the ashen path.

Treads-the-Ashen-Path

It was a world without color. A world where things seemed to lack in taste or substance. It was a world where even in the sunshine it felt like it lingered in a state of perpetual dusk. The occasional haunting wail could be heard in the backdrop of perpetual silence that seemed to envelop the place. People occasionally scampered across the dusty grey plains in a hurry to get from one location to another.

It was difficult to tell if they were in a city or the midst of a desert. Buildings seemed to dot the landscape here and there in strange, unrecognizable, patterns. There were roads that seemed to lead into the middle of nowhere only to end abruptly in the middle of a dry inhospitable waste. Other roads seemed to simply lead off into the depths of the void itself. This was not a place that was welcoming to the Garou. This was a place that sucked the very life from one's body. This was a place that threatened to rip the very soul from the heart of any garou unlucky enough to stand within it and devour every last drop.

They were not welcome here. That is what they would be told by the locals. That is what they were told by the cold chill that seemed to linger, perpetually, around them. This land was not a spiritual reflection of life it was the ghost of what humanity had left behind. It was the realm of their lost wishes and dreams, it was the place where their souls sat in eternal vigil waiting patiently for the cold kiss of oblivion to rip them from this world. It wasn't a realm of dreams or even nightmares... It was a realm where hopes went to die. Edgar Allen Poe would be proud to stand in this place, however, for the Garou this realm was hollow and soulless.

That didn't mean that it was without nightmares. Oh they could see them, occasionally feel them, lying in wait in the darkness. Whenever they look away, whenever they start to feel safe or comfortable, something pops out of the corner of their eye. A wisp of motion, a shifting of shadows, or a light hitting their eye at just the wrong way. They were being watched... Something here wasn't just eyeing them with an eye of curiosity. This was the realm of the dead and the Garou had something that every dead thing in the universe craved more than anything. The Garou had life itself... More than they could ever dream of. The Garou glowed like a beacon to the dead.

Most were so lost to their misery or the monotony of this realm that they did not care. Others still watched them in morbid fascination or curiosity. However there were those beyond the periphery who did more than just watch; they hungered. Ghosts who had lost themselves almost utterly to the misery of this horrible existence. Horrors who craved nothing more than destruction, pain, suffering. Still it was unlikely either of them had the misfortune of actually seeing one of these creatures! Seeing as they were still breathing. But if the advice of the locals was to be believed certain places were best left alone!

Treads-the-Ashen-Path

Sophia sat, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings, on a ledge looking down into the seemingly endless darkness. Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she stared into the strange abyss. How far did it travel? Where did it lead? Did anything live down there? Strange as it might seem for this smallish creature to be lost in the realm of the dead, completely cut off from the world she knew so well, she didn't seem troubled in the least by where she was. In an unusual sort of way Sophia seemed comfortable, despite the fact she so obviously did not belong in this place.

She had heard stories of this place, and she had been warned not to linger long in one place, but if there was one flaw that Sophia possessed it was the, strangely innocent seeming, lack of concern for her own well being. She sat leaning over a cliff overlooking what could very be oblivion itself and she seemed to be delighted by the simple fact it was something she had never seen before in her life.

She glowed, like a child in a candy shop, as she studied the darkness off in the distance and began to ponder the bigger questions in the universe. Not the least of which being "Where is the Wyrm. Is not this the realm of the dead?" the question was asked aloud to nothing more than the air.

It is said that it was the Wolf itself with which Gaia shared the secret of Life and Death, and it is said that it is the Ivory Priesthood alone who holds that secret to this day. But to look at the face of this seemingly oblivious young woman lost in the realm of the dead you would think she already held, within her head, the very secret that took many lifetimes to achieve.

Obviously you'd be wrong! But you are welcome to think that!

Sovereign Winter

It's cold here. The cold penetrates his thick fur, his rugged skin, all those layers of muscle and meat, straight into the bone. Straight into the marrow. Straight into his entrails. It's the sort of cold that would, with time, kill. If you let it. If you stopped moving.

So he doesn't stop moving. He stays in motion; loping, sometimes running. Sometimes slowing to a walk in dark and treacherous places. Sometimes the hands of the dead reached for him, hungry for his life, his warmth, his strength. He snaps his teeth at them. He tore one apart for its presumption when he first ended up here, but then it just lay there, not-dead and not-alive, ripped open and bloodless, staring at him with blank eyes until, disquieted, he left. He hasn't attacked a ghost since, and he's come so very far.

