RP:A Gift of New Friendship

Location: Somewhere in Kelay along the trail.

Synopsis: Eirik is having a moment. A seriously embarrassing one if any were to spot him. Much to his dismay, Lanara watches from a nearby tree. The two meet and become fast friends. Through their entire endeavor Eirik learns of her intentions to build an animal sanctuary, granting her Sigrid and Bjorn; his two beloved Dire wolves before they part ways.

A Gift of New Friendship

Eirik is not just some flounder footed, half-arsed man of the north. Nay for he is above such things! Disregard the presently comical situation life had provided him with. Here he stood in all his glory, with one leg deep into some cesspool of a pothole. He couldn’t fathom -how- he stepped into it. Nor would he bother trying to fight the fact that, well.. He is a flounder footed fool. Traveling through Kelay-Sage area is always so much easier when in Lycan form. Not as this clumsy human. His attention narrows upon a branch nearby, while left hand clings to it in a gods forsaken attempt to pull himself free. He had been struggling for nearly five minutes! Finally, with a throaty grunt, his leg escapes the bonds of its master! Nevermind the sickening sound of mucks suction as it steals his boot. A wet foot plops to the ground and he is satisfied - noted by the blackhearted smile of a conqueror; as if the spoils of war were far greater than the cost. Both hands come to rest on his hips. Aha, he nearly exclaims! Though none of this behavior would even penetrate the surface of his iron hardened visage if others could actually see him right now. Instead, they’d see the usual Northman, hacking, slashing and screaming about how this must be some trap meant to ensnare him. Honestly, those witches in Larket hated the man. Though he is attempting to fix that, and correct his heinous crimes, he still feels they might just take up arms and end his life. Obviously, these negative thoughts are of his own crafting and no one else's. That pothole, is just nature's way of ensuring he is still awake. And right now, his soaking leg twitches. His toes wriggle in the open air. Eirik becomes aware of his missing boot. Both hands are thrown into the air exhaustively. “This is bullspit.” He finally utters in annoyance. The rope he had brought, which lays on the ground nearby, is deftly snatched. Such a smooth transition is counter to his air-headed capture. Eirik ties himself off to a tree, dangerously leans over the mud pit and buries his arm into the filth of that trap - fishing to find his footwear. Again, he is nearly caught, but manages to pull his boot and self free. This time he has a real victory.

Lanara is sitting a few feet to the left of the path, though if one truly wanted to catch a glimpse of the elf they would have to look up and peer through the thick camouflage of the forest. Having planted herself on the thick limb of an elm tree, she had witnessed the entire battle of man versus pothole, and she stifles her chuckles, as she’s thoroughly amused. As Eirik rescues his boot, as would a soldier rescue a fellow fighter on the battlefield, she drops to the ground with ease, and lands on the soles of her knee-high boots. Donning form-fitting leggings, a hunter green turtleneck, and a leather backpack, one could easily see how she managed to remain hidden, about twenty feet high in the tree. She blended in with the forest as easily as blush would blend in with ones moon-kissed flesh. “No, doll. That isn’t the spit of a bull… That’s just watered down mud. Though I can see how you would be mistaken…” There is a hint of mischief in her half-smile, a glint of humor in her dark gaze, and she points to the pothole as though it were the most common of occurrences. Eirik is given a lengthy once over as she pulls her long locks into a ponytail, at the nape of her neck, and her half-smile turns into one far more genuine. “I take it that you aren’t someone that travels much, huh? Here. Let me help you.” The petite elf is lovely to gaze upon, though she seems unaware of the effect she has on most men, and should Eirik offer a compliment or appraise her figure, she would blush and ignore any commentary. For now, she rests her chocolate hues on his bare foot and shrugs the backpack off of her slender shoulders. Rummaging in her supply satchel for what seems like an eternity; she eventually procures a large flask of water and offers it to the male, so that he could wash off the boot. It was rare for the ex-witch to approach strangers, and it was rare that she made any sort of appearance in the lands, as of late. Too many witch haters, too many horrors, and too much that could harm her, as she was without her magic for quite some time. Still, if Eirik had or any other forest dweller decided to lay a hand upon her pretty little head, she had other means of defense. Time would tell if Eirik would be a friend or foe.

The boot within his hands is tilted over to empty its contents. Twigs, a plethora of leafy confettis and the rank concoction of mud, water and whatever else this forest had been stewing in that pot, splatters upon the ground. By the smell, it could have been there for months. With the noxious aroma of rot wafting from the pool of gelatinous liquid splashing on the ground, one couldn’t really argue the logic. Much to Eiriks further dismay, he had been joined by a stranger! Intense silver eyes twist in reaction to the announcement of her sudden arrival. Dear gods, he thought. Had she seen the -whole- thing? Doll? His features twist up in confusion, shifting that large scar over his square-jawed features in menacing ways. I’m no plaything, he nearly mutters back. But without further warning, the rest of what she has said smashes through such things and takes precedence at the forefront of his mind. She did see it all. Everything. Not just watched mind you, but she had heard him too! If tomatoes are considered red, as oranges are some shade between that and yellow; they are now both decidedly green and brown. The color rushing to the white hues of his facial features redefines red, and nature might be jealous or proud of the swirls lighting up his face. He doesn’t understand her sense of humor, twisting his word bullspit into something tangible. As if the pool could actually be made from the spit of a bull. His attention flicks back to the pothole. “By the smell, it could be mixture of cud, regurgitated and missed.” By his own definition, an animal had lost its opportunity to enjoy a second meal. Yes, he is aware of the fact that he’s referring to an improper topic with a lady and stranger. While Lanara might be used to being fawned over or receiving a healthy plethora of hoots, hollers and cat calls by the common man, he makes no mention of it. Not that he doesn’t notice. At the moment, other things are still wreaking havoc upon his conscious mind. “Thanks,” he offers up in response to the bottle of water she proffers. His tone of voice is low and grainy, like the sound of rocks being crushed beneath a weighted boot. Not to mention the thick accent which confounds his pronunciation of every word in common. Those toes of his wriggle once more, wanting to be encased in the boot again and he sets his mind to the task of cleaning off its home. Damnit, he thought. Still embarrassed that she had seen his entire ordeal. Soon, those bright flashing colors etched into the very core of his features, dissipate and return to the dark depths of his being. Counter to her other topic, Eirik responds. “I travel often.” He offers the bottle back after cleaning his boot. “Just not usually as this.” He looks down to the human casing he is currently found in. Armored sleeves work their way up both arms and weave into leather and steel plate pauldrons. A silver stitched, black leather jerkin is the only thing to protect his torso. Black woolen pants cling to his frame tied by a plethora of leather straps and strands. To complete the look, his boot is affixed to his bare foot - noting the steel greaves that start just below his knees while protecting the top of his leather bound toes. “Do you always happen upon men in distress?” Now it’s his turn to prod with a joke, as if he were a damsel in distress and the situation of every fairy-tale in existence, had gotten things wrong. A single eyebrow raises hinting at the playful words he has uttered.

