Two Rights Make A Wrong

Lachlan O’Conaill//i am the monster in your head.

The man hovered over him, not backing down as Lachlan snapped at his face. “What’s the matter, you’re not afraid to kill a pup, but too afraid to die?” He ran his tongue over his fangs and snarled again a warning. "I'm not afraid of you," he growled just as teeth met his shoulder. A howl of pain escaped him and he lunged for the other wolves neck, teeth bared an ready to snap onto anything he could get his jaws onto. He squirmed beneath the other male, a pain shooting down his injured leg as he did so. His ears folded but he kept it to himself, the discomfort and pain a sensation he was nearly used to by now. "I'll kill you then your kid," he hissed.

Of course that would mean he'd have to get up and get the upper paw in this situation. So he hoisted himself upright, trying to push himself up so that he could try and attack better. Being on the ground put him in too vulnerable a position.

"Lachlan speaks."

art and table by hale.

Savard’s well-aimed blow struck true against the brute’s shoulder, who winced in serious pain. And yet, he remained defiant in his tone towards the older wolf, seeming not to back down. He wasn’t afraid, he managed to seethe out. Had anybody really expected such a broken wolf to say anything different? To have some other coherent thought other than a wish to fight, a wish to die? He had nothing to live for otherwise, wasn’t it? Not a lover, not a family, not friends or a cause worth dying for. Well… perhaps not the latter, for White Timber might find this wolf to be good company, the way they both so willingly threw themselves at others, and for this one, wolves they knew they could beat up on. Was he so pathetic, in every instance of life, that he took his frustrations out on a pup? A wolf that was told he would win at everything, only to lose to everyone… perhaps that’s what brought this all about. That, or he was seriously, truly deranged. Bastien’s words never sounded more true to him than they did then. This world really did need less wolves like them. Maybe, and only then, would things be better.

As the wolf responded by going for Savard’s neck, twitching in a psychotic rage, the wolf made a mistake. It wasn’t so much his poor defensive posture, the overextension of his frame, or the fact that he knew his situation was not ideal. It was in the words he decided to speak, and to whom he directed them. He made his intentions clear, not only to kill Savard if he could, but the pup as well. The pup was of no real consequence to the male, at least so he told himself. And yet… it was the concept of protection that awoke something inside him. It was as if it were Moineir, rather than what was probably just a loud-mouthed pup. But it was the fact that he was forced into a position from which there was no escape. He was fighting for the life of a pup, one that at least for the moment was his responsibility, whether he wanted it or not. There would have been a time that Savard would have let the wolf do as he needed to the pup, perhaps. But now… maybe Savard just might have found a purpose in life.

As the wolf tried to renew his efforts in going for Savard’s neck, trying to get back up onto his paws, Savard was not about to let that happen. Using his paws, Savard diverted the wolf’s attack away from its intended target (though by no means was it perfect), before lunging for a blow to the wolf’s exposed flank, his teeth poised to sink deep into the wolf’s soft underbelly flesh.

Lachlan O’Conaill//i am the monster in your head.

In truth, Lachlan did not care enough about the pup to stay and try to kill him. He was only concerned with saving his own skin at the moment and with his failed attempts to attack the man who had charged him, he was beginning to think it was time to go.

As he lunged towards the mans neck, his underside was left exposed and so that was taken advantage of before he could realize what was going on. A howl of pain escaped him as teeth sunk into his flesh and he writhed in agony. He tore away from those teeth instinctively, probably causing more damage than he would have if he hadn't but he didn't care. He was getting the fuck out of here. "You're fucking lucky you caught me off guard or I'd have your head." he snapped viciously. Without saying anything else, he rolled the opposite direction in effort to spring up and run away.

His injured leg made the movement hard and slowed him considerably, leaving him open to attack on the way out.

[ exit lachlan via being a bitch ]

"Lachlan speaks."

art and table by hale.