He doesn't know where he's going; he barely remembers how he got here, only that he doesn't belong here and he needs to get out of here and

don't ever fuck with owl-spirits again.

There have been so many false-hopes, so many images of life or escape or even another living soul in this dead land -- images that seemed real only to fade with proximity. Sovereign Winter doesn't quite trust the girl at the ledge. He doesn't quite believe in her, but then she's the only spot of light for miles around. There's very little left to lose. She hears his claws first, ticking on blank grey stone. His approach is slow and cautious, nose lowering to whuff at the ground, tracing her steps to where she sits. There's a scuff as pebbles -- bonedust? -- skitters past her to fall into that endless abyss. Then he's beside her.

Standing in Hispo, Sovereign Winter is as tall at the shoulder as the girl would be on her feet. He is unquestionably alive. Heat radiates from her; he smells like strength and health, like frustration and -- yes -- fear. He would be a fool not to fear this place. He is not a fool.

Nor a weakling. Fear and courage are not mutually exclusive. He sniffs in her direction; blinks his yellow eyes.

"You are not dead. You smell of Falcon's blood."

Dark CapitalPage from Scourge

Hey man, it's Scourge. Nice to see you back rping. If you still have me on aim, ping me..I lost your aim :( if you want that is

Treads-the-Ashen-Path

She seemed oblivious to the approach of the other. Her greyish-blue eyes seemed lost in the chasm that seemed to open up into eternity before her. Still not all things were as they appeared on the surface. Her keen ears had picked up on the fact that something large loomed behind her she did not seem to move from her position.

"Fate weaves its tapestry in strange ways doesn't it?" She asks before glancing over her shoulder and meeting the eyes of the wolf-beast. She seemed to be unsurprised by the encounter, it was almost as if she had expected him. She couldn't have possibly expected him, could she?

She shifts a little and begins to stand. She turns to face the beast and even reaches out a hand to gently place it upon his nose. "We think ourselves alone in our misery only to discover that we are not the only ones who suffer." Her hand pulls back once she was satisfied with the fact the beast was real. "You look strong, but confused... Did you take a wrong turn somewhere?" She asks the creature in a gentle enough tone.

She didn't know him, she couldn't, she didn't expect him either. However, she recognized what he was. That was all that she needed to know that she was safe, or perhaps she simply didn't see the point in being concerned if she genuinely was in danger. If fate saw fit to send a beast to push her off a ledge what could she possibly do about it? Such was her fate and there was no point in fussing over it.

"Your eyes tell me you are lost... Yet you do not fear. Do you know where you are?" She finishes with a curious tilt to her head.

Sovereign Winter

The beast jerks back from her touch. It's a sharp gesture, but controlled. Gleaming wary eyes inspect the female, study her, weigh her. Eventually he seems satisfied. He remains still. If she reaches out again, she can touch him - the solid bony ridge of his nose, the short coarse fur.

He is wholly white. He is pure beyond pure. Yet where so many Silver Fangs bore eyes of arctic blue, his are not. They are resonant, golden, with enormous black pupils that devour all light. They do not change,

even when he does,

rising from all fours, rolling his head on his shoulders as bones pop from one placement to another, as musculature grows and shrinks, as he becomes a man. Sovereign Winter is olive-skinned, and his hair in this form is startlingly night-black. Those same wild eyes consider the girl another moment. Then, a quick flash of teeth: a laugh.

"Of course I fear. I'm not a fool." He swivels, feet planted, turning at the waist. A loose, muscular motion, eminently balanced. A glance cast behind him, and all around. Then he turns back to her: "I know who I am. I know I'm in a land of the dead. I know I've been sent here by an Owl having a very bad day, and I know I need to get back.

"Do you know the way out of here?"

Treads-the-Ashen-Path

He jerks from her and all she seems to do is smile. She almost looked delighted at his reaction. The entire while she watches him with curious eyes and a tilt to her head as he takes the time to adjust to something a little more comfortable.

Soon enough she stood before a man, instead of a beast, and her eyes stared back at him with a strange blankness within them. Even here she seemed a hint distant, even detached from the moment, while looking directly into his eyes.

