Anton Hilmorsson

Child of Athoria - London Anton is an Alpha wolf who lost his entire pack to a brutal Viking war in Iceland. Thought dead, he rose from the snow the sole survivor.

[patrick-oriley-blog]

Patrick & Anton || A Call To Arms

[antonhilmorsson-blog]

patrick-oriley:

The reality of the situation was both surreal and fast-paced, especially now that moves were being made, the conversation was being had. Patrick wanted to do his part and Anton seemed proud, and that was somehow fulfilling. He felt it in his chest first, something being replaced and shifted. Where there was once a loneliness that Orion had consumed with magic and wards was now a replaced with a strange feeling of togetherness. Fenir, Reagan, Anton and the wolves of the Harva warriors, alongside the feral beasts that snarled on the outskirts of the Forest of Dean and the ragtag group of wolves lingering on the hilltop…Patrick could not help but allow Anton’s words to sit very carefully within him.

Patrick could not remember the last time he had been around more than one wolf since his exile from Vargulf…and now there were hundreds staring at him, waiting for him to speak. 

He realized in that moment that he was safe at Anton’s side.

“The Athor history is full of bad seeds. Every so often one came along that wanted to do just this…destroy the supernaturals, dismantle the clans and the natural order…but none succeed. The terrifying part of this? It’s not the war itself…it’s the fact that Natalia is not an Athor, not by blood. So what does that say about the fate of Athoria?” 

While in Vargulf, Patrick studied the history of Athoria. Thankfully while he was a part of Elki’s pack, their ruler was kind and fair. They were not at war, it was not even on anyone’s mind. 

“Athorians are no different than us, or any other human on this earth. They will follow because they are loyal. But they won’t win here…they can’t. Natalia sent her people to be slaughtered, whether intentional or not,” 

Patrick pressed his lips together, speaking to Anton with whatever honesty he felt was necessary. For almost four-hundred years Patrick had fled around the world; he had learned and saw the rise and crumble of clans and societies overseas, compared them to what he knew of his homeland and of his first pack, and of Vargulf. Together, him and Orion made their own sacrifices in terms of murder or destruction, all to save their own skins. Loyalty was a funny thing. He may not have been loyal to a particular pack but he was loyal to his best friend. They were as one. The thought of Orion squeezed at a place in his chest that felt deserted.

“Maybe Athoria needs to thin out the herd, then,” Reagan spoke bluntly. “Athoria continues to grow and grow without order, without restraint or law. Supernaturals in Athoria are savages. The monarchy is a joke. The clans prepare for war for centuries, building armies to protect little pieces of land. It’s pathetic. If anything, Natalia is doing them a favor. Maybe it’s time for Athoria to truly suffer at the hands of their ruler,” she looked Anton straight in his eyes. “It’s only after you suffer that you can truly rebuild,”

“You were not directed to speak-- nor did I ask for your opinion,” Anton’s tone held a layered warning to the woman who took the floor without permission. Her words held callousness and a bluntness that spoke of pride that never succumbed to such darkness as losing all as they had.  Gaia believed in rebirth, loving her creations enough to use their souls to bring life back to the world. But she was missing something important. He allowed the space around them to fill to an uncomfortable silence, wanting his point to be very transparent. His steps brushed up to the woman who oddly seemed to want to protect his brother and more-- felt inclined to hold height in rank over Patrick as if she implied she awarded such a title long ago.

A few of the other wolves stepped forward along the hill and near the Forest of Dean. Their jowls were threatening lifted to expose their teeth when Anton's mood shifted. He only spoke when she lowered her eyes.

"Life is precious," Anton met his brother's hazed gaze, lecturing loud, so intentions remained clear. "You all stand here today not tools for war but to enforce the peace England brings to us all. To stop them-- not to slaughter innocent lives forced to march." Fenir's subtle smile spoke to his broken soul as if his brother knew he would make such a claim before the battle. He finally reached out and grasped his bicep squeezing it lightly before he moved away from the group. Walking down the road until he was standing alone in its center and turned to his pack.

"People will die. Some won't stop wanting to get through. Many will attack us, and we will have to defend, but we will not convert this into an offensive position. They will tire, and they will be allotted a decision," Anton inhaled, his bones creaked loudly from the distorted shift in his shoulders. His eyes were glowing in the haze from the forest, the fog wrapping across the road and covering the blades of grass with drops of dew. He could hear the racing of Lupis Harva wolves coming back. Transformed ears perked back to the warning round of howls coming from the west.

"We form a chain, no one passes. If they engage, you make the decision on what to do. When the dust settles revealing our victory I will be the judge to your placement in my pack-- I will know how you decided to aid in our success and I will know if you disobeyed me."

Anton cracked his knuckles, offering Patrick his undivided attention.

"If you see your friend, I advise you go to him and get him behind our lines," and with his final words, he faced his back to the pack-- the thunderous accompaniment of paws and footsteps rushed to form a resistance of wolves. The people were marching in a chaotic resonance from unskilled or appropriately trained individuals. Anton didn't want to see so many perish today, but war always brought a sacrifice.

"Mother watch over these souls, be sure the reapers find them," Anton pressed his palms together, his shift a violent transformation of homid skins turning into wolven fur. He landed on all four paws to rumble the earth and tilted his head back to deliver a warning. The sound with a fractured and haunting accompaniment from the wolves. The feral’s were stepping to the front lines and forming a defined line beside Anton's enormous form.

The first group of humans paused, looking back unsure and not entirely understanding what they were seeing. Anton held still. Hair raised and teeth exposed as he waited to see who would step up and take charge. The guards moved passed the people carrying weapons poorly, shoving a few out of the way to get a better eye on who was blocking their path. Anton enjoyed the realization cross over their faces, how the scents changed and swept with a fear he could take on his tongue.

"Hold," the wolven word rumbled out of his throat, sounding more like a growl to keep everyone still.

"Move!" the first demand met his ears and Anton could hear the pacing of paws to soils.

"Get out of here!" someone threw a spear, and one of the feral wolves jumped up and caught it with their teeth snapping it cleanly in two. More weapons started getting thrown, the people who were frightened tried to move towards the back just as Anton had hoped they would. If they could separate the ones truly here to fight-- then not so much innocent blood would fall on their lands.

"Hold," Anton repeated, feeling more eyes on him than the coming soldiers who were setting up into a decent formation and debating among themselves how to handle it. They will charge right for me. Anton stepped forward, a slow progression but didn't make to entice any wolf to charge ahead. A divide took place instantly from the army, and Anton thanked his mother a final time.

The guards ran forward, swords and horses galloping towards them. He exhaled, let the upcoming fight narrow to the finest point and took off to meet them head on.

[patrick-oriley-blog]

Patrick & Anton || A Call To Arms

[antonhilmorsson-blog]

patrick-oriley:

A wave of inertia rippled across the rolling hills of England where Patrick, Fenir and Reagan lead a massive pack of interesting looking werewolves across the country. They headed south towards The Forest of Dean, the place that Anton had specifically told Patrick he would be. The howl that emitted was enough to cause a temporary pause, one that shook the bones inside of Fenir so much that he closed his blind eyes and pressed them together in reconcile. Reagan, who Patrick had determined at this point was the old Alpha’s caregiver, offered him the physical comfort he needed in order to continue on. Patrick looked behind them at the sea of the pack who were now gathering themselves again. The howl from Anton had affected them; they beat at their chests, pushed one another into friendly challenges in order to get them hyped. They shifted and howled themselves, frantic and excited yips and yaps exploding from their throats. The sudden burst and change of energy resonated through Patrick. Still, he had his doubts.

