In Dire Straits - Knock Knock, It's Religion [ ALLIANCE ]

N O U V E A U

conquer and devour

Ripley is away, fighting creatures bigger than he is. His fragile, pure, little body snapping like simple twigs - an image that plagues her mind. Nouveau tries not to compare his bones to the ones left behind from their most recent meals. Baking in the sunlight, forgotten by the world. When had she become so soft? When had he ever mattered? And yet. Here she was, miles and miles away from home. Laying on the outskirts of a pack, trying desperately not to imagine coming home to a void she didn't know had already been filled.

Pathetic. Her nails dig into the soft earth below and Nouveau rises on her paws in a flash, snarling to those accompanying her. "Let's go." No more fucking around.

The deeper into the woods they go, the less the light bleeds through. A thick mist clings to the group as they push deeper into the forest, the air becoming drier as they go. Her eyes gleam in the darkness, acid cutting through the fog like the faint glow ahead. Nouveau's tail rises, a sign to be cautious. It isn't her fault if they pay no attention. She licks her teeth and lowers a little, a creature of the swamp feeling more at home the darker it grows. When they arrive at the edge of a thick moat, gleaming green stones are etched into the trees, glittering and spreading the light around like greedy eyes in the reflection of the decaying sunlight. She braves the thickness of the moat to try and reach the stones, to get a better glance at them, but the deeper she sinks, the more she is interested.

Nouveau kicks back from the water, shaking her leg sharply. Returning to her group, she snaps a quick bark at the four accompanying her. Before the massive bridge that covers the moat surrounding them, she catches the eye of one dear follower. She looms over Blair protectively, trying to drag the child between her front legs, going as far as to try and grip the girl by the scruff of the neck if she moves out of place. Stay where you are wanted. When the group comes to her space, Nouveau howls for the attention of the strange pack.

"Greetings." The only explanation she would give to the basic sentries to intercept them. "I will speak with your leader." For only they would appreciate what she has to offer.

Please let Blair, Vesper, Jude, and Titus post first.

Into the darkness, a deity at their front, a fox by her side, hound and wolf removed from her focus. The bridge, the mist, the eerie quiet. This is a place of civilization; they will do well to trade with the denizens. She glances to Nouveau to relay this approval, but if the Spirit spares her not a glance, her gaze sweeps to the girl caged between her legs, that which lies ahead, and finally Jude. She had missed him so during the reconnaissance mission for which he volunteered, and then to immediately throw himself into this journey... Vesper wonders if he truly fancied this venture, or was so eager to return to the safety of her shadow, he was willing to follow wherever that may be.

She underestimates him: his foolish courage, fatal brilliance. Were it up to she, his tiny feet would never touch the ground.

Yet, here they are: Evening Star, Heirophant, Martin's finest, well-meaning giant, and her prodigal son. Jude, resting beside her with the same confidence the cat exudes. Does he think himself so invulnerable? Does he trust her that much?

The Captain trusts their God, trusts that this venture will be fruitful, and all Borogrove's children will return unscathed. She trusts the Holy Ghost, her divine judgement, and the Father's success in battle. She believes all of these things, because she has no inclination to think otherwise. The dark woods, this dying forest, what horrors could possibly lie beyond the treeline: they pale against what she saw in the water, and the Spirit's eyes.

The journey this time was different. He wasn't looking for unclaimed land. He wasn't looking for something to impress the Sun with. He was going to act as a loyal servant. A show of respect for the pack. He was the tallest, therefore if something up ahead was dangerous. He could spot them. Although, he was sure his height alone would probably scare off most. Which posed a problem at times. He was a gentle giant, with a heart of clay, molding to what he was to feel at the moment.

The woman in front, a beast that he had not met personally. Led the group, Titus eyed her nervously for a few seconds every now and again before he took a look at Jude and Vesper and relaxed. He may still be a slightly newer member of the group, but he had connections. Which was why he was even allowed to join this little expadition.

The track was long, tiring. Titus didn't show his discomfort as he didn't want to slow down the pack. Sometimes extended limbs posed quite the problem.

