A river valley between two mountain ranges. A powerful river flows through rocky terrain, creating strong currents and dangerous rapids. Precious gold ore can be found in the river for those brave enough. The forests surrounding abound with life.
“Fat rain,” Quinn complained to the forest at large, his muzzle creasing as he dodged a generous drip that the canopy had failed to catch. He didn’t know why it made sense that there was fat rain and skinny rain. It was something he’d often heard from his siblings in the days before they’d scattered; it was possible it only made sense to him and his kin. That was a thought Quinn tried to veer away from before it could affect his mood - but the rush of nostalgia, punctuated by the dull pang of guilt, made him squeeze his eyes shut and take a deep breath at exactly the wrong moment.
Sploosh.
“Perf - wow - absolutely perfect,” the feathered wolf snorted through a sudden snoutful of water cold enough to make his teeth clash. It wasn’t often Quinn resented Ohr’s bounty or questioned his endless compassion but, as he furiously blinked rain out of his eyes, his hackles lifted. The feathers that lined his nape and tail flared and he raised his head, his jaws parting in a challenge to the insistent weather. With his vision obscured, it took Quinnat a few blinks to realise that there was something beyond the downpour.
A tall, still figure watched the wolf from a cluster of greenery, unmoved by the steady torrent hammering at his hide. Droplets clung to the ridges of the stag’s antlers like jewels. Its pelt was so white that Quinn could only stare for a few moments before he had to avert his eyes.
“Ohr.”
As if it had been the wolf’s gaze pinning it there, in the second he looked away the stag took off.
“Wait!”
Quinn sprang after the near luminous figure, paying little attention to the sharp slope he was hurtling down.
Ohr was unkind this day. The fat, splashing droplets mostly slid off Urna's oiled fur, but she still had to screw her eyes shut against the insistent, pinging spray. She should come back another time. Rainfall swelled the whitewater, sure, and often revealed interesting treasures long buried in the banks—but there was little use hunting for them while the water was still high. Her search for food had gone poorly, too; the abundant prey of the alpine forests must've been hunkered down (like she should've been), or hopelessly shrouded by the downpour. It was hard enough to even see through the rain, let alone smell or hear.
Urna ducked under the low-hanging branches of a conifer and entered the dark and mercifully tent-like space beneath its boughs. it was drier here, and quieter. She took the opportunity to shake out her coat with an unpleasant wet slapping noise. The tentacles on her back curled close against the chill.
Now, to press on homeward, or wait here for the rain to stop? She'd just started to circle the trunk, testing the spongy needles around its base—when a sound caught her attention. Urna lifted her head, her broad ears swiveling. ...Hoofbeats? Barely. It could have just been the click of branches in the wind.
And a voice. Maybe there was something interesting out there, after all. The hyena pushed her head back out through the damp fir branches and cast her eyes upslope—just in time to see a brightly-plumed wolf hurtling downhill towards her. With a snarl, she scrambled to get out of the way. "Watch where you're going!"
Character Diceroll 1: Successful Diceroll must be above 500 to be successful.
0 was added for Dexterity.
533 was added for Level 2.
0 was added for A. No Enchantment.
9 was added for B. Homeland Buff.
Quinn’s paws joined the song of the rain at almost the same tempo as the torrent itself. He recalled running like this as a child, always keen to keep up with his siblings; he’d forgotten the thrill of it. Why hadn’t he run with abandon in what felt like years? Had there simply been nothing worth chasing? The Noble might’ve reflected on that more but his mind was working as fast as his limbs as he tried to figure out what he’d do if he actually, somehow, caught up to the gleaming-white stag.
“Woah - agh!!”
Quinn’s mind veered sharply off course as he galloped down a slope lined with firs. His legs followed suit a breath later, helping him skitter out of the way just in time to avoid a collision. But it was too late to prevent startling the figure camped out under the boughs and her snarl could’ve been a blade, it so effectively distracted the sprinting wolf from his pursuit of the pale stag. “Ah - I’m sorry - I’m just - it’s Ohr!”
At such a speed, putting a paw wrong had a knock-on effect which meant that to stop, Quinn had to throw his weight backwards. His claws slid against wet rock, sending a shudder down his spine, and still he hadn’t quite managed to halt. His feathers flared in an attempt to further slow him as the wind threatened to whip the pine boughs into his face.
Success: avoids the branches Failure: gets smacked in the face by a branch
Character Diceroll 1: Unuccessful Diceroll must be above 500 to be successful.
0 was added for Dexterity.
479 was added for Level 2.
0 was added for A. No Enchantment.
6 was added for B. Homeland Buff.
"It's what?" Urna had the decency to wince as the wolf crashed facefirst into the pine branches. She only felt a little bad that it was her fault.
Hang on, she thought, inspecting the colorful tangle of limbs and feathers. She knew this guy. Kwon or Kumquat or Queenie or...something like that. Through the rain and the fresh smell of evergreen trees, she could pick up a hint of that familiar Verdantis scent. Hm. Was he someone important?
