[ AW ] Firelight

How ghastly the firelights are as they lead the way through the ever-strange lands. He follows regardless, interest winning-out over common sense. Were the fae to throw will-o-wisps at him, he'd be led into the fog easily. And yet here he is, and soon enough the bonfire comes into his frame of view and his brows knit into a somewhat confused furrow. Still, this is intriguing. More interesting than he would have thought, and perhaps a worthy reward for his aimless wandering through the highlands, following strange ghost fires. He makes his way towards the fire, the glowering warmth of it already beginning to seep into his bones to warm the hint of chill that had already begun to tinge the air. There are few things more pleasant that he can think of, and he takes a seat and settles down.

No, wait.

There is something that can make this better--well, two things. But alas, he doesn't find himself as comfortable with this area and so he'd not wander off on a hunt. And he also didn't happen to bring any of that sweetgrass with him. Boo. Well, perhaps he'd manage to find some solace in...the company...?

A R Y T H M E T I K

Samhain always stirred an ominous and exciting energy in the air, and Aryth breathed deeply of its nighttime aura. When he was a child, nothing more than a waif without parents, he’d followed the College stewards to the Highlands for Samhain celebrations with exuberance. In those early days, some of his most ethereal childhood memories, he recalled glancing into the forest with stars in his eyes, skipping in and out of the firelight to tempt danger. But the hoot of an owl was enough to drive him under the legs of the nearest adult. As he grew older, Arythmetik left the comfort of Melrose and the Arboretum less and less often. He couldn’t even recall celebrating Samhain proper (or any other festivities, for that matter) in his own adulthood. But he knew the legends and traditions well enough from listening to others’ conversations and reading mythology. It wasn’t his favorite topic, and as the scholar strolled along the torchlit path, he chuckled at his youthful ignorance.


Still, the truth could be stranger than fiction. Perhaps he would discover evidence to grant legitimacy to the playful fantasies.


Feeling a bit conflicted that he wasn’t skilled or strong enough to participate in the hunts, Aryth brought with him a different sort of offering. Sprigs of sweet berries were clenched in his maw as he climbed the hill to Tir Na Nog, and the ancient stones surrounded him like the fangs of a gigantic beast. Bonfires flickered in several spots, the centerpieces of conservations between wolves of all shapes, colors, and heritages. Near one of the larger, central flames, the scholar spotted an interesting male by his lonesome. He’d never seen a wolf with fur or eyes of such hues, and he wanted to know if the stranger was an Outlander. As he approached, his thick tail waved in a calm, friendly greeting, and his emerald eyes sparkled as he laid the sweet treat between them. “Hullo. Is this your first Samhain, or do you celebrate often?”

code by claerie

She watched from the shadows for a long while. Curiosity got the better of her, the eagerness to learn and study. She wanted to observe for as long as she could, and she did so in silence. Bright eyes watched, offerings were given, others mingled amongst themselves, some gathered around the fires alone. It was interesting to watch the behaviors of others, especially in times like these.

Black’s attention was torn away to the pairing of two males, one was brightly colored with blotches of cream and rose. A beacon of light, almost. Pretty. And then the other, earthen hued, almost like red clay, with emerald eyes. Handsome. They’d hardly spoken a word to each other when she found herself departing from the shadows of the background, moving in almost complete silence, coming to the edge of the fire’s burn almost so that the trio could form the three points of a triangle.

The abyssal young woman sat gracefully, her tail moving to curl around her folded hind limbs as sea glass eyes watched the pair for a moment. Her expression was stoic, almost blank, while her body language was neutral and calm. She gave a nod of a greeting, merely listening to them now. If they chose to include her, she’d be there. If not, she could continue with her observations and move on just as well as before.

The light reflects off of him, brilliant golds and rosey cedars catching the orange glow of the fire and refracting in strange, almost ethereal ways across the alabaster of his person. And even as he thinks--more to himself than anything else--he finds himself joined. A handsome lad there, and a nigrescent shadow of a woman snaking her way to the opposite side of the fire. It dances across them all in different ways and he finds himself interested more-so in their forms than the words the other man is speaking. Still, as rude as he generally is, he's not one to ignore someone who tried to politely begin a conversation, and so he speaks with a hint of a scoff in his tone, annoyance already beginning to prickle at the edges of his voice. "I've got no fuckin' clue as to what any of this is. I just followed some fires into a hovel. Probably a vice." he shrugs, the action following through the rest of his spine as he gazes over the flames towards the girl,"And what about you? You know what this is about? That guy does, clearly." At least his role as an outlander is clear, in no uncertain terms.