Lanara watches the male as he upends the boots and pours out its contents, and for a moment she considers turning up her nose and wandering off, but it wasn’t any ordinary day that she happened upon a stranger, at least not in this neck of the woods. So rather than behave as most ladies would, she instead narrows her eyes and peers at the noxcious smelling swamp water, laden with debris, that is deposited back into the forest floor. She doesn’t seem too surprised by what her looks takes in, and she shifts her attention back to the well-armored male, meeting his silver gaze for a lingering moment. He had a unique shade of hues, she’d give him that, and the blush was adorable too, though she wouldn’t offer a compliment, just yet. Those that know Lana well, know that when she is unnerved by something, she gnaws at her lower lip, and she sucks her lower lush lip into her mouth and gently sinks her two front teeth into the flesh. “It’s not cud. It’s… It’s likely remnants from the curse that was placed on Sage Forest, two years ago. Damned drow…” The brunette shakes her head and crosses her arms over her chest, as he attempts to return the half-empty flask of water. Eirik was more than welcome to keep it, for he wasn’t yet entirely through the forest, and she wouldn’t be there to rescue him, should he step into another hole. Mental props are given as he doesn’t hit on her, as that is what most men do when they first catch sight of her, and for this reason alone, she finds herself relaxing. “Hmm… I don’t often happen upon men in distress… But I just had to come over and meet you, after witnessing such fancy footwork. Are you a dancer?” Lana is jesting, as she knew he couldn’t possibly be a dancer, and given the amount of fine armor, the scowl on his face, and lack of socks, it was pretty obvious he was anything but a professional dancer. Also, the fact that the witch is an actual dance instructor, has her bursting into a fit of contagious giggles, as she extends her hand in an apologetic introduction. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t make fun of you… Where are my manners? I’m…” A pause, as she hesitates on whether or not to give him her real name, decides what the hell, and clears her throat. “I’m Lanara. I actually sometimes give dance lessons in Schezerade, or private lessons to those that are too shy for a crowd. It’s only temporary, until I gather enough gold to open an animal sanctuary. I was just scoping out the area for ideas of where I may build it… When I happened across you, Mister…?” Lana offers a welcoming smile to the male, and leaves her dainty hand outstretched, though the mischievous twinkle remains in her hypnotic hues. Perhaps she was thinking of another jest? As she awaits a response, a reindeer appears out of nowhere, and saunters right up to the pair, giving a look of caution to Eirik. The witch doesn’t seem bothered by the appearance of the buck, nor does she react as the animal’s teeth graze her shoulder and tugs at her shirt in annoyance, clearly wanting attention.

Eirik knew the drow. More so understood how they slumped to the ground from the tip of his sword - Having recently run a long job of protection against swarms of them in Trist’oth. He and few others had stolen an artifact from the first house. Supposedly it was required to help remove the curse upon Sage. Of course, the warrior knew nothing about magic, save for the few spells slung at him during battle. He only knows that Fire tends to burn, Ice can feel similar, and witches seemed to enthrall those of weak mind. Well, that’s what he thought at one point or another, which isn’t all that long ago. Not even a week had gone by since Valraes curse. “I’m even worse at dancing than I am at dodging potholes.” Is that even possible? “The last time I attempted it, my partners shoe size increased three fold.” At first there is a light tug upon the corners of his lips. It battles his hardened visage for but the blink of an eye. Abruptly it twists into a full grin, revealing near perfect ivory white teeth. “I would definitely make fun of you if our roles were reversed.” As for finding men in distress, he knew they all pretended to suffer in silence and brazenly blaze through their own trials and tribulations. Regardless of the ignorance and idiocy that is showed to the world while doing so. In response to her introduction, a well calloused and ungloved hand clasps, her forearm. Why? A handshake is simply not something he has ever done. Instead, she is met with a warriors shake, which is not customary for an normal introduction. Dainty hand or not. “Eirik,” he ushers in response. As if his name were damned. A twisted thing that is scarred beyond belief and forever ruined; In his mind It has been. His infamy might even be known to Lanara. She is currently shaking hands with the murderer of Hanna. Let’s just hope she isn’t one of those witches who wants to snatch up a pitch-fork and chase after him. It would be a shame to this moment of introductions. His mind thinks upon Schezerade, and a job he had just taken. “I travel out to Schezerade here and there. Brennia just hired the Steel Collectives help, but I seriously doubt I’ll try to obtain dancing lessons,” he eyes her curiously. The thought of being instructed by her is amusing. He’s sure that most would drop a treasure trove of gold to obtain time with Lanara. Especially alone. However, if things panned out right, she might have more opportunities to run into the Lycan. The water bottle she refused is set down, next to a pile of rope, and an ominous looking greatsword. Probably best to not touch the weapon for its enchantment is rather foul. Who knows what might happen? The creature that walks up to greet her is noted with a mild enthusiasm. Hopefully his dire wolves didn’t show up, that’s the -last- thing he needed right now. They -loved- venison and were surely not all that far off. However his concern about his pesky pets fades away. She liked animals too? Interesting. Perhaps she isn’t always this playful. “You’d pick a spot out here to build your animal sanctuary?” Why not in some far off place where it would be easier to protect them; out of harm's way?

