A Challenge Howled.

[Angel]

Kirib grunts and ties of the improvised bandage nice and tight.
"Fraking stupid fighters, always running of with no thought as to who has to come rescue their bloody behinds once they're done playing!"
He grumbles, sitting back on his haunches,
"At least I ask first! The number of times I've had to scrape my brothers off the town walls..." He growls softly, but without much aggression. "And don't do that!" He barks, meaning the shrug, "You'll rip your stitches."

He fusses around for a moment, feeling like he's said a little too much. There's only so much to keep him occupied, in their spartan camp, though. He gets a bite to eat out and sits chewing, ears pricked and alert.

"Whats an Enharjar?" He stumbles over the unfamiliar word,

[Skald of Storms]

"An Einherjar? Well my young friend. My people are very much a race of warrior's born, when the war horns are sounded everyman that can rises to it's call. We then would make a bloody mess wherever we went, smashing up each other as well. Those of us that die gloriously in battle would be taken by servant's of our Gods to glorious Valhalla. Where they become Einherjar, warriors of the Army of the Dead who will fight alongside our gods at the reckoning of time, Ragnarock."

He then let's out a deep breath. "Well that's it put bluntly and concisely. I could tell you the whole tale, but that would take days my friend, the lore of my people is immense. But interesting stuff, if you ever have the chance to visit my world, do so, but be cautious, my people are quite skilled at fighting, infact amongst them I wasn't good enough to be a fighter...well not a real fighter anyway."

[Angel]

He rises an eyebrow and laughs musically.
"I'll take your word on that, a frightening prospect indeed! Though, it would be somewhat worse if they where all bards..."

The half-wolf grins mischievously at his new companion, and patient. "An army of the dead... wouldn't that be somewhat... how to say... smelly? and it'd leave a trail of maggots everywhere!" He wrinkles his nose in playful disgust, "At least you wouldn't have to feed... them? it?"

He starts to laugh, then cuts off abruptly to look at Skald, his ears however, remain pointed in the same direction. He keeps the look brief, before staring intently back at the undergrowth, in the direction of the lake's edge.

[Skald of Storms]

"No no. I don't think you get it. The Einherjar aren't undead my young friend, they are spirits, souls. They can't really fight anything other than mystical creatures and themselves! But that's beside..." he trailed off and held his breath at Kirib's look.

His hand softly floats to his hilt in an instinctive response. Through barely parted lips he whispers to Kirib, "What is it wolf-boy? You smell something?" His eyes darted to look at where Kirib was looking. And as they rested on the direction of the lake, he hears and sees nothing. But soon to his keen hearing, for a human that is, the sound of something rather large running towards them.

And he gasped as from the undergrowth burst something that should have been large, but was actually a rather small but quite heavy bear, a young male one. Might even still be a cub..."poo-poo..." he said under his breath. If it was still a cub, then the mother might be...He looked up at the bear intently. That would be one large mother to be fair...and angry. He actually had the decency to look quite worried, more show than not in all honesty, bears were common enough where he was born, he had faced down one or two before.

[Angel]

Kirib almost visibly relaxes when the threat is discernible, the unknown is worse than a bear, followed by mother or not.

"Are you fit to move, old man? I reckon they smelt the food, well, that and the blood." He moves fluidly to his feet, placing himself between the overambitious young animal and his wounded companion. His motion is so fluid that the little one is not startled by it, but his wolfish scent makes it baulk.

"Where's mommy, little one? not far, perhaps?" he croons gently, While juvenile, the cub is a compact block of muscle, shoulders reaching halfway up Kirib's thigh.

[Skald of Storms]

"Old man? I'm still young enough to put you through your paces, damn it, I'm not even past my prime yet!" He snapped at Kirib completely ignoring the young bear now. "I'll show you just how fast I can move boy, you better be able to keep up...cub!" he said the final word with relish as he slowly pushed himself to his feet.

Looking around for his lute he spotted it where he had left it not too long ago and walked casually over to it so as to not alarm the bear. And with one fluid motion he swept it from the ground over his shoulder and onto his back, tightening the strap he looked at Kirib. "Well young friend, I have no wish to face down a fully grown protective bear in this condition, it's bad enough for a human when he's in the best condition. So shall we move? What do you say? To the west?" He began to smile suddenly as the idea took him.

"Yes, west is where we shall go, west, glad I thought of it, great idea!" He looked at the morning sun and slowly turned around, striking a semi-dramatic pose before shouting loud enough to startle the bear, and with enough rolling undertone "ONWARD!"

[Angel]

Kirib doesn't dislike the new personal tone of their conversation and bounces over to him, striking a pose. His feet move over the grass so lightly that he barely leaves an impression of his paw-like feet behind. His medicines are somewhat scattered so he pulls them all together into his hip pack, checking quantities as he does, purely out of habit.

The old wooden bowl he wraps in napped leather, ash and all, for use later. After a moments thought he smirks and scatters a little in the wind for the bears benefit. It blows in its face and the astringent makes it sneeze and rub its face on the grass. He grins wolfishly and bounds after the bard again.

"West? To the city! always wanted to see one," He wait for the explosion,

[Skald of Storms]

"What!? You've never been to a city? My young friend, a city is quite a wonderful place, much more interesting I think than most places, lots of people gathered in one place. It's wonderful watching the follies and intrigue of many different races together as they try to gain power and control."