“Will they listen to him, then?” Patrick inquired with worry. “After that howl? They better,” it was Reagan who responded. “Will you?” Patrick challenged her. “We’ll see,”

Patrick shook his head, still marveling in the site of the lands filled with the variety of wolfs; some in homid forms, other trotting along on all fours. Patrick knew the feeling of loyalty and respect well, and it was evident that what they felt for Fenir was something worth living for. He had known this feeling once towards Elki Etu in Vargulf. He would have died for that kid if he asked him too. And he might as well have. The strange pull towards Anton had proved to be something more in the works within a deity that Patrick barely believed he could understand anymore. The situation was not coincidence, this he knew now. It had taken centuries for Patrick to find just one wolf who didn’t hurt him, actually hurt him – chase him, bite him, go after Orion – and Anton had always kept his distance, kept him safe. He had allowed Patrick to live in England.

The scent of the female warriors of Lupis Harva was captivating. Patrick strained his neck around the country as they traveled south in hopes of seeing them run past. Then again, the beautiful night warriors of the north were stealthy at best; it would be rare if Patrick saw them before they saw him. 

“I don’t think you have it in you, Patrick,” Reagan said. “What are you talking about?” Patrick scoffed at her. Fenir spoke next. “That’s enough, Reagan,” Reagan’s smirk was slick enough to cut glass, and Patrick had always been used to the way she poked at him and teased his status. It was easy back then, during the century where The Dwelling was a cult and Reagan played the part well. Her attitude was what had kept her alive, apparently. It was evident that Reagan had not only played her Father and husband, but she had also played Patrick as well. He didn’t want to think that Reagan cared little for him. When he thought back to those intimate moments together, it just didn’t seem possible. looking at her now, how lovingly she cared for Fenir and spark in her eye when she looked upon his stature, it seemed that he might have had it all wrong.

Patrick couldn’t really think about that right now. He shook it away and began a sprint ahead of the massive pack. The freedom of running through the hills seemed less daunting this time, now that he wasn’t running for his life. Over one last hill is when he stumbled to a stop. “Whoa…” Below him was Anton standing at the treeline to The Forest of Dean and with him…the most feral wolves he had ever seen in his entire life. 

Patrick swallowed hard and hoped that this was not a mistake.

As Reagan, Fenir and the wolf pack appeared behind the hill, the tension between similar yet opposing species was enough to shake Patrick to his core. “Be brave,” Reagan said to him, placing her hand on his back. Initially he believed it to be out of comfort, but instead Reagan pushed him forward. Patrick staggered down the hill towards Anton, praying to Gaia that he would not be slaughtered. 

“You were right,” he said to him, motioning backwards towards the wolves that had begun to line the hill. “They are here for you. They will obey you, as will I,”

The intensity of life and pride surrounded him as a threatening storm. Howls met with shouts, colliding to a crescendo a warning along the entirely of the road leading into the bigger part of England. What a sight to behold again. Unity on this scale was something only the wolves could ever fully appreciate. Following him not out of tyranny or because he wore a crown-- but because they felt it resonate down to their very souls. An inexplicable instinct that bound their kind together to make them powerful and family.

His amber eyes combed up the crescent hill and landed on his brother. How long he's wished to see him again, knowing his family brand resided under his clothes torn out by his claws.

"As will you?" Anton's voice was rough English, his particular transformation stirring out old Icelandic accents. His smile was electric and frightening, but he clasped a firm grip on Patrick's shoulder to prove his pride in his stance by his side and more that he didn't need to step away. Maybe this would give him confidence in his importance.

"You were always afraid of your beast-- your heart center. You should feel it now, what it means to be surrounded entirely as a unit when it is commanded to you. It's easy to fall into a life of peace and lose sight of what it means to fight for your home," the words were directed inward in self-reflections and also loud enough to allow those closest to hear him. He turned when a blonde woman and his brother came closer, Saura stepped out from the crowds as well. Moving her wolves silently across the south side of the road stretching to the furthest wooded line.

"Fenir," Anton acknowledged his presence but didn't offer any physical contact right away. "What have you seen?"

"Many things as always--" Fenir closed his opaque eyes with a warm hum in his throat in concentration. "There is no clear winner-- but many will have to die even with victory."

"I do not want slaughter," Anton inhaled sharply, folding his arms across his broad chest to peer down the road in the distance where their enhanced ears could easily hear the Athorian's. Saura's hand caught his eye, and he nodded to her silent directions she was sending scouts ahead. Her wolves would be swift and hidden.

"The King has another layer of plans," Anton commented. "I spoke to the demon today not Jacob. He held a letter in his hand, I couldn't see it all, but I could catch a few words from where I was standing. It smelled of the sea and had to of come from Athoria. Maybe a warning--”

He turned towards Patrick, a deep furrow in his brow. "You know of Queen Natalia and the Athor's better than anyone here. Tell me, would she force her people to war-- is it possible they are without a choice?"

[patrick-oriley-blog]

Patrick & Anton || A Call To Arms

[antonhilmorsson-blog]

patrick-oriley:

Patrick stood agape as Anton left, and for several seconds he watched his back as it faded into the growing crowd. There was a place inside of his chest where Orion would sit perfectly, but Patrick could feel that once comfortable emotion slipping away and being replaced with something darker, something more intense. The pain shifted from his lungs and electrocuted his spine, erupting a throbbing at the base of his skull. For hundreds of years, magical warding coated the insides of his mind, and now, with whatever it was that Orion was experiencing, Patrick could feel those walls crumbling. He gripped at the skin on the back of his neck, thinking that his claws could scratch at the itch. 

Life seemed to go on around him by the fountain outside of the castle as if nothing important were happening. But between the faces, Patrick read the guards and knights as they began to scurry from their positions. Anton was right, something was about to happen and Patrick needed to be ready if he were to ever find Orion again. 

On instinct he looked back to the church expecting to see the set of pearly eyes watching him again. But there was nothing. He sniffed the air in hopes of separating the common smells of basic humanity from that of something more powerful, something more inhumane. Regardless of what he did not see, Patrick felt the eyes on him and knew that somewhere in the city they were testing him. He was determined to find them, to claim them and ask them what they wanted, if they knew of Anton and the upcoming war…

Then he saw it; a quick glance of the pearly eyes on the fur-covered man before they disappeared across the bridge into the heart of London and behind a moving cart. Patrick started in a heavy jog for the man in the furs, maneuvering around the fancy people on the bridge until he reached the cart. But there was nothing. He looked around eagerly, searching through the faces and the different types of attire until he saw the tailcoat of a dead fox, one that the white eyed man had been sporting. It vanished behind a wall around the corner of the fish market, and Patrick followed instinctively. The scent of salmon overpowered everything. Patrick breathed heavy as once again he searched for the man, determined this time to track him down for good. Over and over he barely spotted him as they moved through London, and eventually Patrick was at the most southern gate. Anton’s scent was strong there and it made Patrick remember his apparent task by the Alpha. Panic bubbled inside of Patrick, his unconfined nature taking the best of him and swallowing it whole. He thought about what Anton had said before they departed. 

“Find the ones from your past and bring them to me,”  

Shaken and confused, Patrick could only imagine that Anton was speaking of his first pack…of Kevan and the Family, and the thought triggered him into a frenzy. He swept through the gate and followed the path that Anton had traveled, assuming to head towards the Forest of Dean. He would die before he looked for his old family, the ones that beat his ego until it was nothing but a pebble in a sea of boulders, until he was nothing. If Anton wished for him to dive into his old pack then he’d have to wait until after the war, until after he found Orion.

But halfway down the hill at the fork in the road, Patrick stopped. Carts and knights were headed towards the Harbor. He could go with them, take a boat and sneak to Athoria…leave this all behind, find his brother. Anton didn’t know what he was talking about anyway…

Patrick glanced to the left, down the road that lead towards the fancy city of Rochester. Instinct pushed him several steps down that road for some reason, a reason he tried to figure out but couldn’t.

As he squinted further down the road, he saw him…the white eyed wolf. And he was not alone. Besides him was a smaller blonde woman. His arm rested on top of her forearm and he looked more upwards towards the sky. Patrick shook his head, anxiety taking hold of his body, but he moved down the road at the pair standing there waiting for him.

