Scene One, Act One

Not far from where the ferry-goer had left his passenger, a new arrival to this exotic paradise of tale and wonder, did Kilnus find himself. What a desolate place indeed, the biting, sideways winds, the sand sticking as one trodded from it. Oh what a wondrous set-piece this might be, if not every place had its dull landing docks. And yet… the thought of what could be with such a location had only begun to boil, and one surely knows that an herbal supplement such as this must be allowed to reach its temperature, before the doctor can know if it will work, or not. The tourist might have asked the journeyman more of what this place entailed, what sounds and sights and smells to expect, how the lay-folk prayed and danced and cried and laughed. But, the promise of a surprise, it was so… exhilarating, to say the least, what characters for a great work lay in wait, hiding, beckoning his Muse on to find them, to taste them.

The Drunken Seagull. There was some mention of such a place, a mumble on the wind, a word from the boatmen that the visionary had but snuffed out. A tavern, that was the easy spot to go to find a story worth telling. Or was it? Tales of beasts and bravado, of fights and glories, of love won and lost, it was all so… boring. Why should anyone, after all, be satisfied with the expected, with the traditional? Did they find their worth in hearing the same tale, over and over again, begging their masterful poet to tell it again, but change the names, change the prize, and pretend it was all so very different? Or did they wish for a tale that would challenge them, that would cause them to reconsider. Yes, those stories, they were the ones he was after.

So, two roads seemed to be before him, metaphorically, and literally. One led into Sussex proper, with wolves of plenty name and variety, oh he could smell them now, and their Drunken Seagull. And the other, those caverns, they seemed foreboding, a road less traveled upon. The decision was not easy, and for a moment, the illusion of choice made a sweet melody that the marionette that he was danced upon, to and fro again. What shall be the way he took, he might wonder? To greet the townsfolk, to explore the caves, to seek out this tavern in town, or to find nothing inside the caverns. The caverns would be there forever, he thought to himself, but wolves were prone to flying away. So, he took the road more oft traveled, and headed towards Sussex proper. Oh how he admired the lively scenes already, if he could but behold them himself!

V

alerian was a man who clearly had not learned his lesson the first time,
or the second or third, when it came to overindulging in the pleasures of intoxicants. A court hearing and a stay in the dungeon later gave way to about a weeks reprieve in his schedule before he found himself right back in the everloving clutches of the Drunken Seagull. As much as he would love and hate to admit it all at once, this tavern and bar were his home away from home. With it came an odd assortment of ruffians from all about land and country.

Val would consider them his found family, even the compadre that had the one who had nearly knocked his teeth in the just the other day. All had been forgiven, for by the nights end they were leaning into each other's drunken arms singing some old sea shanty that had grown popular in today's day and age. This place was his haven and more times than not, his stage, for a variety of performances given any particular evening the muse would strike him.

Currently, the brute of short stature hobbled out of the establishment for but a moment to breath in air that did not smell of acrid body odor sweat mixed with booze and smoke and the occasional whiff of vomit. That and it was an opportune moment to step to the side of the haphazard structure to take a piss. He hiked his leg and stared out at the road leading wayward travelers into Sussex not expecting to have to squint in order to see someone approaching. "Ahoooy there, sailoooor!" He called out in a friendly sing-song tone as he finally lowered his leg and stumbled back over to the entrance of the Drunken Seagull.

@Kilnus

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

Oh, how marvelous the payoffs were for choosing the obvious route, though by no means were the fruit known to be as succulent as he had hoped they would be. As Kilnus made his way into the oft-traveled villa, a wolf that was staggering about made his presence known, in a most unusual way. Yes, from a crag he emerged the one bearing the aroma and aura of an establishment fit for drinking. And what, pray tell, did this little bird do? He relieved himself, in public! The indecency, the shock, oh was it genius! Purely genius, yet… typical, for drunken dregs of his consort. No, no he would not do, he could not do, yet, maybe, perhaps, he could be but a side character. More than nothing, more than a mere set, more than… boring. Oh what a fascinating specimen he would indeed be, if he could but speak words!