Lanara instantly stiffens as her forearm is grasped and her face pales, as her eyes widen and she looks down at his appendage clasped about her slender arm. For a brief moment she resembles a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming train, as those big brown eyes widen in panic. She is, in a sense, trapped, between her reindeer and the stranger. Clearly, the elf wasn’t always treated with kindness, and if he knew her history of being aloof around men, he likely wouldn’t have dared to latch onto her in such a way. Fear turns to anger and she gives a firm tug at the exact moment that he removes his hand from her arm, so perhaps he wouldn’t notice her reaction. As his lips curve up in a somewhat disarming smile, she relaxes again, and her little quip from earlier returns and she can’t resist. “It’s good that you are familiar with Schezerade and Headmistress Brennia… Perhaps you can take over as dance instructor when I depart? We will have work on your stance, however… And maybe put you in a tutu so that you aren’t as restricted when moving?” Tucking an unruly strand behind a tapered ear, she meets his grin, and follows his gaze to her shoulder, where the reindeer is still nibbling at her sweater, incessantly. “You better be nice…” She murmurs to the deer, before planting a chaste kiss to his velvety nose. What occurs next may surprise the warrior, however Lana doesn’t seem the slightest bit fazed as the deer narrows his gaze on Eirik, and begins to speak in the common tongue. “Oh. Why do –I- have to make nice with the human? You can play patty-cake with the boy all you want, but I’m not making friends with this one. He can’t even walk without stumbling over his own two feet! Lana, I told you… I know a nice jolly fellow that would love to take you on a date… You can be one of his sexy elves…” Lana scoffs at the deer, and gives him a playful shove, though it’s obvious she finds the banter amusing. “Um… Sorry about that, Eirik. This is Rude-Off… The rudest reindeer in the realm!” She giggles as Rude-Off rolls his eyes, dramatically, and saunters back into the woods, leaving them alone. As he mentions the location of her shelter, she glances around the woods and shrugs. “I love the forest. I –am- an elf, you know! I can always hire guards if need be, along the treetops, and within ground blinds. I will reinforce the walls, and my sister Taly, she’s very good with her spells. So I hope to house animals from Frostmaw, to Cenril… I know that she can match their climate and all of that, and I love to travel so foraging for food wouldn’t be too hard. I’m a bit of a healer, myself. I… I think it’s a good location, overall. It’s the center of the realm. Why do you think it’s unsafe?” Lana fixes Eirik with a look that shows she values his opinion, and for once she’s not jesting, she’s giving him her full respect and attention. If there was something he deemed a weak point, she wanted to hear it. For now, she keeps the fact that she’s a witch a secret, though if she were to admit her past, it wouldn’t really be a threat, as she’s been without her magic for nearly a year.

Eirik does not notice the immediate withdrawal of her slender hand. Nor does he pick up on her reaction in any way shape or form. Instead, he listens to every word she offers and then some. She spoke to the creature? What in the world is he witnessing? Had he drank some of his own mushroomed black rum again? Was he hallucinating? Suddenly he thinks that his ancestors might appear and scold him. However, it plays nice, and then wanders away. Shamelessly, Eirik flicks his silver hues up and down her form. He unceremoniously dawns another grin, albeit for different reasons. She might think it’s for something uncouth or perhaps perverse. However, that isn’t the truth. Her playful nature is just infectious and he is already scheming. “I’m not sure what a tutu is. But I can imagine all the men who show up to learn from the great Lanara and are suddenly disappointed. Instead they must learn from me. A battle hardened man of the north performing pirouettes in potholes,” he stammers in a response, a little frustrated that he doesn’t catch her reference. While it's true that he knew nothing of her past, Eirik would not bend to another person. If they have issues, it’s just that. Theirs. He would have shaken her hand the same regardless. “That deer talks,” it’s a statement which reveals the purpose for his earlier scrutinizing. He was only measuring for some form of magical essence which might be spilling forth from her. But it was already gone and good thing too, for Eiriks sensitive hearing can pick up the pitter patter of his wolves in the distance. Please don’t pick up it’s scent. Please. He is suddenly worried about it, and his eyes dart in the direction of the noise. As if to answer a question the creature had spoken he responds, mostly to himself. “Because those dire wolves might just eat you.” That’s not all, the northman normally hunted such creatures himself. “I guess it’s a good thing that I wasn’t a wolf this day.” The smell of Lycanthropy might be something that she could sense. Who knows. But his words are an offhanded statement meant to reveal his curse. “As for your sanctuary, might it be better to find a place… Less tainted?” Stay away from Larket or perhaps help Gilwen remove the curse before the sanctuary is created. “I don’t really think it’s indefensible. Just odd to build it amidst a cursed forest is all.”