“Who are you?!” he hollered more bravely than he felt, hoping his voice sounded as intimidating as he attempted to. He wanted answers and an explanation as to why he was being taunted and teased. The sun in the sky shielded his view, and Patrick put his hand up to block the light. “What do you want?!”

Silence was his only response, and as Patrick drew closer and closer, as if dragged by some invisible entity that peaked his curiosity, he caught the scent of the woman by his side…

Reagan?

continued via self para

Anton couldn’t give into the impossibly strong urge to see his brother. He scented him long ago, lurking about England in search of something or someone he knew. His wolves were a problem and also the answer to his suspicions about a war coming, because of anything, Anton held firm hope his brother was once again trying to warn him. It had been the motivating power behind his need to speak to the King. Fenir had tried to keep himself shrouded in the shadows as if he could ever hide from Anton. But the more he was searching, the more he realized there wasn’t any doubt anymore that Patrick was his brother’s kin, and in turn-- his as well.

The Forest of Dean resided quietly on the road heading south. Anton could hear the banners and the stomping of heavy metal footsteps leading ashore. In the very far distance, overwhelming scents followed the wind with Gaia’s guidance and warned his ears of how much time they had. He knew of the wolves here. They were rumored to be feral wolves of a lost anshega, ones that hadn’t ever fully adapted into their homid skins. Anton understood why the King kept them here. He had not only been born a wolf, but his blood was of the ancients and original kind. His great-grandfather hadn’t ever transformed. Stubbornness was a trait of wolves since Gaia created them.

Today they will listen, and they will follow his demands.

With a violent shape shift, Anton’s spine arched quickly back. Splitting his shirt in two that fell useless to the ground. A frustrated roar wedged into his throat, shoulders dislocating and joints contorting to make up for the developing muscles mass. Each of his knees cracked, snapping backward to rise in a towering Lycan transformation. Fur came in patches, rolling in gray's and dusty browns over all his homid, pale skin. His face transformed entirely, fangs crowded and elongated around protruding snout until he curled the jowls of his lips up to reveal their exposure.

Eyes a molten amber, his body felt alive and back to its roots. For months he felt confined in human illusions living in London. But now he was here to prove his blood right and make sure of what he was supposed to be since he was born. Anton inhaled. Felt the presence of his Mother wrap around him in a warm embrace as if she too were to roar with him in holy demand. His ribs cracked and stretched from the intensity and with a command that would be heard all over England, he released a mighty howl that trembled the very earth he was standing until the road split in half. The response was instant as he demanded it to be. A howl from a few miles out, then another and another. Their thunderous racing paws met with a haunting melody of response as it meshed and sand with all the others. Anton howled again, forcing it to find Patrick’s ears and for his brother to know he was expecting them.

He landed on four paws, fur standing up on end as he met with thirty pairs of eyes. Their black coats were matted and in ruins like his own, taking steps from the Forest of Dean with their teeth exposed and head low on the ground in respect.

You fight for me.

Were his first words to this lost and forgotten pack, old tongues spoken for the wolves to understand. His nose caught the coming of the rest of his brother's pack, and thankfully-- Lupis Harva was coming as well to make a stand for England.

The wolves-- they would be the heroes in this tale.

I will restore everything. This land, all of it to the Ports will be ours. Fight for me and I will teach you how to live again. Fight for England, and I will restore the pride you lost in family and home. 

[guardiansaura-blog]

Detective work (Anton & Saura)

[antonhilmorsson-blog]

guardiansaura:

Anton’s question was appropriate and struck a chord. Saura had asked herself the very same thing ever since they went on their quest. She wondered, if she had been in the child’s situation, whether she would have appreciated being taken away, or if she’d have preferred to stay. It wasn’t an issue simple reasoning could solve, the werewolf knew. Saura didn’t answer right away, instead following the other wolf inside. Her nose picked up the faintest of scents; the smells in the orphanage were one, all mixed and muddled, but she could discern where each came from, what its source was. She didn’t smell anything wolven, except for Anton and herself. “They’re not here,” she said quietly, stepping out into the open again.

After a few more moments of silence, she finally replied to Anton’s question. “Even if they are content,” Saura sighed, “if they have wolf blood in them, they won’t be anymore the moment they shift. As loving as the family might be, they’re human, and young, growing wolves do not belong into human families.” The words sounded harsh, but were true. First of all, there was the issue of either trying to hide what the child was - which, Saura could guess, would be in vain – or explaining to the family what they were, which would only end in misery, tragedy and possibly violence. Then there was the issue of no one else finding out, of forcing the child to hide such a large, integral part of their self from the world around them. “Our kind must be protected.” 

Saura walked to the second door and opened it, sniffing the air. Nothing, again. While she hadn’t expected to find the child so quickly, it was disappointing nevertheless.

“Exactly,” he grinned a sharp smile, though if Anton had learned anything being surrounded by the humans in London for so many years, it was that the human could be just as fiercely protective of their young-- even if they didn’t know. Anton was of the similar mindset that the young were too troubled and unpredictable to be trusted near the humans. Even if England posed an opportunity for the supernatural species to live in a sort of harmony. 

The spare few houses they searched through seemed to reap the same outcome. It was a strange way to spend the day if he was fully honest. Nottingham reeked of scents, some overpowering others. Wolves though, they seemed to be far from this town. No trails lead to anywhere. Or wandering scents from ronins or strays, actually when was the last time he saw Patrick? Anton had often times made a point to seek out all over England to be sure he had a scent to their faces. 

After some time he paused near a fountain, dipping his hands into the water to take a generous sip. “There are some cottages around Nottingham, small farms to aid the city with.” His suggestion offered came with a concerned furrow, “I hadn’t thought of this before, but when was she bitten? Could this child be a hybrid from when she was a human? I have met a few in England and some have a scent that is almost untraceable to be wolf.”

[patrick-oriley-blog]

Patrick & Anton || A Call To Arms

[antonhilmorsson-blog]

patrick-oriley:

Patrick felt his skin riddle with goosebumps at Anton’s touch. The last time any wolf of any nature had put hands on him was the first time he had even met Anton several years prior, and he went rigid as a plank. He had traveled to London with headstrong intentions; he needed Anton’s guidance and protection to find Orion, not to be called on for other tasks. But something told him that England was about to face a true test. What timing he had...

For a moment Patrick was still lost in the pearl eyes of the strange wolf by the church, and even as he looked upon Anton speaking to him, Patrick swore he saw a resemblance…his jaw line, the bone structure of his cheeks, as if the white-eyed wolf was looking at him through Anton’s face. 

But he shook that strange thought away and chalked it up to the simple fact that he hadn’t allowed himself to be around other wolves that much in the last hundred years…it was better that way. Patrick came out of his trance after Anton spoke the last bit of words.

“My – what? The ones from my past? Oh yeah, like I can just travel over to Ireland real quick and pop in on the pack that banished me and casually ask them to not even fight for me, but for you? What part of “I’ve been on the run for two hundred years” did you not understand? I have no idea if that pack is even around anymore. For all I know their Alpha plucked them from the Dwelling and shipped them off to war somewhere, like it was prophesied by a seer or whatever,“ Patrick’s instinct was to step far away from Anton, but he resisted that urge, and thought better of it. "I didn’t come here for…this, what ever is about to happen. I came because my best friend, my brother, ran off to Athoria and I can’t…I can’t go there alone. I need your help to get him back, to find him,”

Patrick let out a regretful sigh. “But something tells me you won’t, will you?”

Anton patiently awaited to see his reaction. He knew this would be challenging to understand, it wasn’t like the other could know the extent of what was about to happen in a country like England. Who had ever watched the King of England-- Jacob flicker away from control of his own body? To watch the horrifying visual of the demon Jezebeth rise up and consume his blue with black? Anton could barely contain the fear that twisted around his soul, questioning why he was here at all doing this-- but all these people. The humans. The wolves, and millions of supernaturals needed to work together or they would fall apart like the Queen of Athoria was causing. 