Ah, but this short creature, his sea glass eyes, he need not wait long to hear a melody. An accent unlike one he was accustomed to, but perhaps one common for the area. And what did he refer to Kilnus as? A… sailor, was it? No, he was mistaken, a drunk, because surely, truly word of him had reached mainland. But yet, if it hadn’t… what a beautiful open canvas this land could very well be. He only needed to pick the right colors. But where was this little bird away to, so soon? Back to his establishment? Was he a beacon, of hope yet to come? Oh, the thrill of a pleasure so commonplace, yet so fresh, there were bound to be tall tales and short stories, that might be fit for a starting piece. Kilnus did harbor soft spots for kind drunks who cared little for the world around him. Free spirits, ironic considering spirits were never free. Come, poet, come, dreamer, that relieved roustabout seemed to beckon, will you not join me in my establishment?

Patiently, Kilnus followed his new acquaintance into the tavern, a filthy place befitting its stench. It was apt for commoners, a place not meant for everyone, but one that was bound to win the masses over. Oh how fun, this was! The air had the stench of lawlessness and bravado across it, a place that was subtlety in motion. Oh how the nobility would never understand! And his new subject, not too far away he was, and in no lesser vigor was he than but a moment before. “Charming,” Kilnus mused aloud, to himself, “but it lacks a certain… quality. I suppose it could do for a… backdrop of some sort.” Only then, did he look to the other wolf, acknowledging his presence. “Sailor, did you say,” he asked calmly, barely “I suppose, in a way, you are correct, my dear boy. But, I wonder, what does that make you?”

C

harming he thought he heard the fellow did say. Valerian let out a chortle followed by an obnoxious hiccup-burp combination. "Chaaarming! Why, yeezzz, that is what I'm called! But make no mistake, dearest sir, for I am Valerian DeSoto!" The stunted man gave an awkward bow and nearly fell over, but righted himself quickly. "If you're a Sailor...why...I could be...I could beee...Neptune! God of the Seeaaa!" He laughed with glee before fluffing out his chest. "What do you think? Could I play the part? Ehhehheh!"

His nose twitched and then he waved a paw inward towards the deeper part of the cave. "Now come ooon, Brochacho...we've been waiting for you." Valerian turned on his heel with not an ounce of grace in his body, making his way into the more bustling parts of the Drunken Seagull. He tossed his gaze back over his shoulder at the sailor man and grinned. "I could've swore that Amir said he wasn't espectin you 'till tomorrow morning. Quite punctual a fellow like yourself. Can't wait to see what more of your tricks you might have up your theoretical suh-leeeeeve!"

@Kilnus

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

Banshee

From within the thick layer of heat that distorts the horizon, a white wolf appears, her cheeks streaked with tears. She does not yet see you, yet her wails send chills racing down your spine.It is difficult to tell if she is real... and perhaps it is best to leave her to her grief.


To interact with the banshee, please post in #updates

As Kilnus measured his mild captivation with these newfound lands, it would appear that his new subject was truly fitting of his prescribed archetype of the Fool. It was not in his raving and the orientation of his free spirit that the visionary saw as curious, but the sights and scents of the landscape itself. But, some wolves can’t help to notice their surroundings in a self-inflicted perpetual blurriness, whether it be ethereal or literal. What would be the reaction to this misstep, a chastising, an eternal censure. Oh the punishments for some that disrupt Kilnus’ Muse have been ever so poisonous, so deadly, and yet all the cream-colored male could offer in reply to this display was a short, wry chuckle to this so-called Valerian DeSoto, patron of spirits both free and liquid.

But, while his nose was attuned to the scent of opportunities to be obnoxious, it was not so for considerable metaphor. He appreciated a wolf that was not afraid to hog the spotlight, never one to be shy towards the challenging, the risqué, dare one say the… psychologically erotic. But, there is wisdom in being aware of one’s limitations to their role, for no performance can be done alone, or so they have always said. This Valerian DeSoto proved himself time and time again to be a dreamer, a thinker, but one who did not seriously ponder his words too carefully. But, was there not a beauty in the unfiltered, in the graceless stumbling pursuit of enlightenment? Perhaps there was, so long as it did not appear to be ridiculous. Yes, he could claim to be Neptune, aspire to play the part, but in no ever-rehearsed fable did Neptune smell so much of Dionysus. And even still, was this simpleton so satisfied to recapitulate stories wolves had told for thousands of years, over and over again, and branded it original? Oh, surely this Valerian DeSoto should not turn out to be… boring.