Miss matched eyes looked ahead as the group seemed to have to track through some water before stopping. The males eyes glance to Jude, seeing if the smallest member was doing alright before he looked at the group and stopping just behind Vesper. If jude needed help, he'd play hero and lift the male out of the water. If not, he'd stand at the ready. Trying to be as dignified and out of the way of the higher ups as he could be.

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blood and water, round and round;
beneath my skin and underground.

She hadn't requested to come on this voyage- it had been demanded with a sharp nip to the ear and a stern gaze. Not many in the township were more intimidating than the presence of her own beloved father, but the Holy Ghost always had an air about her that lead the pup to believe one thing: Refusal wasn't an option. With only some sense of hesitation, the youth was whisked away into the ever-darkening forest. Beyond the reaches of her home- the only land she'd ever known in her short life, and into the unknown. Blair chose to stick close to Nouveau's heels during their journey, having chosen to risk her own safety rather than mingle with strangers she couldn't care to make friends with.

The ambiance of the forest enveloped them more and more the further their feet carried them, and although the child had never been the type to scare easy, anxiety was a finicky beast. It manifested in whispers and figures she swore watched them at a distance, shadows that dissipated the second her eyes flickered over to catch them. It wasn't as scary as it was frustrating, but as the trees grew more sparse the closer they got to their destination, the less often they played their tricks on her.

Though it seemed that her infantile worry wouldn't end with the approach they'd been waiting for. Back home in Borogrove, she'd quickly found comfort in the swamps that everyone else had deemed unsettling. Even the threat of witches couldn't keep her out, and after her talk with her father she was just that more drawn to their depths, head roiling with curiosity and intrigue for what lay beyond her reach. But the sight that lay before the group now was a little more than she could ever hope for. Pin-prick pupils stared ahead at what almost looked like an island with fog emanating from the wide span of water separating each of their parties.

It was... eerie and ghostly. Beautiful, too, in some foreboding way that made the child's throat feel tight. Nouveau wasted no time in making her way to the water's edge and wading in while Blair stood, transfixed with the others. The Holy Ghost's attempt seemed to be in vain, because while the hound took in every sight and sound she could of the terrain, she was suddenly being dragged into the soaking fur of her aunt. Another order, and she bit her tongue to keep from grumbling or squirming free. The others fell in line with Nouveau, and Blair tilted her head to examine them closely in an attempt to read their expressions from her position.

A summons rings out from above and those mismatched eyes find themselves locked on the border once more, waiting with a morbid excitement for the first face to emerge from the fog.

profile. | borogrove. | doctor.

The Commandant stalked the edges of the moat, watching as the water flowed around and around in an endless circle. Life itself was an endless circle of violence and death only for new whelps to be born. Atlas carried his seed once again, and again he had to search carefully for food, and to keep somewhat of a distance as her teeth could clamp hard on some days. Ah, but that's the way he liked it, right? Violent. And in turn for her love, he gave her power if not for her connection with the Queen Dragon.

He heard the howl not far from him to the northwestern side, his large body slowly walking through the foggy forest. He saw them before they saw him despite his coat being more vibrant than his surroundings, but Orcrist knew this place better than anyone. Olive eyes inspected each one — a female who appeared to be leading them as she became dominant over a small looking dogish figure. One was large, possibly a fringe dire and the last was a large cat. Tongue lapped at his muzzle, mind already wondering exactly what they wanted. His bets were on an alliance, that he would have to call forth the Dragon.

They always wanted her.

Orcrist finally revealed himself, stepping out from behind a boulder and smiling widely. "Good evenin', what can I help yah with?" The Commandant held himself firm, his large frame standing before them. Olive eyes would watch the leopard closely, trusting them as much as Azuhel did since Ayrion swept through. He figured they would behave though as the green female asked for his leader. Orcrist gave a slight huff before he lifted his head and howled for the Dragon Queen.

"T'Dragon will be 'ere soon. In t'mean time, tell me y'names? I'm Orcrist, Commandant of Alteron." Orcrist sat now, waiting for Azuhel to approach them all.