He couldn’t lose his home again. 

“They are here,” he calmly said, “you will not have to travel far.” But it seemed his concern wasn’t in anything so global but because of missing family. The other scent that always clung to the other like a magical blanket of protection. The regretful sigh filled the space between them with sadness, and Anton lifted his large hand and wrapped it carefully around his bicep.

“I will find your friend if you ask, but we are about to be met with an army from Athoria. Banners will be called. Everyone will be standing their ground in Wayward Harbor and around the Forest of Dean. To even hope of getting to the other country you must stand with us,” he squeezed to instill some reassurance. “You have duty beyond family sometimes. All these people need you. Redeem yourself-- and I will stand by you after.”

[patrick-oriley-blog]

Patrick & Anton || A Call To Arms

[antonhilmorsson-blog]

patrick-oriley:

Following My Consolation and The King Ask @antonhilmorsson

There was a beginning panic that Patrick could sense outside of London, yet it was subtle and unofficial. That instinct of feeling potentially uncomfortable lingered in the air and attracted itself to Patrick like a Siren to her prey. Shifts in eye movement from the guards at the main gate and merchants who had begun selling their wares at an accelerated price was only the first sign. For a moment he lingered outside of London wondering what type of mood Anton was in today. Surely he could feel the shift too. Surely Gaia had reached to her natural born and told him to be cautious and ready. 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood like static. What was happening? He was unsure. But he had more pressing matters to worry about now.

Patrick stampeded through the bustling streets in search for the Alpha born. His scent was faint but traceable and Patrick pushed his way towards the bridge that crossed the river to the richer part of the massive city. The King’s castle rose like a beacon atop the beautifully carved hill. Well protected yet also giving out a sense of welcoming, it reminded Patrick that he was safe here…technically. That although King Jacob was unaware of his demons that the creature from hell wished for peace, not war. For some strange reason.

It was Sunday and the Church of London had just let the citizens escape from mass, or whatever it was that they did inside those walls. Patrick was unsure. Anton’s scent was strongest in this part, on the edge of the road leading up to Jacob’s territory. This was where the ronin waited. Grunting and pacing around the fountain, Patrick found himself becoming worked up and anxious. What was Anton doing at the castle? There were too many questions and his instinct was screaming that something was wrong. Again, he noticed the slight differences in the guards and attempted to decipher and overhear their odd conversations. They pointed in random directions and then stuck their finger in pieces of parchment, giving orders of where to send their most trusted guards. For what? 

Patrick took in his surroundings further and his eyes landed on a man standing interwoven in the crowd exiting the church. He seemed out of place; brown furs covered only pieces of his body, and his hair was shaggy and dirty. He was handsome, and Patrick wanted to look away but he could not…his eyes were the shade of pearls…and it only lasted several seconds but Patrick felt drawn to him.

Why is he looking right at me? Patrick’s cheekbones squinted in confusion. The world around him seemed to slow down as they stared at one another. Through the haze of scents and smells, Patrick detected that he was also a wolf…but a type of pull or imaginary tug towards this man caused Patrick to step forward as if he were being guided by a rope around his torso towards the strange man… 

A sudden and loud shift of armor and movement towards the castle yanked Patrick’s attention away from the man. Anton Hilmorrson was coming.

    “You think this will change anything?” Fenir barked out, the sound cruel and twisted in a way Anton winced at.

     “Change what?” he asked as they circled one another, the pack relatively quiet in their surroundings. Their hearts steady with the snow stained wind pelting their warm skin with little droplets of melted flakes.

    “Change the fate here? I told you what was to come, do you think you claiming my title will stop it?” Fenir didn’t sound like he actually knew the answer to that statement. And maybe that was the answer. Maybe they needed to change the course of fate so Anton could be in a better position to protect his family.

    “I don’t know–” Anton admitted, feeling hundreds of eyes on him. (x)(x)

Gaia didn’t work in mysterious ways. Not to Anton who carried the blood of the original wolves transformed by her will. He learned long ago of what resided in the Forest of Dean. Why he had to remain in London so close to the demonic King stemmed for this very reason. It’s what made his chest ache in knowing Lailah could find all this shocking in disbelief. To side with a demon was a risk. It couldn’t matter as it hadn’t back then. To break the rules of peace and engage in battle. War didn’t have easy answers. 

You foresaw my rebirth all this time. You prepared me to sever my old ways by slaying my family. To witness new life within humanities walls and cities by encouraging me to London. You allowed me to know Elki who carries a inspiring flag for integrating humanity with Garou peacefully, and to meet Saura who harbors strays and ronins forced into a life I was easily born into. You have lead me to this moment. Why? Why Aharnuz? What future do you see here to trust me with? Do you realize I will always seek peace...

Anton walked on the draw bridge leaving the castle and stood on the very edge of the crowds. He inhaled, stretching all his homid transformed skin to the brink of capacity as his thoughts continued to plea to his Mother. Scents filled his head at an dizzying rate-- familiar ones and others that had crossed paths with the Alpha in the last forty five years. Now was the time to stop another bloodshed-- to protect the lands that inspired change for a future worth living in. The golden iris’ of his beast locked on Patrick, surprised and grateful the other felt the draw to come to him already. 

“You are here,” he said easily, and made his walk towards Patrick clear in intention for the other to remain in place. He paused, placing both palms on Patrick’s shoulders, shaggy hair tangled ruggedly around his expressive face unable to hide to his sympathy mixed with determination as to what was about to happen. His fingers just teased on either side of his neck, wanting his full focus and attention. 

“Do you scent them?” he triggered, wanting Patrick to realize his life always had meaning. In why Anton never removed him from existence stemmed strongly from a bond they always had but Patrick never wanted to see. “You will be faced with your past today-- but whatever opinions you think you have over it won’t matter when I call on you. Do you understand?” Those words were heavy in meaning, knowing these bitten wolves would never have felt such a thing before in their lives. Anton would be sure his call would empower over enslave, he wanted to see the power of England’s wolves united.

“Tonight you will witness a true calling-- one that can not be ignored. I will expect you by my side, to fight for England. Find the ones from your past and bring them to me-- I must travel to the Forest of Dean immediately.” 

[guardiansaura-blog]

Detective work (Anton & Saura)

[antonhilmorsson-blog]

guardiansaura:

While Saura didn’t tend to spend much time in the city, she was somewhat used to the noise, the scents, some of which were less than pleasant to smell. They passed a beggar who smelled like he hadn’t bathed in weeks and Saura wrinkled her nose. There were some things one could never get used to. She wondered how anyone could stand smelling like this, but figured the man’s senses were dulled, blending out his own stench. Saura remembered how she didn’t have that luxury when stuck in the belly of a ship for days if not more. Every time she had caught her own scent she had nearly thrown up.

With a look at the map Anton presented her with, Saura nodded. “Let’s hope the child hasn’t been taken in by their father or someone else,” she said. If that was the case, their chances of finding them were all but non-existent. It would mean they had to check every household, every child. Normally it would be relatively easy to sniff out, but in the heart of the city, focusing on one specific scent was difficult. One’s nose was always assaulted by stronger, more dominant smells.

But she would not let that stop her from doing what had to be done. There was no way they could let the child, who more than likely was a werewolf, alone without anyone to help them with what they were. Leaving one of their own, a child, the thought made Saura feel sick. No, she’d do everything in her power to find the young wolf and see they were amongst other werewolves, not humans who might kill them once the first shift took place. She remembered the confusion, the fear of not knowing what was happening to one’s body, and swore she’d do everything in her power not to let a child go through the same.