Taking his new companion up on his invitation into his dirty second home, Kilnus could not help but distance himself from his still-life, and take to his surroundings. My, they were so different, so barbaric in every manner, and yet it was so natural. Where could the beauty of this place be hiding, hm? Oh how the thrill of the search always enraptured him, even at the expense of his drunken host. Make no mistake, the arts were nothing to be laughed about. “Oh, how I’d rather sit through another of Mazais’ uninspired drabs about love and loss,” Kilnus bitterly replied, his mind refocusing on his most aspiring of actors, “tell me, Valerian DeSoto, do you act, or do you live? Any wolf can act, any wolf can imitate that which has been done before. But, why act as Neptune, when you might aspire to be Neptune?”

As the drunken fool—or, in his native tongue, a brochacho—stumbled his and Kilnus’ path into the crowded part of the Drunken Seagull, the following words that the aspirant spoke gave Kilnus confusion, yet hope. A friend of his had awaited his arrival, this supposed Amir. How strange, for it was Kilnus’ impression that these heathen lands were barren of knowing his name. But yet, perhaps this Amir was a wealthy patron who, tired of the obvious and longing for the obscene, had requested Kilnus himself. Perhaps, perhaps this land was not as isolated as he had been once led to believe. Some may say it to have been mistaken identity. No, says the artist, it is divine providence, if anything! So naturally, one must attune himself to the music and keep pace with whatever tempo it may be.

A look of intrigue arose on Kilnus as Valerian pushed him deeper into the caverns, to find out his potential patron, and of what businesses he was to have with him. Following Valerian, the thoughts of what was so unexpected yet was to come swirled inside his head. But, the allure of the unknown couldn’t keep him back forever. “This… Amir, you say,” Kilnus spoke, “I am pleased that my passions caught his eye so immediate to my arrival. But tell me… do they know of Kilnus in RIonnach yet? Or is it merely the well-informed such as your friend?”

A

paw rose and covered his maw as he gasped aloud to such a notion. Why put on a performance, when you could be what it was that you desired to imitate. "Brrrrrilliant!!" He exclaimed with an overexaggerated roll of his R's. "I very well could be Neptune himself, but in the flesh and fur! A God amongst mortal men! Bwahahaaa!" The miniature Thieve's Guild member erupted in his own little roar of laughter. "No wonder Amir sent for you! I can see why now. I just had no damn diddly idea that he had any such good taste in men at all! I have been proved wrong."

Leading the way, he tripped over his own feet a couple times, but about the second time he righted himself, the genius of a man following behind him had another question about Amir. Huh? What'dya say? He paused in his gait and turned around, ears perked forward to try to get a better listen as to what the inquiry was. Meanwhile there was some aggravating sound of sobbing of some sort and he grumbled to himself, turning in the opposite direction. "Dammit, Margaret! We're trying to have a conversation over here! Go cry a river to someone else!"

Valerian whipped his head back around, gesturing for them to continue their trek into the inner workings of the Thieves Guild. "Now, uh, what were you saying? A Kilnus? What's that?" He asked, before he rounded a corner to a large cavern in the caves, shouting, "Amr!! Sorentino is a day early apparently! He didn't really show up with his paints though...I thought you were getting a portrait, maaan?"

A gruff looking male, one at least two sizes larger than Valerian was seated with a group, cards scattered about the ground. The brute turned around, amber eyes intensely regarding the two newcomers. His fur was unkempt and scars riddled his face with one particularly long one that went beneath his chin and down his neck. "Oy, who the fuck is this?"

@Kilnus

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

This… Amir fellow. The more and more the drunkard erupted his name, the more curious Kilnus grew about him. Of course, his insight into what this wolf wanted from him, if he so ever did, was overshadowed by the spectacle that was Valerian DeSoto. My, how confident his voice was, as any hearty fool must be. He seemed to embrace and who he what he was, unapologetically. Is that not what we all wish to be and do? To never once doubt the path we tread, but rather to know the route by its powerful scents? The confidence he had to be worthy of playing a God, only a wolf of his archetype could be so outlandish, so daring, so bold.

Kilnus was silent as he observed his new still-life shove and stumble his way further and further into the chasm, past an ocean of sordid and secretive wolves. Of course, to get the drunk fool to speak clearly was a challenge. The skilled dancer he was, he prattled about every inquiry, every insightful comment. But, then again, perhaps his behavior was limited by the role that he played in this story. Yes, he was no God of the sea, merely a boat sailing into unpleasant waters. And, not far behind, was fair Kilnus, knowing full well the dark clouds promised danger, yet a story worth telling nevertheless.