Lanara catches him eyeing her form up and down and shakes her head, as her cheeks turn the color of a pale rose, though she does burst into a fit of giggles as he refers to pirouetting in potholes. “Hm… That could be new move… I’m surprised that you know of the term, ‘pirouette’ as most manly men wouldn’t be caught dead taking ballet, or even talking about the art of dancing. Still… You may have potential. If not ballet, perhaps you could samba through sinkholes? The possibilities are endless!” Lana chuckles, though as he looks around the forest, she finds herself skirting the area. Curiously, she gazes to her left and right, behind and before, and upon not seeing anything nearing them, she returns her attention to Eirik. Unlike the wolf, she didn’t have enhanced hearing or a keen sense of smell, she was merely an elf. However, should his dire wolves appear, there was a ninety percent probability that she would befriend them, as she was akin to an animal empath. At the mention of her deer talking, she nods, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Yes. Rude-Off talks. Though he never has anything nice to say, it seems. I was living in Frostmaw when I first came to Hollow… And that’s where I found him, lying in the snow, dying of blood loss. I stitched him up, not knowing that he could speak, let alone fly! When he woke up he called me a wicked witch, along with some other foul words, and we have been together since. It’s a love-hate relationship.” The woman is about to speak again, when her words are cut off, and she tilts her head to the side, eyes narrowed. The comment about venison didn’t bother her, for although she was overly fond of animals, she wasn’t a vegetarian. Lana knew the body needed nutrients to survive, and some of those vital ingredients weren’t found in plants and fish. However, she would leave the slaughtering to a butcher, as she wasn’t one to outright kill a living creature. It was the comment about him ‘not being a wolf today’ that seems amiss, and being wise beyond her years, she had zeroed in on the statement. “Lycan.” The term is said with neutrality, as though she hadn’t yet formed an opinion on the race, though if pressed he would find that she was friends with two, and was once in love with one of his kind. Instead, she busies her hands with braiding her long ponytail, and purses her lips for a moment, before continuing the conversation. “I prefer roasted chicken over venison, any day. And when you’re in lycan form, you really should try to hunt boar, rather than deer. They put up a better fight and make the meal much more rewarding. No worries, Sir Eirik… We all aren’t as we seem to be. I… I was a witch, in my past life. I died last February, and I was revived in August, without my magical abilities. However, we all get by and we all can hide what and who we are with ease, from those that could potentially wish us harm…” She didn’t know if it was a slip of the tongue, if he was proud of his heritage, or if he merely wished to confide in her and strike a friendship. Whatever the reason behind his confession, her intent is clear. Eirik’s secret, if that’s what it was, would be safe with Lana.

There a few things in this world that would and could set Eirik off. The first, were a sort of creature found only in his homeland. They were a despicable race. Black beady eyes, massive claws, and were created out of resuscitated corpses. Filled with ancient souls who feasted upon the flesh of all things living. Lycans, vampires, men, women and children. They didn’t care. He knew them as the white wraiths. The second, were witches. However, this time for a different reason. His eyes close, and his features suddenly fill with sorrow. She is an ex-witch. Though she wasn’t hurling balls of fire at him. He clears his throat trying to swallow a dry lump that had grown within it. Silver hues switch back to the she-elf, Lanara and he responds. “Just Eirik.” He thinks upon the term Sir as she used it and felt that he was far from deserving such a thing. “Yes, I’m a Lycan,” he didn’t even act as if it was a secret. Everyone knew it. Honestly he had never even tried to hide such things. He is what he is. “Boars might be a better challenge, but to this same end they put of a fight. I much prefer a good long chase. Deer and elk provide this.” He is a Lycan after all and much prefered the hunt. Sniffing them out, and then streaking from his place of hiding. These were some of his favorite pastimes, which fall right behind a good fight. Finally those sorrow filled features adjust and switch to a lighter note. “I -am- a warrior.” He expected her to understand his statement without further explanation, but realizes that perhaps he should continue. “We all know how to pirouette, it's commonly used in battle. Despite my blundering, I might actually be a capable student. If I wouldn’t be so embarrassed to be pressed up against you in a dance.” Another statement which is made absentmindedly. Not that he was trying to get a reaction out of her. “Or if I wasn’t worried about the wrath of Aarika if I even attempted to do such a thing.” The topic of her death is merely noted. Such things were better left unsaid. Why dwell on such bad thoughts when you could press on to other matters? “I’m actually on my way to Xalious and then up to Schezerade. I need to check up on Constantine, if you’re travelling that way and care for company.” Constantine is a man of the steel collective who has been keeping his eyes on the bards guild for Brennia. He suddenly shakes his head muttering the deers random name. “Rude-off,” he chuckles. “Such an odd name.”