There was luck in this lost pup being in England. Of anywhere else in the world he wasn’t so sure this child would be as accepted in. It was discerning how freely the supernaturals walked around so freely, even though most of the humans didn’t entirely know what was happening-- there was some level of understanding that the world was much bigger than they knew. It was nothing like Athoria-- where a lost pup found would most likely be slaughtered or sold off. Hadn’t that happened before? He’s heard stories but he’s just never had the proof of them. 

This was why pack life was so important. Anton understood Elki’s drive to bring together even the ronin’s and strays. The wolves would always be better as one than separate-- even among traitors and disappointments. A wolf would come to a true alpha’s call if it was summoned-- apart of Anton wondered if he howled upon the highest mountain if his brother would find him.  

“You will take this child I assume?” he inquired to Saura, peeking into the window of the first orphanage. There were children playing in the small yard on the side of the stucco building. Scents of lunch of meat and cheeses filled his nose easily. They looked so happy. Content to their small slice of life. How glorious to not have to worry about anything but what one was too eat and how many hours of the day they could play. Little ones always struck a chord in the old wolf who missed his great-grandkids like a dagger in his heart. 

“What if they are content with their family here?” he inquired, moving around to open the first door and see if this pup was here. 

[antonhilmorsson-blog]

Hux: Do you have the ability to keep a level head in frustrating situations?

“depends on the situation--”

[patrick-oriley-blog]

Patrick & Anton || I Won’t Surrender || FB: 9 Years Ago

[antonhilmorsson-blog]

patrick-oriley:

He was instantly frustrated, but whether or not that was against his own self or this Anton wolf he would never really know. 

Though it did not settle the raging beast inside his chest that longed to claw its way out, to feast and attack, to defend himself against this wolf who thought he knew everything about him. This was why he stayed away from other monsters like himself; they were nosy and curious, and needed to know everything about him in order to trust him. Others in the past had hunted him after hearing his story and connecting the dots, after realizing who he was and what he had given up to become the ronin disgrace. Their loyalties rested with Elki, not Patrick. To them, he was just another waste of Gaia’s energy on this earth. Why wouldn’t this beast before him feel the same way?

Patrick knew his status in the world. This was the consequence for abandonment. Not once, but twice.

“An old pack in Ireland. I don’t know if they are even around anymore, okay? I left them almost three hundred years ago. It’s not a brand really it’s just…it just means I was bitten into the pack. That’s how they kept track,”

Patrick appreciated the wolf stepping away but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still a threat. He attempted to collect himself, hoping that his answers were enough to escape for now. The testosterone between them was enough to break apart the nearest mountain. Tension between opposing wolves never ended well in Patrick’s experience. That primal need and urge to own and claim usually overcame those that spoke to Patrick, who seemed to unintentionally invoke that instinct inside of them. 

“If your going to kill me, then just do. Don’t linger on the thought or the idea of it only to wake up one night and decide that I suddenly don’t belong in England. If I don’t have a chance here because of this, because of you, because of stupid and idiotic decisions that I made in my youth around Elki and his pack then tell me now so I can leave the country. You know who I am, they all do. The story of the coward from Vargulf, the story of the unworthy wolf, the ungrateful wolf, the undeserving wolf. I bet in those stories about me they don’t mention the fact that we never fought, that he kept me alive, that he told me to go so I did. I left and I didn’t have to. I could have stayed but I didn’t. And now?” Patrick exhaled deep, pausing for a moment in disbelief that he was even speaking so much to begin with. “This is my punishment. Packless. Worthless. Ruthless,” 

Patrick’s shoulders slumped in exhaustion. “So kill me now or let me go for good, just like he did. It’s the only way for me to survive,”

Anton listened. It wasn’t a new conflict he was facing today, no matter how special most ronins believed themselves to be in their rebellion this one felt the burn of it. The forever backlash of failure that he would face for the rest of his life. Even more so because he ruined it with Elki of all the wolves in the world to understand ronins and the unwanted. Anton wouldn’t have shown any ounce of caring if he had showed up on his shores in Iceland. They didn’t do bitten wolves, and they surely didn’t do ronins. 

But England was not his. 

“Foolish--” Anton added, “you are foolish to believe you can be anything without your family and that they can be anything without you. To stun your self the opportunity to be everything Gaia gifted you with is a waste. Regardless, if she so believed you were worthless as you claim she would have guided me here to end your life.” Anton felt a strong instinct to lash out, to strike the wolf’s face and bring more pride than this blistering resignation. It wasn’t often he was intrigued by ronins. But his brand held meaning-- Anton knew just by scenting him that there was more between them. Something familiar...something old. 

The old creature sighed. “Punishment won’t matter in the long run iurhir. There will come a time when you are called on. A time when you realize that it is only you holding yourself back on potential. So run. Be gone--” Anton didn’t make to move, but he didn’t hold a friendly expression. A deep frown etched into his features. Disappointment tasted in the air. “Don’t come back to London again unless you call me.”

[antonhilmorsson-blog]

Brothers Keeper || Tanner&Anton

[antonhilmorsson-blog]

tannerabbitt:

Forever filled with the emotion and stagnant veracity of an adolescent, Tanner felt the corners of his eyes swell with tears. The same anxious feeling erupted in the pits of his chest, though the anxiety now was different, maybe misplaced. Ronin. It was a disgraced term to those of natural born blood, to those who still had a pack and did not accept outcasts into their own. Though something was different now that the young wolf heard it roll off the tongue of the ancient blooded elder; ronin meant differently to Tanner than it did to Anton. For years Tanner had seen the result of some ronin wolves come to Vargulf and be accepted by Elki Etu, who was known to instill his trust and encouragement to those that had made mistakes in their past lives. Tanner could not recall those wolves to be murderers or cruel to the point of being pardoned for no reason, and Tanner would be no different than them. However, this was a choice. His banishment would be considered betrayal, and perhaps the worse of them all.

Without permission to leave and maybe come back at a later time, Tanner’s name would be tainted in the eyes of Vargulf tribe.

“Do you think she will steer me back?”

It was more whispered then spoken, more rhetoric then with expected answer. Tanner had gone years without being taken seriously, and maybe he shouldn’t have been able to make this decision on his own, without guidance. But he was realizing that that was part of the issue, that everything Tucker had said in this regard was true. Tanner would never be stronger and wiser without allowing himself to become his own version of this unique and strange wolf –  this rarity – that he was. Acceptance was difficult. Even in human times he was told what to do, how to act. And maybe he never really listened much, and the rebellion towards his parents was easy. It had been expected of him to move on, grow up, get married, and become a man. And Tanner had wanted that for himself…to have children, be a grandfather, own a home. He just wanted to do it in his own way.

Tanner caught movement behind Anton in the trees where Tucker was. How he had even gotten there that quick was a mystery Tanner couldn’t quite fathom right now. In fact, just thinking about what else his brother could do as a human made Tanner momentarily oppose the werewolf inside of his skin. Weighing his decision came out equal on both ends; he was terrified of Tucker, but he suddenly trusted him without worry.

“I’ll carve out my brand myself,” Tanner knew the importance of disowning the pack name. “I won’t let anyone know where I’m from. I won’t let any harm come back here,”

A foghorn was heard from the docks in the city, noting to everyone around that the next boat would be leaving any moment. This is what caused Tucker to escape from his place in the trees. He landed silently with his bow in his hand, always ready to defend and fight if need be. Tanner swallowed hard, then nodded to him behind the old beast.

“That’s my brother,”

Tucker walked with haste, fearless but on guard, towards his smaller brother in front of Anton. His wrappings has been replaced around his head during his travel south, revealing only a matching set of eyes. He placed his free hand on Tanner’s shoulder. “We must leave,”

“Okay,”

Tanner inhaled deep, hoping to shroud his desperate need to weep. His home, his belongings – everything would be left behind. Tanner ran his fingers against the feathers on his tomahawks in passive remembrance. His words became choked towards Anton. “I can’t say goodbye…not to you…”

Tucker squeezed his shoulder as if to know where this fit of emotion would lead to again. He may not have known Tanner his entire life but the connection was always there. Tucker removed the wrappings from his face, allowing Anton to see him for the human he was.