And as at last the fated duo met, it was apparent immediately that this meeting was not supposed to happen. And yet, fate has a pleasant way of bringing wolves together, does it not? The fool, he had mistaken Kilnus for another, surely lesser artist. The name Sorentino was meaningless, a lowly artisan’s name no doubt. A portrait painter? That enough was to almost elicit a laugh of fury from Kilnus. What sort of artist dedicates himself to commemorating a wolf with paints? What sort of simpleton is so limited in his capacity of the arts, that he captures only that which he can see, but not that which he can feel. Oh how those who claimed to be artists these days, it made Kilnus feel that this world was without hope.

But my my, was this Amir ever a looker. The scar upon his face, his pronounced size, the way he stared at Kilnus and his drunk friend as if they were intruders. One might wonder if beyond his brutish aura, if something more tantalizing lay beneath. And that accent, the salt poured from it. It was so decadent, and yet… so simple. Yes, he was a trophy, and yet, why was it that he did not know his name? No doubt Kilnus was no Sorentino, nor was he a Kilnus. He was the Kilnus, and to even have to make that distinction so obvious only served to stress the already fragile soul of a conduit for the arts.

But, the show must go on! Any actor must know that as the scene adapts, so must the tone, so must the movements and mannerisms. Adapt, little bird, adapt, for only through it will you ever be free! “Oh, never am I one to overstate myself,” Kilnus cooed, “but it appears your friend couldn’t resist bringing you to me. And so the mother bird feeds her card-playing chicks only the seeds she can find. But, a portrait maker? Do you take me to be so base, so ungifted, Valerian DeSoto? Oh how you wound me with your insult.” Faking his demise, Kilnus. Put a paw over his chest, an exaggerated deep wound, to be certain.

V

alerian had been standing there with a wide, lop-sided grin, clearly pleased with himself that he was able to deliver the good news of the painter's early arrival. Amir's gruff inquiry wiped the smile clean off his face and he blinked at the hideously scarred brute, bewilderment taking over his features as he glanced around at all of the others at the card table that were now an audience. Val could handle a good bit of spotlight so it didn't completely throw him off his game, but what did was the obvious tension rippling across Amir's shoulders as his hackles rose slightly.

"Who? Why, this? This is your painter, boss man!" He gestured towards the male he'd brought with him with a flourish of his paw. Valerian glanced in between these couple of gents and then snorted lightly with a shake of his head. "I thought you wanted your uuugly mug on a canvas! Isn't that ri-"
"Shut your trap, ya puny rat!" Amir seethed, causing Valerian to shrink back as he took a couple more steps towards the new face among the thieves. Fortunately, it seemed like the not-painter seemed to be able to hold his own, his words as beautifully woven as the finest silks of the royals. Another glare of fire and brimstone was thrown in Val's direction when it was made to seem like he just grabbed some rando off the street and carted him into the heart of the Thieves Guild...which he was currently guilty off, though it was not done out of malice.

"Amiiiir, paaal...honest mistake! I'm sure anyone would have done it, right fellas? Ehh...heh, heh..." There was a show of teeth as Valerian flashed as charming a smile as he could muster towards the rest of the wolves seated there. There was utter silence...and then a cough at the back. Not a one of them stuck their neck out to back him up! How preposterous! The sound of his full name turned his head back towards the man of the hour and his ears flicked before laying back slightly. "Baaase? Base?! Well, I..." He trailed off for a moment, tapping his chin with a paw. "I s'pose you're right...painters aaare among the lesser of the artists..."

"Valerian...if you don't seal that muzzle of yours...I will slice you open from navel to nose..." And boy, did that put the largest metaphorical cork in the bard's mouth. Valerian held his mouth shut, even having to grind his teeth to keep from providing his usual two cents into the conversation as it continued. Amir took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back and enlarging the mass of his chest to show the riff raff that he meant business. "If you're not a painter...then what the hell do you have to offer me, hm? If you're to waste my time, I'll see to it that our wee friend, Valerian, here..." A large paw drew the far smaller silvered wolf in against him as he hooked his forearm around Val's neck. "...sleeps with the fishes..."

@Kilnus

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck