disgraced.

Patrick O'Riley || 390 Ronin Werewolf Child of England --- Packless. Ruthless.Worthless

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A Call To Arms Moodboard (Shadowhunter Version)

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Patrick & Anton || A Call To Arms

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antonhilmorsson:

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?”

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,”

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A howl is as infectious to a wolf as a yawn is to a human.

Kevin Ansbro

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“She’s pretending like she didn’t miss you...and you’re pretending like you don’t give a damn,”

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Patrick & Anton || A Call To Arms

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antonhilmorsson:

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. 

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,”

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Hilmorsson || Self Para || SWP

Continued Self Para from A Call To Arms reply

“You...”

Patrick felt his heart explode from underneath of his chest at the sight of Reagan.

“Me,” Reagan shrugged nonchalantly as if it were just another day, but her ruby lips crept into an undeniable grin that Patrick could only remember from his dreams. He swiped his hands down his face and shook his head, deciding that without Orion’s magic to protect his mind that he was truly going insane. He pressed his palms against his sockets. 

“No, no, no. You aren’t real. This can’t be real,” he practically cried, grunting and shivering at the thought of opening his eyes again...only to see her. But when he did, Reagan never looked more beautiful. The wind caught her hair and sun kissed her skin in ways that he was never able to appreciate before. Flashbacks of Kevan and his abuse sprang to life at her sight. Unable to hold back anything, Patrick’s eyes swelled. 

“It’s really me,”

Reagan looked at her companion and he responded with a simple nod, though his white-colored eyes remained looking blankly at the sky. Cautiously she left his side and stepped towards Patrick with her hands stretched, then took his hands quickly before he could disregard her. She wrapped them in her own small ones, then placed his palm on the front of her chest. “Feel that? Don’t you remember? You used to listen to my heart as if it were the last thing you’d ever hear. Hey,” she reached her other hand up and placed it on his cheek. “We’re here to protect you,”

“I don’t....I don’t need your help Reagan,” Patrick shook his head, unconvinced that this was real, but too weak to step away. For centuries he had dreamed of her, dreamed of Reagan in her snarky and competitive element and the two of them together living peacefully on some stupid hill in a stupid town in a stupid country, simply away from Kevan and her gullible husband. He dreamed and dreamed until Orion would shut him up with wards and memory lapses, so that Patrick could go a few days without breaking down, without remembering how he really felt about her, and what it was like to loose her.

But without him here, without the wards and the protection, without Orion...Patrick was nothing.

“I’m sorry I let you leave,” Reagan sighed, her fingers going to his hair. “So much has happened...I tried to find you,”

“You didn’t try hard enough,”

“I thought Elki was taking care of you...”

“He didn’t,”

“I know,”

There was a soft silence as Patrick connected with her heartbeat, feeling the beat pump through his hand and rejuvenate parts of him that had been completely empty. He thought of Anton and his words again, and it twitched him out of his sentimental memory of the better times between him and Reagan.

They are here

They?

Patrick gathered himself enough to break the connection with Reagan. He looked behind her finally at the blind man with the deep wolfish scent. “Who are you?”

Reagan took Patrick’s hand and lead him to the other. Closer up, the man stood rigid and prepared, as if the white of his eyes would suddenly transform into wolfish hues in an instant. Patrick thought maybe he’d reach out his hand and wrap it around his exposed throat and choke him to death for even speaking. A submissive part of him came naturally at the closeness of other wolves, though a stubbornness rested there as well.

There was an aura about him that made Patrick feel...complacent, as if he had known this man his whole life, as if he owed him everything and feared him at the same time. It took everything he had not to bend the knee, thank this random stranger for showing Reagan to him after centuries of being alone. Patrick found himself standing quite still. Something told him there was more to this wolf then met the eye. Reagan gently pressed her fingers against the mans wrist, and as a result he held out his hand for Patrick to take. Almost immediately, Patrick slipped his hand into his. “Who are you?” He asked again more quietly, feeling a connection course through his body at the touch of this wolf against his skin.

“My name is Fenir Hilmorrson,”

Hilmorsson?

“My brother is Anton Hilmorrson of the ancient Iceland pack. I was banished, and now I am back,”

Patrick’s eyes shifted to Reagan, who only smirked comfortably. 