“I’m just a man,” Tucker spoke to Anton with a bluntness that was bitter, but in that moment his voice expressed exhaustion. He wasn’t young anymore, though some might mistaken him as such given the way he had shown himself the past year. Tucker yearned for anyone in Tanner’s life to approve of this decision, even if it was not truly sincere. Having someone speak on his brothers behalf was suddenly more important than he realized. “Like you, I have studied packs around the world throughout my years. I’ve been searching mostly for the pack that left Egypt. But they’re gone. And for centuries their absence has allowed for more bloodshed than the Vikings would ever know. A demon lead me to Egypt to train, told me that it was not only for my fate but for my brothers. I did not know what they meant at the time, I did not even know that Tanner was alive until the year before last. It was then that I realized the connection; the wolves aren’t coming back to Egypt – we must bring one to them,”

Tucker squeezed Tanner’s shoulder again. “Gaia is not done with him. She will show him tragedy of the present and mercilessness of the future. I need Tanner to see the fate of my city, the fate of my country. To do so he must be far away from Athoria, for this country taints the mind. And forgive me, but he is meant for something more than what he has received here,”

The foghorn blew once again, a single cry that was their final chance to board. Tanner knew that it was time. He plucked a feather from one of his tomahawks, opened Anton’s hand and placed it inside. “It’s from one of the Great Eagles. I swear I saw one once but no one believed me. But I know you do, you always do,”

He started walking backwards with Tucker who was already on the move towards the ports town. But something stopped him, for a very simple and very childish moment. Tanner ran back to Anton and collided with his torso. “Thank you,” he mumbled against his massive chest of furs before releasing him and scurrying away.

Tanner held back tears as him and Tucker boarded the ship just as it was pulling away from the docks. The young wolf watched sensitively until his country was just a spot in the distance. As it faded from view, Tanner rushed to the back of the boat and stood on the wooden planks until he was practically dangling off the sides. With his throat contorting to his wolven form, Tanner let out the longest and painstakingly saddest howl that he could muster.

He said goodbye to Athoria.

[solely-oz]

The Ignorant Isle  //  Anton & Oz

[antonhilmorsson-blog]

solely-oz:

Oz was honestly pleasantly taken off-guard by the man’s admittance about where he was going. It wasn’t everyday that Oz came across someone who was heading in the direction of the castle, and the man said it in such a way that Oz doubted he would be turned away from seeing whoever he demanded to. It was exciting enough to cause his grin to spread just a little wider, and it seemed to make a stronger, warmer light exude from him than had even a moment before the chance to hop on board with this adventure that the man seemed to be heading on. Was it even an adventure for the man? Well, the adventure for Oz would lie within finding out the very answer to that question, it seemed.

“I was planning to go where the next location was that someone mentioned to me, and I am so glad to hear that it may be a place with some hearths to provide some warmth,” he replied, grin turning cheeky and knowing for a moment, as if there was ever a time where he would need to seek a hearth for fire to warm himself. “At the very least, I am just happy you did not say you were on your way to Hereford. That would hardly make my travels more enjoyable at all, and I do like to avoid boring and dismal traveling. It’s bad for one’s health, so someone supposedly of repute said once many years ago, I believe.”

He was talking almost too fast to keep up, but that was simply the way Oz was, and he was already moving to step alongside the other man. Reaching out, he patted a hand on the man’s shoulders and continued walking in the direction he seemed to have been heading. “My name is Oz, just so you know. One should never make a new companion without learning at least their name, even if it will be forgotten. You look like a Bronson or a Warrick or a Stewart, but I will allow you to actually tell me your name before I make any further assumptions. Am I heading in the right direction? I would say I hate to look the fool so early after meeting someone, but I should think it wouldn’t be hard to believe I do it very often.”

Anton found a strained yet understanding smile twitch against his lips. He wasn’t in a large rush-- knowing even if any delay that he could still make it to the castle on time. He was nervous more than anything if he dared to admit it. Lailah would lose her mind over his plan to speak to the demon King. His banter was welcome, the old creature quite use to being around younger men with his trade profession to not find it annoying. He still walked calmly-- an eye of solider just catching the Castle over the bridge and into the richest part of London. 

“I have known such names-- and they are decent guesses. But my name is Anton Hilmorrson,” his Nordic dialect surfaced easily, congesting the consonants with older tongues than English. Oz’s bounding steps were playful, pulling heartstrings from the beast as the cobblestones opened up to the bridge. Here you could really see the grander of London. The towering walls of the bright white castle standing starkly against the bluest skies. Did no one here realize the danger coming? How peaceful everyone was today. Enjoying their time just like this gentlemen wanting a companion to walk with. 

“Do you believe in any Gods?” he inquired kindly, even around the other’s jolly spew of words Anton was this boulder in the sands. An appearing anchor to the very Earth that could almost allow everyone else to experience things because of it. As if he willed it himself. He could feel the pull of his Mother today. Her influence was around him, telling him to go here with every instinct burning hotly in encouragement. But the why was the missing piece. Always was with Gods. 

“I believe things happen for a reason-- some greater purpose. Sometimes horrible things take place, and through that grief you are guided to another location. Thinking all along you are escaping-- healing. But its just part of the plan unknowingly until a moment arises and you know. You know it wasn’t a mistake you are here when it comes,” Anton peered over to Oz, sighing quietly among themselves in weighted thoughts. “Fate unraveling without a say-- you believe?”

[guardiansaura-blog]

Detective work (Anton & Saura)

[antonhilmorsson-blog]

guardiansaura:

Wrapping up all her business in Richmond had not taken long. Even though Saura had not told any of her packmembers where exactly she was going and why, the sense of urgency that hung heavily around her was enough to make them keep quiet. Saura didn’t want to worry them, especially if it all turned out to be less dangerous than Saura and Anton imagined. But something, a gut-feeling Saura liked to attribute to Gaia guiding her instincts, told her they were right; the situation was dire and required their immediate attention. So she got her small satchet of belongings she always brought with her, hung it around her neck and then shifted into wolven form. Anton, Saura knew, was waiting for her a bit further away, as to not attract her pack’s attention. If they discovered the other wolf was accompanying her, they might start to question what was going on. Saura didn’t want to burden them with the issue, at least not until they could verify it was serious.

Her ginger fur was tangled with dirt, leaves and small branches, blending in almost perfectly with her surroundings as Saura ran through the woods towards where Anton was waiting. She could smell his scent, faintly, but getting stronger, leading her way. It didn’t take long, but was still enough to give her time to think. Her packmate’s destiny had always resonated with Saura, as she had gone through something similar. The redhead’s own suffering had been worse, longer, but that didn’t make her packmate’s own less tragic and wrong. If she indeed had a child that was hidden somewhere, probably amongst humans, Saura felt it was her duty to find them. Not only because they had to prevent humans finding out what they were, that they existed, but also because she was the Alpha. It was her job to take care of her charges.

Saura broke through the bushes and trotted onto the clearing, shifting back onto two feet in a smooth effortless movement. In front of her stood Anton, looking ready to go. The female werewolf nodded her head at him and stretched. “Let’s go,” she said grimly. The less time they wasted, the better.

This entire situation made him angry, which was a rare emotion for Anton indulge himself in. He was cool as ice on most dealings, mind clear and free from distractions. The years it had taken to perfect how he wanted to lead made him at times felt sculpted from clay and rock. It was important to always leave open opportunity to learn. There wasn’t anyone perfect in the world. It was the fact there was a very young wolf lost in the throw of humans without knowing what they will become that has his stomach twisted. Children always burrowed and congested his chest in emotions he couldn’t hope to hide from his typically frowned face. 