Lanara listens intently to his rather limited explanation of being a lycan and a warrior, and she nods and mhm’s at all the correct pauses. Though the elf had been avoiding social encounters for the past year or so, she was an expert at conversing, hosting elaborate parties, and she could hang with the drunkards, as well as the elite members of society. She is a well-rounded individual, and though her past continues to haunt her and bring her further from society, it’s obvious from the look in her eyes that she’s eager to strike up a friendship. An unlikely of friendships, mind you, as he is an ex-witch murdered, and she is that which he had sworn to hunt, only up to a few months ago. If Eirik’s curse were to ever be lifted, and if her magic were to ever return, things would likely get messy between them, or perhaps they would be closer at that point and it wouldn’t matter one bit. Either way, she’s surprised when he offers to accompany her on the journey back to Schezerade, and she quirks a brow as he comments on facing the wrath of Aarika, should they ever take dancing lessons. “The Wrath of Aarika? Is that a Goddess? Some other word for Karma? A Weapon? I don’t believe I’ve heard that term before… Well, come along, Warrior. I won’t turn down a companion in my travels, especially one so well-equipped, should we come along any meddlesome stragglers along the way…” A glance is given to the sword that rests on the trunk at his side, and a tinge of envy coats her words as she turns her back to the male. In the past she would never accept such an offer, but these were trying times in Schezerade, and she was without a means to defend herself, without her magic. Peering over her shoulder, she adjusts her backpack so that it rests against her spine, and waits for Eirik to gather his belongings before they head on their way. It wasn’t that long of a journey on foot, though they would likely be together the next two or three hours, and so she would start a friendly conversation to fill their time. The witch was prone to babbling, that hadn’t changed since being reborn, and so she finds it easy to fill their silence. “Are you from a long line of warriors? Have you always lived in these lands? Would you be willing to teach someone a few self-defense techniques? Do you prefer a long sword or a short sword?” The endless babble would bore the wolf, unless he started to answer her long line of questions, or steered them back to Lanara. She would answer honestly, too, if there was anything he wished to know, as there was only one topic she kept secret to the world, aside from her beloved sister. As they trek through the forest, they would once again come upon Rude-Off, who stomps his hoof angrily upon seeing his mistress with another companion. “I guess you won’t need a ride back to Schezerade, hmm? Replaced me with another speaking beast?!” Lana prepares a rebuttal, however her words are cut short as the jealous stag takes flight and fades from view. An amused look is given to Eirik, as she shakes her head, and blushes faintly. “Sorry. He gets a little jealous when I talk to anyone other than him… Especially if it’s a male… So, do you have any pets?”

An ex witch murderer he is, and today marks the seventh day, where he had received this curse. It hadn’t been months for Eirik. One week ago, he surely would have behaved much differently with Lanara. In fact, he probably would have chased her off long ago. So an unlikely friendship between the duo is the result of Valraes curse. Who knows if such things would crumble if it’s ever removed? Oh he still struggled with those thoughts from time to time, but the magic burned into him always trumped such things. He couldn’t help but begin to laugh at her comments about Aarika. It’s a deep belly-filled chuckle, probably a little too loud to be considered casual. “Aarika,” he states right after catching his breath. “She might be two of those things. When she uses Karma as a weapon and slaps me with it. But she’s no goddess.” He still found this rather amusing. It’s his fault really for just offhandedly remarking upon his significant other. “Aarika is my better half.” A finger points to his chest before he picks the rope and weapon up and affixes both to himself. Shortly, he catches up to Lanara and begins walking alongside her, carrying whatever pace she deemed appropriate. “She might be the jealous type. I’ve never really tested the boundaries of it. Like me, she’s also a warrior. Could probably knock out most men I’ve met.” Though he describes her as a battle hardened shield maiden, she did have a soft side. One which Eirik usually found himself with. While he is slammed with a god's awful multitude of questions, he does his best to answer each and everyone of them. “I’m not originally from here. I come from a land called Rosfjorn (Ross-fee-orn), and am ex-chieftain to a tribe known as the Rognvald (Rog-Nuh-Wald). We were the feared savages of the north, always waging war, raiding other countries.” He pauses to think for a moment, “Well at least that’s what we started doing after earning our freedom from Illisaria.” Whoever this Illisaria is, he face wrinkles up in disgust. “Battle is in our blood. And I’ve waged it for a good six hundred years.” Though he speaks of this in a rather casual manner, most would have tired of such things by now. Grown exhausted with the constant bloodshed; not the Berserker. “Part of my responsibilities as co-leader of the Steel Collective is training, so yes, I could and can teach. I do it all the time.” Another comment stated absentmindedly and without further explanation. “And I prefer a good two handed sword,” not that he’s always found with one mind you. “But sometimes it can be troublesome. I think the best blade depends on the job, but a good longsword can handle most. If you want something more in-depth, perhaps we can chat about what you would prefer in combat? Or if you’re seeking training, what type of combat that would work best for you. I can usually match the weapon to how you’d like to fight.” What does she use? Does she even fight? These are all things he’s still learning. As for Rude-off, Eirik just lofts a brow. Cheeky fellow. Might make a good stew, but he makes no mention of this. “I don’t have any pets, per say.” Those Rosfjorian dire wolves that followed him around weren’t tame. And they were renown for their temper, even amongst the druids. They had come to respect Eiriks strength, having smashed both bare-handed in combat. “I do have a couple of rather large Rosfjorian dire wolves that follow me everywhere I go.” Silver eyes flick around as if looking for his companions, and he can hear them off in the distance. “Sigrid and Bjorn. Bjorn is rather playful, though still young at heart, can be rather vicious. Sigrid, his leader, is -always- cold hearted to newcomers. “I can call them over if you like, but I cannot promise they will actually allow you near them.” He states this last bit with a twist of caution. Sigrid had bitten several druids.