So there they were, a couple of dogs fighting for something so inconsiderate, so meaningless. Savard was beyond the point of feeling a thing, past thinking or speaking in the way he felt he ought to. He had been that way the moment he heard that pup’s cries, steadfast and consistent in his resolution to tear this wolf apart limb from limb for his actions. It was a justice that Jacobites just didn’t understand, anyhow. But what of the other wolf? It seemed that the moment that Savard’s second deathly blow landed, something in that wolf seemed to give in. All that talk, about how he was going to splatter the wolf upon the foliage before doing the same with the pup, and now all of a sudden he was truly, verily afraid. Had Savard had such an effect on him? They sure went down easier than they used to. But then again, there was maybe some sense in throwing away one’s life over the right to maim and kill a pup. There were better causes these days worth throwing one’s life away for anyhow.

Pulling himself and seemingly yielding to the better fighter, the wolf gave an idle threat as he tucked his tail and tried to flee, clearly upset with himself for his misjudging of Savard. But in that moment, ironically, he did so twice. For Savard was no hero, not simply one to intervene on behalf of a pup that he felt saving. No, he hated this world and the wolves in it. And it was wolves like this that needed to be culled like the vermin they were. His actions, his words, his existence, could not go without retribution. Try as he might to flee, thus, he was easy prey for the much more together, much swifter, and much more resolved Savard, who took his time in catching up to the wolf as he fled. He wasn’t going to get away with any of it. No, he’d just do this again, and pray to whatever deity he was about to believe in to never cross paths with the male ever again. “It’s not that I’m lucky to have had such a shitty opponent,” Savard said, the taste of the wolf’s blood on his teeth and his mind, “it’s that you’re unlucky I’m your last.”


Then, with a merciless grapple to the wolf’s neck, Savard attempted to ensnare the wolf’s throat with his jaws, pressing as hard as he could against the wounded dog in an attempt to choke the life out of him. The male had figured that he was beaten up enough, wounded enough, and stupid enough to let it happen. Though, he was prepared for more of a fight if need be. After all, it’s always near the end where wolves struggle the most. He’d seen it before, knew it all before. Of course, this wolf didn’t seem to have the heart to want to fight anymore, and that might have made things easier. He’d killed wolves who put up less of a fight to be sure. Not lately, but some memories like that tend to linger on. Still, Savard cared little for anything at that moment, lost in the haze of his former self as he exacted brutality on a yielding opponent.

And he liked to think he was changed.

Lachlan O’Conaill//i am the monster in your head.

He wasn't able to get away fast enough, his cursed leg slowing him down far too much and making him all too vulnerable to the wolf's next attack. A threat dripped from his lips before teeth wrapped around his neck and jaws began to tighten. Lachlan gasped for air, lifting his paws up to the man's chest and pushing against him haphazardly as he choked.

If he were a smarter man he might've used his last breath to beg for his life but he wasn't smart and he was no beggar.

"F-Fuck you!" he hissed before his eyes rolled back and he lost consciousness.

Lachlan's body fell limp in the mans jaws but he was not yet dead; only passed out from lack of air. He was completely at his mercy now.

[ exit lachlan via passing out ]

"Lachlan speaks."

art and table by hale.

Coward. He didn’t dare put up more of a fight than he had, cursed him out with what could truly be his last words. He was weak, a dog that preyed on those he knew he could push around. The things Guilders did to wolves like this were treatments far barbaric than anything that might be seen or heard of in an Imperial dungeon. But for Savard, at that moment, only death would suffice. As he choked the wolf, and his movements came to a halt, he knew it would be only a moment before Rionnach would forget all about this pup-killer, this bully, this fraud. But his last moments would hopefully be used to remember his murderer for eternity. His murderer, who but a couple of years ago bravely did the same things he did. Hell, he was so brave, the wolf with his jaws around the throat of an injured lunatic, that he liked to think he was so much better, so different, that to take this life was justified, humane, decent and acceptable. Such entitlement, but surely, after all the men, women, pups he ruined the lives of, surely, he earned this! Yes… surely any wolf that knew Savard would see him now, and think to themselves how much for the better he had changed!

Slowly, the pressure came off of the wolf’s neck, his head dropping limply to the ground below. What was he doing? What had he done with any of this? He had gotten involved with saving a pup, but in that moment, some shade overtook him, to the point where it was no longer about saving the kid. But what he needed, more than anything, was to save himself. He was not that wolf anymore… he couldn’t afford to be, for more reason than one. Was he really willing throw his second chance away like this? Was he going to take his one shot at making a change for the better, for his own sake, for that of his daughter, for everything he had gained and lost, and drown it? He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, not this time.