"Ohr," she said flatly, giving him a chance to recollect himself. Was that an oath, or was he actually saying—"You saw Ohr." Her voice is heavy and dripping with doubt.
Despite deploying his lacklustre feathery parachute, Quinn’s momentum was too much to avoid the pine needles slapping him across the face. “Agh!” The sudden sting on his cheek and the bridge of his muzzle was sobering, to say the least.
The excitement left the Sentry’s eyes. Maybe he hadn’t seen Ohr, after all; maybe it had just been a white stag. The hyena’s tone reinforced that seed of a doubt and that doubt bloomed as Quinn hastily smoothed his feathers. Deflated, he sighed, scanning the woods in the direction the stag had gone.
“A glowing white stag.” His brow shifted into a frown and he shook his head softly.. “I think it was leading me somewhere...”
Now he’d come to a stop, the rain felt much colder against Quinnat’s skin. Rivulets of rain were coursing off his feathers, bouncing off his nose and trickling down his legs. The Noble glanced once more in the direction he’d been sprinting in. The luminous shape was gone.
Quinn huffed before turning back to his packmate. “Sorry about the near miss.”
A glowing white stag... Urna lifted her head, straining to catch sight or sound or scent or anything of the mystery quarry. But there was just the rain and the river and the mist, expanding to fill the space of their stillness. And in the middle of it all were two soaking wet Verdantis sentries, standing around like fools.
Could have been anything. Gods only knew what other marvels could explain a glowing stag out here—ambient magic, maybe, or bioluminescence. Reflective paint.
Or a sign from Ohr himself.
Urna huffed—not annoyance, exactly, more a concession—and turned to re-enter the shelter of the low-hanging fir. "Looks like it's gone now," she called over her shoulder. "You could try to pick up the trail again"—again, doubt suffused her voice—"or you could stay and talk a while with a lowly shaman-in-training." One of her main tentacles lifted the curtain of boughs beside her wide enough to admit—uh, Quinton? Close, but not quite.
"Maybe together we can figure out what Ohr wanted to show you."
Between his breakneck pursuit and sudden stop, the sentry felt suddenly heavy and tired. He didn’t resent the hyena her scepticism, though; it was quite a claim to make, having seen a God galloping through the forest.
Somehow Quinn had held a sliver of hope that he’d blink and the stag would reappear. It was only demonstrated in the slump of his shoulders when she called over her shoulder that the stag was gone. He swept one more long gaze over the forest, now streaky through the rain clinging to Quinnat’s eyelashes… But the keen-eyed Sentry saw no gleam through the branches and heard no hoofbeats; no scintilla of the stag was left, only the downpour and the crashing of the nearby river.
He wasn’t to be left disappointed for long, though, as the sheltering hyena revealed her trade. Quinn's features brightened.
“I'm Quinnat - Quinn. A humble Sentry myself. But if anyone can help with figuring this out I’m sure it’d be a Shaman!” He bobbed his head before creeping under the fir tree with bent elbows, turning until he was laid on his front with one forepaw crossed over the other. Curiosity burned in his gaze; he tried to downplay the intensity by staring hard at the rain and his opening gambit emerged abruptly nonetheless:
Ah, Quinn. She'd pretty much had it. "Urna. Also a sentry." The hyena dipped her head and ducked back into shelter.
Urna circled the trunk and picked a spot nearly opposite Quinnat, then flopped down on her side to regard him. She wasn't exactly...experienced at the whole shaman thing—it was even odds that this guy knew more about Ohr than she did—but at least she'd been up front about it.
She was just picking through the knowledge she did have when Quinnat asked his question.
“What can you tell me about redemption?”
Whoa, right into the meat of things. Urna found it hard to believe this guy could possibly need it. Was he asking for himself? (Was this a trap?) She cocked her head and reassessed the friendly-looking wolf in front of her. What regrets did he have? "You really feel that bad about almost crashing into me, huh?" she joked with a wry smile. Reaching back, she winnowed out a small hide pouch from among the tentacles of her mane and deposited it between her front paws.
"I can tell you plenty. It's something of a personal interest." She didn't elaborate further, and instead tugged the drawstring open to paw through the pouch. "It's tricky to discuss, with Ohr. His compassion is limitless; he does not need to forgive because he does not resent." Urna fished out a string of oblong seeds and laid them on the carpet of fallen fir needles. "But at the same time, it is his wish that his followers live in accordance with certain values." Another object, an irregular slice of bone smaller than her pawpad. It went beside the string of seeds. "So what happens when you stray from that path? You still owe amends—to yourself, maybe, or those you've harmed. To the world."
She lifted out a feather, cream and brown and tipped with black, and cinched the pouch closed.
"It is a choice, though. There is always a choice." Urna gestured at the spread of items in front of her. The seeds, the bone, the feather. "What would you like to know?"
