Scott
*( oh 💀 mind if i join, becuz big bored )*

*// sorry im taking so long, my brain literally doesn't wanna compute*
Meg
*There was a cold, foreign quietude that hung over the Silnari steppes that brought to him a sense of absolute tranquillity; he was a lake free of ripples amid a flowering grassland. It would have made Sylvar feel much more . . . Comfortable, however, if he knew where he was he would have enjoyed this much more. He wasn't lost, heavens no. Just because his compass wasn't working, and he couldn't see where the sun was in the sky through the foliage, and he hadn't seen a path in a long time, and none of the cries he heard through the trees sounded familiar, didn't mean Sylvar was lost. It just meant he ... Didn't quite know where he was. And that was fine, that was handle-able, it was completely something within his control.*

*Still though, he did wish that he hadn't left his map of the Silnari Empire it the cool comfort of the last inn he'd stayed in. __That__, for sure, would have been much more of a help than periodically searching for someone to tell him how to get to Ulnoor, the frivolous capital of the Silnari Empire. Then again, at the time, Sylvar had been much more preoccupied in figuring out how to sneak past the Narshapian guards that patrolled the surrounding forest of the castle, than keeping a stray eye on his belongings. And that, of course, was a failure on his own behalf. With a slight intake of breath, Sylvar lifted the clumps of white, shimmering hair out of his eye-view, sitting, regretfully, rather slumped as he continued across the moss covered grasses of the steppe became high grasses, then flowering forestry.*

*The smooth planes of his youthful face were slightly creased with worry as he surveyed his surroundings, realising that he might just be lost. " Damn it, " He snapped, though not to anyone in particular. No sign of life about him, just endless, endless encompasses of trees that maybe would have been a relief to someone who knew their way around these areas, but unfortunately, he wasn't so lucky.*

*He greeted people as he passed by them. Admittedly, he didn't like talking to them, the most he allowed the Silnari people were some inclinations in his head, a small wave here, a terse smile there, but never anything more. It wasn't that he hated them, Sylvar could never do that, but it was more that their eyes held knowing there, held a piercing gaze that seemed to take more information from him that he would have liked. Obviously they'd probably known he'd been travelling in the wrong direction, and his silence had bitten him in the end.*

*The small, golden-brown furrow—Melicus, he'd named him—placed in front of him on the back of the horse twitched awake, then yawned, lifting his amber eyes towards Sylvar's pale face as if to ask,* ***' Are we there yet? '***, *To which he lightly shook his head in sullen affection. Melicus yawned again, clearly irritate, before he began to nip softly at Sylvar's fingers. The sound of a cracking branch, then another, caught his attention and his head shot eastward, ears swivelling to pinpoint the sound. He stood hesitantly, sliding off the back of his horse, motioning for him, and Melicus to stay. His luminescent eyes studied the rustling foliage with concern: Something definitely felt off.*

*Pushing through a cluster of cypresses, he edged his way out into the clearing, ears straining for any sudden sounds, his fingers brushing his smooth metallic surface of his flute, before he reminded himself:* ***Music and he were done.*** *Why he had still decided to keep his flute, still bemused him. Sentimentality signified weakness. And sure, there were moments where he succumbed to that weakness but now he—The sight of the wounded, fur covered being that towered above him, distinct against the backdrop of greens and sunlight struck him into muteness; if he hadn't been silent already. His mouth opened and a slight squeak emitted, his fingers wringing against each other. It hadn't seen him yet, but he couldn't take his chances.*
Scott
*( screams "It the cool comfort" )*
Judy
*( Prolly won't be typing novellas in every post because some interaction is also needed ~~also I'm too braindead to post that much consistently~~*
Scott
*( of course :>, as long as it's not one line lol )*
Judy
*( onelines and says a dry 'hi')*
Scott
*( omgggg if you dare )*
Robert
One step forward. Then another... Then another. How many had it been now? He'd nearly lost count as his mind was drowned once more in his troubled thoughts and hazy past memories, even if his body seemed to recover. The rigid soreness and shaky posture he had upon stirring awake were nearly gone by now, his steps quiet and steady now, like a born predator's. He made no sound besides the occasionally frustrated grumbles and snapping branches he stepped over, littered across the expansive meadow. 

Between unfamiliar fauna, groves, and rivers, the armored canine could only be certain about two things; he was alive, and he was uncertain of where he was. After a while, the trees all felt the same. It was clear enough he did not belong there. His obsidian chainmail and aberrant features were like a sore thumb in an ocean of green- or what he could only presume was green. As far as he was concerned, it was another shade of grey, with only a few red fruits and flowers carrying a distinct color in his eyes.

Eventually, he was able to make out the few cinnabar roofs of several farmhouses past the meadow, and though he could certainly use help with directions in his state, every part of him refused to do so. But as it would soon be affirmed by his growling stomach, he might eventually have no other choice in the matter. 

