upper torso to relieve his skin of sweat and Ash before slipping a fitting black shirt over his head. The shirt formed to his figure in a way that it wasn't tight but not overly baggy, the top of the shirt had a small slit that exposed some collar bone and was held together by string. His pants where a dark brown and black boots encased his feet. He hoisted the sword up onto his back and locked the door to his forge, a usually steady sign he wasn't in his usual place.

Jason wasn't too fond of the market place, it was usually steady with people and Jason stuck out like a red rose in a field of lavender. His bulky size and towering hight made people watch as he passed by and some of the local whelps, or as normal people called them, children, made rumors he was a half giant. Jason didn't mind the talk as he did his own and that's all he needed. He crossed the street into the market and looked about, he knew where he was headed but he always scoped the place out for anything new or anything he didn't want to deal with. He made his way to a stall that harbored numerous meats, cuts, and eggs.
"Hello shop keeper." He greeted the butcher by sliding the sword across the table top, the butcher grinned at his new toy. In return for the blade, Jason was given a large sack, it was a pale tan color but the bottom of the bag turned a reddish brown, blood dripping from it's fabric. The large male nodded and turned, nearly bumped into a young lady. He took a half step back as not to fully bulldoze her with his size and he quickly made a steep bow.
"My apologies" he said quickly, he could recognize the bright curls of red locks and pale skin anywhere, he had forgotten her name from their once brief encounter but he wouldn't forget her face. As he remembered she was a serving girl working in the castle, her chartreuse eyes drew him in with such captivation he was enamored by her. "I hope you can forgive my clumsiness." He offered his fault up front as to not upset the woman for nearly stepping on her. Jason's voice was a medium brass tone, deep and rough as gravel, but clear. His accent was strange, an off mixture of Scottish and Norwegian that mingled into a cross breed that tumbled from his pale lips. His honey colored eyes looked at her face, he hoped he hadn't made her angry.

[InfectedHau]

Edelheide Fenn||Princess of Fordaemdur||Castle Town||Tagged: Svala

The hair on the back of Heidi's neck began to prickle, but she resisted the urge to turn around and kept walking. She had a strong feeling she was being followed, but she didn't want to tip her potential tail off that she was aware of their presence. She continued on her route, doing her best to not act like she was being followed, until she came to a small alleyway, closed off from the main thoroughfare. Normally it was something she would have passed by after confirming it was empty, but today she ducked into it, hands moving to her weapons beneath her cloak. Part of her thought she was just being paranoid, but her intuition was rarely wrong in cases like these. Her trainer used to say it was like she had eyes in the back of her head, and it was a skill that had saved her life many times. When one was as used to having eyes on her as Heidi was, one quickly became aware of the feeling.

The alley was empty, save for a few crates and barrels. A stack of lumber was piled against one wall, doubtless used as firewood by the owners of the building. Almost immediately the bustle of the street outside faded away, leaving only the crunching of Heidi's boots on the loose dirt. If her tail didn't follow her down the alley, she could simply continue forwards, coming out the other side and vanishing into the crowd once again. If they did, she could safely subdue them without drawing undue attention. The Princess slowed to a stop in the middle of the alley, still not turning around. She would wait a few moments, and see if her mystery stalker would deign to show themselves.

[montmorency]

❝𝘿𝘼𝙈𝙄𝙀𝙉 𝘿𝙍𝘼𝙆𝙀 ─────────── ( he/him ) ( werewolf ) ( captain of the guard )
( location: marketplace ) ( tags: caine ) ( mentions: bennet, cian )

xx"Let's hope yours are capable as well!" the captain countered, looking every bit like he was about to heave a sigh as Bennet stepped away. And hope that you won't need saving by my guard, he thought, turning away himself. Every additional day that he tried to keep a guard on Bennet, Damien came closer to realizing it was an impossible task, a boulder that rolled away from him each time he neared the hill's peak. It was slightly maddening—he couldn't give up, lest Bennet know he won (and he surely wouldn't let Damien forget it). But he couldn't keep at it either for the sake of his guardsmen and other responsibilities. As a good strategist, he had to know when he was beat, but damn did he not want to. He balanced his two options every time he encountered the prince, never deciding.

xxPerhaps in an attempt to distract himself from any decision, he turned his full attention back to his surroundings. Fordaemdur was bustling, and it didn't revolve around guarding Bennet Fenn. Damien set off again, resting his hand on the sword he kept at his side. He nodded at the city guards as he passed them. It was a somewhat aimless walk now that he had found and lost Bennet, but he could turn it into something productive. It was a perfect day to check on the guards in the city that were under him. A surprise check-in and a chance to get out of the castle. Many of the city guards were under the thumb of Cian, but not all; Damien had his occasional person, often someone appointed to watch for members of the royal family who had slipped out of the castle as they so often seemed to do. Maybe his whole job was an impossible task, actually.

xxDamien eventually made his way to the marketplace, where the the city's activity reached its zenith. Money was exchanged, people browsed and chattered, and the occasional child darted by, trinket in hand. Considering that he was there in the marketplace, Damien considered buying a drink or a snack. The castle provided, but it certainly didn't have everything. He looked over and around the heads of citizens as he looked for something appealing, or maybe a familiar face. He soon found the latter in the form of a hulking wolfhound whose presence could only mean one thing. With a now-brightened disposition, Damien approached the dog and his master.

xx"Caine, my dear friend!" Damien said, opening his arms in a greeting gesture. The tall kennelmaster was just the right person to help Damien take his mind off his eternal struggle. "Fancy seeing you here! And Tyrus, too." Damien sort of nodded at the dog, making no attempt to reach for him.