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The birds screeched and cawed, a massive alert to an unknown presence, an omen of sorts—or a herald of good news, Azuhel could never be truly certain. If she’d had the time, or the need, she could have sought more answers, more collective intelligence from a network that was meant to be the perfect rattling annoyance in terms of messengers of alarms. Really, wolves did it so much better that the fat beady eyed crows she held court with, but wolves could be slow and willful. Birds, not so much. Not when their tiny bones hung ‘round your wrist in bracelet form and their little skulls clack, clack, clacked together on the entrance of her empire like humming windchimes.

So they obeyed, and they screeched, and she tossed a weary gaze from the thick umbrella canopy to the direction they had flown from. Either Atlas was causing mischief (or progressive aggression) again, or Orc had something delightful to show her.

Or, it could have been a troop of loathsome cats again—

She rolled over onto her feet, best to get a move on.

And move she did, comforted by the weight of the rosary around her neck—courtesy of her pirate wife—and the security that came with power, with good, best, and better plans and a mind sharpened by the need to ruin. Oh, not her collected of course, but those who howled and bleated at their massive walls like so many innocent sheep.

So, to whom did she owe the pleasure of caging this particular time?

Shame it wasn’t Inaria, her silent neighbor, returned to beg for assistance with burying their corpses and licking their wounds, but the collection Orc held at the border was still an interesting sight to behold. A group of wolves and—ah… a cat—that she had never seen before. So, she came closer, to stand beside Orc with tilted head and an introspective focus on the one who held herself with a stance and tone that whispered…

Power.

“My my my,” she said, allowed honey coated words to fall easily from a noble tongue, southern hospitality at its finest, “I reckon dat would be me.”

She gave a flick of tail, her own posture one of idle confidence, the unspoken language of the lord who considered themselves just one of the populous, when they were clearly anything but…

“They call me The Dragon,” The Dominus, The Sovereign, “but you may call me Azuhel.”

Then, with a soft rumble of chest—a husky chuckle—she motioned to the space around them, fog burdened and lit by the twinkle of her lanterns, the gate of her empire, “What can Alteron do fer yah.”

What can they build your bars out of?

N O U V E A U

conquer and devour

They follow behind her; her faithful toy, a bright eyed nobody, and a bargaining chip. She places a kiss atop the head of her obedient niece, appreciative that she doesn't have to make a show of dominance over a child. Her fur barely has time to dry before a stranger appears from the mist. He's large, a mixture of tan and green, and he reeks of firm authority. His words a sort of drawl, polite, if not forcibly so. Nouveau watches him with as cautious an eye as he watches her, a neutral expression that does not meet the intensity of her eyes. Runny yellow irises flick behind him as the stranger lifts his head and howls again, the Spirit's impatience growing as her shoulders stiffen in anticipation. The only member of her party to feel it would be Blair, tucked between her legs.

"Ocrist," she tries the name on her tongue. The Commandant, then. Nouveau's ego spikes - at least she was not greeted by a mindless sentry. Ocrist seemed to know what he was doing, and so she indulges his request. "Nouveau, my friends and I have come a long way to meet you." Her tone is ragged, not unlike the gears of rusted machinery. Unsettling, but soothing all at once. Not her usual gruff, borderline snarl. "The Dragon?" She asks, head turning a little in the first expression she's shown upon arrival. A peculiar title, one that makes her grin widen, teeth flashing in the vague light. It speaks of power, it speaks of royalty. She likes this Dragon already.

And she appears. Without fanfare, without an announcement of heavy paws and flashing teeth. No, the wolf that arrives beside Ocrist is regal, eyes bright, head to the side as she observes Nouveau. In the presence of the Dragon she senses their dance has already begun, marked by the honey drawl from the red lady's lips. Her presence is nobility, and Nouveau's shoulders soften, the tension down her spine easing. Surely the legs locking Blair in place would relax around her. She was vulnerable, but only for a child she knew would never speak in opposition of her. Not if she valued her Father. Nouveau smiles, less teeth, more genuine.

"Azuhel," she says, rough voice turning the name over in her mouth, rumbling it in her chest. "A true pleasure, Dragon of Alteron. My name is Nouveau, I come from Borogrove as their Holy Spirit. We will soon become your neighbors, and I thought it polite to introduce ourselves. Perhaps to build a strong, healthy relationship between our homes." Her confidence in Ripley is marred by the scene behind her eyes - his pale throat shredded by long, diseased claws, his holy blood across the ground of the mangroves. Would they recover his body, as it sinks into the clear, endless lake? "The Trinity would like to make an offer of friendship, and I can see that you and I will be fast friends."

She remembers those around her, gesturing vaguely near them with a wave of her paw. "We've traveled quite a while. Is there a place my company might rest while the two of us speak?" Her eyes fall to Ocrist for a moment. He is of no threat to her, but unwanted ears are never pleasant.

And oh, did she have much to discuss with Azuhel.

Moving this along so our friends can interact and make threads with other Alteron members!

There is something inheritably peculiar about the group. It’s more than their odd scent or the words they speak—holy spirit, the trinity? They are painfully familiar to her, almost interchangeable if she thinks of the valley. It’s the dedication gleaming in their gaze, the strong posture of their bodies.

That is interesting, as interesting as whatever culture they herald from, but they are not Saboro nor Tortuga and they are definitely not Inaria.

Something, someone… new and fresh.

Forgive her, as she tries not to salivate.

“Welcome then, Nouveau, the Holy Spirit.”

Because Azuhel recognizes a title when she hears one, and she is nothing but polite.

Her party has traveled far and they seek a place to rest? That is more than doable and with a smirk and a glance toward Orc she’d nod. What did he think? Surely, he could accommodate and coordinate the logistics of the travelers? So that she could take up company with their leadership.

“Treat our guests well,” She’d mumble with quirked brow. Give them that special type of hospitality. “N’ maybe I’ll gift your court a cute little family of piglets.”

He’d earned them, after all.

“You could teach someone in your house to raise them.” She whispered, trying to convey that the piggles wouldn’t be for immediate consumption… but then she is looking back to Nouveau, and with a sweep of her tail she’d state.

“Up the bridge then, Spirit. Let us talk ‘n see if we’re compatible—”

A pause, as she drew her tongue across the top of her manner in an old and familiar pattern—

“--fer friendship, of course.”

N O U V E A U

conquer and devour

While Azuhel regards her, their culture, their potential -- Nouveau does the same.

What wolves are these? Hidden behind their moat and their mist, the glowing border of emerald encrusted trees. Their leader who drips raw power and regality, smart enough to recognize the situation for what it is without meaningless, flowery terms or hostile, useless teeth. They meet eye to eye, equals despite their vastly different culture and place across the border. It's refreshing, but not different than Nouveau's high expectations of the pack while on their journey. A place so close to Borogrove had to be up to their level, or they would rapidly meet the same fate as the sabers in the mangroves.

She grins as her title falls from Azuhel's lips, honeyed by that thick drawl. Azuhel turns to her companion, rewards him for his ... hard work in greeting them, in seeing to their needs. How peculiar. Nouveau herself holds no real loyalty or love for her people; that is Ripley's job. She stops herself before the thought of or it was can take root. Her grin does not falter as she allows Azuhel's attention to be drawn elsewhere again, ignoring the prickle of something deep in her chest. Jealousy?

No. She does not allow herself anything so useless.

At the invitation she rises to her paws, stepping over Blair as though the girl was a second to last thought. "I am sure we are more than compatible, Lady Dragon." For friendship. For conquering the world around them in holy fire. Her teeth peek from behind thick black lips as she turns to glance at the party behind her. "Come, follow Orcrist. Be respectful to our hosts." Borogrove was nothing if not proper, perfect. Anything beyond what Nouveau expects would be met with an early grave, lost in the long journey home.

Without another word or direction she crosses the lantern lit bridge into the unknown land beyond, into a new chapter for Borogrove. For the Straits.