“Patrick O’Riley, I have been waiting to meet you in person for quite some time. The years have made me privy to a destiny I tried very hard to control but failed, a destiny driven by Mother Gaia herself. I am here for my brother, I am here to aid him as Gaia requests, as I have foreseen with the Gift of Sight, my blessing and curse. But mostly I am here for you,”

“For...me?” The grip on Patrick’s hand increased as Fenir pulled him closer. He staggered forward, nearly falling into the ancient werewolf in front of him.

“I am the True Alpha, and you are my kin,”

From the fancy docks at Rochester, hundreds of boats floated nonchalantly into the harbor. The humans of the wealthy city flocked to their fences overlooking the water and gossiped in awe of the scene. No ships had ever really come this way, not this close. What are they, mad? But they were not. From the vessels came hundreds more rowing boats that met a confused and strange welcome at the cities white beaches and docks. Emerging from the boats were endless people dressed for apparent war. They carried weapons forged of odd steel with shiny gems and blood coating the exterior of their blades. They dressed in feathered and fur attire, in hats and mixmatched clothing that made them appear as street-scum in a poor city. They smelled of the sea and carnage, and as they made their way through the city from the depths of their boats, they touched nothing and harmed no one. Though citizens of Rochester closed their blinds and witnessed the flood of people pass through their city barely making a sound, most hid themselves away and hoped for it to be over. 

They marched and marched, through Rochester and onto the King’s Road without stopping, without speaking. Patrick smelled them before he saw them come into view across the horizon; an army of werewolves from across the sea from a place that he would never understand, a pace he would ever know. Fenir grinned as his blind eyes starred straight ahead at nothing, and he reached for Reagan to turn him towards his massive pack.

Patrick was in awe and dumbstruck; he said nothing...just swallowed hard and ignored the throbbing in his brain that told him to run, run, run!

“Children, I thank you for adhering to your call. Those that trust the Gift of Sight knew that this day was upon us. As your Alpha, we will aid my brother in the war of his land. We will protect his people as though they are our own. You will slaughter and murder anyone who stands in the way of your new family. This is your home now. Defend it with everything that you believe in,”

The homid werewolves chattered among themselves as Patrick stood there shaking in his boots. Reagan turned her head and winked at him.

“Patrick,” Fenir turned to face the ronin wolf, and never had Patrick been more terrified in his life. “You will lead us to Anton,”

The request was somehow expected, though Patrick did not wish to answer or be a part of this. He did not ask to meet his true Alpha from a pack that littered him in worthlessness. He did not ask to fight for Anton or protect this country that was gradually becoming less and less of his home the more apart from Orion he was. Reagan caught his eye and she nodded, urging him to say something. But he could not. Patrick’s voice caught in his throat like a frog, and he emitted a painful cry and stepped backwards.

“I -- I can’t,” 

He prayed for Orion. He prayed for this to be some fucked up dream that the magic was failing to protect. But the scents from the hundreds of wolves standing behind their Alpha were overwhelming; it felt too real to be a dream. 

“I sense your fear. Trust me when I say that I have tasted this same fear, this same regret. Like you, I seek redemption. Like you, I wish to atone. I have spent my entire life waiting for this moment to avenge my actions to my brother, as you have waited to avenge yours towards Reagan...but mostly importantly...to avenge yourself,” 

Patrick wished to vanish right then and there. Mentally he screamed for Orion to teleport him anywhere else, to get him out of there! But nothing happened. There was only silence from the strange pack of wolves ready to obediently obey their Alpha, and Reagan’s everlasting teasing smirk.

“Don’t be a baby,” she impatiently remarked to him, almost as a threat. Her coy words were a challenge; she had not changed. Reagan always wanted Patrick to be the better person, to be stronger and fight for what he truly wanted. He could have taken on her husband, challenged Kevan and ran away with her, the love of his life. But he didn’t...

He ran, alright...but he ran without her.

Patrick inhaled a shaky breath. This was his chance, this was his shot. If he could obey Anton’s words and bring him what he wanted, this could be his redemption, he knew this, he understood how it worked. Patrick struggled with wanting that sort of acknowledgement, and wasn’t sure if he cared for it. But the way Reagan was looking at him made him say the next words with confidence.

“This way,”

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Patrick & Anton || A Call To Arms

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antonhilmorsson:

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 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

[giuntolid]

[patrick-oriley-blog]

Patrick & Anton || A Call To Arms

[patrick-oriley-blog]

antonhilmorsson

    “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.” 

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?”