Lanara walks at a steady pace, though she does slow whenever the ground gets particularly riddled with rocks or large branches. The last thing she needed was a sprained ankle as she was heading back to work, not to mention that she didn’t want the warrior to step into another ground hole along their travels. Losing one boot was enough for one day. As he mentions his heritage, his homeland, his beloved, and his pets, she seems to hang on his every word. The lives of others before they came upon Hollow had also interested her, and being of a curious nature, it wouldn’t be long before she would bombard him with another long line of questions. As wise as she appears, she still has an air of naivety about her, as her eyes widen in surprise at the mention of the dire wolves. Did she wish to meet them? Was that some sort of trick question? Of course she wanted to meet them! Before losing her powers she was known to others as a ‘woodland witch’ meaning that aside from her powers of healing and elemental magic, she also held a sort of empathy with animals, be they wild or domesticated. Although her magic is gone, the relationships she forms with animals still remains, thankfully. The elf seems to bounce slightly as she twitches a pointed ear and stops short, resting her open palm on Eirik’s shoulder. “Oh! Please do! I… I would love to meet your companions! I –adore- wolves! Well… I adore all animals, if I’m being completely honest. But if you would call them out, I would love to meet them, maybe give them a pet, and I’m sure I have some treats in my backpack…” Without waiting for the wolves to appear first, or perhaps give Eirik a chance to respond at her eagerness to meet the canines, she slips the backpack from her arm and unzips the side compartment. As she procures what appears to be a stack of peanut-butter cookies, she answers the questions that he had for her, in turn. “No. I am from a land known as Kelvar… It’s an Elven kingdom, very far away. It’s about a three week journey, on horseback, from here… My homeland is no longer there, and you won’t find it on any map as it’s magically shrouded in a thick fog. The drow came, and they murdered my clan, before torching the village. The only one to survive the attack was my sister, Talyara, and she ran far away. It took me nearly two years, but eventually I tracked her whereabouts to Sage Forest. We found a home here, made some friends, and things were good for a short while. But then… The Drow came again, and aside from cursing Sage Forest, they started a war. So we lost our second home, as well. It’s been hard on my sister; she’s younger and foolish with her heart, and too eager to forgive those that do her wrong.” Lana shakes her head and purses her lips, though her gaze remains alert in hopes of seeing the wolves. “Taly made a life for herself in Frostmaw, she fell in love a dozen times, and she owns a beautiful cottage. I met a handsome lycan, named Desparrow, and ended up living in Cenril. I love the beach, but I missed my forests. We were together for a while, but he was not a good man. He did the unthinkable to the lands, its inhabitants, and he left me in the dark. Had he confessed or kept me in the loop, I’m not sure what I would have done. But anyways, he was captured, and rather than face the death penalty, he fled the lands. After that, I left the lands for a while, journeyed near and far and eventually returned to stay with some friends in Gualon. I tracked down my biological father, who I had never met until last year and he murdered me. So… I have been revived, and I’m merely taking things day by day. I have a good job as a dance instructor, I am free to travel as I desire, and I have many animal companions. I… I don’t keep many friends, my only family is my sister, and although my life may sound lonely, I’m content with being single.” A pause. “Aarika sounds lovely. I admire a woman that can hold her own in a fight and still have a soft side… And there would be no need to be jealous of me. I have been told I’m beautiful, but I have never been called a home wrecker, and I intend to keep it that way. However, your warrior lady is a lucky woman.” A smile would splay on her pretty face as she waits for the animals to make their appearance. As he calls to the wolves, she clears her throat, and speaks softer. “I am interested in learning hand to hand combat, as a means of self-defense. I know how to use a bow and I’m pretty good with throwing knives… But without my magic, I am not all that powerful.”

Without knowing Lanara, Eirik gives a wary sigh. The northman didn’t know she had some special empathy, nor did he think that would change anything. Honestly he just hoped the wolves would be on their best behavior when he eventually calls them. As for her story, he listens intently, nodding as she makes known some of her past. Another smile tugs upon his scar riddled features, revealing that row of near perfect ivory teeth. When she mentions her sister Talyara, he looks towards the horizon thinking. Have I heard that name before? No. He hadn’t, and decides it’s useless to dwell on that aspect. “Aarika is,” he states matter of factly to her comment. Though their jobs often keep them apart for lengthy periods of time; it had been quite a while since he had seen her. He half expected to return to the barracks and be greeted by her sitting in that war room, buried in contracts. Working away while not even glancing up at him. What they called a relationship had very odd moments, but had been a great thing. He’s also happy to know that she wasn’t a home wrecker, whatever that is. A brow lofts at her other comment, “I’ve seen her temper.” Again there is that same ringing truth in his tone. "What do you mean? Lucky?" This lackadaisical compliment goes right over his head; he doesn't understand all of the nuances of the common language. However, he moves on to her other words. Met her father? That’s who killed her? She’s had a twisted life, though much different than his own. Without warning Eirik comes to an abrupt halt, dramatically skidding upon the loose gravel. “One moment,” he gives her no explanation, as that will play itself out in time. Two fingers reach into his mouth, and what proceeds is an ear piercing scream of a whistle - starting at a single low pitch, and then rising to a very high note. Its short, merely a second in length. “Be ready,” he states. And like the eventual winds, two direwolves can be heard in the distance, howling in response. For most, this might be an ominous moment, spent in wonder over how these two might react to a new presence. For Eirik, that is what's splayed out over his visage. Again, that howling streaks across the landscape. Before the two are physically spotted, their shadows are, stretching out onto the pathway. Bjorn bounds out of the cover provided by bushes and trees, gray in color - tongue hanging and swaying to and fro. A bit of blood can be spotted behind his ear, but why it’s there isn’t obvious. That is until Sigrid makes herself known from out from the same spot, her teeth bare blood and the reason for Bjorns injury is apparent; she is nearly snow white - a direct contrast to the color of life giving fluid. Like Eirik, their eyes are abnormal - some amalgamation of frigid silvers. Both twist to look at their master who had summoned them, but he says nothing, only stepping closer to Lanara. Bjorns attention settles on her and then Sigrid as if waiting the go ahead. Sigrid however, stands still, ears splayed back and teeth bore for the whole world. “This is Bjorn,” he points to the confused Dire. “That is Sigrid.” Obviously, as dires they were much larger than what most were accustomed too. “I tend to hunt with them,” he’s referring to when he transforms. “Not that you need any recommendations, but Bjorn is easy to win over. Once Sigrid has accepted you, he won’t leave you alone.” But Sigrid only accepts those she deems as part of the pack. Aarika had been accepted, as Eiriks mate. She made no other exceptions this far. Though truthfully, if he pushed for it, Sigrid would heed Eiriks word. She was stubborn as hell, but he is boss.

