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 Posted: Sun Feb 26, 2012 7:08 am
 Most of Voldemaras' left shoulder was covered with a mud plaster and around his neck he wore a bag of herbs and small bones to speed his recovery after the last raid he'd been on, where he had, with the assistance of a younger reaver named Aesir, more or less slaughtered a family of lions who were foolish enough to put up resistance to them, first objecting when they poached some prey from the lands near their home and then fighting back when they thought some of the younger cubs might serve the pride well as thralls.
The father in the family had fought fiercely and there had been some question as to whether Vol's shoulder would be usable again. Weeks after the party returned to the pride, Vol was still limping. The healer who had tended him warned that if he tried to fight, or made that wound any worse, he would lose the use of his left forelimb completely. Rather than risk it, he obeyed, but the inactivity put him in a foul temper, and he was more than happy to lash out at anyone.
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Posted: Sun Feb 26, 2012 7:43 am
The day seemed to tremble as the might of a viking returned. Bjorn, whom was new to the pride, but there long enough to know, but he seemed to always get in the way. Curious as ever he wandered a little to close to a lion he probably shouldn't have. Voldemaras was a very old, but very powerful Reaver and he was a bit of a stick in the mud when injured. Knowing this, Bjorn still made his attempts to find out what happened to the group on their viking. His first time out and then speaking with the Warlord himself was a time he'd never forget.
"Sir, Vol, sir?" He questioned, very sure of himself and almost a little cocky. He saw the bandages and healing bag. Items given to a very injured lion, warnings signs if anything. He ignored these signs and gave a great smile, hoping to learn something more. "How was the viking?" He smelled the air, catching scents of blood, that even if washed away still seemed strong. He sat now, awaiting an answer.
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Posted: Sun Feb 26, 2012 7:52 am
Vol's amber eyes narrowed at the sound of a younger lion's voice. Sir? Sir?
"What kind of pansy-blooded, soft-pawed title is sir?" he growled, completely disregarding anything else the younger lion might have said for the time being so that he could take him to task for clinging to whatever stupid outlander ways the blue-coated cub had been raised with.
His tail was already lashing irritably. How stupid was this cub? Surely he ought to know better than to...talk to Vol when he was in a bad mood. Okay, so maybe it wasn't quite fair for Vol to expect Bjorn to recognize how foul his mood was, but he ought to have known that he could be easily antagonized. Surely by now everyone knew about Vol and his temper.
With an effort he recalled that he was not supposed to be pounding people into the dirt until a healer said so and he muttered, "Doesn't matter, I suppose, now that you're here and being raised among proper folk."
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Posted: Sun Feb 26, 2012 4:31 pm
Bjorn immediately pulled himself backward, he may have been young, but the fierce voice startled him sorely. What a grump! He grumbled at the thought and stared at the male as hard as he could manage. "Proper folk?" He growled softly, pride for his family rumbled in his chest. He realized quickly he was challenging Vol, and started to stop himself. Fearful the damage had already been done he flicked his ears back.
"I was raised perfectly fine, by very generous lions.. then I was brought here." He snapped. The lions here were nice enough actually, but Bjorn was sharply reminded that this was not quite home. Faces of Zsaria and her brother flashed before his eyes and he nearly smiled.
The lion was forcing himself to calm down, Bjorn saw that, the struggle with which he spoke told him that much. He coudln't believe it, did he have an upper paw?
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Posted: Mon Feb 27, 2012 4:35 am
"Jah. Proper folk," Vol said. He wasn't taking anything back. Compared with the floral outlanders, the Stormborn were undeniably more proper. Their way was the best way. That's why it worked so well for them. His expression dared Bjorn to contradict him, and apparently the punk was feeling lucky.
"And that worked well for them, did it?" he asked with a nasty smile. "Generosity, I mean."
Oh, yes. An injured Vol was a nasty lion. It was best to stay away from him. Only people who were used to his sharp tongue ought to risk his company, and of those there were few. Even the lions he considered friends, like Erling, didn't tend to hang around him while he was convalescing.
"Worked out well for you, though, didn't it?" He poked Bjorn in the chest with his left paw. It was a pretty hard poke, despite his injury. After all, it was just his shoulder that was injured. The rest of the limb worked pretty well. "You'll be raised as a Stormborn and someday your flowery blood will mingle with the the iron and salt in ours."
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Posted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 6:32 pm
Bjorn felt a bubble rise and fall in his chest, which suddenly felt very heavy. He was becoming furious, with young age his mind procesed a little differently and he barely clutched on to what was left of his right mind. His first instcint was to attack and defend, but he paused mentally.. what am I trying to defend? They're all gone ... A weakness crept through his bones that nearly drained him there and then, but he managed to maintain a certain state of sudden emotionlessness.
His voice stayed strong when he began to speak, the hard poke was shown with no more than a gentle wince."Yes, all who become Stormborn are shaped winners." He stated witha a grumbly tone. He knew it was a fight lost, he knew and so he submitted. This elder lion, though not really that old was right about nothing in Bjorns eyes, but he knew he'd be stuck here with him, might aswell make the best of it.
"Soo, you hurt yourself, hm?" He stared hard at Vol's shoulder.
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Posted: Sat Mar 03, 2012 4:50 am
Vol's eyes narrowed as he perceived something akin to sass or sarcasm from the outlander youth. It didn't make much of a difference to the reaver that the cub had submitted and acknowledged that he was correct. It was the way he had said it. So sullen and surly. Vol decided it was absolutely necessary to drive his point home with a little more information that perhaps the ingrate hadn't considered.
"There was a time not too long ago when a cub like you would have been made into a thrall, not adopted as a freeborn. It's only since Gunne came to be the warlord that it's changed. You really don't know how lucky you are."
The cub's next question caused an actual growl to rumble from Vol's chest. The impertinence was astounding. Vol did not look at it as a sign that Bjorn might grow up to be a fearless warrior. He just saw it as disrespect and cheek, and he wasn't pleased by it.
"Yes. I tore my own shoulder with my bloody teeth," he answered in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "I was injured in battle, halfwit."
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