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Description
uhh whats up sorry my first pouflon entry is so like,,,,,,,,, emo
eventually id like to get a second pouf to portray his mother's story but yknow

wolfric registration sheet

context writing vvvv 704 words, what the fuck do i know about literature

There was a certain weight to the air that preceded storms, like a blanket of anxiety trying to weigh him down. They'd always made him nervous--thunder and lightning didn't strike fear in him, but knowing he'd need shelter soon was at the front of his mind. It had his brain ticking away restlessly.

Yellow eyes scanned the treeline. The pines were thicker across the pond, casting the opposite bank into shadow. A bed of mostly dry pine needles would be welcome when the rains came .... He'd have to convince his party to make the short trek over before then. Behind him, they were poring over a packet of maps, planning the next leg of the journey into Marshgrave. It was dangerous, of course, although Wolfric had his usual practical assurance about it. He'd done it before, and would do it again, as long as the coin called for him to. Hadn't it always been that way? From one temporary bed to the next, no matter the dangers in between. No show of courage, just an unfading sense of duty keeping him chugging along.

A single drop of rain plunked against his nose, and Wolfric jerked back. The tension lying low in his chest sprang up suddenly, and his eyes were refocusing, looking hurriedly now for a spot to claim before more water hit his pelt. Something in him pulled him back--he felt like a child, rushing along, his mother at his flank--hurry, Wolfric, we can't let you catch cold from this rain--it would be just our luck, wouldn't it--

She was cursed. Anyone with more than a day's training in magic could probably smell it on her. Wolfric, for as long as he'd studied her, could never find some witch's mark or demonic blight in her familiar coat, but it was there, simmering and festering somewhere on her person. A streak of bad luck was one way to put it, but it ran deep. Nothing seemed to work out. Always the roof vanished from over their heads, always the rain hit at the worst time, always always always--she'd tried to leave her son with someone more fortunate, but Wolfric was fiercely opposed to parting with her. He'd fight it every time; it was touching, if not an issue. And so he grew up by her side, braving her misfortunes without complaint.

Wolfric had learned everything he knew about surviving from her. But she'd been precious with him, the one thing she feared most that her luck would take from her. At the first sign of trouble they were sprinting away, his mother's fighting spirit hushed by the ominous weight of her fate. She was, no doubt, still kicking somewhere. Parting from her had been excruciating--you must have your own life, Wolfric, you can't live in the shadow of this forever--but he knew she would make it with or without him. Even luck as black as hers couldn't fell her. It was a small comfort, one he clung to fiercely.

He was too out of focus to register the second drop when it hit his ear. He felt almost as if he could see her, all the way on the other bank, her silhouette fast moving against the backdrop of trees. Disturbingly, he thought he saw something at her side, familiar yellow eyes flashing at him in the creeping dark. He was helpless, frozen, as much a pawn as ever--

"Rick?"

It took a moment for him to rein in his expression once he'd whipped around, locking eyes with one of the pouflons studying the map. They were young, garbed in mage's robes and bearing a concerned expression. "Are you alright over there?"

Wolfric resisted the urge to look back to the other bank. "It was--nothing. I'm fine."

The little mage didn't seem to fully buy it, but any protest was cut off as a fat drop of rain splashed them right on top of the head. They looked up, and so did the others, who had all turned from the map to look between the mage and Wolfric.

Rick stood, giving himself a bit of a shake. "Rain's here. There's shelter on the other bank. We .... should get going. Wouldn't want you catching cold."

Description
uhh whats up sorry my first pouflon entry is so like,,,,,,,,, emo
eventually id like to get a second pouf to portray his mother's story but yknow

wolfric registration sheet

context writing vvvv 704 words, what the fuck do i know about literature

There was a certain weight to the air that preceded storms, like a blanket of anxiety trying to weigh him down. They'd always made him nervous--thunder and lightning didn't strike fear in him, but knowing he'd need shelter soon was at the front of his mind. It had his brain ticking away restlessly.

Yellow eyes scanned the treeline. The pines were thicker across the pond, casting the opposite bank into shadow. A bed of mostly dry pine needles would be welcome when the rains came .... He'd have to convince his party to make the short trek over before then. Behind him, they were poring over a packet of maps, planning the next leg of the journey into Marshgrave. It was dangerous, of course, although Wolfric had his usual practical assurance about it. He'd done it before, and would do it again, as long as the coin called for him to. Hadn't it always been that way? From one temporary bed to the next, no matter the dangers in between. No show of courage, just an unfading sense of duty keeping him chugging along.

A single drop of rain plunked against his nose, and Wolfric jerked back. The tension lying low in his chest sprang up suddenly, and his eyes were refocusing, looking hurriedly now for a spot to claim before more water hit his pelt. Something in him pulled him back--he felt like a child, rushing along, his mother at his flank--hurry, Wolfric, we can't let you catch cold from this rain--it would be just our luck, wouldn't it--

She was cursed. Anyone with more than a day's training in magic could probably smell it on her. Wolfric, for as long as he'd studied her, could never find some witch's mark or demonic blight in her familiar coat, but it was there, simmering and festering somewhere on her person. A streak of bad luck was one way to put it, but it ran deep. Nothing seemed to work out. Always the roof vanished from over their heads, always the rain hit at the worst time, always always always--she'd tried to leave her son with someone more fortunate, but Wolfric was fiercely opposed to parting with her. He'd fight it every time; it was touching, if not an issue. And so he grew up by her side, braving her misfortunes without complaint.

Wolfric had learned everything he knew about surviving from her. But she'd been precious with him, the one thing she feared most that her luck would take from her. At the first sign of trouble they were sprinting away, his mother's fighting spirit hushed by the ominous weight of her fate. She was, no doubt, still kicking somewhere. Parting from her had been excruciating--you must have your own life, Wolfric, you can't live in the shadow of this forever--but he knew she would make it with or without him. Even luck as black as hers couldn't fell her. It was a small comfort, one he clung to fiercely.

He was too out of focus to register the second drop when it hit his ear. He felt almost as if he could see her, all the way on the other bank, her silhouette fast moving against the backdrop of trees. Disturbingly, he thought he saw something at her side, familiar yellow eyes flashing at him in the creeping dark. He was helpless, frozen, as much a pawn as ever--

"Rick?"

It took a moment for him to rein in his expression once he'd whipped around, locking eyes with one of the pouflons studying the map. They were young, garbed in mage's robes and bearing a concerned expression. "Are you alright over there?"

Wolfric resisted the urge to look back to the other bank. "It was--nothing. I'm fine."

The little mage didn't seem to fully buy it, but any protest was cut off as a fat drop of rain splashed them right on top of the head. They looked up, and so did the others, who had all turned from the map to look between the mage and Wolfric.

Rick stood, giving himself a bit of a shake. "Rain's here. There's shelter on the other bank. We .... should get going. Wouldn't want you catching cold."