Just as he had wiggled free from a set of fangs possibly grabbing ahold of him another time, someone else had come to distract the half faced man. At least that was what he thought at first as he started to scurry away toward his beloved pet, wanting to just find his mama and apologize for running off. To promise her he’d never do it again. This had been far from a grand adventure he had hoped it would be, having only gotten lost and now he was in tons of pain from where he had been bitten. He would pause as he felt a little woozy, glancing back at the two old men now that he was some distance away, only to feel even more so when he saw a trail of blood following after him to make his path. Ears rang with each snap of jaws, his heart sunk and he’d tuck his tail tightly against his belly.

Wait.

He wouldn’t feel that security he normally felt when he did so, only more excruciating pain that scattered upward along his entire back and down his legs, causing him to cry out and his legs to buckle. He’d try to contain his tears, his anguish that wanted to take over his entire body but he couldn’t because he was terrified. Why was he bleeding so much? Why did so much violence have to happen just from some questions for a little bit of help to navigate home? What had he done so wrong? He didn’t understand and the pups cheeks flooded with tears as he tried to make sense of it all. Regret. He definitely felt regret. All of this was wrong and it was all his own fault in some way, the gods mama mentioned a couple times must be punishing him instead of protecting him.

“S-s-stomps, it it it hur-hurts,” he sobbed out his friend’s name, seeing the pine marten slowly crawl down from the tree now that he was some distance again from the one hunting him. It moved toward him cautiously, as if each one of its steps were causing the child pain. A small giggle came out drowned in sobs when little rodent-like hands pawed at his cheeks, as if trying to make his face reabsorb the tears.

Snarls and yelling would regain his attention to the men, his fur standing on end as he saw one of the bodies go limp and he was tempted to run away further but he didn’t know where to go. Hesitantly, little legs would start to carry the small boy over to the two, his body language submissive but trying to hold a confidence. “M-mister please stop. I just wanna go ho-home. I probably deserved the noms,” he whimpered and hiccupped. Sniffling while getting more and more wobbly and weak from blood loss, taking frail steps closer. “Please. Home.... pl-please mister.” His eyes shut tight at the world spinning and an anticipation that asking to go home again would result in this second male attacking him too, but he didn't have many options right now.

Just hope.

manip + code: clae

He never considered himself one for ethical considerations, the fine-detailed nuances of the choices we make, lives we live, consequences we wrought. In his jaws, he held the life a wolf, a wicked one at that. He had grown silent, by his jaws clenched around him. A moment longer, and he’d never breathe another breath. He could twist him at an angle, bite down at a spot just below where he currently was, maybe even put his head into the nearest puddle, the result would all be the same. And he’d feel nothing for doing any of it, lose not one moment of sleep. He might even feel good about making the world a better place, the way the self-righteous do when they speak of cleaning up Rionnach. The cost of one life in exchange for saving those of several others sounded like a fair deal. One less life, so that others might live, and all he needed was one moment to see it through. He held that power in his jaws.

But… he heard the weak, frightened voice of the young pup, watching him with eyes. It made the older wolf falter, to know his actions were being judged. His eyes looked backwards at the kid, and he could see his wound, a dreadful, terrible one at that, one that needed a medical professional immediately. It was quite serious… and if he were to spend a moment with this wolf to finish him off… there would be only two bodies, not one. The pup’s pleas got through to him, and in that moment, if only for that moment, Savard seemed to genuinely care for the well-being of another wolf, beyond some sense of loyalty or utility. Was this… righteousness? The brute’s head fell limply to the ground, his pathetic life prolonged, his life spared. Savard… felt a need to protect this wolf, for his innocence meant something far more to him than the other’s guilt. He didn’t deserve to die because someone else did too. Savard was going to take care of him.

In an instant, Savard leaned against the young wolf, hoping to support him before he fell on his face, his complexion no doubt the sign of weakness from blood loss. The wound from his tail was gushing… bad enough that Savard himself was more than a little concerned. He’d been around this sort of thing all his life, but for the first time… he wasn’t sure if he could handle to see this wolf die. Because if he did… he wouldn’t know who else to blame but himself, for not doing something sooner. He didn’t have a moment to spare to think about what to do, knowing that what the wolf needed was far beyond his expertise. He knew wolves who would put their wounds into a fire to cauterize it, and that was usually the best bet. But the older wolf was neither skilled in it, nor sure if the wolf could take it in his fragile state. He needed to think, to ponder… and the only idea came to mind was one of convenience, but by no means was it ideal. As he lay the kid down on his side gently, the older wolf had only one idea in his mind: do whatever was necessary.