When Saura appeared before Anton he was pacing. He had dealt with the wolves who had entered his city with desires to find this wolf without putting the connection to Saura’s pack. It really was a Lupis Harva matter now, but there was pride in comradery. The job will hopefully be complete tonight-- at least he believed so. They were about to look through what was millions of children in England with hopes to find one. 

They took off towards Nottingham first. The city was overflowing with humans and witches. It would be a great place to get their barrings, to sniff out what needed to be without too much detection. The crowds were almost a shock. So many people-- scents-- visual stimulation had the werewolf’s instincts screaming to go back outside the walls where they belonged. 

“There are two places here for orphaned children that I know of--” he showed the crude map he had a traveler help doctor up. “We will have to start with the ones that are actually easy to find as I can’t imagine them getting roped up with anything too illicit.” 

[casaharington]

[antonhilmorsson-blog]

Twilight Burns FB30 || Din&Anton

[antonhilmorsson-blog]

earth-fire-din:

Once the old scene had faded, the new one shocked Din. He was being pushed down by Anton. Din unprepared for the pressure applied to the top of his head, stumbled slightly before seating himself on the floor. A boat. They were on a boat. The ocean was heard crashing around him and many men, sailors he assumed, were loud and rowdy in their conversations. 

“Don’t let them hear you,” Anton warned. Din wouldn’t. He was already very quiet by nature and he thought the men were being so loud, they probably wouldn’t hear Din unless he screamed out. Though he wouldn’t dare make any noises to give themselves away, he cowered down as close to Anton as he could, making himself appear even smaller than he truly was. The tarp that covered them was left open just slightly enough to see out. Din could barely make out the scene though; the men were moving about so quickly. 

When he realized he couldn’t make anything out, the fae turned back to the werewolf beside him. He gasped at his appearance. He was transformed, blood dripping from his face. Though he appeared as an animal, he still spoke. Din heard the words clear as day. He couldn’t help but reach out and touch the fur of his face, gently as not to disrupt his speech. 

“Have you heard any stories about these humans?” 

Din shook his head in affirmation. He hadn’t just heard the stories, he lived through it. He remembered when the vikings came through Athoria and wreaked havoc while destroying everything they came in contact with. It was sad to watch the battle occur with little that he could do to stop it without revealing too much magick. He had helped in small ways as best he could with his brothers and other supernaturals. Din had always had a way of letting things run their course. God had plans for the Earth and His creatures on it. Din wasn’t here to change the course of history, just assist. 

“Yes,” he finally spoke. “I know.” He reached out again to squeeze at Anton’s leg. He couldn’t imagine how Anton must have felt, loosing his family. Din would be lost without his brothers and the pain he would feel if they were taken from him would be unimaginable. Because of that Din wanted to help Anton in anyway he could. 

The warmth from the other’s touch always seemed to penetrate far deeper than skin to fur should allow. Like this creature beside him was attempting to heal him with the power of a volcano, or wake him from things far too etched in his memory to escape from with a rumbling earth quake. It was in contrast to his soft speaking voice, as if the other had to be careful when he talked for fear of blowing his mind apart with such simple words. 

Anton never backed down and rarely did he seek comfort for himself when he probably needed it more than admitted. It was probably why he cared so much for Lailah. Her holy resonance soothed the beast in promised ways she could be the only one that ever will. Nothing could meet the warmth of a touch from his mate-- or her gaze, scent...his children. 

The fact Din knew of these humans made his heart hammer. How could they be so bloodthirsty? Did they not have guidance or proper leadership? Was their God vengeful and their anger too consuming to not be sedated by anything but slaughter? Often he had questioned if what happened to his home had been the will of his Mother. But maybe it was far less than that. Humans making decisions and the wolves having reacted. 

“What are you?” he asked, the muzzle of the beast wedged just under Din’s arm pit, attempting to scent him but the dream world was warped and distorted. “Why travel here-- there is no benefit to see what all I have been through. Trapped forever here while I sleep. Remembering faces I am slowly forgetting, memories tied to longing and sadness. Why endure this nightmare?”

[patrick-oriley-blog]

Patrick & Anton || I Won’t Surrender || FB: 9 Years Ago

[antonhilmorsson-blog]

patrick-oriley:

Patrick detested being asked questions about his past, or even about who he was in general. He did well to avoid those situations, and even if he was surrounded by a few fun drunk men in a tavern the stories always came out human-friendly. There were no talks about packs and being hunted or disgraced, just about survival and adventure, and traveling across the world. He could share stories about the mountains near Russia or the beautiful woman in Paris that were surrounded by a vampire lineage, or about the countless other locations that him and Orion had spent the last decades scurrying to and from. Orion did well to hide many aspects of Patrick’s memory from in general, even some memories from himself. It was better that way. Patrick squinted and attempted to recall the best choice of words for his response, not wanting to have to respond in  the first place…but he didn’t exactly have a choice.

“If you don’t know then we’ll keep it that way,” Patrick grunted with misplaced anger, wanting to run again and get away from this man that was choosing to invade his space. So he flipped over a table, big deal? There were worse things he could do in a ronin state, and Patrick had survived longer than any other ronin him and Orion had ever met out on the road. He stayed alive by following the rules, keeping a low profile and living a fairly human life (ironically like he did with Kevan and the family…) His temper and paranoia today had gotten the better of him, probably because Orion wasn’t around to keep him in check.

They needed each other for such chaotic reasons.

“I am nothing from no where. The brand is centuries old it’s…it’s not even a brand really it’s just…there wasn’t an Alpha okay? Look you don’t understand…” Patrick looked away, only randomly during the conversation attempting to catch his eyes…but it wasn’t needed. The other wolf was staring him down like prey. The static in his chest reminded Patrick to stay alert, and reminded him that, like so many times before, he could weasel himself out of the situation if he said just enough. But he’d be damned if he told some random wolf the details of his history, no matter who he was in Iceland or what his intentions were in England. Patrick didn’t care. “Let me go, I’ll leave again…wouldn’t be the first time, won’t be the last,”

No. That brand. That symbol. It sparked ancient memories in Anton. There was something familiar about it as if he had a conversation about its design much like now-- but a very long time ago. There wasn’t an Alpha? So it was a pack of mutts or their Alpha traveled and the dynamics allowed for them to some how live how they lived. But he couldn’t stop staring at the brand marred on his hand of all places. Was he an omega there? Someone not worthy of anyone’s time and space? He clearly didn’t have love for those memories. I am nothing from no where. Signified that he hadn’t lost anything even upon leaving. 

Anton couldn’t blame any ronin to run, but Patrick was posing a problem Anton couldn’t find answers too in this moment. That old pack brand was bothering him greatly, like a splinter that couldn’t be removed from under his nail. He needed time to process, to maybe write Elki a letter. He took a step back, having mapped enough of the wolf’s scent to give him an idea of where he resided in England. Once he found him again he will keep an eye on things between his work. 

A wolf’s scent bank could be extremely vast, and Hilmorsson blood was very rare now. If the other wanted to find him as well it would not be difficult. 

“Quiet--you were somewhere. Tell me,” the words pulled deeply, a sigh filling the space between them with warm air. “I understand more about you in these few moments than you probably realize. I was not here to chase tail with you, but I am interested now. Tell me and you can go.”

[solely-oz]

The Ignorant Isle  //  Anton & Oz

[antonhilmorsson-blog]

solely-oz:

Oz had departed from Chile Village as if there was an angry mob hot on his heels once again, and this time he wasn’t going to let them or their duplicates or whatever those things were roaming around put him back on the pyre again. For all the cockiness he could possess naturally and by painting on a face, he knew not to test his luck with a burning stake again. Whether that creature he saw was a phoenix or not, he wasn’t going to go through burning alive again to figure it out. So he’d fled from the Village, breathless and nearly unable to walk as he arrived in the next nearest village he found and secured a horse to take him to the Ports. He used all the remaining coins on him to pay for the horse and for passage onto a ship that was departing from England within moments of him arriving on the docks to inquire. 