With that he picked up the pace abit and continued for a little while longer in silence. "Well this shall be an exciting experience for both of us, after all I've never been to this realm before so the cities might be different, and you my friend, just have never seen a city at all, such a shame, some people, truly barbaric..."

[Angel]

Kirib cringes good-naturedly as Skald talks fast, pacing along silently beside him. He bristles slightly at the implication against his people,

"Civilisation and barbarism are two ends of a sliding scale, there are many things in-between! If we where barbarians, I'd have just... ah, a story for another time, perhaps!"

His smile is slightly strained this time, and his shoulders tense. He too walks in silence for a time.

[Skald of Storms]

He looked briefly at Kirib and suddenly stopped walking, doubling over with laughter at Kirib's sudden offence. "My dear young friend, how simple you are!" He splurted out between gasping breaths. Suddenly with a rather unthinking moment he jumps foward and spins striking another overly dramatic pose.

"I told you my people were a warrior culture, regularly our warriors would hunt bears and wolves to skin them and wear their skins. They would then often fly into berserk rages, these are our most fearsome warriors. With secrets of war beyond mortal knowledge. But were you to compare us to other civilizations or ask them, you would find that we are considered barbarians of the highest order. Infact on our world the very word was invented practically because of us!"

He then smiles that annoyingly smug smile and spins pointing forwards. "Well let us continue young friend and we shall talk of many things and perhaps have many adventures before this city. And you must learn to be more care-free!" He shouted the last bit in a glorious way, raising both arms to the air as if it was decided and would be.

[Angel]

Kirib relaxes minutely, since it would appear that the bard missed his little slip. That or he's being courteous again. He sighs and deliberately relaxes the rest of the way, deciding that it doesn't really matter either way right now.

"They hunted the Wolves? That is... ah, to me it is like scalping your victims, because their hair makes a pretty cloak... unacceptable."

He smiles in amusement, he can get along with this man, he feels. He has a good scent, through the grime and sweat. Kirib begins to talk a little more openly with him, seeing a man laugh himself to gasping tends to do that.

"Carefree? maybe eventually!" He grins and bounds forwards a few paces, touching a little bauble on a leather cord around his throat. That faint unease still lingers around him, but dimmed and less pronounced.

As they travel, Kirib's background begins to come out, his siblings, his pack, and his aborted destiny. The reason he left, however, he doesn't speak of.

********
A miscellaneous pub in Pshycotopia.

Kirib sits with his head on his arms, staring at his mug of ale ruefully and cursing its emptiness.

"Hey Bard! buy me 'nother?" He pushes the mug towards Skald pathetically. He has a vague hope that he passes out before His nosey drinking companion asks about the holes in his story.

[Skald of Storms]

He stared straight at the very drunk young Kirib in front of him and sighed. Hirahim pats himself over making a show of searching for more coin but regretfully shrugs at Kirib. "I'm all out my young friend, and a good thing it is, you really can't hold your drink all that well Kirib."

He grins broadly at that point, "Now I on the other hand am a world class drinker, I've been drinking since I was born, and my people drank a lot in any case. But ya know Kirib, there are some things I would like to ask ya...if you can still think straight!" He laughed and leaning forward lightly patted Kirib on the cheek. "Sober up my young friend, your far too young to drown your sorrows by getting drunk."

[Angel]

He bemoans the lack of alcohol quietly, his chin dropping back to rest on his arms.

"sho what if i cants hold alcomhol. I wants to pass out... An' ish not MY fault I'm shkinny, blame my heart... "

He grumbles and scowls a little, his fangs showing. He's long past caring who sees his tail and ears, what's a little canine to that? He blinks in surprise as he gets patted of all things.

"Age doshnt matter when you's got 'nuff sorrowsh! gerrof," He snaps at the offending hand in a desultory way, not really caring too much.

"Maybe I'll tell ya what ya want ina mornin, if not drinking, wanna sleep..." He drops his forehead to his arms, half muffling his words.

[Skald of Storms]

At the rejection of his proposal for Kirib to tell him his story his eyes narrow and through the slight effect of alcohol he begins to move. Ignoring the fact that his hand had been slapped. He reaches fully over the table and grabs Kirib by the hair yanking up his head. "Listen here young cub, I'll have no more of your cowardly arse wiping around the entire story. I have waited long enough, you shall tell me, and you shall tell me now, else I shall skin you alive and wear your skin as the berserkers of my people do." He hissed with vehemence at Kirib.

He grins fiercely baring his teeth as fangs. "Now Kirib shall you tell me your tale or shall I have to act upon my impulses? Because I will if I have to, no story is beyond my grasp, you shall tell me..."

[Angel]

*Kirib moves on instinct, gripping Skald's arm at the wrist. However, his inebriated state lets him do little more than prevent his hair from being pulled out. It doesn't take long for him to give up, dropping to the table tiredly. *

"Fine... but not here, not in public. Tell it much as you like, to whom ever you chose, once I'm gone." He's dropped the drunken-slur act now, since it was of little use, but is still drunk as Duncan's guardsmen. He brushes Skald's hand away and clatters upright, almost falling. Twice.

On the way to the stairs, he manages to anger several other shady patrons who jeer at him lewdly, after the first glance. The floor seems to cause him significant trouble, tilting like the deck of a ship, and the stairs threaten to buck him off completely.*