"So you're to learn a lesson. The spirits can be like that. Owl is especially fond of teaching those he perceives as foolish lessons in how to properly use what's in here." She says this by lifting her hand to her head.

"You're in the realm of the dead." She opens her eyes when she says this and shakes her head. "Granted, these are not our dead! This is a place of mourning and lingering whose existence makes little sense to me, but isn't that all part of the mystery? When you speak with owl again you will be that much wiser. So in a way perhaps you should be thankful for the lesson he has taught you?" She asks him curiously.

His final question gets a bright smile from her and her eyes seem to light up with just a hint of glee. "No! I do not! Do you?" She adds as she claps her hands together.

Sovereign Winter

Nostrils flare - an indignant breath blasted out. When they meet again years from now, he'll be a little better at hiding this. He wouldn't have really changed though. Pride: that signature sin of their tribe, and he has it in spades. And wrath - that trademark of his Auspice - he has that too, burning beneath his skin. Nothing brilliant about his rage. Nothing electric or burning about it. It's like gravity, it's like pressure. It fills the air around him, sucks the ground out from beneath the feet.

"A lesson is a thing given and well received," growls the young Ahroun. "This is just punishment from a fickle, soft-ego'd spirit.

"And, no. If I knew, I wouldn't be here." With that he holds his hand out to her - drawing her away from the ledge. "Sovereign Winter. Cliath Ahroun of the House Gleaming Eye. This is my Fostern challenge.

"And yourself? What are you doing here?"

Treads-the-Ashen-Path

Her smile fades a hint, though she remains in a pleasant enough mood. "Not all lessons are learned as the result of willing partners. When a child cuts themselves on broken glass they do not necessarily want to get cut. The lesson is just one that is learned as a matter of circumstance. Rarely do we get to choose the kinds of lessons we are taught, all we are in control of is how we choose to learn them." She notes.

He presents his hand and she eyes it for a time before presenting her own. "I have yet to find my name... It's here somewhere I am certain but for now you may call be Sophia. Her own breeding was obvious, and strong enough that he could likely tell she was from one of the houses of the Old World herself. "House Wise Heart." She finishes in a gentle tone.

"This place does not wish us to be here. I can hear the whispers, and feel their stares. They loathe us, and they wish that we would leave them to their eternal rest. We're a whisp of a memory of something that once was. Something that all once had but can never be again..." She says softly. "I believe that those who linger in this place are those who left something behind. Those who are not just dead but also left something uncompleted..." She says softly.

"Perhaps you can get yourself home by gifting them with that which they cannot do themselves?" She asks him with a curious tilt to her head. Advice, a suggestion.

Sovereign Winter

There's something wild about him. Feral. That will still be there years later, too, when she meets him again in that great city on the Potomac. Right now, though, he's so much rawer than he will be. An unfinished product. A sword fresh from the forge, not yet quenched and tempered.

His eyes flick everywhere. His rage drags at the corners of the vision, pulls at the mind. He is restless and feral, glancing about as she tells him of the hatred of the dead. Maybe they'll try to attack. He wishes they would. He knows how to deal with that: violence and wrath. He knows that so very well.

But; no. She has another plan in mind. Gift them with that which they cannot do themselves, she says, and he turns back to her. An eyebrow leaps up his brow.

"And what might that be?" he counters. "Live? Breathe? If I knew how to give breath back to the dead I would be far, far beyond Fostern already -- Sophia." Her name tastes strange in this place. It is so human, and they are so far beyond human range.

Treads-the-Ashen-Path

She was different to be certain. Many would be unsettled to be in this place, many would be excited to leave but she seemed surprisingly comfortable here. She did not appear to be in a hurry to depart or get back to whatever might be waiting for her back in the living world. Then again, few would realize that she had nothing to hurry back to. She did not care for objects, extended family, long term engagements. She was un-tethered to the mortal world in virtually every imaginable way. She might as well be a ghost as far as anyone was concerned. However, in many ways that was the reason she was who she was. The Crescent Moon was born for this, and with eyes that spoke of ages of wisdom she watches the other back. She was more interested just to study him than she was to find her way out of this place. That was something for later... This, however, this was now.

"You're thinking like a man. Simplicity is their curse. You must think beyond the man, you must think outside of the basic needs. These things are not living. They do not hunger for food, they do not have cells that crave for resources... They have only minds, minds absent of physical needs. What they need is not to live... What they need is a reason not to live." She says softly back to him.

