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+--- Thread: BWP a calling (can you hear my voice?) (/showthread.php?tid=10573)
a calling (can you hear my voice?) - Thrush - 3/5/2026
It was early enough that even the birds seemed hesitant to leave the warm huddles of their nests. The ground crunched with the evidence of the chill in the air, and his paws dragged across the ground to scatter the thin blanket of pine needles that dampened his steps. Hawke would worry when he woke, as was the job of a big brother, but this should at least calm him to rationality.
Thrush hadn't slept the night before. The pair had been chased by over aggressive pack wolves before, that was no secret, but this had been something different entirely. The jaws that had snapped at their heels, the hot breath that felt like hell at their backs.. The darkness that had surrounded them suddenly, swallowing the snarls that they'd fled. Even when nothing but the sound of their footsteps and breath remained, the brothers had run and run. The wood they'd stumbled into was hardly familiar, or comforting, but it had offered a tentative respite for them to collapse warily.
Then, when he'd finally managed to find sleep..
The mere memory of it sent the male's ears twisting back in concern. The smells of the forest were foreign, the images in his dreams even more so. Usually he dreamed of their pack, of their mother and father and the siblings they'd helped to raise and guide. This was the first time something new, something he was certain he'd never seen before: a Visitor, whispering of runes and calamity.
He hadn't told any of these thoughts to Hawke, he didn't want to worry his brother, especially when it was so easy to do just that. His brother was sleeping fitfully, seemingly undisturbed by the same visions that had plagued Thrush until he'd given up on sleep. It was enough to know that Hawke was resting, regaining his strength. The wolf stepped into a clearing, devoid of anything but the cold whisper of a stirring wind; not even a stale scent seemed to linger to announce that life had once been here.
Nothing felt familiar. It was as if they'd somehow been chased into another world entirely, one devoid of any signs of life but them.
The brute shook his head, ears pinning back in obvious agitation at himself. No. Those thoughts wouldn't do. He had a job, and, as much as Hawke would claim otherwise, a brother to protect. Thrush would do as he always had and find the lay of their land, sniff out prey they could use to fill their starving bellies.
His dreams lingered in the back of his head, a melody stuck that he refused to acknowledge. Surely, whatever these runes were, they could wait.
Without food, he and his brother could not.
RE: a calling (can you hear my voice?) - narrator - 3/12/2026
Rune Discovery : 「 Success 」
Although the woods presently enjoy a temporary reprieve from the relentless snowfall, the roar of the Isle off of a far distant shore sends shivers up your spine. Deep gouges litter the landscape around you, pulsing with a frightening and otherworldly glow, and although you try to push the thought from your mind images of intricately carved stones continue to occupy your subconscious.
Runes.
Runes.
And in spite of your current priorities, they cannot wait.
It's difficult to see as you walk further into the clearing, the black morning sky a wall of clouds, and you suddenly hiss through your teeth as something sharp catches your left paw. A trickle of warmth trails down from what you suspect is now a small gash, and you look down to curse at the thing properly -
A gentle glow hums beneath you, half-buried, and you recognize the hue and shape perfectly.
[hover=Good work. Do not worry, the wound will close momentarily.]
Something strange tugs at your flesh as you feel it slowly knit back together. Was this the power from the Rune? Or was it that disembodied voice?
Whatever the case, your cut has healed and the Rune only pulses softly in response.
Although the woods presently enjoy a temporary reprieve from the relentless snowfall, the roar of the Isle off of a far distant shore sends shivers up your spine. Deep gouges litter the landscape around you, pulsing with a frightening and otherworldly glow, and although you try to push the thought from your mind images of intricately carved stones continue to occupy your subconscious.
Runes.
Runes.
And in spite of your current priorities, they cannot wait.
It's difficult to see as you walk further into the clearing, the black morning sky a wall of clouds, and you suddenly hiss through your teeth as something sharp catches your left paw. A trickle of warmth trails down from what you suspect is now a small gash, and you look down to curse at the thing properly -
A gentle glow hums beneath you, half-buried, and you recognize the hue and shape perfectly.
[hover=Good work. Do not worry, the wound will close momentarily.]
Gid wirk. Af an wirry, dre wialn win krose momelkerifir.
Something strange tugs at your flesh as you feel it slowly knit back together. Was this the power from the Rune? Or was it that disembodied voice?
Whatever the case, your cut has healed and the Rune only pulses softly in response.