In an instant, Savard raced to the nearest pine tree, frantically scratching at the bark of it with claws, to the point where one, then two, chipped. But he didn’t feel it. A red, viscous sap, no doubt mixed with some of his own blood from his paws, oozed from his scratch marks, not enough for him to be comfortable, but it was all he had. Then, he looked around him, trying to find anything green. At this time of year, everything was dead, too dry… but if he could get something that would just do enough for the kid, that’s all he would ask for. In an instant, Savard’s attention turned towards the ground, flipping over the dead leaves on the ground for anything wet, flexible enough, large enough, to cover the wolf’s wound. He was no healer, no doctor… hell, he hadn’t even treated the wounds of another before. But it was his only shot.

Then, in his frantic pawing of the earth, he brought together enough wet, large, and complete leaves, and in a hurry rubbed them against the tree sap. Some of them tore, some of them fell apart, but what he was left with was a spongy mass of leaves. It wasn’t ideal, it wasn’t even good… but it’s all he had. Was he… afraid of losing the pup? He didn’t have time to think, to try again. “Just stay still,” Savard said, “be brave for me, pup. You’re gonna be fine.” Those words sounded much more like things he would tell himself, rather than another. At once, Savard splattered the pup’s wound with the sappy leaves, pushing them onto the wolf’s wound painfully. He knew the pup was hurting, that his efforts would no doubt be making things worse as they made them better… but it’s what he had to do. The leaves and sap mixture he applied on his first go round did little other than to make the wolf’s fur stick with sap, his would still open. Savard, alas, would not give up, and tried again, pushing the leaves into the wound itself. He put more and more in place, hoping and praying that the bleeding would just stop. He needed it to just stop.

His ears would tilt back when the man gained a few strides on him, about the only thing he would notice in those moments, barely taking in the fact he had stopped harming the other wolf that lay limp. There was an impulse to run away, to make as much distance between them as possible before the man could fully reach him. Yet, in his moments of weakness he wouldn’t push him away when a shoulder was offered as aid, or rather leg as he noticed he was even bigger than the half faced man. Lips parted a fraction as he let out some pained pants, fire kissed gaze rolling up to peer at the looming figure. Even though he was on the edge of his consciousness, there was still life there fighting away the dull haze from taking over and making him match the other man some feet away. He’d slide slowly to the ground, legs shaking but trying to find structure, not wanting to give in.

Watching the stranger with half closed eyes, he pawed some burning tears from his own eyes, not sure what the man was up to but he was wasting time from what he could tell. They needed healers. “Aurora and Papa, they a-…Papa is a doctor professor,” he started, knowing he had to get to one of them to make the ouchies stop. His elder sister was hardly a doctor but she was in training from what she told him. His voice hardly had come out though, it was weak and frail, lacking the energy it had only moments prior. The world was slowly darkening, each blink heavier as he felt a wetness along the back of his legs and rump, then sudden an even worse pain.

It was such a sharp pain that zipped down his legs and up his spine that any tiredness that had been there seemed to vanish with the need to flee. Survive. His little puppy jaw would whirl around with a harsh snap, a threat to stop, as if he was some intimidating vessel that could hold his own against an adult like this. “I am a Tiamat- ” he huffed back like that would tell the other that he was as brave as they come, just like the rest of his soldier family members. That declaration would fade with that perk of energy, realizing he was only a Tiamat by blood. He was an Asgaut by name but from what he knew, mama’s family were also strong, capable wolves. He too should be as strong as both of them. As brave.

Weary eyes look up at the man, pulling away from him with a headstrong determination to prove to this man he was the blood of two impressive families with names that were well rooted in Rionnach. Letting out a few fiery breaths, he looked back toward his hind end, taking in the sight of his lack of tail and almost losing all the fire in an instant as he got a bit woozy. His ears tilted back as he thought back to when his father pressed down to stop the bleeding when he broke a nail as a baby. This man had been doing the same thing and in those moments he realized whatever he did, the blood wasn’t pouring anymore.