Lanara doesn’t respond when he inquires about what the term ‘lucky’ meant, as she supposes that in time he would see his own worth. She mistakes his lack of understanding the common tongue as humbleness, and rather than offer an explanation, she merely gives him one of her signature smiles, revealing equally as near-perfect teeth. Although the elf seems somewhat of a tomboy, her hygiene is notable, as her silken strands have a sheen, her skin is bare of any blemishes, her teeth are ivory, and a hint of perfume marks her scent glands. She is the perfect combination of lady and tomboy, just like that of her sibling, should Eirik and Taly ever cross paths. As they make their way to another clearing, somewhere nearer to the Xalious Mountains, the whistle is given and Lana eagerly lifts her head, perfectly alert. The shadows are witnessed before the beasts make their presence, and where most sane men would run off or ready a weapon, this tiny woman clasps her hands together in glee, and impatiently waits for them to appear. Bjorn is spotted first, and an audible ‘aw’ escapes the young woman, however, as the bloody white wolf makes her presence, Lana lowers her hands, and makes eye contact with Sigrid. Both dire wolves are stunning in appearance, appear to be complete opposites, and naturally, they would catch the unmistakable scent of the peanut butter cookies. Ignore Eirik’s advice of winning over Bjorn first, Lana shakes her head and slowly approaches Sigrid, dropping to her knees a mere two feet before the wolf. For a long moment she stares into the silver eyes of the majestic wolf, and after feeling that Sigrid wouldn’t mark her as a threat, she slowly extends her left arm, her hand balled into a tight fist. “Go on, pretty girl. I won’t harm you…” The submissive clenched hand is meant for the dire wolf to catch her scent, to mark her, before deciding if she is a friend or foe. Canines often greet each other by sniffing at the privates of one another, and although Lana was far from that of a dog, wolf, or coyote, she wouldn’t be marked as a threat. If Sigrid were to inhale, she would sense that Lana has the blood of a healer, that beasts big and small are treated in high regard, and that there is a sort of gentleness in the elf’s demeanor. She doesn’t force the dire wolf to befriend her, nor does she recoil as that first inhale of her flesh is taken, she merely stands her ground, not the least bit intimidated. If Eirik’s companion chooses to sink her bared teeth into her hand, she wouldn’t fault the dire wolf, though she likely wouldn’t try to gain her trust again, either. Lana hopes that by her bypassing Bjorn, the easier of the two to befriend, and by showing Sigrid she’s not one to fear, that she will pass the test, and be accepted by both of them. However, there is always a first time for anything, and should this backfire, she would likely have a broken hand, need stitches, and be very upset that an animal rejected her friendship. All of this flows through her head, as she now turns her wrist, and opens her hand, where a chunk of the cookie rests upon her palm. “Go on. I have a lot more if you like it… It’s alright, girl. I know that you are a warrior because you have to be strong. Maybe you have been hurt in the past… Or maybe you are wise not to place your trust in others. But I don’t mean you or him any harm…” Lana now shifts her gaze to Bjorn, who is hungrily eyeing the cookie and likely wondering why he hasn’t yet been offered a treat. “You will be next, I promise…” For now, it’s a shared moment between herself and Sigrid, with Bjorn curiously watching on, and her back to the master of the two beasts. To Eirik, she softly announces, “Though they prefer raw meat… All sorts of dogs simply adore peanut butter. It’s not something they can hunt in the wild, and it’s a real treat. I suppose it would be like us, having a chocolate dipped strawberry, or a vintage ale.”If Sigrid were to accept the offering, Lana would reach out a little further and gently stroke the top of that snowy skull, while her other hand would beckon for Bjorn to join them and have a treat, as well.

Eirik for lack of better words, is silent - gauging everything these two wolves are doing. Listening to Lanara’s explanation of how peanut butter is a treat of sorts. But if he gives up his watchful eye they might take advantage. Poor Lanara could easily have that hand bitten. She’d need it as a dance instructor. Sigrid sniffs at the air - more so obtaining Lanaras scent. Who is this person standing next to Master? Her eyes narrow, affix themselves on her hand. Without any further howls, growls or whines, Sigrid drops the nasty attitude, walks away an plops down on the other side of Eirik, lazily staring up at him. She did not want to be some plush animal awaiting drinks, trinkets and snacks. Bjorn however, bolts straight at Lanara, taking advantage of her crouched position. In effect, she might feel a wet sloppy tongue licking at her face, and toothy nibbles at her ear. Sigrid could care less, give Bjorn all the attention. Leave me alone. “Well,” Eiriks hands idly scratches at his chin. “Doesn’t seem like she wants your treat. She can be a stubborn mule, but that’s as close to friendship that she gets.” Like he had promised, there is no way that Bjorn would leave Lanara alone. Like a badly behaved, hyperactive pet who has been spoiled rotten. Though that isn’t the case. He just wants to play. “At least you weren’t bitten. That’s what happened to the last one.” But Eiriks attention shifts to more noise that he can hear in the distance. A pair of footsteps. A hand reaches for his sword. “Wait here.” He doesn’t explain anything, just stepping towards the sounds. They marched with heavy armor, and before long the pop into view. “Henry, Constantine? What are you doing out here?” Both members of the Steel Collective gasp at suddenly running into Eirik. “Sir, we have an issue at the fort. Aarika asks you to come at once.” Eirik waves his hands to send them off. Silver eyes twist back to Lanara, “Will you be okay from here on by yourself?” He didn’t wish to leave her, but there is apparently some business that needs tending too. Gods he hoped Aarika hadn’t been watching him. He’d embarrassed himself once this day already. He didn’t need an outburst at home. The wolves however, have gone nowhere, they still sit in the spots they have claimed.

