Storm
Storm
by Mbat
In the deep forest, he waited under the cover of the storm. This place had once been a holy place to his people, the trees lined around him and were packed so closely that they might as well have been walls to a building. Their dark bark, black against the perilous, white snow, which covered the ground like a great white carpet in a hall of trees and bark. The day was dark, the sun covered by a raging storm of clouds, and Lord Ren's side of the tree-hall was even darker. The wind outside howled fiercely, most of the storm's fierce hail and rain was blocked by the trees, and the winds were enough to chill any man but Lord Ren was not bothered by it. He was not bothered by the cold or the chill of snow, he could not feel it, the forces of nature would simply whip past and through him as if he were not there. But were it so, that he could feel it, he would have very little trouble with it, just like those of his race, the Falkir. In the older days 'Falkir' used to mean 'tree-blood' and it was said that their race was born from the deep forest. Lord Ren was finished with his prayer, his grey fur and tail catching the wind as he stood, raising his snout to smell the cold winter air; somebody was near. His eyes were grim, a cold blue, but one could mistaken his eyes to be as pale as the moon. His ears were tall and sharp and Lord Ren was clad in iron. The armor was segmented iron, dark and black as it was forged, it formed a pattern around his torso like the underbelly of a snake. Under the curiass was an iron coat of rings, he wore a silver belt which stood out, and below the waist was an iron skirt of rings. Lord Ren was six foot tall, an average height of his race, he was also barefooted. The 'beast races' as the Agemon call them, did not wear soles or shoes or boots of any kind. They wore wraps around their feet like bandages, and it was well known that they would sometimes have sleeves specifically for their feet. But a visitor had entered the hall, and Lord Ren pulled his sword from under the carpet of snow. It was a greatsword unlike any, it was long and terrible, black as the bark of the trees and as dark as the plates of his armor.
"Blast the cold, Ren!" the man shouted, as he entered, barely fitting through the entrance. Unlike the previous, he was dressed in tempered leather, a sword on his hip, with a roundshield on his back. Wulfast was a brown Falkir, and quite short for one. Lord Ren had shoved his blade into the ground before him, as a sign of peace. "I see, you still carry old Winter!" said the visitor, his armor decorated in green and grey. He was smallish, unlike most of the Falkir, and he came from the southern regions of Calagrir where it was much warmer. "Wulfast!" Ren happily shouted back, "Where is your brother? I asked for his counsel as well." Wulfast was embracing himself, trying to keep warm from the cold, and locked in such a position, naturally hopped his way towards Ren. His shield up and down with him as he did so.
"The duo, Wulfang and Wulfast is long gone, Ren. After the order of--" but he was cut off.
"Wulfast, you and your brothers owe me a favor." Ren said grimly. For a split second Wulfast stood there, sensing dread.
"That's too bad! I'm the only one you can count on to honor that, now!" he retorted. Ren scoffed at him, but Wulfast offered, "I can still summon a great host of men if I wanted! Just like the old days." Lord Ren paused for a moment, considering the deal, "So! The mighty Wulfast still stands strong, even without his famed brothers!" He mocked. "Very well, a deal, made in blood?"
Now, Wulfast didn't seem too happy, his ears pulled back, as he scanned the old wolf. "Ah, hell with it, in blood! Lets get this over with!" he concluded hastefully. Lord Ren pulled out a knife, and cut across the palm of his hand. Wulfast, did the same, and the two clasped their bloody palms together and shook hands. Lord Ren only knew a little bit of magic, and little Wulfast was bound by blood and oath to finish his task. Until death relieved him of it. Lord Ren, with a grin, hunched over and whispered into his ear. The little wolf's eyes widened, shocked, and then stepped back. "Ren... Tell my brothers... I love them." The sun was beginning to set, and the forest darkened, the howl of the winds stopped, and the clouds began to depart.