Still, he seems more interested than vexed, and he leans forward to inhale the smoke given off by the flames. "Never celebrated a thing. Don't know about these....holidays." He nearly sneers the word, his pastel gaze cutting towards the woman next, even though his words seem to be directed towards the as-of-yet-unnamed male,"The two of you from the college?" he asks finally, trying to smooth the harshness of his tone...if only a bit.

A R Y T H M E T I K

As the dark woman sat herself across the bonfire, Aryth’s attention was diverted. His emerald gaze met her seaglass eyes for a brief moment, long enough for him to nod in friendly greeting. But the unusual stranger wasted no time with his response. And he made it very clear that he was an Outlander. So the Junior Professor had his answer. He blinked at the haughty edge in the other man’s voice, somewhat taken aback. The tips of his hackles began to curl, but immediately after, Aryth drew a silent, calming breath. You’re here to meet new wolves. They’re not all going to be a basket of sunshine and laughs. And it was a good thing he stayed cool and curious, because the longer the harsh outlander spoke, the more inviting he seemed.


The scholar’s lips twitched into a crooked grin. Raising his brow wryly, he said, “You don’t know about holidays, or where we are, but you know about the College?” He chuckled in a good-natured manner. “Have you been there, then? I’m...Professor Arythmetik, but you can call me Aryth.” Perhaps the newcomer simply passed through and recognized his scent. He did spend practically all of his time in Melrose, so he smelled strongly of the rich pine scent. “I’m not sure about our lovely companion here. I don’t recognize her, but it’s possible she’s a new student. What are your names?” He smiled over at the woman, though the question was obviously directed at them both. His sweet berry offerings were still sitting next to his forepaws.

code by claerie

@Cyrill @Black <3

The young girl was perfectly fine listening to their conversation, but the pair decided to include her. It was only polite, she supposed. The colorful male asked if she was from the college, an ear flicked. Then the other chimed in, stating he was indeed a professor. With emotionless eyes she watched until she was certain it was her turn to speak, a rather monotone voice came from the drone as she responded.
"I do."
She spoke plainly in response to the very pretty male when he asked if she knew what this was all about. Yes, but that didn’t mean she cared. She was trying to care, however, hence her presence and decision to partake in the hunts.
"Not a student."
Not at the moment, anyway.
"Born of Aberdeen. I am Black."
She’d hoped she didn’t skip any detail Aryth or the other had asked of her. She watched intently now, hoping her lackluster responses would suffice. She was too robotic in nature, but did try often to be more … normal? Maybe that wasn’t the right word.
"Where are you from?" the query was directed at the both of them. She had heard her mother and brother ask this of strangers before as a means to carry on the conversation. Perhaps it would work in her favor, too.

He snorts, pulling back the corners of his mouth in a mildly vexed grimace. "I know what holidays are, I just don't know about these ones." he explains, with perhaps a normal hint of aggression pricking at the edges of his words. Still, questions were asked and the firelight is warm and the night is young, so he'll answer for now.
"I'm a teacher of combat medicine and treatment," he shrugs,"Just arrived not too long ago. Ain't even had a class yet, gotta prepare. S'pretty hard to properly find things to work on, y'know? It's not like there's bodies just lying around for practice." he waves a paw in a dismissive, perhaps nonchalant manner before his eyes cut from Aryth to Black and then back to the fire, which honestly seems to be the most interesting thing for him. "Name's Cyrill. Guess that makes me a 'professor' too," he doesn't quite sneer the word, but he puts little stock and faith into those that give titles. It isn't the titles that matter, after all. "You say shit like I know what you're talking about," he replied, though this seems to be in response to Black's saying of her origin. He eventually decides that that information was not meant for him, but rather the Professor who seemed to be a local. He does not, however, correct nor excuse himself. Instead, he cocks his head and gestures in some vague direction,"I'm from out across the mountains." Outside of Rionnach, clearly. Though his status as an Outlander doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest. "So whats this whole thing about anyway?" He'd only learn through experience and asking, and simply sitting here and taking in the sights would do neither.

A R Y T H M E T I K

Aryth blinked and grinned faintly at the female’s curt, dry replies. There was something unusual about her, to be sure, but it didn’t bother him. In fact, it reminded him of the way he could have turned out, surrounded primarily by books and lacking any real family. He wondered if it had anything to do with her upbringing. Her accent made him think she was a highlander, and when she confirmed she was from Aberdeen, he grew immensely curious. Perhaps the scholar would finally take a trip to the coast. “Black...is what we should call you?” He felt a bit out of his depth. Her coat was black (and lustrous, especially in the firelight) but she did mean her name, right? It would be stupid to announce the color of her fur but her tone was so deadpan—


The scholar was prevented from spiraling into a panic by the outlander’s crude response. Aryth blinked, his head swiveling back in the combat medic’s direction. Subconsciously, he leaned away from the man ever so slightly. By the gods… This one had a right shite temper. But it appeared that he was attempting to keep it under control, probably to glean some information. Aryth swallowed heavily, his eyes widening a fraction at the comment about bodies. “You’re just a bit late, I guess…” he muttered under his breath, before he could catch himself. But the earthen male remained composed, wary of this Cyrill who claimed to be a healer of sorts but looked down his nose at everything so far. It went without saying that he was not from around here, and clearly, he didn’t care.