Lanara lowers her eyes as Sigrid saunters off without taking a bite of the cookie, receiving a stroke of the fur, chomping down on the offered appendage, or becoming friends with the witch. Still, being sniffed and then ignored wasn’t exactly a bad thing, considering this was a dire wolf, and not some cuddly kitten. “Respect has to be earned… And it’s a good thing that she doesn’t place her trust so quickly in strangers. I admire Sigrid.” Although she was slightly bummed at being rejected by an animal, which was a first for Lana, she peers over her shoulder and gives Eirik a faint smile. “Thank you for letting me meet them. It means so-“The woman falls silent as the male dire wolf bounds into her with such force, that her arms immediately go around his shaggy neck, and the two do a barrel roll to the side. Bjorn smothers her face in kisses, and he lightly nibbles her chin and tapered ears, though it’s obvious that she loves every second of the encounter. “You are so cute! Wanna wrestle?!” And so, a playful round of rough-housing would ensue, as Eirik is momentarily distracted and excuses himself to investigate something elsewhere. By the time the lycan returns he would find the elf covered from head to toe in dirt, debris, and slobber, with Bjorn lying on top of her, nibbling on the crumbs of the now-crushed cookies. Sigrid remains seated in the same spot, eyeing the two of them with a look of slight annoyance, though all three look up with Eirik says that he has to leave. Clearing her throat, Lana gently tries to move Bjorn off of her, and stifles a giggle as he is hesitant to oblige. Instead, she shoves his muzzle at her pockets and nips at her backpack, searching for more tasty treats, and so she has to address Eirik from the forest floor. “Is everything alright? I’m fine, really. I know my way around the area, rather well… Although our time together has been brief, I’m really glad that we met and that I got to meet these two beauties… Maybe we will cross paths again in the future!” She doesn’t ask for any sort of future meeting, as she didn’t want it to come across as improper, considering he had a lover. But there was a hint of hopefulness in her tone, as though friends didn’t come easy to her, especially friends with awesome dire wolves as pets. Those chocolate hues lock on to Eirik for a lingering moment, before she gives a nod and a half-smile. “Be safe with your travels. And be sure to look after these two! I think you will have to take up baking, as Bjorn loves the taste of peanut butter…” Looking into the big eyes of the wolf on her lap, she scratches him lovingly behind both of his velvety ears. “You have to go now, but I hope to see you and your stubborn sister another day, okay?”

Eirik shakes his head at Lanaras words. Though his response is small, he grants another smile, something he has been doing a lot of. “After hearing about your Sanctuary and witnessing how you are with them,” he points an ungloved thick finger at the wolves. “I’m sending them off with you.” Eirik moves right on over to Sigrid, kneels before her and places both hands just beneath her muzzle, wrinkling her face up after making direct eye contact. “You two be good now, make sure she comes to see me.” He’s telling the wolves to make sure Lanara visits? Perhaps they actually understand the man? Truth of the scene, is that they do. “That way I can check up on you two.” The warrior shifts on foot, and just physically manhandles Bjorn, yanking him right off Lanara. They had a completely different relationship. Bjorn is wrestled to the ground, in a last ditch effort of fun. “You keep that stubborn sister of yours safe.” Finally he moves his attention back to Lanara. “I don’t have the time to take care of them like they need. Neither have manners, but they’re the only family I’ve had since coming to these lands. By family, I do mean my wolf side. You take care of them for me.” Eirik would be back himself to check on those stupid mutts, no matter what. “Just introduce them slowly to Rude-off. We hunt his type often. They will see him as food.” The northman, stifles back anymore feelings he might carry about the matter and heads off, without the wolves; regardless of what Lanara might say. Before long he is gone from view.

Lanara is tugging twigs from her hair and dusting off her leggings as Eirik addresses her, and leaves her momentarily stunned. Wait. What? The wolves were now in her care?! “Wh-What do you mean? I can’t just take your companions… I mean I can give them shelter and make sure they are always safe and fed, but… If they are your family, how can you just leave them? I… I have no one, either, aside from my pets and my sister. I will treat them like family… I just… Eirik, you are making a mistake. What if Aarika gets upset that you gave them to me? And… I mean, I can’t just accept them. Of course I will. I love all animals, but… I… Are you certain? Sigrid doesn’t even like my cookies!” As the man says his goodbyes to both of the wolves, and plucks Bjorn from her lap, she rises to her feet, somewhat unsteady. By now, she had run out of things to say, and she merely gives up refusing taking on the direwolves as her companions. They were majestic beasts, and she would be lying if she said she didn’t have a soft spot for canines. Plus, Bjorn already seemed to like her, and perhaps in time Sigrid would follow suit. If Eirik really didn’t have time for them, and couldn’t provide them with the best of care, than she would be more than happy to fill his shoes. Would he be back one day? Did he expect her to put them up for adoption once the sanctuary was open to the public? She hoped not, because once she finds herself attached, she would never be able to part with them, in any way. The Northman is already fading from view, as she stands between the two wolves and watches him walk out of their lives. “Goodbye, Eirik. Be safe… And know that what you have done is very brave. They are in good hands. And though I don’t know the path you are meant to travel, I know that you wouldn’t have placed them with me, unless you thought it in their best interest…” Lana’s words were spoken to the wind, though if the lycan had expert hearing he would understand the compassion behind her statement. She spoke of sacrifice, respect, and above all… Love.