That had been weeks ago, and it was the first time since arriving at the School that he spent more time with his nose buried in a book than trying to get away with reading as little as possible. He wanted to call on Freya for guidance, for some kind of explanation, but he knew that there had to be too many others who were interested in talking with the woman. Young as she was in the eyes of some, her name was enough to convince people that she still must hold great wisdom beyond her years. Was that really the power of a last name? If it was, Oz was glad to not be burdened with one. Especially not when he was now burdened with more than he’d ever anticipated. 

To look into one’s own eyes is a chilling experience, and he still cannot entirely recall some of the things he did afterward. He remembers the two boys who looked alike, though. Remembers one getting struck with an arrow with precision that would have awed him if it didn’t split his heart in half to see something with so little life destroyed. As much as he wanted to seek out the advice of the older members of the Coven when he returned, he instead opted to simply find as many scrolls and books as he could, determined to get an answer for himself for once. There were so many things he needed answers. How could duplications of a person occur? He knew it was not simply someone who looked like him - it was him. How could he be certain he was the real Oz? And then there was the subject he always approached with reluctance: mental magic and how it feels when one is under the influence of it. He doesn’t remember what occurred before, but he remembers suddenly feeling as though he was not the only person in charge of his own mind. Freya would know, but… Freya was needed.

This was the first time he’d travelled out of Nottingham since returning home. He needed to perform more frequently than usual, rely on the good will of some of his friends to allow him to join them in a piece so he could get a cut of it. Too much of his money had been wasted on his trip to Athoria, and though there was little he ever saved for aside from costume and props, he didn’t like feeling so relieved at the sight of a flashing coin as it was flicked toward him. It made him feel too much like he was a child in Chile again, trying to cover up his begging by making it seem like a show with songs and stories. Now he had his fire, though, and it drew in more money. And it helped him to feel as though he did it all for more than just the coins and compliments tossed his way.

He was in desperate need of a break from the School and Nottingham as a whole, though, and decided it was perhaps time to take his show on the road for a few days. Finding himself in an unfamiliar location, however, he quickly wasted no time in approaching a man who he convinced himself looked both local and helpful and waved to get his attention. “Excuse me, I seem to have turned myself around too many times. I’m a little lost, could you help me?”

If there was anything Anton was prepared for-- it was war. 

It was something easy to overlook in him. Especially for what his pack had been known for. Their brand was the rune for Peace, and their people were open for all lupis wolves around the world to seek sanctuary-- once upon a time. But peace is harder to keep than people realize and Anton, though sought lesser violent alternatives, he was an Alpha Born who battled an army until the ice turned red with his entire family and swallowed him up.

News from Wayward Harbor reached his attuned ears quickly being that he had just left Athoria in what was probably moments before anything felt suspicious. Anton picked apart the rumors, he saw the signs as if the Queen was writing them in the sky herself. There was a change in wind-- the softest reminders that his mother whispered in his ears and alerted him to a feeling he hadn’t felt since Iceland and stood upon the edge of their home and watched the army appear out of the snow.

He needed to speak to the King. Not Jacob. No...the demon Anton and Lailah talked about between the sheets when he wanted to understand how this entire place worked. He knew of an ancient pack within the Forest of Dean being that he ran to Wayward Harbor so often. So well hidden even Anton hadn’t seen them from the edges but the line was there as scents stun his nose and made even his instincts tell him to walk away. Maybe it was time they had a leader. 

He turned. Head buzzing with concerns and losses. 

“I am heading to the castle-- is that where you are going? Court should be happening soon,”

[antonhilmorsson-blog]

Brothers Keeper || Tanner&Anton

[antonhilmorsson-blog]

tannerabbitt:

Tanner squinted at Anton’s howl, not out of fear but out of pure resignation and how particular close to Anton he was standing at the time. He hadn’t prepared for all of this to happen right now, this soon after discovering who the assassin was and what was expected of Tanner. Elki and his warriors would come soon to see what the fuss was about and to welcome their friend onto Athorian soil. But Tanner did not want Elki to see him leave, and he especially did not want Elki to see his brother in the state that he was…who he was. No, if Tanner had any chance of leaving, it needed to be on the next ship. 

Tucker was right, after all. They needed to leave tonight.

“It’s Tucker,” he exhaled, his brothers name still sounding foreign on his tongue after not speaking the syllables for so long. “Gaia’s dream…it wasn’t just a dream Anton it was a memory. Distorted of course but – in the dream Tucker killed the bear, he killed the beast. I saw it happen, I felt it happen –” Tanner remembered it all too well, and his body shivered at the blood and the sting of the blade. “He said he went home afterward and mother had sacrificed herself for a demon summoning, and the demon told him of a place where he could go to avenge me. Tucker has been alive this whole time fighting a war in Egypt. I’ve never heard of the place but you would know, right? He’s a good guy over there. He has to be. He said the royals in that country are awful, they kill their citizens, they slay them and take from them. Tucker has been fighting this whole time but now he’s here. He’s here for me,”

Tanner’s words had been more precise and not so overwhelming, but even as he spoke them his voice had gotten softer as if the reality of leaving with his brother was finally coming to light now that he had stopped and slowed down.

“He protected me –” he shook his head. “He said I can help him make a difference, learn my full potential. He doesn’t –” he pressed his lips together, knowing that his next set of words would not sit well with his Alpha friend. “He said that I have learned nothing here. And I – well, I agree with him. I want to be stronger. I want to save people! I can’t do anything here. I would never be ready for war,” he looked at Anton with determination. “Tucker saved me countless times this year…times where I should I have been dead. From guards in Monir after touching the coin, to the witches in the woods, to bandits with Sera. I couldn’t protect myself. But he says if I go with him then he’d teach me to be an assassin like him and save his city. All I’ve ever wanted was to be a spy, a warrior. This just feels right,”

Tanner looked in the distance where eventually his fellow packmates would emerge. He still had time. 

“Elki wouldn’t let me go. He’d kill Tucker. I have to –” he swallowed hard, realizing the truth behind his own words. “ – I have to leave before he comes,”

Tucker. His brother was the cause of all this. Family was a blessing from Gaia, and a thorn in Anton’s fucking side. Was he set to cause doom between brothers? The words ‘the assassin saved him’ forged anger up his spine. Anton wanted to call the younger out on this, explain that there were always peaceful ways to handle any situation. The idea of Tanner wanting to be mentored by someone who killed first and asked questions later was the exact type of person Anton would eliminate for the better good of his-- pack.

Tucker tapped into every kids wildest dreams. And it was worse for Tanner because before him wasn’t a child but someone well into their thirties. Adolescence bound to him in ways no one entirely understood. So maybe this type of adventure would be best over being surrounded with his home-- his true family. Anton felt flashed back to an older time when he had his sons saying their goodbyes. Not for good, no they were explaining why they weren’t staying in their main encampment. How they each wanted a chance to build a home, take on unique responsibilities. How his one boy left for Spain to spy for them...it all was somehow still part of Gaia’s will for the pack.

The next words were the truest he’s heard since they met. 

“I should kill him,” Anton said deeply, a hinted tone of old tongues lingering in the very back of his throat. “You do-- I will not make this choice for you. If you run away there are consequences. You will be ronin-- I should tear your brand out.” The words were meant to be mean-- to illicit some fear into Tanner to see reason. “But I will not. Your spirit is too free to contain you-- Gaia gave you these visions for a reason. And if I have learned anything...” 

He paused, the weight of very old wounds about his brother carving open violently within him that he didn’t ever want to allow access too. A frown etched between his brows, ears perked and phased towards the woods. He reached out and cupped just under Tanner’s cheeks-- delivering a sigh that some how spoke more about how he felt about everything than he could ever put to proper words. 

“I will tell Elki where you went, but if you are to go-- you should leave now. Don’t lose Gaia Tanner Abbitt. If she steers you back-- listen.”