[vulture,]

Caine Mallory
| Male | Human | Kennel Master |

Caught red handed. Caine's eyes went wide and he froze midbite, his mouth hanging open and the sweetroll held to it. His gaze slowly traced its way to the guard captain. Once upon a time, Caine would have been shunned for threatening his strength with something so sugary and the feeling of guilty pleasure was something he'd never leave behind. A cheeky smile crept across the old soldier's lips as he happily finished his bite. Being discharged at least meant he didn't have to hide his treats.

"Damien," he chuckled, "What brings the almighty captain of the guard to the infallible market?" He had always enjoyed a good jest with his old friend. He wasn't always the best at sharing feelings and after all that Damien had done for him, he never really figured out the right way to thank him; sharing a laugh and offering as much support as he could were the only ways he knew how.

The large dog beside him seemed to go stiff as the captain approached. Tyrus was all but snarling at Damien. If a dog could scowl, the wolfhound would be delivering quite the sharp glare. Caine scoffed at the dog and lightly tapped his head, "Tsch- Relax. Always so on edge," He reprimanded before offering a broken record apology to Damien, "Again I apologize, he's always so uptight around you. Have you not bathed in awhile? Perhaps you smell." Even the kennel master's attempts to distract him by offering the crumbs stuck to his fingers went unnoticed. Ever since Tyrus was just a pup, he had reacted negatively towards Damien and Caine could never break him of it. The years of work had yielded some progress though, the dog no longer flattened his ears, rumbled a puppy's growl, then bravely ran and hid.

| Tags: Damien | Mentions: xx | Location: Marketplace |

Svala Holt
| Female | Werewolf | Blacksmith | Pack Subordinate |

Every step Svala took was with purpose; she had a strong stride that was undermined only by the bounce in her step. Nothing she ever did was delivered with subtly. Her general dress was far from the normal peasant woman's which never helped her blend in. A blacksmith would not be very efficient-- or safe-- in a loose flowy dress. She had always opted for tanned leather that protected her from the flying sparks and metals she worked with daily. Moreover, she hadn't done the best job cleaning up after a day of work and soot was still smeared across her forehead. She had no reason to worry, however, she was a headstrong woman who believed there wasn't anything or anyone that could best her-- not even a spooky stranger in a cloak slinking down alleyways.

Completely oblivious to her game being uncovered, she continued to prance after the figure into this alley without hesitation. She had no immediate understanding of danger and often got into some sticky situations because of it. Death had yet to claim the wolf so she saw little reason not to keep enjoying her own shenanigans. The silence of the corridor was all consuming and almost jarring after dipping away from the bustling streets; it was both comforting and eerie. As her target slowed to a halt, so too did Svala. The blacksmith shifted her weight onto one leg and crossed her arms loosely over her chest. Wearing a raised brow and a tilted head, the wolf's melodic voice cut through the thick quiet, "You know, if you're trying to appear inconspicuous, dressing like an assassin sent to murder the king is not the way to do it." At this moment it then occurred to her that perhaps they were just what they appeared to be. Svala's fingers twitched as her eyes shifted down for only a moment, ensuring her dagger was securely sheathed to her side.

| Tags: Edelheide | Mentions: xx | Location: Castle Streets |

[Meekins12345]

❀ 𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓱 𝓚𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓭𝔂 𝓞'𝓜𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓮𝔂 ❀
{female|human|domestic servant}
{Tags: Jason Mormont | Mentions: None | Location: Marketplace}
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The first stall she had gotten to was mainly selling vegetables, and, since it was mostly vegetables on her list, she was quick to pull out the small pouch from her dress pocket and pay up. Part of her wondered just why, at times, the royal chef had various maids and servants go out and fetch him ingredients. After all, didn't he get his stock from the farms that were specifically there to supply the royal family's food? She could only shake her head before continuing to wander on, up to another market stall, proceeding to think about such anomalies.

She absentmindedly wandered around the markets, quietly thinking to herself a moment longer before ultimately shaking her thoughts away. No need for thinking of pointless things. She was just here to get things and leave, that is all. The vegetables she had in the knapsack strapped on her back, so all she needed now was eggs. Her eyes locked upon the stall she most often did business with, when she had to come to town, anyway. Taking a step forward, she was about to begin the small walk there... when something very large and very heavy bumped into her side and nearly knocked her off her feet.

"Oi! Watch--" Chartreuse eyes flickered with indignation as she turned to meet her assailant, half ready to chew into whomever had nearly tripped on her... but as she looked to the man she recognized him. She had met him once before. Wait... wasn't this the blacksmith? One of the two most recognized blacksmiths in town, actually. What was his name, now? Jerry? No, Jason! That's right, that was his name.

It was hard to miss this man with his impressive size, especially when Moriah was quite a bit smaller than most of the residents in the kingdom of Fordaemdur. Standing just a little above five feet, a man almost two feet taller than her was quite the height difference, and because of that height difference, she could easily understand now just why he may not have seen her. Then again, it could have been her fault as well. After all, she wasn't really paying attention to her surroundings, either.

The way he bowed and gave his apology had her feeling the pang of guilt herself, as if she had run into him, not that it would have done anything, really, but still. She looked up to him with a small frown before shaking her head. "There's no need to apologize, Sir, it be more than fine." She replied, soon flashing him a small smile. "Besides, I didn't loose me footing, and thank goodness I didn't have the eggs yet. Though I am sorry I lashed out at you a wee bit, there." At that, she cast a sheepish sideways glance. She could be good for that. Sometimes she just said what was on her mind, even if it was a bit rude. But that was the Irish in her, she supposed.

"Yer name is Sir Mormont, aye? The blacksmith?" She couldn't help but ask. After all, no hurt in making sure her memory was correct. And even if it wasn't, then she could learn. "It's nice to see ye again. I believe we met once before. My name's Moriah. How's the smithy doing, hmm?"