The beastkin lowered his head, glancing once more over his arm, raising it at the height of his abdomen. And there was *That* As well. A long, wide blade, resembling that of a poleaxe weighted on the side of either arm, extending below his elbows. Consisting of crude, but very robust material, it felt like it was a part of him that was always there, even if it looked *Wrong*. And odds were, anyone else that saw him would share that belief.

The same could be said for the bladed tip on his spine-like tail that he seemed to have control over. It swished subtly from side to side with every step he took, curved unconscious movements resembling more of a scorpion's tail than a canid's. He couldn't remember how or why his arms and tail were like that, but he could vaguely recall his tail not being over a meter long, or not having any fur on it.

His train of thoughts was interrupted as his ears caught a low squeak in the air. His movements came to a halt, long ears flicking as he subtly sniffed the air around the small clearing. Whoever made that sound, it was distinct enough to not be a wild animal. Serpentine eyes of deep crimson surveyed the area, looking for the slightest movement. The mere rustling of leaves pinpoint reaffirmed the jackal he was not alone, a deep scowl fixated on the direction he felt that presence. A coarse, instinctive snarl escaped his scarred muzzle as he approached the figure behind the foliage with quiet steps. His dark fur stood bristled, ears folded against his temples while he arched forward in a cautious stance, catching a glimpse of long hair behind the cypress foliage. "Come out." He asserted in a deep voice between snarls that resonated through the clearing, carrying an ominous, commanding undertone.
Scott
*( just my luck to run into an alpha )*

*( this is so so so so so good oml )*
Meg
*There was a few, rather tense, thickened seconds that passed after Sylvar felt the beast's unrestrained attention upon him. Another few beats as he looked around his surroundings, trying to consider any method of escape. Indeed, the being, now around 5 metres away from where he stood, had a threatening atmosphere that encircled him, made his blood run so, __so__ cold. But he wasn't too close enough that Sylvar couldn't hit a viable shot with one of his throwing knives. A tense pause before the dark, furred being spoke, with words that seemed to pierce through the distinct thunder of his growls. ("Come out.")*

*Then it hit Sylvar. He'd been shielded by shrubbery that created a natural barrier between him and the uncanny beast, obscuring him from view. Releasing a breath he'd been holding, the options lay before him and he took time to analyse them. Of course—Of course, Sylvar could always just turn back around and forget he'd even seen the being. Honestly it would have been better, and the more safer option. And __yet__. And yet there was something curtailed that he sensed within the being, as he slowly stalked towards him, something that made him stand his ground. The being was a predator for sure, most likely trained to have heightened senses, could most likely smell him from a great distance away, probably born into a world of war and turmoil—the multitudes of scars that besprinkled his muscular form told you that.*

*And __still__, as the being slowly stalked towards him, Sylvar stood his ground, not permitting himself to say another word towards the being, but instead began to whisper the words to a common bardic spell that he'd bought off a random spell merchant a few years ago. He'd personalised it, of course; Didn't want to give the old fool too much credit.* ***" Sal teshuel salen ik from tel' tieti ath tel' nodel, "*** *He hissed, the magic hanging over his words bristling with arcane energy,* ***" . . . Ent—ent yn nae thest vael ath eire foqal. "***

*The slight shake in his voice hadn't been intentional however, and as he rolled his shoulders back, a solitary tuft of moonlight white hair taut at the side of his face, he felt his hands begin to sweat as the bardic magic within flared, became obedient, then surged into his palms, which glowed with incandescence similar to his irises, forming two dual moonglass blades within.*

*Despite the slight fear that threatened to trickle over the surface of his resolve, Sylvar slid a mask over it; his features became slack, his eyes emotionless, his soft lips pursed, and aimed one of his throwing knives at the wolfish being then released his blades all in one single breath. His speed and dexterity gave him that. The blade soared through the air then hit home.* ***" Take another step and this next blade won't miss. And believe me—I never miss my mark. "*** *Sylvar impassively snapped back, his bioluminescent eyes glowing with a darker ferocity, though his tone wasn't as impressive as the beast. Yes, he hadn't aimed for the heart, the skull, his chest, because he was not a killer. Sylvar Cramorn didn't __kill__. But if the beast where to turn his hand—The image of his mother's incinerated body shoved its way into the front of his mind and for once, he shuddered.*

*It was that fear that brought things into vexatious clarity. Sylvar focused his smouldering gaze upon the countenance that held deep fissures of scar tissue that crawled across the planes.* ***" You're hurt. "*** *He murmured, matter-of-fact, so surprised at his own audacity, that he had to scramble to force the aloofness back into his voice. His stomach clenched, but no change made its way across his youthful features.* ***" Why? "*** *He said, and from somewhere in his subconscious, something shuttered into light. Common sense, he called it. And it screamed at him to take heed. Still, he made no move do drop the secondary moonblade at his left fingertips, ready to spring to attack at any given moment.*

``` Moonlight Blades used, costing (-15 mana) | Remaining mana: 85/100 ```