[patrick-oriley-blog]

ϟϟϟϟ

ask meme

"Orion knows...he knows...how much we need each other. I don’t understand why’d he run off to Athoria again without me. I’m sick of this game. If I could take his brothers corpse and find a way to revive him myself then I would. But I can’t, no one can. Besides, he wouldn’t be the same. Why can’t he just let it go? Let him go? I’ll never replace his brother. Why did he even keep me around?”

[patrick-oriley-blog]

ϟϟϟ :D

ask meme

“The fierceness of Delaina reminds me of Reagan....she never needed someone to take care of her. She never needed my friendship or help. She didn’t need me in general,” Patrick sighs and shakes his head. “No one ever does,”

[patrick-oriley-blog]

Patrick & Anton || A Call To Arms

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.

[patrick-oriley-blog]

In a word, I was too cowardly to do what I knew to be right, as I had been too cowardly to avoid doing what I knew to be wrong.

Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

[patrick-oriley-blog]

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

[patrick-oriley-blog]

antonhilmorsson:

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.”

[giuntolid]

[patrick-oriley-blog]

Patrick & Orion || Ugly Like Me || FB: 250 Years

[patrick-oriley-blog]

orion-gray:

“You should go, you need to go,”

His mind shifted and distorted the entire environment around them instantly. Not physically, internally he wasn’t in the wooded road of Athoria but in Wayward Harbor holding his brother…in hearing his Father’s voice begging him to let them bury him. 

Don’t do this to him! Orion stop please! I beg you son! You should go, you need to go! Let him go!

The soul gem of his brother’s soul worn around his neck pulsed with a radiant energy he refused to use. The wooded area filled with violent sounds, and Orion’s pupils dilated into an expressive show of fear. His heart thundered in his ears, pressing the Book of Shadows so tightly to his chest the soul gems shifted over his heart– glowing faintly with purple light as if it was reflecting Orion’s frantic heartbeat. Memories teased over the older memories. 

A young man’s face taking up the front of his eyes. The wolves– so many of them plunging their teeth into the other’s skin. The violence shook him. Trembled the mage down to his toes at what the man was thinking on– what he believe was to happen should Orion stay. A gasp tore out violently, his eyes shifting into a milky discoloration but instead of letting the other push him away– in making him disappear and leave him here. 

“I’m not going,” a thunderous relay of magic surrounded them, bending the light and encasing them in what felt like another dimension. Orion’s hand grabbed right into the others. The heat alone reminding him that this choice would be one he couldn’t take back. The wolves came seconds after– but they couldn’t see them. Their bodies raced past. Shaking the Earth with their enormous size and snarling hunt for the scent they would lose here. 

Orion heaved as runes danced up his arms, activating magics he’s stored there. The space between them filled with shadows, swirling around their ankles and filling the concealed space. 

“Don’t be scared–” he closed his eyes and teleported them.

There was quite the difference from being told about opposing supernaturals of the world in forms of tales or stories, fables or warnings. What they were capable of, how they used their powers for protection or something far darker...it didn’t mean anything until Patrick saw those things with his own eyes, until he experienced it. And he believed that to be true about most others...at least he hoped so. To know that immortality and breaking his bones on the full moon was so difficult to accept and it had taken him these long to finally give that misunderstanding to Mother Gaia, Patrick now had to do the same with this stranger. This dark mage...

And there was not much time to comprehend what exactly was going on.

Inside the voided, invisible magical barrier Patrick heard the stampede of Vargulf warriors as if he were underwater; it bubbled and disfigured the sound into low hums of echos and slow-motion...as if they were far away. It was temporary, as the speed of their half-shifted warrior forms fled by him without intention to stop. Patrick had covered his head and ducked slightly, expecting them to impact him and send him flying backwards through the air and anticipated the crunch of his bone against a tree or a boulder. But there was nothing. 

Frantically he breathed now, turning quickly to only see the mage consumed in this magic. It felt wrong. “What?!” But his voice was cut off. A sudden blinding light consumed his own eyes, causing Patrick to nearly fall off balance at the sudden spark of energy. He felt the molecules of his skin peel away from his body, rip from the bone. And as quickly as that happened, they suddenly started to find each other again like a puzzle. 

Then, it was quiet.