He was helping. Not just trying to hurt him more.

Feelings swirled like crazy within as he wasn’t sure if this man was really a friend or if there was a chance he was foe. He would take his chances. "Home in Rionna, help." Without another word, he would start to try to head home, though he would go in the completely wrong direction of Rionna.

-haskell exits-

manip + code: clae

As Savard treated the pup for his wounds in the only way he could, the young one continued to speak tersely on who he is, things that in his moment he felt would be of some help. They were… at least to him, but frankly, Savard was far too busy with his attempts to save the wolf’s life than to listen intently. Something about his father, a professor. Great, so while wolves like him could do the task at hand, the pup’s father can sit and muse on the philosophy of life and death, and ask why things are the way they are, without doing a thing to enact change. All the while, he’d sit on his own paws if it meant getting his own pup’s blood on him. That’s how clean they tried to be. One might question where Savard’s apathy towards those in the academic profession came from, a hatred that extended far more than even those who had wronged him physically. But then again, he did not associate with wolves that thought better than they were, just because they felt that they were more enlightened. Enlightened they may be, but capable was a matter that mattered far more to Savard. But as his treatment continued, the kid gave another tidbit about himself. A Tiamat? With one single word, Savard’s interest in the young pup piqued. He knew that name, and most of the wolves he knew, knew that name as well. He almost wanted to snicker at it. Now, what was common knowledge about Clan Nassar was that they featured some of the most renowned warriors Castle Stuart had at their disposal. It had been that way even before the war, before even his rotten golden years. He had heard the name Helios whispered about in his earliest days, speaking on how he was one of the first to become a problem to the Guild. Innovative, he was, for unlike his predecessors, Helios seemed to recognize that by cutting the heads of the snakes from their body, it would save the realm valuable Renown in their dismantling of the city’s shameful underworld. Alas, like his predecessors and most successors, he hardly affected a thing. Still… the way older Guilders spoke of him, there was no animosity, or even hatred. Such disdain for one’s enemies in Savard’s former line of work was pointless, for it is best to think with a clear mind about those one deals with. And Helios was no pushover, at least as coastal smugglers especially remember. And of course, there was Nassar. The clan’s matriarch, a wolf that many spoke of highly—even those considered her adversaries. She was not known, at least to Savard, for her campaign against the Guild, nor for her words. She was a wolf of action, feared on the battlefield, unmatched in combat. It earned herself a fair deal of respect, even among Guilders and a few number of Jacobites. At least… the ones Savard knew of anyhow, the ones with that peculiar sense of respect that only Guilders seemed to understand. Yes… Nassar was one of Adamh’s most trusted instruments… and her husband was no pushover either. And Savard? He had had his run-ins with Imperials of her stock, though by no means were any of them as committed or as brave or as successful, as Nassar was. But even if Savard had respect, if not slight admiration, for the Tiamat name, it did not change his course of action, even if it did reinforce the necessity of it. If he let the kid die, and with their clan no doubt in anything less than a position to take another loss, Savard might not know peace were he to let this pup die. But then again… for wolves who were as loyal and as committed as the Tiamats were so seemingly known for, where were the wolf’s parents? Perhaps the clan was much larger than he had realized, and like any family, there were bound to be those on the fringes of it. That… or the pup had unfortunately been living a lie. Either way… Savard was now assured that there was no choice to make in this matter. It appeared that in all his thinking, Savard had done as the pup’s guardians had done, and had momentarily lost track of the wolf. He spoke on going home to Rionnach, wobbling his way on the wrong end of the path. He looked pale, his words slightly slurred, classic symptoms of blood loss. The pup wouldn’t make it home on his own. The kid didn’t just want Savard’s help anymore, he needed it. Tiamat or not… the pup was innocent of the world around him. Catching up to the slow pup, Savard prevented the wolf from walking any further the wrong way with his body. “Come on," Savard said, as he grabbed the pup by his scruff, hoisting him onto his back, “I know the way.” Of course… he had made quite the mistake by doing as he did. The pup was fucking heavy, and no way would he be able to make it the whole way with him on his back. Still… it beat having him walk.

everything he touched fell apart

code // art