"Wives who never told their husband farewell. Men whose betrayal eats them up so much that they cannot rest, even in death. Children whose killers were never revealed!" She says half excitedly. "What holds these creatures behind is that they are not finished. Don't give them what they want... What they want might be life, but the only reason they want that life is so they might find what they need. If you can give that to them then perhaps they would be willing to help you find your way home?" She suggests again with a little smile.

Sovereign Winter

A grimace - harsh across his features. Handsome man, Constantine; but then aren't they all beautiful, the children of Falcon? At any rate, his rage makes it hard to call him attractive. He's dreadful: that's the plain truth of it. A beast of dread.

He rolls his head on his shoulders. It's a muscular, felt motion. An inhale, an exhale. There's a startling wisdom in her. She's a theurge; of course there's wisdom in her. But it's still so far beyond what he has; perhaps beyond what he'll ever have. It's a disquieting feeling, to be so overshadowed -- he, who is scion to kings, who was born to be a king.

"A taste of what life was, then. Closure, where before there was only unfinished tales. Is that it?" A pause. "What about you? How will you return?"

Treads-the-Ashen-Path

"I am in no hurry to leave. So many stories, so many mysteries... Every corner hides secrets. There is truth here to be uncovered, knowledge to be gleaned. My name has hidden itself in the mists. Though it is grim and dark in this place... I must find it. I cannot return to the world my ancestors fought so hard to protect without my name." She reassures him in her own little way as her eyes focus upon him.

"I see strength within you, and I see that you are not absent of wisdom, but this is no place for you. Our world needs your tooth and claw, our world needs your fist." She says with a smile. "Fate works in mysterious ways, but I know when she speaks to me." She confirms in that same pleasant tone of hers. She remained comfortable as she glanced around the world around them.

"You burn too brightly, falcon's son, and your wings spread too far. This place does not suit you, you need somewhere the sun beats down upon your face, somewhere those wings can spread. You need to soar." She continues. "So go then... Soar, and remember as you soar that the Sky is not ours alone. Just as we claim the heavens in the glow of the sun, so too does owl claim those very same heavens under Luna's brilliant glow. Two kings... Two different realms. Respect and honor them both, not as rivals, not as equals, but simply for what they are."

A lecture it would seem, but then it would seem she did not believe that this meeting was a chance encounter. This creature was one of Gaia's warriors, a soldier, sent less to learn a lesson in Wisdom and more to learn a lesson in humility and respect. However, he was not suited to this place and if allowed to simmer here he would draw far too much attention. Somewhere in the shadows they were still being watched and his brilliance burned hot as the sun. He needed to get out of here as quickly as she could get him. For as strong as he might be he could not fight Death itself!

Sovereign Winter

Constantine's head tilts. It's a wolfish mannerism, feral, swift. A wolfish man, this one: his golden eyes, his savage nature. He studies her a moment, and then his chin lifts. It's half a nod. It's acknowledgment, slight and noble.

"I'm not sure you're real," he admits, "but if you are -- and if you make it back from this place -- I'll look for you."

It's an oath. He has a weapon on his weapon, a blade passed down from his ancestors. Generation upon generation, back and back, back to some of the first Fangs ever to walk the earth. That blade has a name. Oathkeeper. Constantine is many things, not all of them good, but

he is an oathkeeper, himself.

"I'll find you again," he says. That too is a vow. "And we will speak then."

Treads-the-Ashen-Path

She smiles back to him. "I am sure we will meet again. Now go! Before death itself comes looking for you!"

She wasn't afraid of this place, not in the slightest, she had no genuine sense of mortality. It wasn't that she didn't understand she could die it was more that she had no concern for it whatsoever. Sophia was interesting in that respect. She sought knowledge at the expense of everything else.

She remains standing, watching him with those Greyish-Blue eyes, seeing him off and allowing him to complete his journey on his own. Just as she would complete hers on her own. Hints never hurt, though! That is why such chance encounters occur. Fate was simply giving them a little nudge to help them along.

Sovereign Winter

[a weapon on his person. wtf. can't type anymore.]

Treads-the-Ashen-Path

[He is an Ahroun... Even his weapon carries a weapon!]

Sovereign Winter

[stfu i'm drunk off my ass. LMAO.]