Patrick dared to open his eyes and squint at the blaring sunlight. His confusion seemed unreasonable and unrealistic, and his breaths came in gasps of uncertainty. Skeptically, he looked around at the open green field that stretched far towards an unfamiliar city in the distance; the clouds overheard appeared painted and perfect; the smell of wildflowers consumed his nostrils, and the faint humming of bees and other small insects chirped in his head...

“Where the fuck...” he turned slowly in a circle as he spoke, taking in this new surrounding, until he faced the stranger that brought him her...the stranger that saved his life. “...are we?”

Athoria was gone.

[patrick-oriley-blog]

Patrick & Delaina || Feel Again || FB: ~285 Years Ago

[patrick-oriley-blog]

gidalrieh:

She was afraid of stepping near the borders of what used to be her home. It was a brief and fleeting moment of terror and memory that struck her as her legs continued to carry her forward, seemingly in spite of herself. The air that sat around the swamps were thick and grimy; toxins that gurgled up from the polluted waters filling smoke and waste into the atmosphere, but she went on anyway. She knew that somewhere below all of this, however, were still the temples they had once built to honor their planet-world, and the goddesses that forged them from nothingness. Ruins and rubble that were once home to magic and inspiration   –   she could almost still feel their power in her veins. Ancestry dating back before the Earth and its galaxy were but a twinkle in the eye of the universe, it all rushed within her to awaken the elven side that had long been asleep. 

Boot clad feet dug into the mud as Delaina made her way through the obstacles of fallen branches and overgrown shrubbery. The cackling of wild life broke in the distance, vague and muffled against the fog that sat atop the waters there. She would pause to listen, to get her bearings of the familiar, only to be met with strangehoods. Had frogs and vultures always lived here? Had snakes full to the brim with poison and venom always hung from the vines of battered trees? She had swore to herself she would recognize this land of debris; see her mother’s face wherever she went, hear her Attos’ voice in the backdrop; but she was gobsmacked by how foreign it were anymore. Her eyes, capable as ever, peered across the deserted lands and winced at what she saw. It pained her to imagine how it was before its undoing. How the ivory towers of a kingdom for their peoples once kissed the mountains and dared to touch the clouds. How it was her weakness that led it to falter…

Lost in her head, the lean elf did not notice the leathery creatures that swam nearer, camouflaged in the browns and blacks of the still waters. As she wrestled with her thoughts and feelings, the confusion of memories which ached to flood back and remind her of her failure, the animals massive jaws opened to catch her. A snapping sound followed as the collective maw of the alligators stretched for her leg, missing by only inches, and instead caught the strap of her bag to drag it with it towards the swampy shore. The roar of their mouths and the yank on her shoulder tore her from her thoughts, allowing a yelp and for her to stumble on wobbling legs. The bag held trinkets of old. Things she had on her persons when she awoke in a shack with a human tending her wounds. Things from when she was commander of a great army. Heirlooms that she wanted to bury with the dead.

As the creatures rolled and thrashed, pulling the sack into the muddy swamp, Delaina followed suit. Plucking a dagger from a small sheath at her side, she rushed into the waters to puncture the leather hides and bleed dry their scales…

Many noises consumed the Swamps this day, sounds that Patrick had never heard in his life; the odd crowing of strange birds and insects, even the squish of his boots against the muddy ground was unusual. Even though he would regret needing to clean the fine attire he wore he could not help but grin at the new experience. The fact that he was able to have new experiences brought the situation in a whole new light. At just over a hundred years old now, Patrick was starting to realize the gifts of immortality. The mourning of Orla and his father-in-law from his human days in Ireland would never be forgotten, but he had turned it over to Mother Gaia...that pain was in her hands now. She had blessed him with a second chance, a new life.

He never in a million years thought he would be admitting such things to himself.Patrick was ready, more than ever, to begin a new adventure, a new journey. The past had only molded him into something stronger, better.

When he heard the faint sound of the commotion nearby, Patrick could not help but think that it sounded different than the noises he had been hearing during his trek through the swamps the last few hours. With ears perked and with his instinct more alert, he heard the sound of grunting and splashing -- lots of splashing -- and decided it was worth checking out. He tracked the smells in that direction with both curious intentions and concern... 

At the sight of the female wrestling the alligator in the muddy waters, Patrick could not help but let out a small laugh that expressed both shock and amazement. What in the world...

"Hey!" he called to her, dropping his bag on a low hanging tree branch. Immediately at the ready to assist, he wobbled through the mud and closer to the shore. "Hey! Are you okay? Do you need help?!"