so at last we meet

Morning had come just as the night had left, leaving only Vahaelarr. Alone to his thoughts and the memories that flooded back with each passing day since his arrival on this plane, he felt still. Nothing disturbed him just yet, but it was only a matter of time before someone or something would.

As the first rays of dawn painted the landscape with a soft, golden hue, Vahaelarr's eyes hung to every detail of the tranquil surroundings. The rustling leaves whispered secrets to him, stories of the land untold, and the distant chirping of birds singing a soothing song served as the backdrop of his solitude. From his seated position atop the green hilltop, he remained quietly, savoring the untamed smells that drifted towards him, riding the gentle breeze of the vale. 

Vahaelarr rose from his seated position with the practiced regality of a King, his strapping frame cutting a herculean form atop the hill. @Bran circled gracefully overhead, the dark feathered crow watching from above. He carved a precise path through the sky, his movements conveying urgency. Then came the two low pitched caws, sounds of warning, before the creature dipped away, leaving Vahaelarr. 

His eyes flicked to and fro across the spanning valley, lilac irises swimming with a sudden caution. It was then he spotted the approaching figure; and it appeared he had spotted Vahaelarr. Purpose riding his strides, he began a slow descent from the hill, intending to meet the wolf halfway.

 
 

 

---

@Faust

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The protector of the Vale descended from the peak of a mountain. He spotted the man from atop a ridge. His coloration did not camouflage him against the stark coloration of grass and stream water. His scent filled his nose— undeniably masculine, tinted with cool winter air and herbs. The only reason why he came down the mountain is because of one thing.

His sister.

Upon this man's coat had the lingering scent of Savan. With measured steps and a collected disposition, he'd call out to him. "Ao," — You, he would call, his feet touching the soft soil of the ground as the mountain turned deep into a valley.

Faust's gait turned to a trot. He approached the man quickly. A light snarl was placed on his face, a narrowing of his eyes to a slit as he observed him. "You smell of my sister—"

If the man wished to talk, he'd cut him off. He got close to his face. A foot separated them.

"Why?"

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The rolling landscape of the Vale whispered secrets to the wind; it carried leaves from trees in its turbulent wings and the trickling, crystal streams churned throughout the spinning valley. Sundered Roost was a beauty untapped and unshaken by the channels of time. In the middle of it all, the Northern Exile remained unnerved. Unflinching. Undisturbed he was in the face of Faust’s unyielding hostility. Vahaelarr stood with a demeanor that was of equal countenance to a winter's bite; but it was unfathomable: the anxiety that bubbled beneath. His lilac eyes watched the way the other male’s lips twitched with an ache of anger, revealing beneath the teeth that surely knew the taste of blood.

The rustle of fallen leaves seemed hushed in deference to his presence, and the distant gurgling of the streams seemed to echo his steady resolve. "Dārys." — King. he replied steadily, the word dripping with respect and recognition, a subtle acknowledgment of the power that Faust held within these lands. They were his, and Vahaelarr had no intention of interrupting that balance. Only joining it.

Vahaelarr's was a study in collected composure, having been schooled by a strict mother from the day he’d first been able to walk. His mother had taught him strength in silence, and the power in duty; one could not lead properly without first having been led. His eyes, like deep pools of contemplation, met Faust's unwavering gaze and the posture of the slate gray brute remained resolute, mirroring the unwavering poise of one who knew nobility.

In the hushed silence that ensued, the vale seemed to hold its breath, as though it knew the violence that threatened to erupt at any second if the rogue did not carefully choose the path he intended to take.

“Savan is your sister?” Though worded as a question, it was more of a statement. He slowly pieced together the webbings of this Pack as more individuals were introduced, and now, understood the manner in which the male held himself. A brother’s worry for his sister was pure as day; Vahaelarr himself knew it all too well. Paws steadied themself against the earth as the seconds ticked past with which Faust still bristled with accusation and demand. “I assure you, my intentions are only noble.” Vahaelarr’s voice radiated with something of assurance, his lilac gaze unwavering against that of Faust’s, a testament of the honesty he spoke.

"Nyke would pledge ñuha pazavorve, se ñuha ābrar, naejot ao lo ao would emagon ziry." — I would pledge my loyalty and my life to you, if you would have it. There was no hesitance in the movements of the wolf as he dipped his head before the other.

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The male replied to him with a simple word, 'King'. Faust's eyes narrowed. Who was he? How would he know such a thing? "Who are you?" He would demand, finding it rather odd that he deemed him as such. Did Faust drip off regality? Was his claim obvious? The Roost had become a staple in the lands, that much he knew, but was his role that clear?

He explained himself, Faust tsked, unbelieving of his sentiments. He knew his sister was beautiful, a jewel of Velaris, and he wouldn't take this male to be one that faltered from it. He already didn't like him. Faust would say nothing else, turning his head away from the male, letting his body sway in the perpendicular direction.

The protector would freeze, nostrils flaring at his sentiment. "You think you have what it takes to be a part of the Vale?"

Faust would practically sneer, his lip curling into a slight snarl. Savan's light scent still dangled in the air. It hung above him like a carrot for a pig, except it disappeared before he would lurch to take a bite.

"You prove yourself to the other members, let them speak on behalf of your character," a growl followed his words. "Then maybe, maybe, you will be welcomed."

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The dismissal in Faust's demeanor did little to deter Vahaelarr's resolve; he was one of winter and snow, a stoic figure of ice, one that could not be melted by the hottest of stares. There was scrutiny in Faust’s words, his gaze, the way he held himself; mere inches away from Vahaelarr, almost physically challenging him to make a wrong move. If anything, it fueled the fire within him. The sneer and rippling snarl directed at him from the Sévir’s maw were met with a cold detachment, lilac eyes continuing to swirl with indifference. Unflinching, undeterred. His goal was one he set out to complete days, weeks, ago -- and the hottest of glares, the coldest of words from the Alpha wouldn’t shake the wolf. 

“My mother named me Vahaelarr.” A curt response, one that came with the poised dip of his crown. His ears swiveled in a practiced rotation, listening to the sounds of the Vale carried on the wind. Birds chattered to themselves, singing songs of the morning’s come and leaves rustled upon the long branches they clung to. 

A tsk came from the snout of Velaris’ leader, bringing a flash of disbelief swirling across the gaze he wore. Such disregard, it threatened to bubble anger up beneath the skin of the wolf. But he, once more, proved unshakable, standing stoic against the continued lashes Faust slashed against his fur and dignity with his continued words and snarls. He found it bizarre already, the customs and attitude of this Pack. Reserved, hostile to outsiders -- a sabotaging behavior, for they would never grow if they were not tolerant of new blood. His own lip could curl up in an expression of judgment if he had no self control. Faust’s final, jostling words brought Vahaelarr back to attention and he gave a nod, nearly going to bring himself down into a curt bow before he stopped himself, something burning in the back of his mind. Mother would have my tail if I bowed to a Crown not hers. 

“You have my thanks, Alpha. And my duty.” With that final commitment, Vahaelarr turned, casting the brute a final glance before he descended the hill, looking to find Bran and send him with word to Gjalla.

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