Aryth glanced between Black and Cyrill as he answered, “Well I was born in Melrose, which is in the Lowlands south of here. That’s where the College is located. And I’ve lived in Rionnach all my life, so...I’d be happy to explain.” Especially if it got their fiery new companion to settle down a bit. “Tonight is Samhain, celebration of the Autumnal Equinox. Some wolves believe that faeries and spirits pester the mortal realm this night, eager to, er, play tricks and cause mischief. So the fires are to guide their way to Tir Na Nog and back where they belong. It’s a night where little children are told not to wander into the shadows, lest they be swept away by the fae.” Aryth paused and offered a lopsided grin, sitting straighter. “Of course, I don’t believe any of that. But it’s fun to participate anyway. Wolves play pranks and eat treats by the fire, so I brought some treats.” He scooted the berries toward each of his companions. “Go on, eat up!”

code by claerie

ooc. Sorry I'm the worst! <3 @Black @Cyrill

Cyrill’s crass reaction drew little more than an ear twitch from Black, but she studied him, and was intrigued by his occupation. She could use such knowledge. Perhaps she could seek him out later. His sharp attitude was deflected with ease, a small shrug given. The outside knew nothing of Aberdeen or why they were here, but she couldn’t claim to be an expert either. She did not fault or judge the man for this, so she remained.

The earthly man spoke again, explaining the holiday’s purpose. It was odd, being a Voxi, but it was something she wanted to learn more about. Being an ignorant fool wasn’t something Black wanted to be.
"Yes. That’s my name." She followed up as e asked if that’s what they should call her. Her tone was still dry but she meant no harm, or was an usual name after all.
"Ah, thank you."
She did take a bite of the treat the man had offered, and enjoyed the taste before looking to Cyrill.
"I’d like to learn from you. From both of you."
Brilliant eyes looked to the both of them, hoping they wouldn’t mind.
"What sort of subject do you study the most, Aryth?"
She asked, taking another small bite of the berries so as to make sure there was enough for the three of them.

He lifts a well-manicured brow, pastel-colored eyes boring into the two of them as he listens to Aryth's succinct words. And then he barks out a sudden, sharp laugh that is surprisingly crystalline, almost pleasant, were it not lightly tinged with his usual bite of sarcasm. "Ah, so a land of myth and legend!" he chirps, though there is a surprising lack of judgement in his tone. He nods, perhaps reaffirming his own internal monologue before speaking once again,"Not too out of the ordinary. Where I'm from, some are said to have Dragonsblood, and still others are said to be of the earth, sky, or sea." He flicks and ear forward-- there is the distinct possibility that he is one of those with Dragonsblood, considering his disposition and temper. Then again, the Embla of his name was previously shortened from 'Of The Emblazed', and so that would make sense. He does not state this, though, and instead somehow finds it in his small repertoire of manners to say "Thanks," as he sweeps a mouthful of berries up with a swift lick of his tongue. "I'll be certain to bring booze next time. Hell if I knew this was a party, I would have brought more." He gazes from Arth to Black, and gives a short, sharp nod,"For Combat Medicine, one has to be prepared to forgo bedside manner in lieu of tacking action." His eyes reflect the embers of the fires before him and he purses his lips, his pinkish nose wrinkling for a moment as he thinks,"For instance. If your patient's leg has been mangled and they're in danger of bleeding out, what'd the best course of action? In this case, it would be remove the leg and staunch the bleeding. The mangled limb would end up causing issues long term, like infection, gangrene, and sepsis. In the best scenario, they'd be a cripple. At worse, they'd die. On the other hand, living without one leg is easily adjustable, and the risk of sepsis and gangrene is much lower, though infection can still be a problem. But that's a job for long-term caretakers--your mission is 'keep your patient alive long enough for long-term caregivers to treat them'." He sweeps a paw through the dirt to toss it into the fire, causing a sudden and brilliant flare of the flames,"Yeah, what do you teach? Surely something less bloody." Hah, it seems like the pale wolf would be loathe to get blood on any part of his well-coiffed and carefully maintained appearance....which is true. But despite it all, he would rather be drenched in blood than to be responsible for a death he could yet prevent.

@Black @Arythmetik