In Dire Straits

“The wind is right. We move now.”

Alteron lingered for days outside the twisted forest maze of Death Valley until Falco’s sudden announcement. They kept a low fire, barely detectable, and prepared long torches which were stuck into the soft dirt in a collection resembling makeshift grave markers. Between Alteron and Saboro they had surrounded the valley, cupped in their grasps like a chalice making a single path for escape. The Magus moved carefully, refusing to release the fire until the wind was at their backs, not wanting to risk more Alteron or Saboro lives to a fire they had created. They did not need to wait long. The time was now.

“Spread out and move quickly. A little flame goes a long way. Once your section is lit, get out of there, and look for fleeing rats,” Falco commanded. “If anyone tries to intercept you, forget the torch and put them down, but I doubt you’ll have many issues with the natives.”

Whatever survived would become the property of Alteron or Saboro. He was going to save them, rebirth them through flame, like phoenixes. Alteron would never thank him for giving them the victory they craved, a thing for them to be proud and united around, and Oukoku-kai would never thank him for saving their miserable skin from stagnancy and rot. He gave so much for so little in return and to think he had once thought being a god would be glamorous.

He would not give an inspiring speech, not today. He snatched a torch and dipped it in the coy flames of their fire. It burst into destructive plasma, hot on the side of his face, and he immediately turned to his people to face the old, dry woods of his home. Leading the charge, he galloped towards the trees, running the circumference of the shadowy bubble of woods that had always protected Oukoku-kai and kissed every passing branch with a fiery touch. He knew they feared the flame, the tool of men and the Red Dragon, which is why he needed to use it. Their Ragnarok was here and the only Paradise it would lead them to was into the Magus’ grasp. The flames danced, hopped, spread among the ancient protectors of his former packland. The wind pushed the fire deeper, spreading towards the heart of Death Valley and what denizens remained in its skeleton. Falco would never feel that rush of power his predecessor might; he was putting a dying beast down.

This was a mercy.

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Saboro had arrived later than Alteron, but they had waited those days in silence, waiting for the perfect opportunity. This was Sincate's first war, the excitement in their blood burning as each minute ticked by. The Magus had explained everything, what Death Valley held and the inner workings of Oukoku-kai. A secluded valley that cradled the Gods. Three of them, much like Alteron's current crown.

The time had come finally, Falco giving the signal. The Sabora would nod, but not move. They figured they would be the front line after the fire, to seek and snuff out any threats that would get in their way. Sincate had already talked thoroughly with Zanna, hoping that the War Captain would live up to expectations. "We'll back up any torches. Go, we're right behind you." The Queen was patient, they had to be. Rushing was foolish.

A black and white figure snatched one of the given torches, giggling as she felt the hot flames of fire lick her cheek. Blue eyes watched as this girl ran after Falco, close to his heels, running with her head down to catch the dry grasses aflame.

Sincate waited until the fires engulfed the maze, motioning their head for Zanna, they would surge forward. The smoke would act like a screen and anyone that got in the Queen's way would certainly be cut down. Saboran blood ran deep in the veins of this Sabora, the Redbone more than ready for the horrors of war.

✦ ✦ Speech Text ✦ ✦

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- Crow is here too because of course he is.

- Following somewhere beside Falco and Sincate, not behind, since that implies subordination and he’s done obeying orders from wolves half his age, that ship sailed off with Grendel years ago. Crow is kind of an arrogant prick. But you know that.

- Has his own special reasons for being here, but getting to play with fire again is a perk. Seizes a torch. A shiver runs through his burned body. He shows teeth in an animal grin that displays an unstable mix between pleasure and fear.

- Takes off separate from everyone else, unless someone wants to follow. He’s heading for the Rosa’s sacred denning grounds. It will be fun to pick off runners, of course, but he will never, ever lose his taste for slaughtering gods.

- It was always going to be this way. From the very heartbeat Izanagi had led him here... all those years ago.

Never did she expect to find herself here again.

It was the unmistakable scent of the tar pits, distant and faint as they may be at the borders, that instantly brought her back to her childhood. Playing with her siblings. Picking flowers for Mom. Lessons with Falco. One would assume this wave of nostalgia would illicit some sort of response, some sort of old, warm, fuzzy feeling at the least. But as Aves laid a ways from the flame, green eyes watching her brother, her mind was not on the past, but the task at hand.

Once upon a time Aves had said she wanted to convert heathens, to show them the way or dispatch them, whichever was needed to rid the land of them. But now she returned a heathen to save the followers from their folly. Would she run into Peregrine? Corvus? Dad? Would they listen? Falco's body language changed and she had no more time to think. The moment was at hand. The crested wolf rose to her feet and listened intently, watching as he took up a torch and lit it. Aves didn't share her brother's curiosity for the dancing flame, in fact there was still a part of her that was nervous in it's presence. Not due to old superstition, but simple ignorance. She had no experience with it. But Aves didn't hesitate as she pulled up her own torch and dipped it into the fire. If Falco said it was okay she had no reason to believe he would lead her astray.

Close on her brother's trail Aves let the crimson flames flow behind her, making sure to lean into the branches to spread their heat. Heart pounded less from exertion and more from excitement. Ragnarok was here, and she had nothing to fear.

Things were transpiring quickly as of late. Saboro was blossoming more and more with each day that passed, and Zanna was happy to say she was in bloom as well. Not long after Zanna’s promotion to War Captain, there came word of a war. A raid.

Alteron had approached Saboran borders, three Knights and their Queen seeking an alliance. Sincate had lengthy discussions with them about the why’s and what’s, and Telana filled them in on the juicy details of a raid they had planned.

Death Valley was a name Zanna was sure she’d heard in the past, but she never knew so much of their darker history or of the twisting tales of Oukoku-kai. It was without any surprise to Zanna that Sincate wholeheartedly agreed to join Alteron on the raid, to offer any assistance they could.

It was without a doubt that Zanna obliged without hesitation as well. If the Sabora agreed, the War Captain followed suit. It was like clockwork at this point.

The time leading up to the raid was spent eagerly pacing in anticipation of the events that would unfold, busying herself with small chores here and there. She took the time to speak with her Jackdaws to inform them of the task at hand. They couldn’t all come along – someone had to stick around Saboro to make sure the pack was safe in the absence of the Sabora and the War Captain – so she needed coordinate.

They decided on who’d come and who’d stay behind, and that was that. This would be a good chance for those who came along to prove their worth to the new War Captain, to get on her good side early on. She found herself looking forward to it, interested in watching her underlings as they performed in the raid.

As the days continued on, Zanna found herself slipping away from the pure adrenaline phase and into the caution phase, wondering if it was such a good idea for the Sabora to join them on this raid. Zanna didn’t know Death Valley well, but from the words of Telana, it sounded as though there was a high chance they wouldn’t go down without a fight. What pack would, honestly?

The War Captain questioned how calculated the Sabora’s decision was, considering the fact that they were finally getting Saboro back on its feet and back to a fully functioning capacity.

There was never a good time to lose a leader to a war, but this would especially be a bad time for such a thing to happen.

Of course, it was a tricky subject to approach – she wouldn’t dream of undermining her alpha. Zanna wasn’t stupid. She knew Sincate was more than capable of holding their own in battle, and there was little to no chance of anyone in Death Valley knowing they were the Sabora, so how could they target them specifically?

Nonetheless, the War Captain felt she had a right to voice these concerns, to tell the Sabora that she was sure the rest of them could handle this if they’d rather hang back to help maintain those that stayed behind. Her concern was rational, it wasn’t unwarranted.

“Then protect me. That’s why I entrusted you to Captain.”

The Sabora’s tone was strong and their words were genuine. Zanna would be lying if she said she expected Sincate to go back on their decision.

All the War Captain could do was agree, taking the order in with the gravity it held. She couldn’t blame the Sabora for wanting to be there, for wanting to represent Saboro in a time such as this.

Zanna imagined that if she were Sabora, she’d want to be there as well.

--

When they arrived at Death Valley, Alteron was already there – Zanna spotted a couple familiar faces from when they were at Saboro seeking alliance. They’d taken their post, and they’d had the valley surrounded.

Leading the Jackdaws that came along, she kept the Sabora in her peripherals. They set up at the borders with Alteron, taking their own spots and waiting for command. Torches were mounted, and a fire was lit.

“Zanna. Do you know how to start fires?” She recalled the Sabora’s words from some time ago. At the time, the question seemed odd, out of place, perhaps irrelevant. But now, the relevance of the question had become clear, the reality of it finally sinking in.

The fire dazzled her, dancing in the reflection of glossy emerald eyes. What a beautiful weapon of destruction.

They waited for quite some time, but the shift from waiting to action was very sharp and sudden. The Magus of Alteron announced that it was time, swiftly lighting a torch of his own and galloping through the dry, dead grass, leaving burning flames in his wake.

Saboro waited, watching as Alteron donned their sizzling weapons before fleeing into Death Valley, burning everything they touched.

Sincate spoke, and Zanna heard. When the Sabora motioned for Zanna to follow, Zanna would bark quickly to her Jackdaws, “Follow them – you know your orders.”

The War Captain flanked the Sabora as she pushed onward, emerald eyes squinting as the smoke began to plume, rising into the air quickly. If anyone came anywhere near her or the Sabora, she would lunge at them instantly – there would be no hesitations, no questions asked.

“Then protect me.” The words rang in her ears as she kept close to Sincate, watching them from the corner of her eye while scanning the smoke around them for lurking figures.

So it began.

tl;dr:
> Zanna had half/some of her Jackdaws come along, assuming some stayed back in Saboro
> She's near Sincate, and will stay near her for protection
> Echoes the Sabora's orders to her Jackdaws, tells them to follow the Alteronians and take escapees down

A E S T H E T I C

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  Tail dusts the ground while they wait, the dire wide-eyed and smiling. A turquoise glance falls on her father, slinking through the forest not so different from where he chose her more than a year ago, but settles back on Sarissa. Pretty, deadly Sarissa. Halfway between a sigh and a secret, she says, "You look absolutely ravishing..."

  Falco speaks, but she only follows with her ears, watching as Sari takes off to light the grasses eagerly. Red is so her colour. Miasma rises to follow, taking no torch when all she needs is teeth, but out of the corner of her eye, the lick of fire on skin scarred silver catches her eyes. Crow is off on his own, but she knows where he's going. She knows him like she knows herself.

  "Sari!" she calls the apology, loathe to tear her lover away from frolicking in the flame, but Miasma lived a year here. She knows all the best places and people to kill. The halfbreed tosses her head in indication after her father-- grinning a little malicious and wildly in love-- before she follows him. She always has.

Many ears had raised when the announcement came that the time was now, the Slab's among them, quickly ending the days that had passed in silence. Since his acceptance, the male had kept himself busy doing whatever chores or tasks he could find to make himself useful. When the time had come for the raid to be announced, however, the male had fallen into the assembling ranks without hesitation, and for days, the pack had marched to this spot outside the dry woods they now surrounded. With a name like Death Valley, he had expected... something different than what lay before him, though, his mouth had remained shut and his eyes forward as minutes passed to hours and hours to days.

Father had always said that glory awaited those brave enough to enter battle, and, even the Alpha female who had led them here had vaguely promised rewards for the slabs who came, yet, neither of their words had made him fall in line. He was a Hunter and this gave him the opportunity to do what he had been bred to do.

The days of silence were passed easily enough, recounting the stories Father had told he and his siblings of the battles and skirmishes he had participated in, watching the shadowy borders of the lands Saboro and Alteron had surrounded, and, of course, watching the flickering of the flames with more fascination than fear. His natural instincts to avoid fire had been suppressed long ago, and, in comparison, these flames were nothing to the ones that conquered generations of instilled, instinctual fear in him. They all but called out to him.

Now that the time was upon them, he even felt a desire to take up one of those things called torches that those of Alteron would wield, yet, he held his ground, his tongue somewhat extended as he panted lightly and continued to look on. The first wave was sent out, setting the parched land ablaze, the growing flames of which flickered and reflected in the tapetum lucidum of the male's golden gaze.

Asger was as low as it got in Saboro, for the moment, and certainly wasn't among the jackclaws. He had received no orders from the War Captain, nor those above him, though, when she gave the instructions to move out, the slab strode as fluidly as the others who spread out behind the first wave and marched forth. Their task should have been obvious to even a pup; kill or capture the ones who smelled different. His countenance hardened. It was time to work.

       Steliana's heart pounded in her chest though her face was stoic and guarded. This wasn't her first conflict, nor would it be her last, but this was the first time she had been a part of an invasion.

       There was no burning branch in the wolf-jackal's mouth and she wasn't one of Saboro's warriors. No, she came along as a medic to aid her fallen packmates and allied packs in battle. She had come of her own accord, a different satchel worn around her that was more tightly secured to her body and packed with herbs - particularly witch hazel - and cobwebs to stop bleeding. Exsanguination was the biggest concern in battle, infection came later.

       The golden-eyed Chemist could fight - she wouldn't be here if she couldn't. However her primary objective was to aid fallen comrades and therefore she stood further down the line. Her raven, Morrigan, perched on her shoulder. Morrigan was unshakable and could lead the medic to the injured. And unlike Izanami, no one would think much of a raven compared to a silver vulture.

       The cream and slate medic knew little of the pack they were attacking. She hadn't been in the Dire Straits or in Saboro for as long as some and she didn't bother herself with learning much about the allies and enemies of Saboro. She felt apprehension in the deep corner of her mind, the voice that asked, 'What did they do to Saboro and Alteron?' 'Why are we attacking them for?' She had seen her fair share of conflict and some attacks may have been justified and others were not.

       But the yellow-eyed doctor wouldn't shy away from this conflict. She had always prided herself on being able to be pragmatic and to compartmentalize well enough to get her job done. And her job today was to heal her own. She focused on that aspect and made herself deaf to the whispers of doubt within her.

       Ich dachte, Sie machen Witze, als Sie sagten, Sie würden kommen. A large Fringe Dire padded over to the medic, managing to speak through the branch in his mouth. Magneto had become something of a friend to her, both shared the same foreign tongue and had seen much in their years of living.

       Du hattest Unrecht, the scarred healer said flatly. She knew that the Nightjar had no qualms about spilling blood and perhaps knew why they were doing this. Weißt du warum wir das machen?

       Unser Verbündeter scheint einen Feind zu haben und sein Feind wird zu unserem Feind, the red demon stated. Mach nichts Dummes.

       Ihnen dasselbe! The tri-colored female fired back as the Nightjar padded towards the front of the line. The male's explanation didn't help her that much but she pushed any feelings out and locked them away for the time being.

       She had a war ahead of her and she would need a clear mind. When the charge began, the hybrid healer would have her raven fly and she would charge alongside with the warriors, her ears peeled for cries for a medic or for the smell of blood and Saboran.

OOC:
Steliana and Magneto are here. Steliana is a combat medic and will be running around trying to treat others (DM me for specific war things or if you want to have Steliana treat (or fight) your character). German is with hoovertext from Google Translate

Stock by Tekmile @DA

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#e34234

No, she did not share her sister's love for fire, the destructive tool didn't care what it swallowed up, like a hungry beast constantly snapping for its next meal. Though Telana did understand its usefulness, and when the Magus came slithering to her seeking council, her brow wrinkled at the idea, but that petty, bitter side embraced it all too quickly.

You see, these 'Gods' were never meant to last forever as they are flesh and bone, pretending to be superior and it's that very pride that set a beast of ceaseless hatred after them. The fools. Amber eyes watched contently, plainly as the the fire spread across the already crippled forest maze, as the wind picked up embers and smoke filled an already hazy winter sky.

Embers danced around her ginger coat, but Telana paid little heed, her eyes transfixed upon the burning plains before her. Where were their Gods to protect them? The fire flashed and she heard the distant chanting of days long past, of a little girl who watched as a sister ascended, as the crowded screamed and howled their blind devotion. This place of sleeping Gods, of savages, a memory she'd wish to purge from her mind, but it had engraved itself into her very being.

Burn it away, her heart cried, though she stood motionless, taking it all in even as her jointed cried for her to sit. She wanted to watch as every last speck was nothing more than ichorous earth.

No, she would never share her sister's love for fire, but she could appreciate its work from afar.

She hadn't lived among them long, just long enough to learn her place and the expectations set before her. They'd needed bodies with a set of sharp jaws. Surely, there were those more skilled and trained than she, but Ruen couldn't help but toss her name into the pot. She's new, nothing but a name to her pretty pelt- And all new faces need to add to their resumes. Besides, why shouldn't they let the slabs join in? At the very least, every war needs a bit of cannon fodder before the real pros take the heat. Whatever the reasoning, she'd been allowed to take part in the festivities, however bloody they might become.

Their journey hadn't been any worse than the travels of her past. Uneventful, really, so she'd set to memorizing landmarks, names, and faces on the way. It might have been surprising to learn the Sabora was among the war band, but really, shouldn't it be expected of a wolf who barked the orders that cast the pack into someone else's blood feud? Bold and commendable, she thinks.

They're met with flickering torches, and for a moment, she's mesmerized by the flame. How clever, how beautiful, how captivating a device. Yes, these creatures, these wolves of the jungles... Were very intelligent indeed. They've planned collectively on the suffering of those beneath them. This poor valley didn't have a prayer strong enough or a god wise enough to save them from their inevitable demise. Today, they'll fight as men do. There won't be a wolf left among them.

Alteron makes the first move, their leader orchestrating the seize. Saboro is to follow their torches, snuffing out any who might object. Simple, yet effective. The pack stands back as the brush turns to fire. It swallows the land as a beast, engulfing their dens, their culture, their lives. The pale wolf grins ear to ear, narrow snout flashing slender teeth. Today, she'll run with the fires of destruction- How exciting, isn't it? They'll take this wretched little hollow and gobble them up as quick as the flames do.

As the pack heads inward, so does Ruen. Snarling at the plumes of smoke, she plunges into the fray. Red eyes mark a dancing torch in the distance, so she cuts to follow it as a beacon. Should the torch bearer meet a fallen idol head-on, they could depend on this fledgling Saboran. They're here for backup, and the white wolf intends to lend support, as they've been directed... If not for reputation, then for fun.

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He appeared as usual-- unannounced, unnoticed, and his departure much the same-- unmissed.

The muddy boy waits, watching with attention, each of the faces and orders, which alpha each answers to. Who takes a torch, and where each walks. One may wonder why a child has come to war-- but first, they would have to see him.

After the field is ablaze and fighters scattered, Kitkun rises, and wanders into Oukoku-Kai.

Falco

Sincate

Crow

Aves

Zanna

Miasma

Asger

Steliana

Telana

Ruen

Macbeth

Vance